Half Moon Lake

by Kirsten Alexander

  ‘Is the circus here?’ George asked.

  ‘Carousel,’ Paul said.

  ‘What wriggles on a carousel?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Are we going to the river? Are we going fishing?’

  George frowned at his brother. ‘You’re bad at this.’

  Mary worried that a basket of puppies might not be enough given their escalating expectations. She gave another clue to get them to the truth quickly. ‘They wriggle and squirm, and Sonny loves them.’

  ‘Them?’ George said. ‘I know what it is.’

  ‘Worms?’ Paul asked.

  George snorted.

  ‘It might be worms,’ Paul said indignantly. ‘It could be.’

  George and Paul groaned when the car stopped at the Heaton house. Granted, they weren’t totally sure where they were at first since they’d only been there on two occasions, but once their suspicions were confirmed the mood turned flat.

  ‘You won’t be sitting in a dull room listening to women’s talk, I promise you,’ Mary said. ‘What’s your guess, George?’

  ‘I think it’s animals. Kittens? Puppies!’

  ‘Yes, puppies! Won’t that be fun?’

  George and Paul clambered out and ran towards the front door, where Gladys stood on the porch. ‘Wait for your mother,’ Gladys said. ‘Mary, come quickly. You must see these adorable little bundles.’

  Mary looked back to the boy, who hadn’t moved from his seat. ‘Come along. This is for you most of all. You love puppies.’

  He shook his head briskly.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Come.’

  She stepped out of the car, then reached inside along the back seat and took the boy’s arm. He left the car, but stopped partway up the path and pulled back like a mule. Mary firmed her grip on his wrist. ‘Do behave, Sonny.’ As he yanked again, Mary’s shoe slid on the gravel.

  ‘Whatever is wrong with him?’ Gladys asked when they reached the porch.

  ‘Nothing. George, take your brother’s hand.’

  Gladys guided them into her living room, where a shallow, cushioned basket of puppies sat centre stage. Her housekeeper was kneeling down, cooing at the six wriggling pups.

  ‘Dalmatians.’ George knelt on the rug next to Paul.

  ‘Can we pick them up?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Of course you can,’ Gladys said. ‘And give one to me.’

  Gladys and Mary sat on the sofa with a puppy between them. Although it was amusing, with its teddy-bear eyes and comically big feet, Mary’s mood was dampened by the sight of the boy standing back near the door. What kind of child was frightened of puppies?

  ‘He’s forgotten. That’s what it is. His recollection held no other life.’ Mary stroked the puppy’s soft fur. ‘Have you read the Tarzan stories?’ She’d had no reason to see Tom McCabe in months, but suddenly felt an urgent desire to do so.

  Gladys sighed. Mary could be so dull. Perhaps she wouldn’t ask her to join her pinochle game on Thursday.

  ‘Why are you over there?’ Paul asked the boy. ‘They’re puppies. It doesn’t hurt. See.’ He pushed his finger in a puppy’s mouth.

  ‘How odd. You said he liked dogs. Oh, not again.’ Gladys told her housekeeper to deal with the yellow trail the puppy had made on the couch before fetching refreshments.

  ‘He does.’ Mary smiled to temper the brusqueness of her reply, watched the puppy as it waddled away from its mess, wagging its stubby tail.

  Having the boy stand in the doorway, unwilling to join in, made the gathering awkward. George and Paul grew bored of trying to persuade him and played with the puppies by themselves, with waning enthusiasm. Gladys’s housekeeper offered him cake and lemonade, but he refused to move from his spot.

  As Mary listened to Gladys complain about her mother’s latest bodily woe, and detail the tactics she used to feign listening when Ira insisted on discussing his business successes with her, she fought to keep her rising anger in check. Once again, the child felt out of her control.

  George walked to the doorway and spoke quietly to the boy. After a moment, George pulled a piece of paper and a crayon out of his shorts pocket and gave it to him. Paul, noticing they were up to something, joined them, and soon the three were sprawled on the floor, with the boy drawing and the other two watching and chattering to themselves. The puppies, now ignored, milled around their basket.

  ‘For goodness sake.’ Mary crossed the room. ‘What is this?’ She pointed at the boy’s drawing – the outline of a building, a stick-figure woman and a circle with a twirl attached to it – then reached down and took it from him.

  ‘Give it back,’ George said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Mary felt tears prick at her eyes. How had she become the outsider with her own children?

  ‘Is it a piglet?’ Paul asked the boy, who nodded. ‘He likes piglets.’

  ‘Piglets?’ This was too much. Mary decided now was the time to end the adventure.

  As they were leaving the room, a terrible howl travelled down the hallway towards them.

  ‘The mother,’ Gladys said. ‘We have to lock her away or she won’t let us play with the puppies.’

  ‘Can we take one home?’ Paul asked. ‘I’ll help him get used to it.’

  Though she couldn’t tell whether he meant he’d help the puppy or Sonny, Mary said no. She turned to Gladys. ‘You’ll let her go to her puppies once we leave, won’t you?’

  The mother dog howled anew.

  ‘Oh yes, I suppose they’re hungry.’ Gladys shrugged. ‘She’ll have to get used to it though. They’re being given away.’

  As they walked towards the car, George leaned close to whisper to the boy, out of Mary’s earshot, ‘Piglets live on farms. Are you from a farm?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Grace set foot on the outskirts of Opelousas on a misty December evening, raggedy, unwashed and exhausted. After a long journey, during which she’d eaten little, crept into barns at night to sleep on straw, pushed through ice-cold rain and cutting wind, finally Grace saw a sign that told her she’d reached the Opelousas city limits. She stopped at the first farm she came upon after that, intending to ask for water and a place to rinse her milk-soaked shirt and clean Lily’s red-spotted bottom. Seeing women’s undergarments strung on the clothesline suggested this might be a safe place.

  The stout, grey-haired woman who opened the farm door eyed Grace up and down and, ignoring her words, led her past a row of lined-up boots into a bright kitchen where a man and young woman sat at a wooden table.

  ‘I’m Mrs Penny – that’s Mr Penny, but you’ll call him Farmer Penny because everyone does, and that’s Anna Beth, our oldest.’ The woman regarded Grace, hands on her hips. ‘White as a sheet, though you’ve clearly been in the sun. You’ll need broth.’

  Anna Beth pulled out a chair for Grace. ‘A girl? When was she born?’

  ‘August twenty-second.’

  ‘Oh, on the cusp. Leo–Virgo. It’s hard to be certain which way she’ll lean – fierce and passionate, kind, loyal if she’s strong in Leo, or sincere, hardworking and generous if Virgo dominates. Either way, she’ll be strong. People won’t want to cross her when she’s older.’ She smiled. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Do you know your birthdate?’

  Grace shook her head in apology. ‘The nuns didn’t celebrate birthdays.’

  ‘Enough, Anna Beth,’ Mrs Penny said. ‘Make some coffee.’

  ‘Where have you come from, then?’ Farmer Penny asked. Grace was surprised to hear a man speak so softly.

  ‘Give her to me.’ Mrs Penny lifted Lily out of Grace’s arms. ‘Oh, she’s a dear thing. Isn’t she dear?’ Mrs Penny lifted the lid off her honey pot, dipped in her little finger and popped it in the baby’s mouth.

  Farmer Penny smiled at his wife. Without warning, that simple act of affection, in a warm room with people who were unburdened and comfortable, made Grace feel a wave of exhaustion. Her shoulders dropped and her body sank into the cush
ioned chair. None of which went unnoticed.

  Talking over Grace’s objections, Mrs Penny told Anna Beth to give Adam’s old room a quick once-over and put another quilt on the bed. Anna Beth handed Grace a mug of fresh coffee. ‘I’ll lay one of my nightgowns out for you.’

  ‘And I’ll pour you a warm bath,’ Farmer Penny said as he stood up. ‘Plenty of time for talking tomorrow.’

  It was more care than Grace had received since she was a child herself and though she insisted none of it was necessary, she could tell she’d lost control the moment she’d crossed the Penny threshold. Alone with Mrs Penny, Grace explained where she’d come from and why.

  ‘And though I appreciate your kindness, I’ll –’ She stopped. It was late now. If she didn’t sleep here in this lovely house, in a bed, where would she go?

  ‘You’ll wash and sleep is what you’ll do. Once you show your face in town you’ll be set upon like fresh meat. You’ll need your strength.’ Holding Lily against her with one arm, Mrs Penny dug about in her pantry.

  ‘Because Gideon was arrested? But once I explain I asked him to travel with Ned, he’ll be freed and we can go on our way. I don’t think I’ll be of interest to anybody once I speak.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple, dear.’ She stopped her rummaging. ‘Some jambalaya tomorrow, I think.’

  Though Grace tried to pry more information from Mrs Penny, the conversation stopped there.

  Once Grace and Lily had been fed, bathed and dressed for bed, Mrs Penny insisted they lie down. She tucked them between crisp sheets and thick wool blankets, then sat on the edge of the bed. ‘This was my son Adam’s room. Patrick, too, for a while.’ A round-faced ginger cat padded into the room and leapt onto the bed. ‘Mr Miggs will keep you company for the night. Don’t worry about him around your babe. He’s used to being grabbed and prodded by our grandchildren. Never shows a claw.’

  As Mrs Penny spoke, the purring cat kneaded, circled and lay down near Grace’s feet. Grace thought that if Ned were with her, she’d never want to leave this room. She stayed awake long enough to watch Mrs Penny walk to the doorway, but fell asleep without hearing her parting words.

  In the morning, Grace sat at the kitchen table once again with the three Pennys. By the time she’d fed Lily and wrapped Anna Beth’s dressing-gown around her, Farmer Penny had already lit a fire in the potbelly stove, fed the cows, goats, pigs and hens, and helped Anna Beth with the milking. Mrs Penny had made a breakfast of eggs with creamed spinach and bread, and now, having placed Lily in a cot made from a wooden fruit box and soft blankets, she watched Grace eat while she folded laundry. A bowl of clementines sat in the centre of the table, and Mr Miggs was curled up in front of the stove. Through the kitchen window, Grace saw a grove of willow trees fringing a pond, a scattering of black-and-white cows, a piebald horse, a sapphire sky.

  But the pleasure Grace felt in the presence of this comforting domesticity and bucolic landscape disappeared once Farmer and Mrs Penny explained the situation.

  ‘Another woman claimed Ned? But why? Is she barren, mad?’

  ‘Neither, I don’t think,’ said Farmer Penny. ‘But she’s rich. And she says the boy is hers. They lost one of their own, you see.’

  ‘Then I need to speak with her right away.’

  Mrs Penny smoothed the pile of folded pillowcases on the table in front of her. ‘Dear girl, the Davenports aren’t going to give over a boy they’ve said is theirs. They don’t know you, don’t know us. They’re about to go to court and say Gideon Wolf stole him.’ She rested one hand on the folded clothes. ‘You are sure this child is yours, aren’t you?’

  Grace flushed red. ‘Of course I am. Ned only needs to see me and it will be obvious I’m his mother. If we could go now –’

  ‘Sit, sit.’ Mrs Penny turned to her husband. ‘We need to take her to the sheriff.’

  ‘No, I need to go to Ned. Please, take me to the woman’s house.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be let past the front gate,’ Farmer Penny said. ‘Or granted entry through the back door. I’m not sure we’ve been clear about the type of people you’re up against.’

  There was no question, however, that Grace should tell her story. So Farmer and Mrs Penny drove Grace and baby Lily past fallow fields, over a rattling bridge, beside a winding river, into the town centre of Opelousas.

  Sheriff Sherman placed his coffee mug near a neat stack of papers and assessed the group seated stiffly in front of his desk.

  ‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Mill. I’ve been looking for you high and low.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Just got back from the Cavetts’ farm. That’s an awful long way for you to travel.’

  ‘I’d go any distance to fetch Ned. I set out as soon as I heard Mr Wolf had been jailed.’

  The sheriff rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip. ‘And when was that? Could you tell me again.’ He took in the heart-shaped face, apple-red cheeks and sparkling green eyes that showed undisguised concern and bafflement. She’d been dressed by Mrs Penny, he could tell, in clothes too big for her but pressed smooth as her pulled-back hair.

  ‘May I see my boy now, sir? Please.’

  ‘He’ll be missing her something fierce,’ Mrs Penny said. ‘And she’s very loving to her baby, a good mother.’

  Farmer Penny tapped his wife on the arm, worried they were defending Grace from criticisms the sheriff hadn’t levelled.

  The sheriff stared at Grace. ‘Miss Mill, why exactly did you give the boy over to a tramp? Seems a strange thing to do if he means as much as you say.’

  ‘I thought that with a baby and my duties I mightn’t manage. And the Cavetts made it clear –’

  ‘You don’t need to explain the Cavetts to me. But I’m stumped about why you’d part with a boy the Davenports say is no trouble, gentle and docile. Wouldn’t he have been of use to you?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t describe Ned as docile. That’s an unlikely … And the Cavetts fight, so terribly.’

  ‘Have they ever harmed you or the boy?’

  Grace shook her head.

  ‘Miss Mill, I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand any of this.’ He paused. ‘He was your boy, wasn’t he? The boy at the Cavetts’.’

  Grace reeled at the question. ‘Yes. Why are you all asking me that? He’s my flesh and blood.’

  ‘Well, you understand it’s a problem to have so many people claiming that. I think it’s best for you folks to go back home. I’ll speak with Mr Davenport and we’ll arrange a time that suits them to show the boy. I suppose the judge will delay the trial. Testing folks’ patience as it is, but –’

  ‘Show him?’

  ‘With respect, Miss Mill, I’ve heard several stories and they don’t line up. There’s a man locked away here who’s –’

  Grace leapt up. ‘Gideon’s here? Right here? Then that’s the answer. Take me to him and he’ll –’

  ‘Oh no. The judge would throw the case out and the Davenports would have my badge if I let you talk to the accused childnapper. We can’t have you two comparing notes. I mean it, Miss Mill, you can’t go back there – Mr Penny, I’m going to have to ask you to take Miss Mill home. I’ll call on you soon.’

  Farmer and Mrs Penny restrained Grace, urging her not to make a scene that would reflect badly on her, but Grace shouted out to Gideon. She kept shouting his name until they’d hoisted her back up into the carriage, but there was no reply.

  Grace was fretful on the way back to the farm, and couldn’t relax once they got there. ‘But when will I see Ned, do you think? Tomorrow?’

  Farmer Penny tended to the animals’ needs and chopped wood. Anna Beth worked in the vegetable patch. And Mrs Penny, having put Lily down to sleep, told Grace that if she was going to stomp about she might as well have a broom in her hands. ‘I’d rather you slept, but it seems you have too much energy to spend.’ While Mrs Penny peeled yams, Grace swept the floor with a gusto the farmer’s wife found alarming.

  John Henry pa
ced back and forth in front of Judge Roy’s impressive wall of books until the judge, seated at his desk, asked him to stop. ‘I understand you don’t want a spectacle – that is it, isn’t it? The potential for this viewing to become some sort of show?’

  John Henry swivelled to face him. ‘It’s insulting.’

  ‘Well, you might see it that way, but on paper it’s reasonable of her to want to see the child. And a necessary step for the jury to rule out –’

  ‘Surely the act of ruling it out means we’re taking this woman’s claim of maternity seriously. How can we be seen doing that?’

  ‘John, we must let Grace Mill clap eyes on Sonny in front of witnesses so we can put that part of the case to rest. The question is how to do it with as little fuss as possible. In chambers, with –’

  ‘In my home, I beg you.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And who must be present at this performance?’

  The judge considered. ‘We can legitimately claim this is part of the trial, so I decide who’s in the room. You, me, Grace Mill, your lawyer, Wolf’s lawyer. That’s all I’d say are necessary. Then –’

  ‘Then no more. Not Mary.’

  ‘This is a formality to close off a line of argument. There’s no need for Mary to be in the room.’

  ‘The problem is –’ John Henry paused. ‘She’s grown too attached to this boy.’ Was it possible for Judge Roy to understand the damage that losing a child twice over would do to his wife? The judge was older than John Henry by a half-dozen years, a widower who’d never had children, who seemed content for his whole life to revolve around his work. Even his home was a workplace: legal books lined the shelves, chairs were chosen for their suitability for reading rather than aesthetics or comfort for visitors, and John Henry had heard the servants ask the judge if he’d wanted his evening meal served in his library. There was no question Judge Roy had experience and knowledge, but did he know the heart of a mother? How much had King Solomon drawn his wisdom from seeing the bond between his many wives and their progeny? Could a man with no children rule so wisely?