Bent Road - Lori Roy [98]
“I always leave two,” she says, stepping back to Arthur’s side. “One for both of us, since you weren’t always here. But you are now.”
Arthur nods. “I couldn’t come before,” he says. “Before now.”
“My stones were always missing,” Ruth says. She feels Arthur watching her, but she keeps her eyes on Eve’s headstone. “My two stones, every time I came to visit, they were gone. Strange. Don’t you think?”
Again, Arthur nods.
“Ray was here that night, the night Julianne disappeared. He was here and he took my stones. All these years, I imagine. Why do you suppose he would do such a thing?”
“I hope to never know the answer to that,” Arthur says and slips around Ruth to block the wind, taking her arm so that she won’t fall.
But Ruth doesn’t move to leave.
“He loved her,” she says. “He would have been such a different man with her.”
Arthur wraps an arm around Ruth. “Doesn’t much matter what might have been.”
“While she was here, while Eve was with us, she was happy because Ray loved her.” Ruth takes Arthur’s other hand, presses it between both of hers. “He would have been a different man.”
“But he’s not, Ruth.” In the dry, cold air, Arthur’s voice is as deep and raspy as Father’s ever was. “He’s not a different man. I’m sorry for it, but he’s not.”
Ruth lifts her chin, turns her face into the wind and nods that she is ready to go. Together, she and Arthur step out of the snow onto the cleared space around Julianne’s small grave. With all the other mourners gone, the tiny casket sits alone, waiting to be covered over by cold, frozen dirt. Two Negro men stand nearby, one of them stubbing out a cigarette in the snow, the other leaning on a shovel. Beside them lays a mound of dirt covered by a blue tarp. Ruth hadn’t seen the open grave before because of the crowd of people, and seeing it now brings tears to the corners of her eyes.
“Come, Ruth,” Celia says, stepping forward. “Let’s get you home.”
Standing near the gate, Jonathon holds Evie, who seems to be crying into his chest, and Daniel and Elaine stand next to him. At the head of the small grave, Reesa talks quietly with Father Flannery. As Arthur, Celia and Ruth walk past on their way toward the gate, Father Flannery steps forward.
“Ruth. Celia. Arthur,” he says, bowing his head to greet them. “I was just mentioning to Reesa that we miss you fine folks at church.”
“Been to church every Sunday, Father,” Arthur says. “Haven’t missed a one.”
“I told Father Flannery that maybe we’re getting tired of that drive to Hays. Don’t you think, Arthur? Maybe we’ll see him at St. Anthony’s this Sunday.”
Arthur continues on, holding Ruth’s hand and reaching for Celia’s. “St. Bart’s is suiting me just fine. Nice to see you, Father. If you’ll excuse us.”
Reesa shakes her head.
“The gates to hell are wide,” Father Flannery says. “Much wider than those to heaven.”
Arthur stops.
Father Flannery looks back toward Eve’s grave. The wind has started to fill in the footsteps Ruth and Arthur left in the snow.
Arthur drops Ruth’s hand, steps up to Father Flannery, and in an instant, Ruth knows. She realizes that all along, all these many years, Arthur has known the truth. He’s known the truth about what killed Eve.
“Is there something you want to say to this family?” Arthur says to Father Flannery.
“My concern is for the child, Arthur. For the child and Ruth. I don’t want to see things come to the same end.”
“Arthur, he doesn’t understand,” Celia says, reaching for his arm. “Let’s go.”
“I understand that he’s telling me Eve is in hell.”
“Arthur Scott,” Reesa says. “He’s saying no such thing.”
But he is. Ruth knows he is. Father Flannery thinks Eve is in hell because of what Ruth always feared Eve did to herself. Ruth presses both hands over her belly, protecting her sweet baby girl, sweet baby Elisabeth.
“That child died with a mortal sin on her soul. Would you have that for Ruth?”
Feeling as if Father Flannery can see inside her, Ruth takes two steps away. There was a moment, no longer than a blink, when she wondered if not having a baby would be