| |
I desperately needed to think, and so with Papa offering to watch the children, I begged an hour to take a walk. Lack of sleep fogged my head as I dressed in my familiar pants and flannel shirt. I'd known babies needed constant feeding, after all women talk about those things, but rising at midnight and again at three had not been in my plans, nor had sharing my bed with Paula. I threw the rifle over my shoulder at the last minute. I never knew what I'd come across in the woods.
The morning sun streamed golden rays through the trees as I turned my steps west toward the lake. More than any other location, I always found peace there. The oak hammock gave way to towering pines, and my footsteps became crisp on the spongy needles lying underfoot.
Christmas was only a day away, and Christmas should be a joyous time for children, a time of laughter and gifts, a time to know how much their parents loved them. Yet these two had lost everything. When Paula grew up, what would she remember of her mama?
I treasured the memories of mine, but I'd spent eleven years with her. Poor little Paula only had five, and her brother, Joseph none at all.
A mother? How could I be a mother? I didn't feel like one, but Papa said time would change that. He and my brothers had sobered quickly when I told them of Gloria Pinser’s death.
But why kill her? She was the loveliest person, simply living her life for her children, trying to find happiness in the midst of all her sorrow. How unfair. She had nothing of value to steal, nothing anyone would want.
This thought bothered me, and the more I mulled it over, the more I became convinced the crime wasn't so random. First, the broken window of the store, and then murder? The timing of the two events seemed strange, and it came to me. With everyone concentrated on the crime at the store, no one would notice Mrs. Pinser.
The crisp morning air rose in wisps from the water of the lake. Seeking the stump of a fallen cypress as a stool, I stood the rifle against my thigh and focused on the view. A fat marsh hen waded by, her elongated toes giving good purchase on the shifting sand. A great gray heron outstretched his wings.
A steady crackling came to my ears. It was heavier than any animal or bird I knew of and rather uneven. Stomp. Scrape. Stomp. Scrape.
I flicked my gaze over my shoulder. "Who's there?" I called, and I gripped my rifle.
No one ever came here but me, but maybe something had happened with Paula or the baby. "Bri?" I called.
Silence. A chill crept up my spine. Someone watched me. I was sure of it. Standing tall, I lifted my rifle. "Come out whoever you are."
Arthur hugged the tree trunk, his leg aching. Walking this far pained it. Yet his discomfort receded quickly in light of his anger. Seeing her enter the woods had been sheer luck. He didn’t have to lure her out. And she was alone as well. His only trouble now was the rifle. He hadn’t counted on that.
He peeked around the tree, his pulse racing.
"Come out whoever you are," she called.
No, he wasn’t comin’ out. He’d be foolish to walk straight up to her. Better to wait until she moved back into the trees. She couldn't stand there forever. He turned around, leaning hard on the chunky pine bark.
Elias clenched his teeth at his Aunt’s wailing and sat up in bed. All night. She’d cried all night long. Shaking his head, he rose to his feet. Lying here longer was pointless. The early morning light pushed back the darkness in the house as he moved downstairs to the kitchen. Marta and Hans glanced up from the table.
"You too?" Marta asked, her eyes grainy. Hans gazed at the ceiling as if he could see through it.
Elias nodded.
"She has her moods, but I've never seen her like this," she continued.
Elias settled himself into a chair.
"I have."
All heads swiveled toward Hans. He worked his jaw for a moment and then took a deep breath. "You wouldn't remember." He looked at Marta. "It was when we lived in Jacksonville. A Swedish family lived next door. They had a daughter about age two. Well, the husband disappeared one month, and so Mama got it into her head that the lady should let her take the child. She'd almost convinced her too when the lady's husband showed up."
"Where’d he been?" Marta asked.
"I don't remember. Probably drunk. In any case, the woman kept her daughter, and Mama became inconsolable. She cried for days. That's why we moved here. Papa thought if we got her away from there, she'd get over it."
Elias nodded. "First time I met you both was after you moved. Your parents threw a huge house party. I barely remember it. However, I remember your mama acting strange. I also thought this house was too big."
Marta made a face. "It still is. Papa wanted to make mama happy."
They all three stared at the table, unspeaking.
Marta studied her empty cup. "You think she'd have done it?"
Hans raised his head. "Done what?"
"Taken that little girl away from her mother?"
He rubbed his forehead, and his hair stuck out on end. "I know she wanted to."
Silence descended between them until a distant wail made them jump. Marta massaged her temples. "You think she’d do ... anything?"
Hans sat back in his chair. "Where are you going with this?"
Elias studied Marta's face. Where was she going with it?
"Papa would do anything for her. He’s done things before. You just said so.” She waved her hands toward the house. “Remember her birthday?”
Hans’ expression took on a peculiar shape. "Yes. But Marta, Papa wouldn't kill Mrs. Pinser! That's ridiculous."
"He's ruthless,” she insisted. “He created those citrus groves by forcing the farmers from their homes and left all those families with nowhere to go. I remember askin’ him to do something to help them, but he refused. He said it didn’t matter."
"But murder, Marta?" Hans’ voice descended to a whisper.
Elias shifted his gaze from Marta’s face to the floor. Murder? Would his uncle stoop that low? To rob those children of their mother was unthinkable.
"Arthur.”
Elias jumped at Marta’s voice.
“Arthur?” Hans’ eyebrows rose.
Marta paled. “He ... he was here. Today.”
Hans sat forward in his chair. "Here? At this hour?"
"Before you came down, I heard Papa yellin’ at him,” she continued. “Papa sounded so angry.”
Hans shifted in his seat. "He works for Papa, and besides, you’ve never liked Arthur.”
Elias reached out a hand and laid it on her shoulder.
“What was he yellin’ about?” Hans asked.
She shook her head. “He kept sayin’, ‘That girl. That stupid girl has ruined everything.’”
Elias bit his lip. That girl? Angel. Angel has the children. But that made no sense. Even if what Marta said about her father was true, even if their mother had tried this before, why would Arthur care? His gut twisted, and he stood to his feet. “I’m goin’ to go see Angel,” he said.
He must be wrong. He had to be wrong. Yet he wouldn’t relax until he talked to her. “Mind if I borrow the wagon?”
Hans waved his hand, and Elias left the room.