Bone River (22 page)

Even that couldn’t dispel my relief. It was only talk. Junius wouldn’t go back on his promise to me. He never had.

“Did you find the cave?” Lord Tom asked.

“Found it and explored it,” Junius said. “It was mostly scavenged, I’m afraid. Nothing left but some broken crockery.”

“I said it would be
cultus
.”

“Oh, it wasn’t worthless.” June smiled. “In fact, we found some paintings on the ceiling. I don’t suppose you’d heard stories of those?”

Lord Tom made a face.

Junius went on, “Too advanced for Indians. I think they were drawn by the mummy’s people.”

Tom looked at me. “And what do you think,
okustee
?”

I had gone to the stove, holding my hands over it, wishing I could just plunge them into the hot water reservoir. “I’ve never seen anything like them. They were beautiful.”

“Drawn by ancient ones?”

“Undoubtedly ancient.” But what I didn’t say was what I believed, that it wasn’t the mummy’s people who had drawn them.

“So you brought nothing back?”

Junius said, “There were skeletons there.”

“They’re outside,” I said quickly. “They’re not Shoalwater. Junius thinks they might be from her clan.”

I expected Lord Tom to object. He surprised me when instead he said nothing, only looked at me thoughtfully.

“What is it?” I asked. “Why do you look at me that way?”

“Nothing,
okustee
. I am only happy to see you returned safely.”

“There was little chance of it being otherwise, despite your fears.”

“What fears were those?” Daniel asked.

“Lord Tom warned me against going to the cave. Too many bad spirits.”

Tom said, “It was not spirits I warned you of.”

“Whatever it was, I’m untouched, as you can see.”

“Perhaps.” Lord Tom looked at Daniel, and then back to me, a glance that confused me and made me want to squirm. He exhaled heavily and got to his feet, crossing the room to the back door. “Good night,
okustee
.
Klahowya
.”

I stopped him. “Not yet. What were you and Bibi arguing about? What did you say to her?

He frowned, jutting out his chin. He tapped his finger against his head. “She is
pelton
, that one. You should not listen to her.”

“I’m hardly listening to her,
tot
.”

“Then why do you wear this?” He grabbed my wrist, just as she’d done, lifting it so it was between us before he let it drop again.

“Lord Tom’s right, Lea,” Junius said. “Now that we have the canoe, you shouldn’t encourage her.”

“I...” I didn’t know what to say. I thought of the day I’d put it on, that nameless fear that pursued me from the barn, the panic only the bracelet had eased. The thought of taking it off...I couldn’t explain why I didn’t want to. “I don’t want to cross a
tomawanos
woman,” I said finally.

Lord Tom made a sound of derision. “She is no
tomawanos
woman,
okustee
.”

“What harm can it do?” Daniel put in. “It’s just some twine and a few shells. I think it’s interesting.”

Junius said, “By wearing it, Lea’s giving in to superstition.”

Daniel went to the settee and sat down. “You’d take everything from her, wouldn’t you? You’d leave her with no poetry at all.”

“Poetry? What are you talking about?”

“You won’t let her tell the stories she loves. You
protect
her from her own imagination. That’s the poetry I’m talking about, old man. The things that make life more than a drudgery. There’s only so much science and work anyone can bear.”

Junius looked startled. “Drudgery? Is that what your life is, Lea? Drudgery?”

“No, of course not,” I said. “I—”

“No drinking and one dance every few weeks. Is that all the joy she’s allowed? How niggardly you mete it out.”

“Daniel,” I said sharply. “That’s enough.”

He said, “I’m only trying to help you, Leonie.”

“You’re not helping. And you’re not right. Please. Leave it be.”

His gaze met mine for a brief moment before he shrugged and looked away, sagging into the settee. “As you wish. Be a drudge if you prefer.”

Junius’s lips thinned. “You’d best watch yourself, boy.”

“Or you’ll
what
? Give me a beating?”

Junius stepped forward. I said, “June, perhaps you’d best put Edna in the barn. It’s dark.”

I was grateful when he gave a quick nod and turned on his heel, going to the door and out.

Lord Tom gave me a sharp look. I didn’t understand it, and it made me uncomfortable, just as everything tonight had. But neither did he say anything more as he went out the back door.

The house felt suddenly too quiet: the hiss of the water in the reservoir, my breathing, Daniel’s presence. He was taking off his boots, wiggling his sodden toes. I still had my coat on. I undid the buttons and took it off, hanging it on the hook beside the door and taking off my own boots. I wanted to be gone, alone in my room, quiet and still. I started past him to the stairs. I said, “Good night, Daniel—”

He grabbed my hand as I passed, stopping me, his fingers tangling in the twine that had slipped to the ball of my thumb. “What was it she said to me?” he asked.

“Junius is right, Daniel. She’s just a crazy old woman. You shouldn’t give credence to anything she says.”

“Then why
do
you wear it?” His thumb slipped over a charm. “If you shouldn’t give credence to anything she says?”

“I don’t know,” I said softly. “Perhaps because...” I paused, but he was watching me, waiting, and I knew he would wait like that until I gave him an answer he believed. “Because I have this feeling the mummy wants me to.”

His expression went thoughtful.

“Please don’t tell June I said that,” I said quickly. “He wouldn’t understand. I don’t even understand, really, and I know it’s absurd, but—”

“What did she say to me?”

I sighed. “‘Does she know what you want?’”

He looked confused.

“That’s what Bibi asked you. The exact words: ‘Does she know what you want?’”

“What does that mean? Who’s
she
?”

“I don’t know. I told you to pay no attention to it.”

He was quiet. His thumb dragged over the charm once again, and then he released me, and I drew my hand back quickly. Once more, I said, “Good night, Daniel.”

He nodded. Distractedly, he said, “Good night.”

It was early yet. No one had seemingly noticed that there’d been no supper. But I wasn’t hungry, and as I went up the stairs, I was overcome with exhaustion. I didn’t bother to wash, only undressed and climbed into bed, my hair still in its pins, and then I lay there and listened to my own breathing in the darkness, thinking again of the withered hands in my dream, and the words that circled in my head like a caught song.
What do you want from the world?

I
SLEPT LATER
the next morning than I had since I could remember. When I woke, it was long past dawn, and the dreams I’d had tangled like briars in my head, dark and grasping: the mummy and the drawings on the cave ceiling; Bibi putting the bracelet in my hand; Junius saying,
Don’t let him come between us
; and,
Who are you who are you who are you?
I felt unsettled and peevish, and the darkness of the day did not help my mood. Fog hung close to the ground, pounded by a steady rain into a gray miasma, and everything else looked wet and black, the whole world closed in.

I rose, my body aching as if I’d twisted and tossed all night long. I dressed slowly, listening for any sound of life. No footsteps and no voices, and it was late enough that I knew Junius had probably already gone to Bruceport to pick up the canoe. He would have taken Lord Tom with him, and Daniel too, I hoped. I was undoubtedly alone, but still I left my room with a sense of anxiety. Daniel’s door was open; when I peeked inside, it was to see the bed made and no sign of him. Downstairs, there was no sign of anyone. There were no boots by the door but mine, and coats and hats were gone. It wasn’t until then that I allowed
myself to relax. The day was my own, and I knew exactly what I would do with it.

There was cream to be churned into butter, and clothes to wash and mend, lamp chimneys to clean, and floors to sweep, but I did none of those things. I grabbed my notebook and my pencil and I went outside. My thoughts were tangled and distressing; I needed something to focus on. I needed her.

I glanced toward the shore as I came off the porch. The plunger was gone, as I’d expected, the canoe left behind—and I stopped, frowning. It wasn’t upended as it usually was to keep the water out. It looked as if Junius had thought to take it and changed his mind. Odd that he hadn’t turned it over again, especially in the rain. I should turn it. But I was too impatient; Junius had left it that way, he could tend to it when it was full of rain and heavy. I hurried down the stairs and across the yard to the barn, stepping inside.

And I stopped again, because there was Daniel, bending over the mummy’s trunk.

“What are you doing?” I asked—too sharply, startled and a little panicked, Junius’s words flooding back:
I think it’s best if we never leave him alone with the mummy.

Daniel jerked as if I’d surprised him. He looked over his shoulder and then he straightened slowly. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry. Why are you in here?”

“I thought I’d take a look at her,” he said, so smoothly. He pointed to a covered pail on the table. “I milked the cow, and then...I was curious.”

I was not soothed. I felt I’d caught him in a lie. “I thought you were going with Junius.”

“No. He and Lord Tom went to Bruceport to see the crazy widow. I didn’t want to go. He didn’t want me to come either, so it worked out for both of us.”

“You should have come to get me if you wanted to look at her. I’ve the key.”

“So I’ve discovered.” He smiled—again, that charm.

I felt it work me too. I thought of the cave, firelight molding his face. Determinedly, I pushed the thought away, remembering instead the story I’d told him, my suspicions, Bibi’s warnings about him and Junius’s. Coldly, I said, “I don’t want anyone but me alone with her.”

“I’ve offended you.” He stepped toward me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

“Well, I do.”

“I suppose I’d feel the same. You can’t want anyone interfering with your investigation.”

“Exactly.” Every word he said was the right one, disarming. There was no reason not to believe him. The pail was full of milk. He didn’t seem the least nervous or dodgy. But my suspicion lingered.
Be careful, Leonie.

Daniel reached into his pocket. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I was up early. I went for a walk along the beach. I found this.” He put his hand out, opening his fingers, setting on the makeshift table a piece of sea glass the color of the sky—that is, the color of the sky when one could see it. The color of Junius’s eyes. And Daniel’s too.

I wasn’t ready to be assuaged. I was not ready to believe him. “It’s very pretty,” I said reluctantly.

“Hmmm. You know, it’s quite beautiful here.”

“It’s pouring.”

“I don’t mind the rain. It’s peaceful.”

“How different you are from your father.”

“I don’t mind that either.” His voice was wry. “He doesn’t find this place peaceful?”

“Peaceful? I’d say not. I told you, he hates it. He’d rather leave.”

“But you won’t go. I remember that’s what you said. Why not?”

I shrugged. “I belong here.”

“Because of your father?”

“My father hated it too. He came for ethnology, but he was like Junius, always ready to be moving on. When I was a child, we moved constantly. He was always looking for new things to study, new things to collect.”

“That must have been hard for a young girl.”

“I don’t remember it being hard. I had Papa. It was just...just the two of us then, and that was all I needed. He was my teacher and my friend as well as a parent. I didn’t realize there was any other kind of life. Not until we came here and...and he became too ill to leave. Consumption. The weather was no good for him, but he hadn’t the strength to go. I was glad of it—oh, not that he was ill, but that we had to stay.” I thought of my father, bent over his notebooks in the room Daniel slept in now, the lamplight turning him golden as he wrote, unaware of my watching. How much I’d loved him. “He never understood.”

“Never understood what?”

I blinked away the memory. “That I loved it here.”

“Or maybe he understood, but he didn’t like it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s beautiful, but it’s hard,” Daniel said. “Especially for a woman. What man would wish his daughter into such a hard life?”

“He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. To be an ethnologist.”

“That’s different than wading around in freezing water and mud all day. He can’t have liked you oystering.”

“No, but—”

“Did your father ever see you dance?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then this life isn’t what he wanted for you.”

I turned to him, bemused. “How can you say that? You never knew him.”