Indiana-Michigan Line, 1934
Ruth fanned herself in the late morning heat. Too many people were packed in her kitchen. Every single living relative was crammed in this oven—well, except Mother, always the odd man out. Heaven knows where she wandered off to. Even without her, a person could suffocate to death in here, as buried alive by chattering family as Mr. Poe’s black cat, bricked up inside a wall. Why did Margaret have to mention that story? Now Ruth kept picturing bricks being plunked down, the mortar oozing between them while she watched, bound like a mummy behind them.
For crying out loud. What is wrong with you?
She scowled up at Nick, loaded down like a pack mule with June’s luggage as he plodded up the stairs. Then she swung her frown back down at Richard, yammering at her with that big head of hair. He was saying something but all she could hear was what he’d said earlier. Encephalitis lethargica patients can attend to everything going on around them, even when seemingly asleep. They are fully awake.
She refocused in time to see that June and her ridiculous yellow suit were halfway down the hall to John’s bedroom.
“Hey!”
June stopped.
“Let me make sure that everything’s all right first.” Ruth could smell her sister’s expensive perfume when she squeezed past her.
Over the years, Ruth had gotten used to John sleeping in the background as she lived her life. Sure, Nick and she had talked outside John’s window, plenty of times. They had laughed. There was that time he’d picked her up and ran her kicking and squealing around the yard, after she had teased him.
And the time he’d lifted his shirt for her to scratch his back and he ended up taking it off.
And the time they had kissed under the clothesline, sheets billowing around them like angel wings.
And all those times that she had followed Nick to the barn.
Her tell-tale heart sunk like an anvil dumped into a lake.
She slowed her steps but it was a short hall. The posse arrived at the closed bedroom door before she was ready to deal with it.
She blocked the way in. “A big crowd might be too much for him.”
“I’m going in.” June shifted forward in her sunshine suit as if she might actually ram past her.
“Not without me you aren’t.”
“I won’t hurt him, Ruth.”
Anyone else would have thought that June’s sweet smile meant she was joking. Ruth knew better.
Maybe Ruth had hurt John. Maybe she had meant to. Maybe she was so furious at him for leaving her that she was punishing him. And maybe by punishing him, she was punishing her own guilty self. Because she loved him. Loved him more than she could bear. She had from the moment she’d first seen him.
She flung the door open.