Bone Dance (20 page)

The girls looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, but said nothing.

“You awake, Stu?”

Stu lurched upright in the armchair, his heart pounding. “Good God. You trying to frighten an old man to death?”

“Sorry to wake you, but Joanie's been trying to phone, and you didn't answer.” Franklin unzipped his yellow slicker and hung it over the back of the rocking chair. “She's been listening to the news broadcasts and wanted me to make sure you were okay.”

Stu snorted. “I must've unplugged the phone. It's the only way I can get any rest around here.”

“You've missed everything then.” Franklin ran a hand over his wet hair. “It's the damnedest thing. Some kids have gone missing.”

“Kids?” Stu felt his stomach contract. “Not Joanie. You did say she's okay, didn't you?”

“She's fine. Been trying to call you from the city.” Franklin bent over and peered into his eyes. “Are you all right, Stu?”

“Who's missing then? You said someone's missing.”

“It's the Pilon kids from next door. Their mother left them on their own while she went shopping in the village. When she got back, there was no sign of them.” He went to stand by the front window. Stu struggled out of his chair to join him. It was pitch black out there. Through the rain beating against the glass, he could just make out a string of lights bobbing far out on the lake.

Franklin sighed. “Everybody with a boat's out there. The rest of us are searching the woods behind the cottages.” He picked up his coat. “We're worried about some of those old feldspar pits. The area's riddled with them. And there's been a few bear sightings near here this summer.”

“Wait a minute. I . . .”

“What is it?”

“I don't know.” He turned away from the window. “There's something . . . uh, you sure Joanie's okay?”

“I told you. She's fine.”

Suddenly, it felt like a skid of bricks was pressing down on Stu's chest. He'd never experienced such pain. His knees began to buckle, and he could feel the room tipping, feel Franklin's hand under his elbow. He mustn't lose consciousness, though. There was something important he wanted to say. Something about blue bathing suits.

Sue Pike
wrote her first crime story
, ‘Murder Isn't Right”,
at the age of seven. After a long sabbatical, she began writing again, and her more recent stories have appeared in
Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Storyteller, Cold Blood
and all five Ladies' Killing Circle anthologies. “Widow's Weeds” from
Cottage Country Killers
won the Arthur Ellis Award for Best Short Story of 1997
.

Oh, God. Here comes Carol, our activities director. She needn't think she can wheedle me into playing bingo.

“Hi there, Ruth. I've got something interesting for you today.” She radiates energy and efficiency.

I force a smile. She has a tough job trying to keep us busy. Most of us in the nursing home want to be left alone, to remember . . . or forget.

She lays the
Winnipeg Free Press
in my lap.

“Isn't that the same house as the one in the photo on your dresser?”

Even without my glasses I recognize Grove House.

“It's my grandparents' home. Every July they waited there for me.” I point at the step. “With Great Aunt Muriel tatting lace in the rocker. As I ran towards them, Pop would turn to Nana and say, ‘I guess it must be the first day of summer, because our ray of sunshine has arrived.' ” Carol is smiling patiently, and I see I have told her this story before.

“Well,” her eyes sparkle, “a skeleton's been found there, hidden in a secret tunnel. Let me read you the article.” She is about to pick up the paper when one of the fellows across the room starts yelling. She scoots over to sort out the problem. I have no need to read the story. I close my eyes and remember
the first time Nana and Pop were not waiting for me on the steps. I was ten.

Sitting on the bench, feet swinging to and fro, I watched the second hand tick round the face of the station clock. In seven minutes, I'd be getting on the train and travelling to Merton all by myself.

“Sit still, Ruth, I've something to tell you.” I stopped counting the ticks and waited, expecting yet more of Mother's instructions on how to behave. Instead, she said “You will not be the only child at Grove House this summer.”

“What do you mean?” Summer had always been me with Daddy's parents, and Great Aunt Muriel.

Mother's lips compressed the way they did when she was cross. “Your cousin, Laura, will be there.”

“You never told me I had a cousin called Laura.”

“Because I was unaware of her existence until I received a letter this morning. Eleven years old, and she's only just turned up.” Mother obviously disapproved of such unorthodox conduct. “Aunt Muriel writes that Laura's had a very difficult life, and Nana and Pop want you to be especially nice to her.”

“Where has she been? And why has her life been difficult?”

“Her mother died last year.”

“Oh.” I edged closer to my mother. “Does she live with her father?”

Mother shook her head. Her fingers tapped against the stiff brown leather of her handbag. “She hasn't got a father either.”

“She's an orphan!” I couldn't imagine having no parents. “Does she live in an orphanage?”

“No, with a foster family. Now that times are hard, they
can't afford to keep her, so she's going to live with Nana and Pop.” Mother stood up as the train came into the station, hissed out its steam and came to a shuddering stop. She helped me put my bags into the carriage. “I'll see you in a month.” We hugged. “Be a good girl and be kind to Laura.”

I waved until she became a dot in the distance, then sat in the corner and watched the fields go by. A cousin might be fun. She'd be able to do things Nana and Pop couldn't, like climb trees. I'd share my toys with her, and she'd be grateful. I wasn't sure I liked the idea of her living with my Nana and my Pop.

The train slowed as it approached Merton, and I dragged my luggage to the door. Through the glass I could see Old Joe, Pop's general handyman, waiting with the buggy and the brown mare. It didn't take long to load up, and soon we were trotting down the dirt road towards Grove House. Joe steered the buggy through the wooden gates. The horse broke into a canter, and Joe shouted “Whoa” at her and hauled on the reins. We'd arrived.

I swivelled round to wave at Nana and Pop. They weren't there. Great Aunt Muriel sat alone on the verandah, a long ribbon of lace falling over the arm of the rocker. She smiled and nodded at me.

A small lump of fear formed in my stomach. I climbed slowly down from the buggy, very slowly in case they hadn't heard us coming.

Joe hitched the horse to the railing and lifted my bags out. Finally, the screen door opened and Pop appeared, leading a girl by the hand. Nana held the girl's other hand. They came and stood in a row at the top of the steps, Nana and Pop beaming proudly at my new cousin.

“Hey, Ruth, come and meet our little ray of sunshine.”
Laura smiled at Pop when he said this, and the lump in my stomach hardened. She kept hold of Nana's and Pop's hands, and I hesitated at the bottom of the steps. How could they hug me, if she didn't let go? Then Laura looked down at me. She had dimples and big blue eyes colder than the wind in our Winnipeg winters.

“She doesn't like me.” Her voice trembled, and she buried her face in Nana's flowered shirt. Nana's arms went round her.

“Of course she does, darling. You do, don't you, Ruth?” Nana and Pop both glared at me as though I'd done something bad.

“Yes.” I mumbled, staring at my sandals, knowing I hated her just as she hated me. Knowing my summers at Grove House had changed forever.

Within the hour, the pattern had been set. Laura led the way to my room. Tucked under the eaves near the top of the stairs, it had sloping walls and a wide window seat. Years ago, Pop had painted my name on the door. My books were on the shelves, and my toys were in the closet. Except they weren't. And the eiderdown with the yellow roses wasn't on my bed either.

“Where are my things?” I pointed at the empty shelves.

“Laura borrowed them. We knew you wouldn't mind.”

I did mind. I minded not being asked.

“I'm very sorry.” Laura hung her head. “Please forgive me.”

“Well said,” Nana smiled and patted Laura's head. “And you with nothing to apologize for. Ruth, I'm sure you're going to be generous and share with your cousin. I'll get the juice and cookies ready for when you're finished unpacking.” The door closed behind her.

Laura glanced from me to the mirror. “No one would think we were cousins,” she said. She sounded pleased, and I didn't blame her. I was skinny, with crooked teeth and straight brown hair. Laura had white skin with rosy cheeks and long
golden curls like my best china doll. Nana and Pop couldn't help but love her the most.

“I'll fetch the books and the puzzles. The rest of the toys stay in my room.”

“No,” I said. “You bring everything here to share out.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and left the room. I took the dresses Mother had placed in the top of the case, shook them, and hung them in the closet, wishing all the while that Laura had never been found.

The door crashed open. “Ruth,” Nana snapped, “did you tell Laura to bring your things back?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“To think you could be so selfish, Ruth Cummings. When I found Laura crying outside the kitchen, I told her she must have made a mistake. However, I see it's Pop and I who have made the mistake. You, young lady, have been spoiled.”

Tears filled my eyes. I tried to explain, but Nana wouldn't listen. During the next few days, this happened time and again. Laura would twist my words and turn me into a monster while I, I could only stutter my protests.

Night after night I cried myself to sleep. Laura had cast a spell on Nana and Pop. Like the Ice Queen, she'd planted a sliver of ice in their hearts, and they'd forgotten how happy we'd been before. I longed for a good fairy to arrive to melt the ice. Gradually, I withdrew into myself.

Sometimes the sounds of Pop and Laura singing the songs he used to sing with me drifted through my bedroom window. He and Nana knew lots of songs and dances from their time on the stage. That's how Pop met Nana. She'd starred in a travelling show that played in Winnipeg when Pop was very young. He fell in love with her and ran away to join the troupe.

I didn't have anywhere to run to. Mother spent every July
in Regina caring for her father while her sister had a holiday. Daddy never stayed in Winnipeg in the summer. He took his students to the far north to study rock formations. I prayed Grandpa would die so Mother could come home, then cried with shame for my awful thoughts.

The third week of that dreadful month arrived. I'd taken to spending the days reading in the old maple behind the stables. On the Wednesday morning I'd finished making a sandwich to take with me and gone into the pantry for an apple when Pop and Nana came into the kitchen.

“When Laura smiles at me, I'd do anything for her,” Pop said.

“I know what you mean. She just melts your heart.” Nana sighed. “I wish Ruth hadn't grown into such a sullen, unattractive girl. It would be lovely for Laura to have a friend.”

“Ruth isn't happy unless she's the centre of attention.” Pop's voice faded as they went out to the garden. Tears streamed down my face. The sandwich fell to the floor as I sobbed into my hands.

The pantry door opened, and soft arms held me close. “There now.” Aunt Muriel patted my back. “Don't cry so. Come along with me.”

“Why, Aunt Muriel?” I cried. “Why don't they love me any more? Is it because I'm not pretty?”