The Courage Tree - Diane Chamberlain [100]
“Mom…” Marti leaned forward. She rested her hand on Zoe’s arm and tears filled her eyes again. “I can’t go back there, ever, Mom. Please don’t let that happen to me.”
“I won’t, sweetie,” she promised, pulling her daughter, her own little girl, into her arms. And she knew that somehow, Sophie would have to heal herself. Zoe was giving up on her, turning her fate over to a force greater than any of them. There was nothing more she could do for the child.
“Hey, look!” Marti said now. She pointed toward the edge of the clearing, and Zoe and Sophie looked up from their beans and franks to see what had attracted her. A huge turtle had lumbered out of the woods, making slow but steady progress across the clearing.
“Is it a turtle or a tortoise?” Marti asked, walking across the clearing to get a better look.
“What’s the difference?” Zoe asked.
“I don’t have a clue,” Marti said.
“It’s a snapping turtle,” Sophie said with authority.
“How do you know that?” Zoe asked.
Sophie shrugged. She was not a happy little camper this evening. “I just do,” she said. She was using her penknife to spread peanut butter on a piece of Melba Toast.
“So,” Marti said, as she neared the turtle. “Do they snap?”
“They can break your finger right off,” Sophie said.
“Oh, they can, can they,” Marti said. She picked up a stick from the edge of the forest and held it in front of the turtle, and Zoe saw her slowly reach into her shorts pocket and pull out a survival knife.
“Oh, don’t hurt it, Marti,” Zoe said, but she was too late. The turtle stretched out its long neck to bite down on the stick, and with one quick blow, Marti decapitated it.
“Turtle soup for tomorrow night!” she crowed.
“Oh, Marti.” Zoe felt shaken, actually sick. She found herself unable to look at the turtle and averted her eyes. Yet she had killed animals out here. Why did this feel so different? She looked across the clearing at Sophie, whose face was a mixture of fear and horror.
“Why did you do that?” Sophie asked Marti. “He wouldn’t hurt you if you just left him alone.”
Marti tossed her knife on the ground and sat down on one of the rocks again. “Because turtle soup is delicious,” she said. “That’s why.”
“And how are you going to make turtle soup without a fire?” Sophie asked. She set down her penknife and got off the rock. Carrying the Melba Toast, she hopped across the clearing toward the shanty.
Marti watched her go. “Sensitive little thing, isn’t she?” she said to Zoe.
Zoe cleared her throat. “I have some books in the shanty that will tell you how to clean a turtle.”
“We can’t have turtle soup,” Marti said. “Sophie’s right. We’d need a fire.”
“So, you killed that turtle for nothing,” Zoe said. Anger surged inside her, and she did her best not to let it come out in her voice.
“Don’t go getting all sappy on me, all right?” Marti stood up and headed for the shanty. “You and Sophie make quite a team,” she called back over her shoulder. “It was just a turtle.”
Zoe sat still on the rock after Marti went into the shanty, her can of beans in her hand, her eyes averted from the slaughtered turtle on the other side of the clearing. She was annoyed at herself. So, it’s okay for you to kill animals, but not for Marti to do it? she asked herself. But then, suddenly, she knew why her hands were shaking, her heart pounding.
She remembered the kitten, the white ball of fluff, that Marti had been given as a birthday gift for her seventh birthday, or maybe her eighth. She’d been thrilled with the kitten, or so it seemed. But one day, the cat disappeared. The nanny found it a few days later, beneath Marti’s bed, its neck broken. Marti denied knowing anything about the kitten’s death, and Zoe had believed her.
At least, she’d pretended to believe her. Zoe was an actress. She was very, very good at pretending.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lucas’s house was dark. Joe was parked down the block, not certain what he should do next. Lucas’s car was in the carport, and Joe’s best guess was that he was with another woman up in