Wild Flower (24 page)

We sang and sang, connected by the old melodies (even though I only knew the chorus of most of the songs), the fire a reflective central focus, its leaping orange light so conducive to speculation. I studied the flames, held close to Mathias, and again felt as though we were in another time. Mathias traced patterns on the backs of my hands with his thumbs, or softly stroked the length of my hair, hanging over my left shoulder, pressed warm kisses to the side of my forehead between songs. Clark joined us as the final chords of “Shenandoah” rippled away across the midnight landscape. The air was still and cold and Clark was carrying a small, yellowed envelope. Mathias and I leaned forward at once.

Clark hunkered down and said, “I found it.”

He handed it over and Mathias took the old envelope, soft and worn with time. There was a name scrawled on the back of it in faded ink:
Grantley W. Rawley
. I felt a jagged-edged jolt at the sight, taken back to the winter morning I had first found the picture of Malcolm and Aces, in the Davis trunk from our attic. Mathias slowly withdrew the telegram, which looked just like the one Bull had found for me back in Landon, and the urgent-looking words, all in capital letters in typeface from another century, stood out on the paper as though being shouted at us.

BACK BY SPRING THAW STOP NO ANSWERS STOP GOD HELP ME GRANT STOP REGARDS OLD FRIEND STOP MALCOLM A. CARTER

It was dated December 24, 1876. Tears had begun gushing down my cheeks without my realizing, and all of the boys were watching somberly, startled into complete silence. I didn't care if they thought I was insane as I said past the razor blade that had suddenly lodged in my throat, “Oh
Malcolm
. Oh, God…”

Mathias hugged me close. I couldn't stop crying, even though everyone was staring at me with open stun on their faces. Clark reached and cupped my knee. He said, “What does this mean to you? Tell me. Please, I must know.”

“We hardly know most of it,” Mathias said softly, as I buried my face in both hands. He went on, “We have a letter and another telegram, back home, along with a photograph. My relatives in Bozeman have a few more letters, which we're on the way to pick up. But what we've pieced together is that Malcolm was searching for a woman, a woman named –”

“Cora,” I said, my voice rasping.

Garth moved so swiftly around the fire at my response that he seemed like a ghost. He crouched at our knees, staring intently at me. He asked in a low voice, “Was she in the photo you found? Do you know what she looked like?”

“No,” I whispered painfully.

Garth closed his eyes and said, “When I was a little boy, I used to dream about a girl named Cora. Dad, you remember?”

Clark nodded. “Used to scare you to pieces. Your ma and I were at our wits' end.”

“What did you dream?” I demanded in a whisper, scrubbing tears from my cheeks.

Still with his eyes closed, Garth said, “Her eyes scared me to the bone. She would flicker at the foot of my bed and all I could see were her eyes, two different colors, like a witch maybe. One green and one—”

“Black,” I whispered.

Garth's eyes flew wide open and he stared at me without speaking. Then he nodded.

“Oh God, I saw her just last night,” I said.

“She wants us to find her,” Mathias said, just as intensely. “But we don't know…we don't have any idea where to start.”

“Did she ever tell you anything else?” I asked Garth.

“She just appeared. I was so young and it scared me so much. Shit, I haven't thought of her in a long time, to be honest,” he said. “Once she seemed to be crying. I thought I was batshit crazy. She never even told me her name, I just knew it.”

“Are you magic?” the littlest Rawley brother asked me. There was a certain amount of awe in his tone.

“Can we contact her somehow?” Case asked, sounding coherent even though he seemed to be having some trouble fully focusing his bleary eyes.

“I wish I was magic enough to find her,” I said.

“So by late 1876 Malcolm was back in Minnesota,” Mathias noted, reexamining the telegram. “But your relative, this Grantley, was out here.”

“How did they know each other?” Garth wondered. “How were they connected?”

“Dad, don't we have that whole trunk of stuff?” Marshall asked, his fingers drumming along the arms of his lawn chair.

Clark sighed a little and said, “Most of those things were divided up when Dad passed two years back. I wish I had saved more. I don't recall any additional communications, I swear. There were a couple of tintypes, clothes and quilts, a census report from 1895, but not much else that would help us now.”

“This is the most exciting night we've had in a long time,” reflected one of the Rawley boys, possibly Quinn.

“Are you all right now, ma'am?” asked the little one, Wy.

“Yes,” I assured him, offering a small smile.

“We'll help,” said another. “What can we do, Garth?”

Garth leaned and ruffled his brother's hair. He said, “I wish I had a plan.” And then to Mathias, “So our ancestors were old friends.”

“That's a pretty big damn coincidence,” Mathias said.

“I told you I thought I knew you,” Garth said.

“We never woulda even met if I hadn't hit Camille in the head with my guitar,” Case said. “It was meant to be. Shit, you guys.”

“It's late,” Clark reflected. “I'll see what I can find in the morning, but I suggest we all turn in for now. What do you say, boys?”

“Do you and your brother live here too?” I asked Case in the bustle of everyone heading inside.

“We stay here a lot,” he said. “Me and the kid here.”

“Is your family near here?” I asked.

Case shifted as though uncomfortable and said, “Something like that.”

We bid everyone good-night; only Garth remained around the fire, almost motionless, staring into the flames. At the foot of the stairs, Clark kissed my hand and said, “It's been a darn long time since I've had a woman to cook breakfast for. I'll spoil you, doll, you just wait.”

Minutes later Mathias and I were snuggled beneath the black bear-patterned covers in the guest room; he was blissfully naked and warm, while I was wearing an old t-shirt of his, slightly hesitant to sleep in the nude in a full house not our own. Mathias rolled to one elbow and regarded me in the moonlight spilling over us from the tall, rectangular window to the right of the bed. I shifted instantly closer to him, hooking my left leg over his hip. The telegram was on the night table beside our bed, within arm's reach.

“It was such an amazing evening,” he whispered, stroking his fingers over the side of my face. “But that telegram about breaks my heart.”

Tears stung my eyes again and I tightened my hold on him.

“My beautiful woman,” he said. “You're so beautiful. If you could only see the way your eyes look in the moonlight. Don't cry, honey, that truly breaks my heart.”

I gulped a little and he gently wiped tears from my cheek. I whispered, “I can't bear to think about him hurting and alone, without her. He obviously loved her, Thias, and somehow they got separated. How? What happened?”

“I wish I knew, love,” he whispered. “Come here, let me hold you.” He cradled me, my cheek upon his heartbeat, stroking my hair until I had calmed. He murmured, “It's so wild that Malcolm knew the Rawleys. Their family, anyway. Talk about crazy.”

“Thias,” I whispered back, as close to content as I could be with all of the things that had happened this evening swirling around my mind. “You make everywhere home. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do,” he whispered, cupping the back of my head before resuming stroking my hair.

My eyes drifted closed as I whispered, “I mean, wherever we are, I feel like I'm home. If I can smell your neck, that is.”

His chest bounced with a quiet laugh and he whispered, “If I can smell your hair and your breath, then I know I'm home. And feel you beside me. That was so hard last winter before we lived together, to go back to the apartment with Skid and think about you in a bed without me near you.”

I nodded agreement, kissing his bare chest, my eyes still closed.

“That night we watched the aurora for the first time last winter, I wanted to ask you to marry me right then,” he said softly. “But I didn't want to scare you off.”

“I would have said ‘yes,'” I whispered. “I would have in a second.”

“We'll have to invite these guys to the wedding,” he murmured against my hair.

Again I nodded in affirmation, and he kissed my forehead.

“Sleep, love,” he said. “I'll be right here.”

Right here…

I want you to wait right here, do you hear me? I'll be back by dawn's light, I swear to you.

I knew that voice to the very bottom of my soul. Everything within me strained frantically towards the sound of it, just beyond my reach.

Let me come with you, oh God, let me come with you. I won't slow you down.

His eyes. The desperate concern there stabbed a hole right into my gut. I could feel the scar along my ribs burning.

It's too dangerous. I will not put you in danger. Do you hear me?

Don't go without me. Please, I beg of you.

I love you with all of my heart. I couldn't live if something happened to you that I could prevent. Do you hear me?

Desperation sucked all breath from my lungs, clouded the air about our heads, the sickening tension of an impossible decision. From behind him, in the darkness of the night, another voice called intently,
Carter! We'll lose them!

Crow, please. Oh God, please. I love you too. You're mine. Don't go from me.

There is no other choice.

There's always another choice!

Not this time
, and his voice was broken with emotion.
It will be all right, love. It will. I will come back for you. I swear I will come back here for you.

I drifted then, like a small and vulnerable boat that had listed inadvertently out to sea, like a cork on the waves, swept along in a tide not of my own making. Hovering just above a scene that my entire soul ripped itself inside-out to avoid witnessing. A shrieking from my throat, a soundless shrieking that hollowed out my being.

He had come back, he had come back for me but I was not there. The remnants of the fire, still smoldering. Too late. Trampled grass, tracks leading south and east. And his agony as a punishment I would bear forever. Agony never extinguished.

Don't you see?

Don't you understand?

My own voice then, calling through a long corridor of time to her,
Tell me, Cora, please, I beg of you. Where are you? What happened?

What happened?

I sensed I was on the edge of wakefulness and struggled away from it, desperate to hear her response. She was hardly a whisper now, faint as the smoke from a campfire in the distance. But she breathed,
Close. So close
.

And I woke to the scent of the bitterroot blossoms that grew in profusion out there in the foothills.

By morning's light our bedroom was aglow with a rosy dawn. Justin was still snoring, would probably be a little late for work today, as we'd made love most of the night. I smiled at the remembrance, moving to kiss the back of his neck as he slept nearly face-down on the pillow, as was his habit. I could hear Clint rattling around the kitchen and snuggled my cheek into my own pillow. I dozed for another half hour before Justin roused and gathered me into his arms, kissing my neck, his stubbly jaw making me shiver.

“Morning, baby,” he said, planting a soft kiss on my ear and then straying beneath the covers to kiss my belly. “And morning to this baby, too.”

I still hadn't managed to drag myself from the soft warmth of the bed by the time Justin left for work. I knew I had to get up and go get Rae at Mom's, but the bed felt so good, and my limbs were pleasantly sore from being wrapped around my husband; he had been sporting a very large hickey on the side of his neck this morning, but his hair covered it for the most part, and I smiled at the thought.

“Mom, I'm heading out!” Clint called from the kitchen.

“Have a good day, sweetie!” I called back, and resolved to haul myself to the shower. It was just as my feet touched the soft, wooly area rug beside the bed that I saw it, and everything within me went still and cold.

A lake rock, round and gray, very similar to the one that I had tossed with all my strength into the woods yesterday evening, was centered on my nightstand.

Oh God, oh my God.

He's been here again.

When? How? Last night?

Oh God, Clint was here alone, before we got back.

This can't be happening.

I forced myself to draw a breath and then another, pressing both palms to my face.

Think, Jillian.

There's got to be a reasonable explanation for all of this.

It's a fucking rock. Probably Rae was playing with it and left it there.

But what if…

Oh God, what if…

I dressed without showering, in too much distress to do anything but be near my family. I knew I had to tell Mom and Aunt Ellen, I knew I should call Justin right away. But there was a part of me that felt so foolish, so ridiculous for even thinking that a rock had some ulterior meaning. I felt nuts. I had always possessed an overactive imagination. I could just hear Mom now, reminding me of this fact.

But you're not imagining Zack's behavior. He's been way out of line numerous times now.

But to the point where he's invading your home? That's way beyond serious. That's a fucking criminal act.

The sun was warm on my shoulders, the day bright and beautiful all around me as I walked through the woods; it was one of those rare July days when the air wasn't drenched with humidity. I got to Shore Leave just as Clint was leaving for work, and he waved out the window of my car, which he was borrowing again. Inside, Mom and Aunt Ellen had served Rae breakfast at the counter. Her golden hair was tied into two ponytails and she was coloring with a box of crayons.

“Hi, stink bug,” I told her, catching her close for a hug. “I love you.”

“Hi, Mama!” she chirped. “Daddy was here too, Mama!”

“Jilly, join me outside for a minute,” Mom said then, while Aunt Ellen took a seat near Rae. Mom had a tone in her voice that I didn't recognize and I followed her out onto the porch, where she led me around the far side, as though to make sure that Rae was not able to hear a word.

“Mom, what's –”

“Why in God's name didn't you tell me that this Zack Dixon has been making inappropriate comments to you?” Mom's golden-green eyes were snapping with concern. As was her habit when flustered or upset, she clutched her long braid and drew it over one shoulder, twisting it in her hand. Before I could respond, she went on, “Justin was just here, adamant that we not allow him back on the property. I've never seen him look quite so threatening. He said to call him if Zack showed up here again, and that he'd deal with him. And then he told me how this young man treated you last night. And the things he's said to you.” Mom was rattling through her words, clearly in distress.

“Mom,” I began.

“Don't ‘Mom' me in that tone, Jillian. I'm so upset that you didn't tell me what's been happening. Why didn't you? I would have told him exactly where he could go, and how to get there!”

Tell her about the rocks, the underwear. God, tell her right now.

But in the end I couldn't manage to vocalize my thoughts, still embarrassed at the absurdity of it. Instead I said honestly, “I'm glad Justin told you. But I don't want him getting in a fight, Mom. I really don't. I would be horrified if that happened.”

“Well there's lots worse things!” she said, and then pulled me into a hug, rubbing my back vigorously with both hands. She said, “You're so little and sweet, honey, I worry about you. And you're pregnant. We all feel so protective of you, you know.”

And here I'd always thought my family considered me pretty tough. Yes, I was the littlest, but I could deal with things. I could hold my own.

“I called the college in Moorhead and left a message with the director of graduate studies,” Mom said. “I asked him to call me back as soon as he could. I also informed him that one of his students is a son of a bitch and needs to be reprimanded!”

At her heartfelt words I smiled a little. I knew she would have phrased it just that way too, with no compunction. I said, “Mom, I'm all right. But thank you.”

Mom said then, gently, “Dodge called this morning to say that Aubrey's car is done. She'll be leaving town tomorrow.”

I said quietly, “Thanks for letting me know.”

She kissed my forehead.

As it was Thursday, I worked lunch. Ruthie came over with Jo and Blythe, to watch Millie and Rae; Matthew was home with Blythe's mom. Just before it started to get busy, Justin called to tell me that he and Dodge were driving over to Rose Lake to check out a boat that Dodge had been eyeing in the classified ads, and wouldn't be back until late afternoon.

“Thank you for telling Mom about everything,” I told my husband, balancing my cell phone between my ear and my shoulder as I wiped down a table. “I'm glad she knows. I wasn't sure how to tell her.”

“Jillian. Woman. I would do anything for you,” he said back. “I told Joan in no uncertain terms what to do. She was pretty upset.”

“Yeah, I heard all about it, believe me,” I said. And then, softer, “I'm all right.”

“I still worry about you,” he said, just as softly. “You are more precious to me than anything in this world. You and our kids.”

“Hurry home to me,” I told him. “I already miss you today.”

“I will, baby. See you later,” Justin said.

***

“Noah's out on the dock,”
Jo said to me after lunch rush. We were rolling silverware on the porch, enjoying the sun, and I looked up in surprise to see my sister gazing over my shoulder. She said, “I wonder if he tried to call and I didn't get it. Camille didn't know if he planned to see Millie this week or not.”

I craned my neck to see Noah sitting on the glider, his forearms braced over his thighs, staring out towards the far side of Flickertail. He was very still. It didn't take a genius to observe the sadness that hovered about him. Though I was still struggling to accept that my Notions seemed out of reach for now, that my awareness had altered (I prayed temporarily), I understood that Noah needed help.

“Do you think that he would resent it if I tried to talk to him?” Jo asked, her hands unmoving as she watched her granddaughter's father. We were talking as though everything between us was peachy, which it was not; Jo was still upset with me and had purposely only spoken to me with small talk, the kind normally reserved for strangers. She was doing this to communicate that I had hurt her feelings, I knew. This question was the first all day that reflected our usual way of conversing.

“I will,” I said, on sudden inspiration. “He doesn't know me very well, but maybe that's a good thing. And that way Camille won't be upset with you for doing something like butting in where you maybe shouldn't.”

Jo sighed a little, knowing I was right. She muttered, “Well, there's no time like the present. I'll finish up here.”

I pushed back my chair and stood, retying my ponytail on the way down to the lake. The parking lot was emptying of customer cars, but I noticed Noah's beneath the lone street light. He must have been deep in thought, because he startled almost comically as I walked along the dock boards. Though my footfalls were nearly silent, as I was wearing tennis shoes, the dock trembled in the wake of my passage along it, alerting Noah that someone was joining him, whether he liked it or not.

“Hi,” he said, clearly flustered, sitting straight as I stopped near him.

“Hi, Noah,” I said quietly. “May I join you for a minute?”

“Sure,” he said distractedly. Then, in a rush, “I'm sorry. I didn't ask to sit out here, I hope that's all right.”

“Of course it is,” I assured him, sitting on the opposite end of the glider and following his gaze out across the mid-afternoon lake, gorgeous in the sunlight. Motor boats whined in the distance, kids on jet skis cut paths on its surface. The water rippled in blues and golds, lapping the moorings of the dock with tiny breakers. I could tell the poor guy was uncomfortable as hell, so I went on, “No one cares if you sit out here. I just thought you looked kind-of down.” And then carefully, “You maybe want to talk?”

He turned his head to look at me, as though gauging my sincerity. Sounding exhausted, he said honestly, “I don't know.”

I met his eyes and saw a staggering amount of defeat present there. It made my gut twist up; gone was the confident, even arrogant college student who had impregnated my niece three summers ago. Noah's eyes appeared old, and full of suffering. I quelled the instant maternal instinct to wrap him into a hug and pet his hair. Surely he would not welcome such a thing.

“Hey,” I said, and my concern leaked into my voice, I couldn't help this. “Can I help you? Is this about Millie Jo, or Camille?”

His jaw clenched inadvertently at my words, like someone trying to hold back a sob. He cleared his throat and said, “I fucked up so bad.” He sighed and then apologized at once, “I don't mean to swear.”

“It's all right,” I said. “Fucked up with Camille?”

He closed his eyes and nodded, and then his words came spilling, “She hates me. No, she doesn't even have that much feeling for me. She wishes I was just gone, I can tell. So that Carter can be Millie's dad without me in the picture.”

Shit
. He was more perceptive than I gave him credit for, and the longer I waited to respond the more he would know what he spoke was for the most part true. Camille did wish Mathias was Millie's dad, I knew well. Trying to sound as though I wasn't fumbling for words, I said, “Noah. Hey. Listen to me. No matter what, Millie is your daughter. And you have a choice. You can be a good, decent, loving dad to her even if you aren't with her mom. Camille won't stop you, that I do know. She wants Millie to know you. And it seems like you're trying more than you have in the past. That's a good thing. You understand?”

He cupped his head in his hands for a second before muttering, “Yeah.”

“Are you here to pick up Millie now?” I prodded.

He nodded again.

“What are you two going to do?” I pressed, truly concerned for him.

“She's coming for dinner at our place,” he said at last, drawing another deep breath. “She might spend the night, if it's all right with Joelle.” Noah looked over at me then and the sincerity in his eyes punched into my chest. He said, “I love my daughter. It took me awhile, I admit it. I was so scared. I didn't want to be a dad. But I love her now. I really do.”

“I know you do,” I told him, rubbing a hand vigorously over his back. I couldn't help it; I was too much a mother. “And that's what really matters, you know?”

He nodded, scraping a knuckle beneath his nose. He said hoarsely, “Thanks, Jillian.”

“If you need to talk, please feel free to find me. Anytime,” I said. “I mean that.”

Noah asked, “Is Millie over at Joan's house?”

“She is, with Ruthie. You want me to go get her?”

“No, I'll head over there.”

I hooked an elbow over the back edge of the glider, watching as he walked slowly up towards Shore Leave. I thought about what Joelle would say when I told her about this conversation; she was no longer at the porch table, had probably felt too much like she was spying when I came down here to talk with Noah. He disappeared around the far side of the café and I turned back towards the lake, processing what he had just told me. I thought I better call Camille and tell her about this, or at least tell her the minute she got home from their trip…she needed to know what Noah was feeling, even if she didn't want to hear it…

From across Flickertail I spotted an approaching canoe right then, small and green, and everything inside of me went on instant alert, snapping to furious attention. I hadn't noticed his car in the lot, but it had to be Zack. After all, we had been the ones to tell him that he could put in at our dock. The nerve of the asshole; after everything that had happened, he still dared to come near the café.

No longer though.

You aren't getting out of this one, fucker
, I thought, squaring my shoulders and throwing all of my anger into the air like a net meant to ensnare him. My heart battered my ribs like an overwrought drummer on a marimba. I could tell the instant he spied me, as he sat a little straighter and then angled the bow deliberately in my direction. Intently I watched him approach, hardly blinking.