Bent Road - Lori Roy [35]
“Very well, then.” Father Flannery steps away from the table, pushes in his chair and tips his hat. “It seems we’ve no need to discuss this matter again.” He turns toward Ruth. “I’d like to see you in church tomorrow.”
“She hasn’t been in church, Father,” Arthur says, “because Ray beat her face to a pulp.”
Father Flannery ignores Arthur. “Tomorrow, then. You’re looking well, Ruth, quite well. Doesn’t she look pretty with her new hair, Eve?”
“I’m Evie, Father.”
Chapter 10
Leaning against the kitchen sink, her arms crossed, Celia taps her lavender slipper. Reesa struggles out of her chair and shuffles after Father Flannery. Facing Celia on the opposite side of the kitchen, Arthur stands, his arms also crossed. He lowers his head, staring at her from under the hood of his brow, and as his mother passes, he steps aside to make room without ever taking his eyes off Celia. Daniel and Ian have disappeared down the basement stairs, and Elaine, pressing a finger to her lips so Evie won’t speak, leads Evie out of the kitchen toward her bedroom.
Celia and Arthur stand facing each other, not moving and not speaking. The floor creaks as the two girls pass, and when they have closed the bedroom door behind them, the house falls silent. Ruth slips into the small space between the side of the stove and wall, puts her hands in her apron pockets, and lowers her head. Outside, Father Flannery’s engine starts up. Arthur straightens to his full height and unfolds his arms.
“Put a pot of water on to boil. The big pot,” he says and follows his mother outside.
Celia, thinking Ruth is no bigger than Evie tucked between the wall and the stove, turns toward her and smiles. When they moved into the house, the stove sat square in the corner, but Reesa moved it because she said a person would want to get a mop in there. She said Mrs. Murray wasn’t much of a housekeeper, God rest her soul, so it wasn’t any wonder the stove was pushed to the wall.
“I’ll speak to him,” Celia says, wrapping her arms around her own waist. “You don’t have to go back, Ruth. We want you here. With us. It will work out. It will.”
Ruth nods. “I have to tell him. Waiting won’t solve anything.”
“No,” Celia says, as gently as she can, as gently as if she were talking to a sick child. “Let me.”
Ruth nods again. She starts to slip back into her corner until Celia pulls out a chair from the kitchen table and motions for her to sit. In the months since they moved to Kansas, Ruth’s skin isn’t as pale as it once was and she lifts her eyes when she talks to a person. Now, after sitting for a few minutes with Father Flannery, she is back again, to the frail woman, carrying a cold strawberry pie, who stepped so carefully out of the truck on the Scotts’ first day in Kansas.
“Thank you,” Ruth says. “I’ll put on Arthur’s water and start supper.”
Celia smiles, and walking onto the back porch, she grabs her blue sweater from the row of hooks near the door. She breathes in dry, cool air and presses the sweater to her face, smelling her own perfume. It reminds her of Detroit because she doesn’t bother with perfume here in Kansas. Taking a few more deep breaths, as if the cold air will fortify her, she pulls on the sweater, straightens the seam of each sleeve and steps outside.
The sun has moved low in the sky, hanging barely above the western horizon. Soon the chilly afternoon will be a cold evening. She would have said it smelled like snow had she still lived in Detroit, but she doesn’t know if Kansas snow smells the same. Pulling her sweater closed, she walks down the three steps toward Arthur, who is standing just beyond the garage.
“What do you need the hot water for?” she calls out when she thinks she’s close enough to be heard. Crossing in front of the garage where she can see around the far corner, she stops and drops her arms to her side. Arthur and Reesa stand at the edge of the light thrown from the back porch. “What are you doing?”
“Ma brought it for supper,” Arthur