Bent Road - Lori Roy [76]
Uncle Ray turns toward Evie. He watches her for a good long time, then pulls on his hat and looks back down on the grave.
The wind is colder once Evie steps onto the sidewalk and walks toward home. She pulls her sleeves over her hands, dips her head and tries to take long steps that will get her home quicker. Beyond the shelter of the church, the wind kicks up and dies down again when she passes Mr. Brewster’s house. A light switches on. Mr. Brewster, carrying a plate, walks past the window. Mama says he’s a widower because his wife died and that he doesn’t get out much. Even Mr. Brewster, who is all by himself, is sitting down to supper. That’s what Mama and the others are doing by now. Mama likes an early supper because going to bed on a full stomach never does anyone any good. Evie closes her eyes as she passes Mr. Brewster’s house. He must be lonely in there all by himself and that makes Evie feel like she may never see home again.
At the last stop sign before the road changes to dirt, a car pulls up next to Evie. It rattles to a stop and exhaust swirls up, clouding the gray air around her. She unwraps her hands, lowers her collar and looks into the side of a big, red truck.
Celia clears her throat, and taking a deep breath to calm herself, she pulls a fresh shirt from the top drawer and a clean pair of pants from the closet. Out in the kitchen, Ruth is busying herself by setting the table and skinning the chicken for dinner. She’s seen things like this before, probably much worse. If Arthur hadn’t been able to come home in the middle of the day when Celia called to tell him that Olivia was out again and was apparently stuck between the house and garage, even with one bad arm, Ruth probably would have coaxed the cow out herself. Right this moment, she is probably planning how to best slaughter Olivia and where they will freeze so much meat. No, that’s not true. Ruth wouldn’t think those things. Reesa would, but not Ruth. Ruth will be thinking how to help the children understand that this is part of life on the farm. She would never tell them that Olivia will soon be wrapped in white butcher paper and stacked in the freezer.
Folding the blue and gray plaid flannel shirt for no reason other than to stall, Celia wonders if Arthur knew things would be this way when they moved from Detroit. Did he know that sometimes the eggs wouldn’t be eggs when Celia cracked them into her skillet but that sometimes they would be the beginnings of a tiny, bloody chick? Did he know Daniel wouldn’t have many friends and that Evie still wouldn’t grow? Did he know Ray was beating Ruth all those years, beating the life out of her, and did he still stay away? Not wanting the answer to the last thought, Celia clears her throat again and walks from the bedroom with the clothes stacked neatly in both hands.
Standing at the kitchen table, one hand holding the back of a chair, Ruth doesn’t look the way Celia thought she would. Her face is pale, her neck flushed. For a moment, Celia is relieved because Ruth is as upset as she by what has happened to Olivia. For a moment, Celia doesn’t feel alone. Thank goodness for Ruth. Celia holds the clothes out to Daniel, who stands in the hallway leading to the back porch, but he doesn’t reach for them.
“For your dad,” Celia says, taking another step forward.
Daniel’s arms hang limp and he steps aside when Arthur walks up from behind. Celia takes two quick steps backward and pulls the clothes to her chest, hugging them.
“Arthur, take this outside,” she says, shoving his clothes at him. “You’re an awful mess.”
Reddish brown smudges that end with feathered edges travel from Arthur’s right hip up to his left shoulder, as if Olivia threw her head against him, and dried blood is caked on his hands and forearms.
“Your shoes,” Celia says. “Take those off. Outside.”
Muddy tracks have followed Arthur into the house, bloody mud. Celia looks at Daniel’s feet instead. He keeps telling her he needs new boots, that his toes are going to end up crooked if he doesn’t get some bigger shoes.
“Please, take those