Lilly wondered what she would do if he did. Would she try to rescue him? It was a terrible thing to contemplate, but she was beginning to hate this man. Lord forgive her, she’d never felt this way before. “Let’s pray for him,” she whispered back to Timmy.
“I ain’t in a praying mood,” Timmy muttered, picking at the dried blood on the knees of his pants.
They both kept quiet as the man started their way.
“Ladies first,” he said, handing the full jar to Lilly.
She drank gratefully, then held the jar to Timmy’s mouth.
“I ain’t drinking no skunk water,” Timmy said, turning his head away and slapping at a sweat bee in the crook of his sling.
Lilly’s arm jerked with his. Water splashed down her front. “Timmy, you need to drink.”
“Suit yourself,” the man said. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each slug as he drank from the mason jar. When he finished, he dashed the rest of the water out at Timmy’s feet. He tossed the jar back toward the well. It rolled next to the platform.
The man jerked the pistol at the door. “Inside.”
Lilly’s stomach sank. There was little hope that anyone would think to look for them inside the house. It would be so much better for them to stay on the road.
A dusky gloom greeted them beyond the door. An animal of some sort skittered away from the sudden burst of
light. Lilly’s whole body tensed, preparing for the flight she couldn’t take.
“It’s just a coon,” Timmy said. “He won’t bother us none.”
“Don’t try anything stupid,” the man said, pocketing his gun.
With swift movements he untied them. Blood rushed tingling into Lilly’s hand. She rubbed it vigorously, then started to take Timmy’s.
Suddenly the boy launched himself at the man, planting his head in the gunman’s midsection. A whoosh of air escaped the man’s lips as he doubled over.
Stunned, Lilly headed for the door, sure Timmy would follow. This was their chance to escape.
She stopped and whirled around at the sound of a slap. Timmy’s nose dripped blood. The gun was pointed at his head.
The man herded them down a short hall and kicked an interior door open. “In there,” he said.
Lilly went in first.
“Not you,” the man said, jerking Timmy backward. “I’ve got a special place for you.”
Armina’s pounding head
pulled her out of sleep. The clock on the dresser spoke of eight o’clock. Who lay abed until 8 a.m.? That sleeping draught Doc had insisted on giving her had turned her into a dull-witted sluggard. She wouldn’t take it again.
She poured water into a bowl from the Blue Willow pitcher on the washstand. Mazy had chided her for not wanting to avail herself of the fancy indoor outhouse at the end of the hall, but Armina couldn’t get used to it. She liked the old ways. She just couldn’t see having your water spigot right next to your commode. How’d the water keep from getting
all mixed up? Her half-moon toilet with its specific purpose seemed tidier to her.
Now Tillie Tippen, she had it right. Her outhouse had linoleum on the floor and a fancy basket for paper and rags right there on the bench between the two holes, and curtains
—lacy curtains on the door window.
Armina paused midsplash. Why would you want a window just there? But Tillie was such a busybody, Armina supposed she wouldn’t like a minute when she couldn’t see what everyone else was doing.
Armina felt bad for her mean thoughts of Tillie. The woman had been so good to her of late, sending food right to her door while she was laid up and offering to do her laundry for free. Thankfully, she’d had Hannah for that. Doc Lilly could take Hannah’s wages out of Armina’s own pay. A body didn’t want to get beholden to the largesse of others. Soon as Armina was fully well, she’d find some way to give back to Tillie. Maybe shuck a chair seat for her. If it happened to be Turnip’s chair, she’d weave a cocklebur in it. Armina tee-heed at the thought.
Mazy had draped the new red scarf on the corner of the mirror; just looking at it made Armina feel squeamish. Why couldn’t she remember where she’d found the baby? Doc Lilly had told her about the little thing she called Glory and how no one had claimed her. Armina felt awful over it, but for the life of her, she couldn’t make her ornery brain rewind. Doc said she shouldn’t push herself. She said it would all come back when Armina was ready.
She finished her ablutions and twisted her hair into a knot. She found a clean cotton shift in the wardrobe and her shoes sitting beside the bed. When she finished dressing, she hurried to the kitchen. Maybe there was still time to prepare Doc’s breakfast.
But no, there was Doc’s teacup on the drain board. Good gravy, Armina would be glad when she was up to taking care of things again. She could hear Mazy stirring in her room. She’d scramble a couple of eggs to share.
She set the skillet on the stove before fetching some milk from the icebox. Humph, the drain pan was overflowing. Wasn’t this Wednesday? She pulled the pan and emptied it in the sink. Usually she’d empty the icebox on Wednesday mornings and wipe everything down with baking soda, but there wasn’t time just now. Turnip Tippen would be by any minute with more ice. She’d need to tell him not to leave any at her own house. No sense wasting it. By next delivery date Ned would be home and everything would be back to normal.
Normal
—there was a good word. It sort of meant regular, like everybody else. Armina had never thought she’d be a regular person with a regular husband and a regular house. She’d grown up without a mother or a father, bouncing from one kin’s house to another, never being wanted. One of the aunts worked her like a mule and another watched every bite she ate like Armina’s hunger was her own hair shirt. And then Aunt Orie took her in and things got better.
When she and Ned married and moved to town, Armina
had been at a loss. She couldn’t find enough work to keep herself busy; her new little house practically cleaned itself, and idle wasn’t in her nature. She was that glad when she started running Doc’s house as well as her own. Then her need for busy was like a basket overflowing, just the way she liked it. Plus she liked having her own money. She wasn’t a handout sort of woman.
Good grief, speaking of . . . there was Turnip Tippen at the door. Why didn’t he barrel on in like he generally did, dripping ice water all over the floor?
“Morning, Armina,” he said, holding a big block of ice suspended from iron tongs. “Reckon you could get Kip to move?”
Kip was standing right outside the door, guarding something at his feet. “Looks like he’s caught something,” Armina said. “I hope it’s already dead. Let me get the broom.”
Turnip looked around the ice block. “He’s got a shoe
—just kick it outen the way.”
Turnip’s bossiness always made Armina’s blood boil. Maybe he could get by with that at home, but
—
Cold water dripped on Kip’s head. He shook it off like he’d just had a bath. Armina saw his catch
—it was Doc’s new canvas shoe. She picked it up and backed out of Turnip’s way. Kip wagged all over, whining and leaping up to rest his paws on Armina’s knees. Kip never acted like this. Something was bad wrong.
Armina hurried to Doc Lilly’s room and threw open the closet. Her shoes stood polished and waiting. All of them
—including the new Red Cross ankle boots. She checked by
the bed. There were her slippers peeking out from under the bedspread.
Kip barked and ran to the kitchen door. Maybe Doc was in the garden
—that wouldn’t be usual of a workday morning, but Armina prayed she was.
“Wait a second, Kipper. Let’s see if Doc’s satchel is gone.” Armina’s heart dropped. The table by the front door where Doc kept her kit was empty.
“There, got you all fixed up,” Turnip said, closing the door to the icebox. “You all right, Armina? You look like you seen a ghost.”
Mazy wandered into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
“Turnip, you need to take us back to town,” Armina said. “There’s something bad going on.”
“Wait,” Mazy said. “I have to get my hat.”
Armina was already out the door, shoe in hand. “We ain’t waiting. Get a move on, Turnip.”
Kip leaped down from the wagon before it was fully stopped in front of the clinic. Armina’s sense of alarm didn’t lessen when she saw the back door ajar. Doc was strict about not encouraging folks to think they could come in that way.
Hannah stuck her head out. “Where’s Dr. Still?”
Another wagon pulled up and Mrs. Blair stepped down. “Has anyone seen Timmy?” she asked.
Kip barked and growled and pulled another shoe from the tall grass beside the sidewalk. It was a match to the one Armina held.
Turnip took it from the dog’s mouth. “I’m going to fetch Sheriff Clay,” he said.
The room reeled with expectation. Hannah had made coffee and now Armina sat with her strong cup of joe trying to force herself to remember what had happened the day she found the baby. Chanis sat in a chair across from her, his knees nearly touching hers. Everyone else he’d ordered out.
Armina wished she had Kip at her side for a bit of comfort, but he’d taken off like Snyder’s hound as soon as she opened the kitchen door.
“It’s real important, Miz Armina,” the sheriff said. “I think whatever happened to you that day is connected to whatever has happened to Doc Still.”
The coffee cup jiggled against the saucer. Armina’s nerves were strung tight as catgut on a fiddle. The sheriff didn’t help
—he looked so starched and official, not at all like the boy who came calling on Mazy. Was he going to write her words down on that pad of paper in his hand? If he did, what would he do with them? She didn’t want to wind up some harebrained headline in the paper.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I was out looking for Doc? I can’t come up with anything else.”
The sheriff rubbed his jaw. “Don’t be afraid, Miz Armina. I’m just trying to sort things out. Why don’t you start at the beginning and say whatever comes to mind.”
Armina screwed up her face and closed her eyes tight. It
didn’t help
—her mind was blank as a blackboard on the first day of school.
Chanis patted her arm. For some reason that light touch made her want to cry. “It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t fret over it. You’ll make yourself sick again, and Doc will have my hide.”
His kindness washed over Armina. “Maybe
—could I talk to Hannah? Like as if we was setting on the porch?”
He went and got Hannah, then put their two chairs side by side facing away from Doc Lilly’s desk. “I’ll sit here behind you, if that’s all right, Miz Armina.” He took the desk chair. “Don’t pay me any mind.”
“Prime the pump, Hannah,” Armina said. “Ask me something.”
“Remember what a pretty day it was? We had just a little rain that morning. I ran outside to get in the wash, but the rain stopped before I took the first peg off.”
Armina rested her head against the chair back. Hannah’s soothing voice continued, carrying her back to the misplaced day.
“I recall it well because that night is when you took ill. I remember I was knitting a blanket for my sister’s baby. It was the prettiest soft blue.”
Armina’s hard brainpan split open like a black walnut, exposing the soft meat inside. “I woke up that morning thinking of blackberries.” She cracked her neck from side to side, releasing the strain. “I put on one of Ned’s work shirts and daubed kerosene around my ankles.” Her ankle itched.
She scratched it with the toe of her shoe. “Chiggers are bad around blackberry bushes.”
“They are that,” Hannah said.
“My walking stick and my berry bucket were in the cupboard. I noticed I needed some flour if I was going to make a cobbler. The berries from up on Tattler’s Branch make the best pies you ever tasted.”
The sheriff drew in his breath, distracting as a mosquito’s whine. But Hannah’s soft “Umm-hum” pulled Armina back into the story.
“It had been a long while since I’d been up Tattler’s Branch Road, but I went right to the footbridge and crossed to the other side. Those berries were fairly begging to be et.”
Armina swallowed hard. “Seems like I must have fell in those bushes because next thing I remember, I was kindly hidden among the leaves and brambles watching a man and woman sort of wrestling down the bank toward the creek. I can’t rightly say why this was so, but it seemed like everything was very still
—you know, like right before a big storm and even the birds stop their chatter? The air fairly shimmered with forewarning.” She rocked back and forth in the chair. Her head felt big as a balloon, like she might just rise up and bang against the ceiling. She clasped the chair arms tightly.
“Next thing I knowed, they was both in the water.” She covered her face with her hands. “The man had yellow hair
—long yellow hair tied back, and he had a rock
—a good-size rock. He raised his hand and the woman went under. That’s what I remember.”
“Terrible, terrible,” Hannah said.
The sheriff’s chair scraped against the floor. “You did good, Miz Armina.”
“I’m not finished,” she said.
He crouched before her at eye level. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“There was blood in the water and bloody tracks on the ground. I seen the man on a porch I reckon was at his house. He took a shovel and a pick and disappeared. I heard a pitiful mewling I knew for certain sure was a baby, so I crawled in the window and took the little thing. All whilst I was running back across the bridge over the creek, I could hear that pickax a-ringing on rock. I figured he was digging a grave.” Armina gasped. “What if he’s digging Doc’s grave right now?”
The sheriff handed her his pad of paper and the stub of a pencil. “Can you draw me a map of where you went, Miz Armina? Tattler’s Branch is just one mile short of being a river. Lots of folks live other side of it and most have bridges.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Armina said. “I’ll take you there.”
“Turnip can drive us in the wagon,” the sheriff said. “Miss Hannah, you come along.”
Half the town was milling around in the road outside the clinic. Mrs. Blair rushed the sheriff when they stepped outside. “Is Timmy with Doc Lilly?” she asked, panic rising in her voice. “Do you think that’s where he is? I know he gets into mischief sometimes, but he always comes straight home from the cream station. He hasn’t even had breakfast yet.”
“Now, Miz Blair, the boy’s probably funning around with some of his friends,” the sheriff said.
Armina didn’t think Chanis meant what he said
—he was just coddling the worried mother with words. His mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes had narrowed. The look on his face made her more scared than she already was. She felt like she had set something terrible in motion. But like Pandora and her box, it was too late now.
“You got to level with me,” she said as he helped her up to the wagon seat. “It’s bad, ain’t it?”
Mazy pulled on his arm, distracting him. “I want to go too, Chanis.”
“Now, Mazy, it would be best if you stay here.”
Tears spilled down Mazy’s cheeks.
Bless her heart,
Armina thought. Even scared half to death and with a straw bonnet hiding her curls, she was still pretty as a porcelain doll.
“But everyone else is coming,” Mazy said, “and she’s my sister.”
Armina looked in the wagon behind her. It was full of folks.
“Ever’body out!” the sheriff bellowed. “This is not a hayride.” Then he said again, “Now, Mazy. Someone needs to stay here in case Doc Still comes back. I’m just going to look around some. Miz Armina’s going to show me something that might be important. Miss Hannah’s going along in case Miz Armina takes ill. We’ll be back shortly.” With a look around at the crowd, he said, “If anybody saw anything the least bit interesting this morning, tell me now.”
Mrs. Hill raised her hand. “I’m feeling extra poorly, so I need to see the doctor first. I have a serious disorder, you know. It started in the spring of 1899. It was April 1. I remember because my cousin’s husband had a stroke that day . . . or was it my cousin who had the stroke?” she asked in her faltering way. “Well, it was April 1, 1899. I know that for a fact. I ain’t been the same since.” She pulled a long knit sweater tightly around her body though the day was already warm.