“She can take this story and make Neil a cause célèbre. With Esther dead and unable to give a statement or stand trial, there’s no way to persuade the courts to vacate Neil’s sentence, but the parole board can consider what she told you and Zach, and take into account his record as a model prisoner and release him. Enough publicity might even get the governor to pardon him. It wouldn’t be as good as having him declared innocent, but at least he’d be free.”
“She said she didn’t try to kill Pastor Matt,” Iris said doubtfully, sipping the nasty herbal tea her mother said would help her heal quicker. She heard again the passion in Esther’s voice when she declared her love for her father. “She loved him.”
“People kill people they love all the time,” Cade said dismissively.
“A happy outlook,” Iris murmured into her mug.
“Even if the courts don’t recognize Neil’s innocence,” Marian said, “at least the folks around here do, thanks to Zachary.”
Zach Brozek, maybe as a way of dealing with his grief, had suggested that the Community celebrate a special service at the Arkansas Valley Correctional Facility Friday during visiting hours. He had—bravely and generously, in Iris’ opinion—shared most of his sister’s deathbed confession with the Community in a letter sent to each parishioner. He hadn’t outright accused his sister of the attack on their father, but most of the Community had taken his desire to visit Neil as tacit admission. The church had chartered a bus and gotten special permission from the warden. Forty-two people were going. Iris had reluctantly agreed to attend, although she had no intention of letting herself be trapped on a bus with Community members eager to make it up to her and her father; she’d drive herself, shoulder be damned.
While Cade and Marian discussed what family photos to give the reporter to go with the story, and how to approach the governor about a pardon, Iris glanced idly around the cottage’s living room. Pastor Matt had effectively died here, even though he was still breathing. What, she wondered suddenly, had brought him out here that night? The cottage back then was unoccupied, with no phone or electricity, hardly a comfy bolt-hole where he could work in peace. Maybe Glynnis had chased him with the poker and he’d run to the cottage for refuge? Ludicrous. Besides, Glynnis had gone straight for the phone, according to Esther.
Her hands went icy and she cupped them around the mug, seeking warmth from the now tepid tea. He’d used the cottage for one thing only. Was it possible that he was meeting someone? A girl. The idea trickled from Iris’s brain and set her body on fire. She clicked her mug onto the table, sloshing tea onto a devotional magazine.
“Really, Iris,” her mother said, rising to fetch a towel.
Iris ignored her, mind spinning. If she was right about him and Gabby Ulm, maybe he’d been planning to meet her here that night. Maybe Gabby knew the truth. Iris didn’t waste time pondering what that truth might be. She only knew she had to find it. She had to know. She stood.
“I’ve … uh, got to go,” she said to her disapproving mother and surprised Cade. “You two have this under control. I’ve got something I have to do.”
Deliberately not telling them she was headed to Denver for fear they’d object or insist on driving because of her shoulder injury, she hurried to the door, already fishing the keys from her purse.
forty-seven
iris
Unsure what to do with the information she’d gotten from Gabby Von Wolfseck, née Ulm, Iris headed for the Arkansas Valley Correctional Facility the next morning. The drive seemed longer and she wished she’d offered to let Angel ride with her as a distraction from her thoughts. She was thrilled that it looked like her father had a good chance at freedom—she was—but she knew she wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering that he hadn’t believed her, had thought her capable of fabricating lies that would destroy a man’s life, and many other lives. He was so oblivious to the truth of who she was that he could picture her striking a man with a weapon, lifting it high and pounding it into him again and again until flesh split, bones crunched, and his brain rattled against his skull.
Her thigh stitches pulled and her shoulder ached by the time she reached the prison, shortly ahead of the bus. Everyone was quiet, even Angel holding Marian’s hand, intimidated by their surroundings, as they emptied their pockets of coins and pens. Wanting a few moments alone with her father, Iris hurried into the small visitor processing station and submitted to the vetting procedures. The process still made her uncomfortable, but didn’t seem as offensive as the first time, and she marveled at how quickly one could get used to routines and rules, even distasteful ones. Probably the secret to surviving prison, she thought, walking past the bridge to nowhere.
Once in the visitor’s area, surrounded by the humming vending machines, Iris found herself unable to sit while waiting for the guards to summon her father. She studied the offerings in all the machines, popped the door on one of the microwaves and surveyed its crusty interior, and swung around when she heard the scuff of footsteps. Her father appeared, escorted by a guard. He looked like he’d lost a few pounds and he held himself straighter. Hope could make huge changes, Iris thought.
“You look like you’re doing better, Dad,” she said. “Cough gone?”
He nodded, and held out his hand to her, smiling. She took his hand and sat beside him. They were quiet for several minutes before her father said, “You did it, Iris. Thank you.”
She shook her head, hair swishing. “You’re still in this place.”
“Cade’s working on that. There’s the parole hearing next week
—he thinks they’ll free me. And the possibility of a governor’s pardon. Cade’s lined up a reporter to talk to me day after tomorrow. You proved me innocent to the Community,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
“There’s a lot of people here to see you.”
“Because of you.” He swallowed hard and allowed Iris to get him a soda from the vending machine. After taking a couple of gulps, her father said, “I spoke with Marian. She told me about Esther, how Esther must have hit Pastor Matt and gone to dispose of the weapon before returning to find me trying to help him.”
Iris stayed silent.
“I’m sorry you had to kill her,” her father said, rheumy eyes searching hers. “That must weigh heavily on you.”
Iris nodded and squeezed his hand. She didn’t mention what the doctor had said, about Esther dying of a heart attack; she knew she was responsible for Esther’s death at that time and in that place.
“I’ve talked to enough killers over the years, some who killed intentionally, some by accident or neglect. Taking a life changes you. But it doesn’t have to change you for the worse. It doesn’t, Iris.” He shook their linked hands.
Here was her chance, her opportunity to ask him why he hadn’t believed her. The words formed in her mouth. She hesitated. What would it change? Making him explain why he hadn’t believed her, whether it was out of loyalty to Marian or a refusal to accept that a man he’d revered could be responsible for such evil, was only going to make him feel badly. An apology wouldn’t magically undo the past. Life didn’t have a re-set button. The best you could hope for was understanding, maybe, or forgiveness. Iris thought about her mother becoming the church’s custodian. Redemption might come through some big selfless act, or through a series of small sacrifices, the kind Marian had embraced. It seemed to Iris that it might also come through deliberate silence and a willingness to let go. She didn’t know whether she was thinking of his redemption or her own. It didn’t matter.
“I love you, Dad,” she finally said.
“I love you, too, Mercy.” He leaned forward and pressed his chapped lips to her cheek.
Iris closed her eyes. They sat in silence, hands still linked, until the influx of Community members began to fill the room. Marian and Angel came in and Iris moved away from her father so he could talk to his grandd
aughter. He was Angel’s true grandfather, Iris thought, even if not by blood. His eyes filled with wonder at her approach. She hopped onto the chair Iris had vacated and, after a brief minute of shyness, was soon prattling away like she’d known him all her short life. When he chuckled at something Angel said, Iris thought her heart would burst with gladness.
“What a gift you’ve given them both,” Jolene said quietly from beside Iris.
“They seem to enjoy each other,” she said instead. “How’s Zach?”
Jolene sighed and ran her fingers through the blond hair that hung loose around her face. “Coping. A bit shell-shocked, but coping. He’s grieving for Esther—”
“I’m sorry.”
“He doesn’t blame you, Iris,” Jolene said quickly. “He’s grieving for his mother all over again, after what Esther told him, and he’s so terribly shocked by what Esther did to her, and what she said about her relationship with their father, that he hasn’t even begun to process it all. And he’s grieving for his father. Not really for his father, but for his idea of him, for who he thought he was. I think he thinks he should have known what his father was doing, with Esther, if not with you and … and the others. He blames himself.”
“He was a kid.”
“That’s what I told him.” Jolene shrugged one shoulder. “I’m trying to get him to agree to see someone, you know, to talk it out with a professional. At the risk of sounding like a selfish bitch—”
Iris choked on a surprised laugh.
“—I will say that one silver lining is that he’s agreed Matthew can continue in the nursing home, that we don’t have to take him in. I feel guilty about feeling so relieved, but I just couldn’t face—. He’ll get better care in the nursing home anyway. A rationalization, I know,” she added, biting her lower lip.
“Stop beating yourself up,” Iris said, semi-impatiently. “You do more good in a week than most people do in a year. You don’t want to take a comatose pedophile into your home and care for him at the expense of your marriage, your children, and your teaching. Good for you. Get over the guilt thing.”
Jolene gave her a surprised look that turned thoughtful. “I will if you will,” she said.
“Deal.” Iris stuck out her hand, but Jolene ignored it, leaning in to hug her. After a startled moment, Iris returned the hug.
“I’m glad we’re going to be friends again,” Jolene said, releasing Iris. “We are, right?”
“We seem to be headed that way,” Iris said, the ghost of a smile playing around her lips. “Maybe if the Community can spare you long enough, you can come see me in Portland. I’m thinking about buying a house.”
She hadn’t realized until that moment that she was thinking about making an offer for the house she lived in, but it felt right and she resolved to call her landlord as soon as she returned.
Zach started the service shortly after that and Iris kept to the fringe of the circle surrounding her father. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the ritual in the woods, when the Community encircled her and threw stones, but then the joy in the hymns and the warmth in the smiles erased the impression. Angel’s voice piped above the others on “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” a bright soprano that reminded Iris of Esther’s. Before the song ended, she slipped out of the room without anyone noticing. She and her father had said what they needed to say for now.
She hit the road doing eighty-five. With any luck she’d have at least an hour before the bus got back to Lone Pine. She eased the accelerator closer to the floor. That should be plenty of time for a conversation best held in private.
forty-eight
iris
Lone Pine felt deserted when Iris drove in. There had been no cars in the Sleepytime Inn’s parking lot when she passed, and even though a couple of vehicles were parked along Center Street, no one strolled down the sidewalk, mowed a lawn, or rocked on a front porch. In the middle of a weekday, the residents were either at work or on the bus returning from the prison. It felt like a ghost town, Iris thought, parking in front of Debby’s Café. Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the door, wanting to rip down the annoying bell, and stood by the counter with its pile of damp plastic-coated menus, apparently newly wiped.
“Coming.” Joseph Ulm’s voice came from the kitchen. He emerged a moment later, his welcoming smile shrinking when he spotted Iris. “Oh. Hi, Iris.”
“Joe.”
They faced each other silently for thirty seconds.
“Gabby called last night,” Joe finally said. He scratched a spot behind his ear.
Iris nodded.
“We thought we might be seeing you.”
Debby Ulm’s voice came from Iris’s left and she turned to see the petite woman come out of the restroom, drying her hands on her apron. Iris tensed, not liking to have to split her focus, but then Debby crossed to her husband and put her hand on his shoulder. Her face was set, defiant, the strong brows pinched in. Iris rotated her shoulders, wincing when the injured one objected, and gestured toward a booth. “Maybe we could sit?”
The Ulms moved as one to the booth she indicated and slid onto the bench, with Joe on the inside, closest to the window. Iris sat across from them and folded her hands on the table. Something about the way Debby Ulm held herself made Iris say, “I should tell you that I left a letter with Cade Zuniga after I talked to Gabby yesterday. It says I intended to come here and talk to you.”
Joe looked blank, but then his eyes widened as he realized what he was saying. “Good God, Iris, we aren’t the kind of people who—”
“I didn’t think so,” Iris said, looking not at him but at his wife who glared at her with ill-concealed fury. “If you were, you would surely have found an opportunity to finish Pastor Matt off sometime during the past twenty-three years, especially after he woke up.”
“When we heard he was awake—” Debby Ulm gripped her husband’s hand on the table.
“That must have scared you,” Iris agreed.
“But then it seemed as if he didn’t remember anything, or couldn’t communicate it, if he did,” Joe said. His left hand played with the sweetener packets in their small rectangular dish, lifting them half out of the dish and stuffing them back down. “We felt safe again.”
“Until you came back,” Debby said flatly. “I tried to persuade you to leave—”
“The phone call? My car?”
Debby nodded. “And I trashed your room.”
“The rockslide?”
She hesitated, then gave a tiny nod. “I thought it would just be the one rock. I didn’t anticipate that avalanche. I was at Mary Welsh’s for the knitting circle when I saw you drive in and leave again. I followed you, thinking I’d convince you to go home, I guess. When you pulled over and started hiking, I … I waited and then drove to the north rim …”
Iris was anticipating an apology, but none came.
“Debby!” Joe gaped at his wife.
“She was going to dig it all up, Joe,” she snapped. “I did what I had to do to protect you—us.”
He pulled his hand away and faced Iris. “What did you tell Gabby?”
Iris found herself wanting to reassure the man who had beaten Pastor Matt and let her father go to prison for his crime. “I didn’t tell her what I suspected. I told her I’d looked her up for old time’s sake. She seemed glad to see me.”
“She always looked up to you,” Debby Ulm said, as if puzzled by her daughter’s lack of judgment.
“I worked the conversation around to the reckoning stones and she fell apart, telling me that my ‘bravery’ in telling the truth had given her the strength to tell the truth, too. To you.” Iris let her gaze rest on Joe and then on Debby. “She told you Pastor Matt was molesting her.”
Debby sank her face into her work-roughened hands and Joe mangled a sweetener packet so that the white crystals spilled onto the table. He concent
rated on poking them into a pile with his forefinger.
“She told you the day after the ritual, the day Pastor Matt was beaten. She hasn’t connected the dots, or if she has, she’s repressing the truth. But I see it.” Iris put both palms flat on the table and leaned forward. “You went to the Brozek house that night, outraged and heartbroken, planning to confront him or—who knows?—planning to kill him.”
“No!” Debby’s voice cracked. “Joe isn’t like that. He wouldn’t—”
“Either Gabby told you she was supposed to meet him in the cottage, or you saw him headed that way and followed him. Did you talk to him, or just go in swinging?”
Joe cleared his throat. “He … he said Gabby was lying, that you and she were both liars. I knew my little girl wasn’t lying. She was nearly hysterical, crying, when she told me what he’d done to her. She blamed herself.” He fisted his hand and put the knuckles to his mouth. “My innocent little Gabby thought something she’d done or said had made that wicked pervert want her. She was only thirteen! He started to say something about the reckoning stones and Gabby, and I told him I was through with the Community, that I was going to the police. He grabbed that iron cross off the wall and took a swing at me, cut my cheek open.” He rubbed his cheekbone. “I got it away from him and then … I couldn’t seem to stop. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
Silence settled over the café as Joe finished talking. A dishwasher gurgled from the kitchen and an insect flew into the window with a tiny thuck.
“You let my dad go to prison for something you did,” Iris said.
Joe nodded. “Yes. I made it home somehow and told Debby what I’d done—”
“I took one look at him and knew,” Debby said, memories of that night darkening her eyes. “He was spattered with blood and almost catatonic, still clutching the cross in his hand. I got him cleaned up, burned his clothes, hid the cross. And then we waited.”
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