Gwen stood up and began clearing the supper dishes from the table. “I don’t know, Jilly,” she said. “I’ll stay for a while . . . but I’m afraid . . . . Staying too long in any one place only means it’s more likely Kane will find me.” She placed the dishes on the counter beside the sink. “And that’s too big a risk for me to take.”
“I’d like to smack him in the head,” Jilly said. Why did life have to be so complicated all the time? “I wish he was here right now! I’d kick him in the—”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Gwen interrupted her. “You just might get it!” She pursed her lips at Jilly. “Although it’s a damn sight more difficult to kick a man in the privates than you might think!”
Jilly’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “You know that from experience?”
“Damn straight!” Gwenivere stated. She looked like a tiny warrior angel standing at the sink, her finger held under the gushing water faucet as she waited for it to get hot. “I mean,” she said airily, “darn straight!”
Chapter IX.
All three of them sat out in the yard, their faces tilted up into the night sky, watching the explosions spark through the air. Briar Falls may have been a small town, but she sure did know how to celebrate the Fourth of July. They’d been outside for almost an hour and were awaiting the grand finale, which promised to be spectacular.
When it came, Gwenivere gripped her stomach in a loving hold. “I swear! I can feel my skin echoing from the sound. I hope the baby’s not marked.”
“I believe,” Otto said, “that’s a superstition, although you’d find plenty of people in Briar Rose to confirm your thoughts.”
“Why’s that?” Jilly asked. She had leaned back in the grass and was now stretched out full on her back. Off in the tall grass in the field, she could make out pinpoints of light: fireflies winking in the night.
“People like to believe superstitions because it gives them answers for the unanswerable. You get any group of small town people together, and you’re going to find the ladies, no offense to you two, ready and eager to start predicting dire consequences for any little thing out of the ordinary. And then, of course, they rush to tell everyone what’s going to happen.”
“It was the same way at the commune,” Gwen said. “Although the talk stayed within the confines of the people we allowed in.”
“From what I recall, the good people of Briar Rose like to gossip simply because they don’t have any other way to occupy their time. I suppose it’s only human nature, but they can get downright belligerent if they think anyone managed to pull a fast one on them. Maybe that’s why they don’t much like outsiders, either. They can’t make predictions about anyone they’re not familiar with.”
“Small towns must be a lot like the commune,” Gwen said thoughtfully. “They don’t like outsiders, either. They especially hate the police. They think they’re nothing but trouble-bearers trying to break up the family.”
Otto shook his head. “Now that’s not quite like a small town. Small towners hate anyone who breaks the law—even one of their own. It would take a lot of time for them to allow someone they saw as a criminal back into their midst, and they’d always be watching for the slightest hint of something suspicious so they could turn on the person.”
“That’s awful,” Jilly said. “I don’t think I much care for small towns or communes. Don’t you think we ought to just let people be themselves?”
Otto stood up. “Out of the mouths of babes, as they say.” He reached behind him and felt the seat of his pants. “I believe the dew has fallen.” He chuckled. “And I believe that’s my cue to turn in. Have a good night, girls.”
They wished him goodnight, and a short time later, they, too, turned in for the night. Jilly lay in bed, feeling drowsy with content. The past couple of days had proven to her that inviting Gwen to stay with them had been the right thing to do.
She was turning into the older sister Jilly had always longed for, and she didn’t want her to leave. Of course, there wasn’t much she could do about that situation. She’d rather Gwen disappeared than lost her baby to the commune.
The idea startled her. Was that what it felt like to have a real family? To be willing to do anything for them, to put their own happiness in front of your own? To be willing to lose a person forever just to keep them safe?
Maybe that’s what her own mother thought.
She fell asleep dreaming of her mother, a faceless person coming up the sagging wooden steps of Otto’s porch. Fading into the background she heard the sound of crying, and it wasn’t until she awoke the next morning that she wondered if she’d really heard crying from somewhere in the house.
When she saw Gwen at the breakfast table, her eyes the tiniest bit red-rimmed and sad, she had her answer, although she didn’t confront her. She knew people were entitled to their own sadness.
Gwen seemed much happier when the two of them went out to the barn to search for paint.
“Here’s some John Deere green,” Gwen said. She lifted her lip in an imitation of Elvis, making clear her disdain. “Not that it’s a bad color,” she said, “I just don’t think I could bear to have it in the kitchen.”
“Me, either,” Jilly said. “What about this yellow? It’s kind of bright.”
“You mean blinding,” Gwen said dryly. “Hey! Is there any white we could mix in with it to tone it down a bit?”
They scavenged the area and came up with an entire gallon of bright white. Jilly found an empty paint can and they mixed the two colors half and half. She stirred the batch with a wooden paint stick, the colors swirling and resisting, yellow streaks trailing through the underlying base of white.
“I think this is going to work,” she said, working the paint stick until her muscles quivered.
Gwen came over and peered into the can. “It’s not too bad,” she agreed. “But let’s mix up a couple gallons, at least. Otherwise, if we run out we’ll never match up the color mixture.”
Using three different paint cans, and transferring the mixed paint from one to another, they finally ended up with two full gallons of a glossy lemon hue. Before the afternoon was over, the kitchen wore its first coat, and Jilly had streaks of lemon-yellow highlighting her brown hair. Mysteriously, Gwenivere’s hair was still clean, although she did have three yellow fingers on her left hand and a paintbrush wide streak up her thigh.
“I’m going to take a bath,” she said, stretching her back and yawning. “I don’t know why I’m feeling tired. I think it’s the baby.”
Jilly glanced over at her. “The smell of this paint isn’t going to hurt the baby, is it?”
Gwen shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’ve got the windows wide open. I can even feel the breeze on my face.”
Jilly came to stand beside her, the fresh outside air seeming to call to her. “I’m going to go outside while you take a bath.”
She left the paintbrushes soaking in the paint thinner and went out toward the right field. She glanced around her, feeling guilty, and hoped Otto was occupied someplace in the barn.
The old car looked even worse now that she knew how it came to be wrecked, but there was still something about its hulking presence that drew her closer, a strange conglomeration of love and happiness and great rending sadness. She approached the vehicle and saw the berry bushes growing up along the backside had finally put forth some fruit.
Some of the berries were only half-ripe, but the ones in the sun were a glossy purple-black, plump and inviting. She scrambled up on the roof of the car and stretched her hand out to get a few. They were delicious, so she reached for more.
Naturally, the best-looking berries were the furthest away and she stretched forward, holding onto the edge of the roof with one hand, while her fingertips maddeningly brushed the edge of the biggest berry on the bush.
“Who the hell are you and just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Jilly screamed and tumbled into the picky berry bushes. She bar
ely felt the scratches as she struggled to get up and peered cautiously over the rim of the car’s rooftop.
The sun blinded her, but she made out the thick shadow of a man standing about fifteen feet away, the long barrel of a gun held casually over his bent forearm. His face was invisible because his head blocked out the sun, leaving his silhouette standing in a purple aura. She ducked down.
“Step up here where I can see you. There’s no use in hiding.”
She could hear the sound of his voice coming closer, and she swallowed convulsively. He could kill her dead, and nobody would find her out here! Otto had told her to stay away, and Gwen didn’t even know the car existed!
She peeked through the cracked passenger window and reassessed the situation. The person had stepped into the shade of the oak tree and she saw his face clearly.
He was a young man, probably no more than two or three years older than she, husky and muscular as a young bear cub. He didn’t look too friendly, either. Of course, toting a gun tended to make a person look vicious.
She darted a look around. She appeared to be well and truly stuck: the berry briars surrounded her. She lowered herself slowly to her hands and knees. Maybe she could crawl out. She moved forward an inch and her hair got tangled up on a prickly branch. She yanked her head and pulled away.
Then she heard the sound of Otto’s voice.
“Hey now, what’s going on here?”
Relief swamped her and she struggled to stand up.
“That you Mackenzie Oakes?” Otto asked.
“No, sir, Mr. Beckinhide,” the young man said. “It’s me, Tage. Mackenzie’s my father. I caught some snot-nosed girl on your property.”
Several things struck Jilly at once, the first being that she couldn’t believe Otto knew this gun-toting criminal, the second was that the gun-toting criminal dared to call her snot-nosed!
“He almost shot me!” she called out, popping up like a weasel from behind the car. She saw that Tage had the grace to look ashamed.
“I did not!” he denied. The gun was now pointed toward the ground, inches away from his left foot. “She’s the one hiding in the blackcaps!”
She noticed Otto was rubbing his chin and staring thoughtfully at Tage. “I don’t think your father would want you carrying a gun around,” he said finally. “Is he home yet?”
Jilly could see the tension creep into Tage’s back. He stood stiff in front of Otto. “Not yet,” he muttered. “He’s not getting out until next year.” He raised his head and straightened his shoulders. “I turned eighteen a few weeks ago, and I’m living at our old house now.”
Otto nodded. “Come on out now, Jilly. This is a neighbor of ours.”
Jilly climbed onto the hood of the car and slid over to the other side.
“Why don’t you let me hang onto this gun for you?” Otto reached out and took the weapon from Tage’s lifeless fingers. “Seems like I remember old Long Tom here.” He nodded toward the gun. “This is your father’s shotgun, isn’t it? A twelve-gauge. Didn’t think it was still around.”
Jilly wandered over to where the two men stood. There was something in the air, something neither one was coming right out and saying, but something there nonetheless.
Tage stiffened up again. “It was hidden in the smokehouse. Once the police took my dad away, they didn’t bother taking anything else. Wasn’t like he could use it in jail.”
“No,” Otto agreed, his voice neutral. “I don’t suppose there’d be much call for a shotgun there.”
Jilly came to stand beside him.
“Tell you what,” Otto said. “Why don’t I just hang onto this until your father comes home? I wouldn’t want anybody getting hurt.”
Tage hesitated, and said, “I don’t mean no disrespect, Mr. Beckinhide, but are you gonna remember you got that gun when my dad gets home?”
“I’ll remind him,” Jilly said, her voice haughty. “You sure don’t need it back. You could’ve killed me!”
“Now, Jilly, I don’t think Tage here would have actually shot you.” He looked down at the gun. “Although it is loaded.” Otto frowned at Tage. “That’s dangerous, son.”
“The safety’s on,” Tage defended himself. “Besides, I didn’t know you had somebody out here with you. I thought she was a sneakin’ trespasser!”
Jilly was tempted to strike out and kick him in the shins.
“Yes, well . . . I do have someone living with me. This is Jilly Sanders, and we have another young lady staying with us, too. She’s back at the house; her name’s Gwenivere.” He paused. “I don’t recollect her last name, but you’ll want to come up to the house and introduce yourself sometime.”
“Yes, sir,” Tage muttered.
Great, Jilly thought. This interloper would no doubt be hanging around the place all summer!
Otto’s glance strayed toward the car, and she saw his mouth pinch up. “Why don’t the two of you come away from here? You can go up to the house and get something cold to drink and maybe get off to a better start.” He turned away and started toward the house, the shotgun level against his thigh.
Guilt pierced her. Obviously, he didn’t remember telling her to stay away from the field, but she knew he didn’t want her there. Not then, and not now.
“Come on,” Jilly ordered Tage. This was his fault. He had a lot of nerve accusing her of being a criminal when his own father was locked up! She stomped away toward the house, not caring if Tage followed or not.
“Look, I’m—” He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t gonna shoot you for real.”
Jilly’s footsteps faltered, and he caught up with her.
“Do you want to be friends or not?” he asked bluntly. “There’s nobody else around here to talk with or do anything with.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, not certain if he was teasing, but he appeared to be serious.
“Why would I want to be friends with the likes of you?” she asked, still mad.
He grinned at her. “‘Cause you’re bored, too, otherwise you wouldn’t have been climbing around that old car gettin’ all dirty all by yourself.”
Jilly sniffed. “We’ll see,” she said, trying to sound like Gwen, but coming short.
“It’s not like you’ll be doing me some big favor,” Tage told her. “If you don’t want to be friends, I could care less.”
“You’re a liar, Tage Oakes,” Jilly said. “But you tell the truth sometimes, too. There isn’t much to do around here.”
They had reached the porch. Jilly turned around to face him. “And I guess I can try to be friends. As soon as you say you’re sorry for calling me snot-nosed.”
Tage grinned at her. “I’m sorry, snot-nose,” he said.
The two of them went into the kitchen bickering good-naturedly.
Chapter X.
July sunned its way into August and Gwen developed the tiniest of pot-bellies. Strangely, the extra bit of weight put roses into her cheeks, and she looked more beautiful than ever. “Cripes!” she said to Jilly one morning at the breakfast table after Otto had left the two of them and gone outside. “I’ve got the urge to nest, when what I should be doing is moving on.”
“Kane hasn’t been around. Me and Tage even checked around town. There hasn’t been any strangers spotted anywhere. If there was, Ned would’ve known about it right off.”
She hoped Gwen wouldn’t leave. Jilly heard her crying herself to sleep almost every night. God only knew how she’d handle being alone in the daytime. All that crying couldn’t be good for the baby, either. But Jilly didn’t know how to broach the subject. Gwen was careful to hide her tears at night, and during the day she worked on the house, intent on fixing the place up for Otto and Jilly.
Or so she said. Jilly suspected Gwen derived some sort of joy from transforming the dingy rooms into something cheerful and welcoming. The way she talked about the commune, Jilly knew Gwen’s old home had been even worse than Otto’s neglected farmhouse. Tage and she had helped with the painting, splash
ing a strange midnight blue color on the living room walls, but Gwen was the one who trimmed everything out with a pristine white. She’d even taken the John Deere green and hand-painted trailing vines all along the edge of the kitchen ceiling.
Even Otto had been impressed. And the best part was his surprise and delight each and every day over the same thing. The changes never grew old for him; he literally saw them anew every day, and once he got himself oriented again in the mornings, he’d thank Gwen and Jilly for making the house into a home again.
The feeling of sisterhood Jilly felt for Gwen intensified every day, until now Jilly couldn’t imagine being at Otto’s without Gwen there, too.
“What’s it like?” Jilly asked, hoping to take Gwen’s mind off leaving.
“What’s what like?”
“Being pregnant.”
Gwen ran her hand along the front of her slightly bulging belly. “I could be pregnant every day of my life,” Gwen said, her smile wide and full. “There’s something about it, that feeling of peace and contentment, of feeling the baby growing and moving, that’s really indescribable.”
“You feel the baby move?” Jilly asked, fascinated.
“Just a butterfly flutter once or twice. Pretty soon, though, she’s going to be kicking strong enough for you to feel it!”
Jilly noticed Gwen always referred to the baby as ‘she’; she only hoped Gwen wasn’t disappointed when the big day arrived and a baby boy popped out.
“What do you and Tage have planned for today?” Gwen asked. She began to gather up the breakfast dishes, and Jilly stood up to help.
Gwen was always cleaning or cooking or doing something for her or Otto. And she never said a word about all the work. It was as though, like Jilly, she was so happy to be living at Otto’s—living in a real home for the first time in her life—that she took over and became a young wife-figure for Otto and a mother-figure for Jilly.
Whenever Jilly thought about it, she almost wished Gwen was her mother; everything would be settled then. But, of course, she wasn’t. Not unless she’d given birth when she was five years old, Jilly thought gloomily. She still hadn’t spoken to
I Love You, Jilly Sanders Page 7