Dale had the kids dress in meeting clothes, and then Mamie was there, driving the dirty white Volkswagen van.
“Well, here comes that commie piece of junk,” Jake said.
“I think I’d like to buy one,” Kyle said, and Jake leaned his chair forward, letting the legs touch the porch. Dale stopped, too, and Kyle nodded once, slow.
“Yep,” he said, “I’d buy me one of them vans and then take it out to the range and use it for target practice.”
Jake exploded with laughter and Dale nodded good-bye. The men watched her and the children climb into the van. Mamie waved and then pulled away, humming underneath her breath. She wore cutoffs and a T-shirt, her long brown hair piled on top of her head. Justy noticed that, dressed like she was, Mamie didn’t look too different from Sunshine.
“I’m so glad you decided to do this,” Mamie said. Dale looked out the van window to the valley, still trying to decide. The inside of the van was strange to Justy, with the curtains on the windows and the fuzzy seat covers. She didn’t know what Mamie was talking about, but she knew they weren’t going out in service and that it had something to do with the disappeared pennies. Ochre’s stone in her mouth tumbled and tumbled. The van puttered along, and Mamie guided it onto the freeway going south, toward her house. Micah seemed lost in the Bible in his lap, and although Lacee’s book, 1984, was open, she had an ear cocked toward the conversation between Dale and Mamie.
“I got such nice beans,” Mamie said. “I tasted one, and I have to tell you, they are just delicious.” She put a hand out toward Dale and then drew it back. Dale nodded and remained quiet. Justy closed her eyes to try and sense what was going on. She felt Jake rise from his chair on the porch and tell Kyle he’d be back in a little while. Justy felt Jake drawn to the plants growing in a circle, working their magic of root and sun, felt him climb into the Willys and drive to them.
“Did you get tomatoes?” Dale asked.
Mamie nodded vigorously. “Such good ones, too. You wouldn’t think so, it being early in the season, but I think they came from southern California.”
“Good,” Dale said as Mamie pulled off the freeway and moved the van up a dirt road. Justy thought about Los Angeles and how it was Jake’s birthplace. She barely remembered the trip they’d taken when Jake’s mother had died. What she could recall was miles of cars and houses stacked almost on top of one another. She had wanted to ask where the children played. At home she had a whole valley to explore, and when the house grew too small for the five bodies living in it, and when the storms between Jake and Dale flared, she only had to go outside to find herself.
The van bounced over the ruts and the curtains swayed. Within a few minutes, the home of the Harris family sprawled across their view. Justy knew it was huge, but not tidy and planned like Gaines’s place.
“This is a pretty big place,” Lacee said, leaning forward.
“Isn’t it wild?” Mamie said. “It used to be a stagecoach stop. That’s why it juts out like that.” She pointed to a stretch of building off to the left. Winding plants grew up the sides of the wooden house, and a pair of ducks dabbled in a tiny pond in the middle of the lawn. Off to the left, two pickups and a Volkswagen Beetle were parked, all of the vehicles rusted and missing at least one tire.
“All set?” Mamie turned to Dale and smiled. Dale nodded and they climbed out. Mamie led the way to the front door, but before she opened it, Dale cleared her throat. “Is Jeff here?”
“Oh no, he’s out doing some real estate stuff. Don’t worry, Dale.”
After taking off their shoes at Mamie’s request in a small outer room, they followed her through a large dining room and into an even larger kitchen. The house smelled of cumin and garlic. Large windows overlooked the front lawn, and Justy watched the ducks nibble at the air, collecting insects. A crystal dangled from a string above the sink, reminding Justy of the hippies at the Mountain Folk Festival. Two boxes of tomatoes and a crate of green beans sat on the floor. On the counter above the boxes sat the Folgers can, Justy stepped forward and saw that it was empty. Dale smiled at the boxes.
“Okay,” Mamie said, “let’s get cranking, shall we?” She moved her bare feet and long legs gracefully on the cool tiles of the floor, placing mason jars in the sink.
“Come here, Lacee,” Mamie said. Lacee set her book on the counter and pushed her hands into the sudsy sink water. Micah wiggled his hands and Mamie told him without looking that Caleb and Sky were out back, playing by the creek. Micah went out the door, leaving his shoes inside.
“Try to keep your meeting clothes clean,” Dale said, not seeming to notice that he was already gone. She stood watching Mamie, looking awkward in her thin yellow dress, feeling out of place in another woman’s kitchen. Mamie stopped her motion and re-coiled her hair into a bun. Dale studied her hands.
“Oh,” Mamie said, and moved to her and placed a long arm around her shoulders, guiding her to a counter. “Why don’t you get after those beans?” With her free hand, Mamie pulled out two metal bowls and a knife and handed them to Dale.
“Thanks,” Dale said, and set down the knife. She snapped off the ends. Mamie busied herself supervising Lacee, who seemed to be enjoying the warm water and suds. Justy didn’t know what to do, so she went into the living room. She had never seen a room so large in a house and tried to imagine tired passengers finding seats in the long room while they waited. It was dark, with only one tiny window. Large tapestries hung from the walls, full of scenes of people eating and drinking.
Justy felt drawn to the next room because it had more windows and was lighter. Another door stood at the opposite end, and she realized this had been the main entrance when the building was part of the stagecoach line. She wondered how Caleb and Sky felt about living in a place hundreds of people had passed through. And she wanted to know if the twins ever felt torn by the different directions of their parents. Though the children looked more like their father, they seemed to be following in Mamie’s spiritual footsteps. Maybe because Caleb and Sky had each other, they were able to keep their parents out, leaving room for Jehovah.
Justy moved to a window at the back end of the room and pulled the stone from her mouth. She knew Ochre saw the river when he woke. She stretched her tongue and watched the creek run down the hill. Its clear movement pulled at her, the same way Dale and Jake did. She looked for Micah and the twins and saw one red head bobbing fifty feet upstream. Across the creek a circle of tires sat, just like the ones Jake had put the plants inside. Chicken wire encircled each of Harris’s tires, and his plants stood about three feet tall. He must have planted much earlier than Jake. Harris probably had a greenhouse where he’d sown the seeds and grown the plants until the ground and the weather cooperated.
Justy put the stone back in her mouth and went outside. Her naked feet took her on a worn path around the house and down to the creek. She sat and listened to the sound of the water, trying to decipher the stream’s story. It told her of melting snow in the mountains, of rain falling from the sky, and it whispered about finally reaching the Pacific and joining all that wide water. Justy knew the way and let herself imagine again the bends and curves.
When she heard Micah call to Caleb, she stood. Two rocks jutted out of the creek and she stepped on them. She followed a less worn path up the hill to the circle of tires and stood in the middle of the growing plants, wondering whether they were changing the way people were living, how they regarded one another. The leaves curved away from the stalks, drawing her close. One leaf caressed her fingers, and the smell of tarweed filled her head. She let go, worried that the plant might make her act differently.
“Get away from there.” Caleb’s voice flew at Justy, and she turned toward the sound. She saw him standing with Sky and Micah on the other side of the creek, watching her.
“You move it, now.”
Justy had never heard Caleb speak so forcefully, and she autom
atically moved away from the circle, back toward the water.
“Dad told us not to go over there, that those plants were poisonous.” Caleb stood with his hands on his hips, and Justy could see how he was a smaller version of Harris, without the beard or the injured foot. Sky tossed her hair and placed her hands on her hips, too, as the three of them watched Justy. Micah smiled at her with a frown puzzling across his forehead.
“Why don’t you talk?” Sky said. Justy rolled the stone in her mouth and ignored the meanness in Sky’s voice. She noticed that the twins were dressed almost alike in short overalls, red shirts over their thin frames. She and Micah seemed out of place in their meeting clothes, stuff given to Dale from Mamie. Micah took a step back; Justy knew he didn’t want to gang up on her, but he did want to know why she didn’t talk. She used the rocks to cross the creek, her bare feet caressed by the cool water. Moving past the twins as if they weren’t there, she stopped in front of Micah. He patted Justy on the arm and she wanted to cry. His gentle touch felt like he was saying good-bye, and this didn’t make sense to her. She walked back around the house, keeping her ears open for the sound of approaching hooves. In the kitchen, the tile was cool under her feet. Lacee was still at the sink, but it was now full of tomatoes. Dale was filling mason jars with cooked green beans, and Mamie poured hot water over the ones Dale had filled. The air was humid, and sweat dotted the brows of both women.
“Oh, good,” Lacee said when she saw Justy. “You can do this.” Lacee pulled her hands from the water, a small paring knife in her hands. She showed Justy how to peel the skin from the boiled tomato, then watched Justy plunge her hands in, the knife in her fingers, Justy grabbed a slippery tomato and tried to pull the skin back with the blade.
“Make sure you don’t pierce the tomato. We want the seeds to stay inside.” Lacee nodded and turned to face Dale. “Mama?”
Justy felt Dale brace.
“When are you going to tell Dad about this?”
Mamie stopped pouring and shifted out of the room. Maybe that’s how she does it, thought Justy, maybe Mamie just slips away from the things she doesn’t want to know. Justy guessed there was plenty Mamie didn’t want to know about where their money came from. Dale cleared her throat and went on filling the jars with the beans.
“It’ll work out,” she said. Justy felt a surge of confused strength rise within Dale.
“When?” Lacee said, and Justy turned to look at her, admiring again how she was able to step into the silence and challenge it.
“This winter,” Dale said, “when we’re out of food again. I’ll just have these on hand and—”
“You’re going behind his back. He won’t like it,” Lacee said and walked out of the room. Dale wiped her brow and Justy felt her push away thoughts about winter. If the end came, Dale wouldn’t have to worry about feeding her family, wouldn’t have to even tell Jake about what she’d done with the pennies.
Mamie moved back into the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the tile. She began chatting about the upcoming Watchtower study, and Dale slipped with her from Lacee’s questions. Telling herself the story she needs to hear, Justy thought as she pulled away another piece of tomato skin. She thought about the night she’d fallen into the silence between Jake and Dale, when Jake had shot the doe and Justy had watched in the middle of the snowing night as the doe’s hide tore away from its body with those awful ripping sounds.
A tomato started to slide in her grip, and she slipped the tip of the knife into its body. Yellow seeds spilled out and floated on the surface of the water. She gripped the tomato tighter and began skinning it again, wondering how many secrets she could carry before she, too, split wide open.
Justy dreamt the river again, the water sliding beneath her and around her, the ocean approaching. She slipped out of her girl skin as the huge water grew near and a lightness wavered on the outskirts of her dream. Right when she tasted salt, the deer appeared again, and she fell out of the water into the sky. Part of her wondered if this was how a raindrop felt, separate and connected at the same time. She hovered above the ocean, which had changed into a stew of sorts, full of books and words and chunks of deer flesh and marijuana plants and raw mountains and skinned tomatoes. The doe moved from its steadfast place at the mouth of the river and jumped, joining Justy in the sky.
***
The phone woke her. Morning light peeked through the curtains and she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Micah and Lacee still slept. Jake answered the phone after the third ring. She sensed that Dale was working in the garden, readying the soil for the first batch of seeds. Jake spoke gruffly before hanging up. He stood, rubbing his jaw, watching Dale through the living room windows. Justy felt him curl his hands, felt his fists rising against the phone, the day, the world. She slipped from bed and stood in the doorway as Kyle emerged from the bathroom, freshly shaved and showered. He winked at her and went to stand beside Jake. They both watched Dale work the soil until Kyle finally spoke.
“What is it, son?”
Jake’s hands uncurled and he said, “Nothing.”
“You sure?”
Jake nodded and then his attention shifted. Justy felt a wave of panic rise within Dale. She moved to the window to watch Dale raise the shovel and drive it at the ground, again and again.
“I think that woman has lost her mind,” Jake said, watching Dale as if in a trance. Kyle ran out the door to Dale, who was still ramming the shovel into the soil. Justy and Jake watched Kyle place a hand on her arm and take the shovel from her. Dale’s breath galloped through her chest and she stared at the ground. Kyle gave her a one-armed hug and Dale tried to calm herself. Kyle reached down and lifted a headless snake, its body writhing even in death. Blood dripped from the spot where the head had been.
“Rattlesnake,” Jake said. Justy watched him struggle to come back into his body, to shove the phone call away. She felt him take a deep breath and go to Dale, his cowboy boots moving slowly. Kyle stepped away from Dale when Jake approached. The snake’s five-foot body wriggled in his hand. The men started joking with Dale and she finally smiled, her cheeks flushed. Jake adjusted his glasses and reached for the end of the snake. Justy knew he was counting the buttons on the rattle. Like the rings in a tree, the buttons marked the years of the snake’s life.
Justy shuddered at the memory of Dale’s face, intent on severing the snake’s head from the body. What was worse was the distant look Jake wore as he grappled with his secrets.
***
Jake headed toward town. The phone call from Carl Walters sat like a small fire within him, and he needed to quench it. He waited outside Hilltop until ten o’clock and then knocked and knocked until Helen finally came to the door. She didn’t say a word but allowed Jake in. She set a bottle of whiskey on the bar and left him, returning to Juan. She checked on Jake every hour. He drank slowly, trying to find a way to put the call from Walters into his plan.
Someone, Jake didn’t know who, had tipped Walters off about the plants. On the phone, Walters had merely suggested that everything on the ranch be in good shape because he and the company president planned a visit. But something in his tone told Jake what he was truly saying. Jake weighed the chances of Walters making a thorough search of the ranch and what would happen if he found the plants.
***
Jake drove the rutted road that night. The full moon sliced through the trees and he didn’t turn on the lights. After stopping, his hands rested on the steering wheel, his thoughts jumbled. As he climbed out of the truck, he reached for the fiddle, which lay on the passenger seat. He studied the growing plants in the moonlight. He’d planned to play music to them as they grew, courting his future with song. But Walters and the rest of the mining people were maybe on their way to find them.
Jake played a slow waltz, a tune he created as he went, something to linger in the air and his memory. As he played, he watched the plants, growing in a cir
cle around him. Near the end of the song, he saw movement at the far edge of the clearing. A deer gingerly stepped out of the tree shadows into the moonlight. The doe stopped next to a plant, and her soft eyes watched Jake with a careful stare. She took a step closer, her hide seeming to shine as she moved. Jake kept playing, thinking it was the music that drew the deer out of her skittish ways. While he kept the bow dancing on the strings, he studied the brown eyes and the delicate square of black that was her nose. He smiled and realized he’d never spent time with a deer like this. Before, he’d automatically gauged the distance a bullet would have to travel. The doe flicked the petals of her ears and her tail stood up straight. She looked one more time at Jake, then ran back into the trees, disappearing into the shadows, legs springing her away. Jake stopped playing and listened as she moved off in the darkness, and then the night was quiet but for the babble of the creek.
He dropped to his knees and stared at the spot where the doe had stood, wondering what message, if any, she had brought him. He laid the fiddle down and let his palms kiss the grass. The blades bent and the soil beneath was cool. His moon shadow spread before him. He lay down and rested his left cheek on the earth, pressed his belly into the ground. Sleep hovered close, but he didn’t fall away to that other world. Instead, he lingered in the in-between place for half an hour, not entirely in the clearing but floating above his own body, watching it and wondering how to guide it. A breeze stirred the world around him. The night seemed suddenly full of noise, the grass bending in the draft, the branches groaning, the creek water slipping over stones.
By Way of Water Page 20