The Lost Girls

by Heather Young

  The skates were way too big for Angela, and her face fell as Maurie yanked them off. “Let’s try you,” she said to Melanie. Melanie eyed them dubiously, but after a bit of coaxing she eased one foot into the old leather. They were too big for her, too, but Maurie tore up a page from one of Lucy’s old tax returns and wadded it into the toes. Then she wedged Melanie’s feet into the skates and drew up the laces. “Let’s try them out!” She grabbed Melanie’s hand, her smile splitting her face into a quarry of lines and fissures.

  “But I can’t skate,” Melanie protested.

  “Of course you can’t! I’m going to teach you!” Maurie pulled Melanie by the arms until she staggered to her feet, her ankles wobbling. “Justine, go get the shovel.”

  It was three thirty, and the sun had already sunk behind the trees, but the sky was still bright as they headed down to the lake. They made an odd procession, Maurie holding Melanie’s arm as she limped through snow that reached her knees, Justine carrying the shovel, and Angela huffing along beside her. When they got to the lake Maurie took the shovel and attacked the snow. It was heavy and deep, and after ten minutes she had cleared only a few square feet.

  “There’s too much,” Justine said. She wanted to go back inside. This was the longest she’d spent outdoors since they’d gotten here, and already her fingers were numb inside her gloves. The temperature must be close to zero.

  “Oh, no. We’re not giving up. Wait here.” Maurie clambered back to the road and half-ran to the lodge, where she clomped up the snow-covered steps and banged on the door.

  “What’s she doing?” Angela asked, her teeth chattering.

  “I don’t know,” Justine said, although she was pretty sure she did. She watched as Matthew opened the door to the lodge and let Maurie in.

  “I don’t want to skate,” Melanie said, looking at the lake and its blanket of snow broken only by the tire tracks of Matthew’s truck. Justine couldn’t blame her. But she knew they were powerless against Maurie when she was like this. Some of her worst childhood memories were of those times when Maurie, caught up in a dervish-like frenzy, led her on some bizarre adventure from which she could not escape. Though, to be fair, they were just as often her best memories. When she was fifteen, she’d met Carole King at a party her mother made them crash, and Justine still remembered how beautiful the singer was, with her blond curls in a headband, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other.

  “Just try it,” she said. “Your grandmother wants to teach you.”

  Angela looked at the skates. “I wish they fit me.” Melanie glared at her, but didn’t say anything more.

  An engine started up, and Matthew’s truck, plow attached, lumbered across the road and onto the ice. Maurie waved from the passenger window as the truck cleared a space the size of a basketball half-court. When it returned to shore she climbed out and skidded over to them. Matthew got out, too, and walked more slowly to stand behind Angela and Justine.

  “Okay, Melanie, come with me.” Maurie took Melanie’s hands and began to walk backward through the snow, Melanie staggering in her wake. When they reached the ice Maurie stepped onto it and pulled Melanie after her. The heavy steel blades scratched as they grabbed at the ice and held. Justine took Angela’s hand. In San Diego, Melanie hadn’t wanted to join the rec soccer team or the local Girl Scouts, nor had she played softball or basketball, taken ballet classes, or sung in the afterschool choir. She’d rejected all these things without even trying them. Maybe, Justine thought, Maurie could get her to skate, and she’d like it. Even warm places had ice rinks.

  “When I move my right foot back, you move your left foot forward,” Maurie instructed. Melanie shook with the effort it took to balance. Her ankles turned in and her hands clutched Maurie’s, but when Maurie moved her right foot backward Melanie inched her left skate forward. They took several steps like that in a frozen parody of a waltz, and Justine felt a singing flood of relief and pride. Then one skate slipped and Melanie fell, taking Maurie with her, both of them hitting the ice hard.

  “Shit!” Maurie pushed herself to her feet, creaky but resolute. She wrapped her arms around Melanie and pulled her up. Come on, Melanie, Justine thought. She willed Melanie to pull the skates under her, and after scouring at the ice for several desperate seconds, Melanie did. She teetered on the blades, her mittens digging into Maurie’s forearms.

  “I don’t want to,” she said.

  “The trick is not to be afraid.” Maurie shook off Melanie’s hands and Melanie’s feet wobbled for a second before she fell again, landing on her knees. She cried out, her face contorting as she bent forward. Justine cried out, too, her own knees faltering in sympathy. Then Melanie looked up at Maurie, and Justine could see from the set of her daughter’s face that it was over; her mind was made up; she was never going to skate. Justine felt a tremor in her chest, and she gripped Angela’s hand tighter.

  “It won’t hurt if you don’t fall,” Maurie said in a jaunty voice. Again she pulled Melanie to her feet. This time Melanie grabbed her around the ribs. They were both gasping in the frigid air. Maurie managed to push Melanie away, and Melanie fell again, the skates shooting forward so she landed flat on her back.

  “Melanie!” Justine cried. Her mother needed to stop, but she knew she wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t about the skating anymore. When Justine was nine, Maurie had taken her on a roller coaster at the Six Flags outside St. Louis, and Justine had been so terrified she’d thrown up. Maurie made her ride it again and again until she’d convinced her mother she loved it; loved the upside-down part; loved the speed. That’s my brave girl, Maurie had said. Now Justine couldn’t move. Her feet were immobile in their boots, as though they’d become part of the snow. On the ice, her daughter struggled to sit up.

  Maurie flapped her arms in exasperation. “For God’s sake! You’re not even trying!”

  “Stop it!” Melanie shrieked. “Stop it!” She lifted one foot and pounded the back of the skate blade into the ice. Maurie started toward her again, but Melanie backed away, skittering like a crab. Her mouth was a gaping red hole in her face.

  “Get up!” Maurie told her. “Evans girls never quit!”

  Justine let go of Angela’s hand. Melanie wasn’t going to get up. She wasn’t like Justine. In Colorado Springs, when Justine was twelve, Maurie’s boyfriend had a small ranch and a big bay horse. The horse’s back had spread Justine’s legs wide, and the world spun upside down, and the dirt tasted like horse shit, again and again and again. Get up, Justine. Evans girls never quit. She wrenched one foot forward. “Mom, leave her alone! She doesn’t want to do it.”

  The sky had faded to pearl, edged with rose along the tops of the western trees. Maurie’s face was in shadow as she turned to Justine. “I’m not going to let her be a quitter!”

  Matthew walked onto the frozen lake. Justine jumped as he passed her; she’d forgotten he was there. His boots with their deep treads navigated the ice as though it were gravel. Melanie scooted away from him, but she was no match for his long strides. When he got to her he squatted. Justine couldn’t hear what he said, but she could see her daughter’s face crumple, and she put her arms around his neck. Then Matthew carried her back to shore and toward the road.

  Maurie rushed after them. “Matthew, no! She has to learn—”

  Matthew turned to her. His face was so black with warning that Maurie actually stepped back. He scowled at her for a moment more, then walked away, carrying Melanie through the snow to the front porch of Lucy’s house while Maurie watched with the outrage of a child whose favorite toy has been stolen.

  Justine pushed past her. When she reached the porch steps Matthew came down them. He neither spoke to her nor slowed down. She opened the screen door to find Melanie on a porch chair unlacing one of the skates. Melanie shook her head without looking up. “Go away.”

  Justine stopped, fidgeting with the zipper on her coat. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. I couldn’t stop her. I’ve never been able to stop her.
Then the door opened again and Maurie and Angela came in. Melanie kicked off the skate, sending it clattering to the floor at Maurie’s feet. Her face as she looked at her grandmother was chiseled and forbidding. Maurie just smiled. “Angie, what do you say we get you some skates and you can give it a whirl?”

  Melanie looked away, working on the laces of the second skate. Angela watched her for a moment. Then she nodded.

  “That’s my brave girl,” Maurie said, and Justine flinched. Melanie kept her eyes on the laces.

  Lucy

  After Independence Day, Lilith behaved with impeccable modesty when Father was at the lake. During the week, she still went to the lodge in borrowed clothes and makeup, but on the weekends she wore her own, demure dresses and kept her face clean. Father scrutinized her as though looking for Charlie’s fingerprints, but he found nothing that made him take her back to Williamsburg, and I was glad, for her sake and mine. Though we spent our days and evenings apart, I still loved having her with me at night.

  During this time, though, I began to notice a change in Father. I’d always known, from the way he breathed here, that he loved the lake the way I loved it, as a balm for the spirit. He came directly from the pharmacy on Fridays, still in his white coat, and within hours the stress of the week melted from his shoulders, so by family time he was relaxed, ready to consider and impart the tenets of his faith and philosophy. Lately, though, the tension that followed him from town never left him. He was snappish with Mother, terse even with Emily. His sermons were less about family, personal responsibility, or the need for us children to remain innocent, and more about charity, the forgiveness of debts, and the terrible wages of usury—lessons I could not understand. He grew thinner, too, which deepened the hollows of his cheeks. I worried about him. I began to spend more time at the house when he was there, so I could watch him.

  “You should go play outside,” Mother told me one such afternoon. I was on the porch swing, reading. Father was on the far side of the porch, reading also. Emily was playing a game of jacks on the floor by my feet. She’d taken to following me around when I was in the house, but I’d decided I didn’t mind. Now she looked up, waiting to see what I would do. For the first time, I thought about taking her to the woods to play. It was a sunny day, not too hot, and the woods would smell of peat and clover.

  Father looked over, distracted by our conversation. “What are you reading, Lucy?”

  Mother retreated to the kitchen. I held the book so Father could see. “Huckleberry Finn.” I was reading it for the second time; it was one of my favorites from Matthew’s collection.

  He closed his book and set it on his lap. “And what do you think of young Mr. Finn?”

  I tried desperately to gauge him. What did he think of Huck? Huck was a disobedient rascal, uninterested in the book-learning Father so prized, and he was a petty thief to boot. But he had strong morals for all that, and he was appalled by the self-interested manipulations of Tom Sawyer, as was I. Then there was the matter of Jim. Jim was actually my favorite character, because of the unfailing loyalty he showed to his new friend. It was a quality I thought I had, too, and one that, like Jim’s, I felt wasn’t sufficiently appreciated.

  Father rattled the ice in his glass, waiting.

  “I like him.” When Father raised one eyebrow, I added, “He’s good to Jim.”

  He smiled, which made him look more like his pre-Independence Day self. “Yes, he is. He’s one of my favorite characters in all of literature. He does what he knows is right, despite what the so-called Christians tell him.” He gave me an appraising look while I tried to project my Huck-like moral center through every pore of my skin. When he turned back to his book, I felt light-headed. Emily, who’d been watching us intently, resumed her game. The whump-swish of the ball and her hand sweeping up the jacks echoed the blood pounding in my ears.

  Later that afternoon, as he sometimes did, Father went to the lodge to play pool with Mr. Williams, Dr. Pugh, and Mayor Lloyd. I followed him. I was consumed by a new notion, ignited when he questioned me about Huck Finn but still inchoate, and I couldn’t let him leave my sight while I turned it around in my head. So I ordered a pop and sat at a table on the other side of the room while they played.

  As usual, they talked about politics and business, and the others called Father Tommy, his schoolboy name. I loved to watch him with the other men, because I could tell they respected him. They admired him as a man who’d taken over his father’s shop and kept it running even in hard times, which counted for a lot in those days, but it wasn’t just that. They were churchgoers, and you might think they would look askance at a man who stayed home on Sunday mornings, but at Father’s memorial service, Mayor Lloyd would say the most prominent men in town often came to him for moral guidance. He’d say this was because of Father’s character, but I suspect it was also because, except for Mr. Williams, his childhood friend, he had no favorites among them, and was beholden to none of them. He was the closest to an impartial arbiter they had, like a priest in a confessional.

  They were beginning their second game when Lilith came in with Jeannette and Betty. Lilith wore a modest smock dress and no makeup, which made her look much younger than the other two, but they didn’t treat her any differently for it. They sat at a table with their pops, giggling and talking. She didn’t even glance at me. Father looked her up and down, but when he found nothing troubling in her demeanor he turned back to his game. He hadn’t noticed me at all. The small notion that had taken root in my mind shriveled, and I decided to go.

  As I stood up, a panicked wail came from the kitchen, and Abe carried little Amanda Davies through the back door. Amanda was about Emily’s age, a pert, towheaded tomboy with a sassy mouth—she would be the first woman to sit on Williamsburg’s town council—but now she was in hysterics, with a bloody gash across her forearm. The men exclaimed in alarm, and Dr. Pugh rushed forward. He took Amanda from Abe, set her on a chair, and began to examine her wound.

  Matthew had followed Abe and Amanda into the room, and Dr. Pugh said to him, “You, boy. Bring some towels.” When Matthew obeyed, Dr. Pugh folded a towel and laid it on the cut, applying pressure. Amanda’s crying subsided, and once she was calmer Dr. Pugh looked at Abe. “What happened?”

  “It was a hacksaw, sir.” Abe shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. “She fell and cut herself on it.”

  “Where the devil did she find a hacksaw?”

  “In the shed.”

  “Is that what happened, Amanda?” Dr. Pugh asked.

  Amanda’s voice shook. “We were playing.”

  “You and Abe? In the shed?”

  Amanda nodded. Dr. Pugh and Mayor Lloyd shared a look. Even from fifteen feet away I could feel Matthew tense.

  Dr. Pugh ran the hand that wasn’t applying pressure to Amanda’s wound down each of her legs to her ankles. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  Amanda looked at Abe. She pulled her lower lip with her teeth.

  Abe said in his thick voice, “She’s not hurt anywhere else.”

  Mayor Lloyd set down his pool cue and took a step toward Abe. Abe’s face darkened, and to my surprise, his hands curled into fists. I’d never seen him angry. He was so gentle most of the time that, even after that summer, his anger would always take me unawares.

  Matthew put a hand on Abe’s arm. Mr. Miller moved from behind the bar and stood in front of his sons. Mayor Lloyd put his thumbs in his belt. He’d been an amateur boxer, and though he’d gone to fat he looked like he hadn’t forgotten how to knock people down.

  “I’m going to need to talk to your boy,” he said.

  Mr. Miller crossed his arms. “You can talk to me.” He was a big-shouldered man and his arms were muscular from the labor it took to run his business. Matthew’s thin arm slid across his brother’s chest. He looked young and afraid, and I was afraid, too. Lilith, Betty, and Jeannette watched from their table, all of us braced for violence.

  Then Father said, in a mild voice, “Let
’s hear what the girl has to say.” Everyone turned to him, standing at ease by the pool table. When he had everyone’s attention he knelt by Amanda. “Amanda, tell me what you and Abe were doing.” Every eye was on Amanda now, and she, who always did like it when people’s eyes were on her, sat up despite her pain and trepidation.

  “We were playing king and queen.”

  “What sort of game is that?” Father asked.

  “It’s where I get to be the queen,” she said, as though that should be obvious.

  “And how did you cut your arm?”

  Again Amanda looked at Abe. Abe’s face was still flushed, and I could tell from the rapid movements of his eyes that he was afraid of what she might say next. Amanda said, “I fell. There was a sharp thing on the wall, and it cut me.”

  I looked at the men, expecting to see them relax, but they remained tense. “Did Abe do anything to hurt you when you were playing?” Father asked.

  “No.” Her voice was suddenly so quiet I could hardly hear her.

  “Anything at all?”

  Her eyes flicked again to Abe. The room was quiet except for the faint buzz of the ceiling fan high in the rafters. A small movement caught my eye, and I saw Lilith had leaned forward in her chair.

  Amanda shook her head.

  Father patted her knee. “Good girl.” He walked to Mayor Lloyd and led him away from Mr. Miller and Abe. Mr. Williams came, too. Father was slight and a little stooped; to anyone else he would have been an insignificant figure beside these larger men, but to me there seemed to be a light that fell only on him from the ceiling lamps. I edged closer so I could hear them.

  “I don’t like it, Tom,” Mayor Lloyd said. “The two of them, alone in that shed.”

  “Playing,” Father said.

  “But he always plays with the girls. Never the boys. I saw him come out from under the lodge with your youngest not two weeks ago. What do you think they were up to under there?”