Bent Road - Lori Roy [113]
Ruth slips on her robe, pulls the belt tight and opens her bedroom door a crack so no one will see her packed suitcases at the foot of her bed. Celia peeks inside.
“So sorry to disturb you, Ruth,” she whispers. “But Mary Robison is here and she isn’t well. Arthur thinks maybe you could be of help.”
“Goodness, it’s awfully cold for her to be out.”
Stepping aside so Ruth can pass, Celia whispers, “And it appears that she walked. She’s frozen. Frozen solid.”
Ruth shuffles into the kitchen, her slippers sliding across the cold floor, and sits next to Mary. Until Ruth touches Mary’s sleeve, she doesn’t seem to notice Ruth. When she does, Mary lifts her head and smiles.
“So good to see you, Ruth.”
Ruth takes both of Mary’s hands and rubs them gently between her own. “You’re like ice. Some coffee?”
“Milk, please, and one sugar.”
Kneeling in front of Mary, Arthur wraps one end of the quilt around her feet. “That better?” he asks.
Celia pushes two mugs across the table and sits in a chair opposite Ruth and Mary. Arthur sits next to her.
“Nice of you to visit, Mary,” Ruth says. “I hope you’ll let Arthur drive you next time.”
She holds up a finger to quiet Arthur when he starts to talk. After so many years, at least twenty, she feels like the big sister again.
“Did you mean to come here?” Ruth asks even though she knows the answer.
“We used to be such friends, didn’t we?” Mary says, watching Ruth rub her hands over Mary’s. “The three of us. When we were girls.”
“We’re still friends,” Ruth says, beginning to knead each of Mary’s fingers. Slowly, they are warming.
“Only two of us. And not like we were.”
“Girls grow up, I guess,” Ruth says. “Responsibilities and such. Not so much time for friends.”
Making a humming noise, Mary presses her face toward her coffee cup as if letting the steam warm her cheeks and nose. “I remember when we stopped being such friends. The three of us. Do you remember?” Mary pauses and says, “The day Orville Robison got off that train.”
Ruth lifts her eyes toward Celia and Arthur. “Yes, that was a long time ago.”
She swallows. Her heart begins to beat against her chest. She tries to slow it by taking one deep breath after another. Massaging Mary’s littlest finger, Ruth concentrates on the tiny veins that spread like frail blue vines across the back of Mary’s hand.
“Do you remember?” Mary says. “It rained the day he came. First good rain in so many years. All the dust put to rest that day. Do you remember? Everyone in town thought Orville Robison brought us a miracle.”
Ruth tries to lift her eyes to Mary but she can’t. Instead, she lays Mary’s hands in her lap and covers them with her own.
“I thought I was marrying a miracle worker. So carried away with him. Big and broad as a barn. And so handsome. Wasn’t he handsome?” Mary lifts Ruth’s chin with one finger. “He did it, Ruthie. He hurt your Eve. When she was so young. He hurt your Eve, did things to her no man should be doing to a child. And then your family came home again. After all these years, they haunted him like a ghost. Hurt him especially to see the little one.” She cups Ruth’s face with one hand. “I didn’t know how to stop him.”
Wondering if Arthur hears the rustling outside the kitchen window, Celia nudges him, but he is listening to Ruth and Mary Robison and he brushes her away. She has been trying to follow the conversation, but isn’t able to because she can’t shake the feeling that something is watching her. Outside the window over the sink, the maple tree’s bare branches tap on the side of the house and the porch light throws long, thin shadows that skip into the corners of her eyes, startling her. She’s a little jumpy, that’s all. So much has happened. Celia takes a deep breath and exhales as she moves her chair closer to Arthur’s.
“What