Mr. Doucet had some not-so-nice things to say about Aunt Helen. But she’d always told Jonah to turn the other cheek when people were ugly, so he looked off to the left.
“Okay.”
Jonah hopped in and they lumbered down the road. People on the street were watching them go by like they were in a parade. A couple of folks started to whoop and holler, and there was a bunch of clapping and whistling going on, so Jonah raised his right hand and waved. He had to use his left to push the mad little man back down into the truck when he tried to climb out again, and that just set off another round of laughs and a few calls of “Go, Jonah!”
Jonah just sent them a big gap-toothed smile. He’d never been in no parade before.
Aunt Helen pulled the truck out of town, and Jonah settled in to ignore the ugly the man was spouting while he enjoyed the ride.
When the truck turned the corner to go down the lane to Henry’s house, Jonah got real glad. He was always happy to see his friend.
When Aunt Helen stopped the truck up near the house, she climbed out and nodded to Jonah.
“You can toss him out of there now, Jonah. But set him down easy.”
So he did, placing Mr. Doucet on his feet like a toy doll. The man pulled away from him as soon as Jonah let loose and turned all that ugly onto Aunt Helen.
“You done yet?” she asked, once the man looked like he’d come to the bottom of his big ol’ bucket of nastiness.
He gave her a look that said he was just waiting till that bucket refilled off the tap, then he was gonna light into her again, but she didn’t give him the chance.
“I ain’t never had no use for you, Livingston Doucet. Never made a secret of it neither. But this is just plumb crazy. You get on in that house and you take a shower. Damn, man, but you stink.”
“Don’t you lecture me, Helen Sue Watson. God created man to—”
“Oh, just shut the hell up. God didn’t create man to go stinking up town and scaring little children. I’ll tell you what God created. He created soap, you old jackass.”
Jonah waved to Henry as he stepped out onto the porch. Looked like Alice was there with him. Jonah liked Alice.
“Hey there, Henry,” Jonah called. Henry waved back, but he didn’t step down from the porch.
“I tell you, Livingston. I’d hate to have to ask my boy here to pick you up and haul you into the house and throw your skinny behind into the shower. But by God, that’s just what I’ll do if you don’t pull yourself together.”
“That boy lays one more finger on me, Helen Sue, and by God, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” she asked in a low, slithery voice that sounded like a snake creeping out from under a log.
Mr. Doucet took a good long look at her face, then over at Jonah, who broke into a smile. Jonah thought maybe the man needed a little nice in his life, so he gave him some for free.
“You got no right, Helen Sue. No right, and you know it,” he said.
“Right or not, I see you in town again scaring people like that, I’ll do the same. Your kind of preaching doesn’t sit well, Livingston. People got enough worries without you throwing that mess in their faces.”
She got back in the truck. “Come on, Jonah,” she said.
He climbed up into the passenger side of the truck while his aunt leaned one arm out the window.
“I realize the likelihood of you taking any kind of advice from me is slim to fat chance, but I gotta tell you, Livingston. You might want to talk to somebody. Losing a person . . . particularly a person as fine as Caroline . . . that’s hard. It’d be hard for even the most sure-footed of men. And you certainly haven’t ever been that.”
Jonah watched Mr. Doucet go red in the face as his aunt backed the truck out of the driveway. He didn’t appear to care much for what she’d said, as he started in on shouting and waving his arms again. He even leaned down and picked up some rocks from the gravel drive to throw in their direction, but they were too far away by that time for the rocks to reach them, so Jonah just watched as the angry man grew smaller in the distance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Henry sighed a deep, long-suffering sigh of resignation as he watched his stepfather throw rocks at Ms. Watson’s retreating truck.
The commotion had brought Eve out to the doorway of the shed. Henry heard Alice gasp behind him when Livingston turned his ire on the girl.
“What do you think you’re looking at, huh?” he demanded as he stomped back to the house. “Nothing but a freeloading gypsy, you are, girl. You just mind your business and be glad I don’t toss you out on your ear.”
Henry was tempted to remind Livingston that he couldn’t do that even if he wanted to, since Mama had seen fit to will the house to her son rather than her ill-tempered second husband. He had no doubt about his mother’s reasoning. She’d known that Henry would never kick Livingston out, because that hadn’t been her wish. The same couldn’t necessarily be said if the situation were reversed.
But Eve didn’t seem bothered by Livingston’s outburst in the least. She stood there looking at him like a bug under a glass, so Henry didn’t bother to correct him.
“You quit that right now, Livingston Doucet. You can’t treat her like that,” Alice said. Apparently, she didn’t have the same sort of restraint.
All she earned for her trouble was her father-in-law turning his blistering tongue on her.
“And what’s it to you, Miss High and Mighty?” he sneered, coming up on the porch to join them. “Don’t you have better things to do than hang around here where you’re not wanted? You have a husband you ought to be seeing to, don’t you?”
Alice drew herself up at his insults.
“Del’s perfectly capable of seeing to himself, Livingston. Unlike you, I see.”
“Now you listen here, missy,” Livingston said quietly, wagging a finger in Alice’s face. “I’ve had about enough of the disrespect and the downright disregard for my status as the head of this household. It’s one thing when that old bat can’t control that big, dumb ox of a boy that she’s raising like a heathen over in the swamp, but I will not listen to that kind of sacrilege in my own home.”
Again, Henry was tempted to remind him that it was not, in fact, his home, but he knew it would get him nowhere.
“Why don’t you settle down—”
“Don’t you tell me to settle down, boy,” Livingston bellowed in Henry’s face. “I’m not some hysterical schoolgirl who just saw what a man looks like down under for the first time. You’ll treat me with respect, by God!”
“All right, then. Fine,” Henry said, holding his palms up and backing away a step. The man was obviously in no mood to listen to reason.
“Look,” Alice said in a soothing tone. “Why don’t I go in the kitchen and fix you something to eat. You look like you haven’t had a good meal in days. Am I wrong?”
Henry raised his eyebrows at her over Livingston’s head. The offer was nice and all but sounded a lot more like something Mama would have said rather than Alice.
Livingston looked a little suspicious himself, but his hunger must have won out. Henry knew for a fact he hadn’t been home in several days, and a man can only live on hate and religious mania for so long.
“Well, that’s more like it,” Livingston said gruffly.
“All right, then. You go take a shower, and by the time you’re done, I’ll have you a meal fit for a king.”
Livingston scratched at the mangy beard he’d grown in.
“That’s more like it, indeed,” he said, nodding. “I do need to fuel up. I’ve got preaching to do. The Lord’s work doesn’t get done on its own, you know. No, sir, it does not.”
Livingston wandered into the house, presumably in the direction of the bathroom and a much-needed shower.
Henry met Alice’s eyes. “You know you don’t have to do that, right?”
But Alice had a determined tilt to her chin. “Oh, I know. But I want to. It’s the least I can do,” she said, bru
shing past him and heading for the kitchen.
Henry’s brows shot up, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets as he watched her back. For the life of him, he’d never understand women.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Henry knelt, hands on his knees, and studied the top of Livingston’s head. It was lying on his arm, which was outstretched across the dinner table, a fork still clutched in his hand.
Livingston’s face was sitting partially upon the edge of the plate that Alice had made for him, tilting it so that brown gravy and bits of mashed potatoes were clinging in a sticky mess to his recently cleaned and trimmed beard.
“He’s not dead, is he?” Henry asked, casting a glance at his sister-in-law.
“Of course he’s not dead,” Alice said as she lifted the unconscious man’s head and slid the plate from beneath him. “Don’t be silly.”
She used a washcloth to wipe the food from the dark-ginger and gray hair on Livingston’s cheek, then let his head drop back onto the table with a not-so-gentle thud.
Seeing the look of confusion on Henry’s face, Alice put her hand in her pocket and dug out a bottle of prescription pills. They rattled around when she placed them on the table next to Livingston’s head.
“Sleeping pills,” she said. But Henry had figured that out. “The doctor said I needed to get some rest. I don’t care for them much; they make me feel foggy. But they came in handy, don’t you think?”
Henry leaned over and lifted one of Livingston’s eyelids, but despite giving a rumbling snort, the man seemed totally unaware.
“Jesus, how many did you give him?” Henry asked.
“Just two,” Alice said, sounding defensive. “I mixed it in with the food. But he probably hasn’t slept in days, and he looks like he hasn’t eaten much either. Two was all it took.”
Henry’s concern must have shown on his face.
“They’re completely safe,” Alice assured him.
“Okay,” Henry said, running a hand through his hair. “If you say so.”
“Can you help me carry him to a bed?” Alice asked.
“Um. Sure,” Henry replied. They couldn’t exactly leave him there.
Henry grabbed the man beneath the arms, and his head lolled backward. With the efficiency of a nurse, Alice grabbed Livingston’s legs behind the knees, and together they heaved him up.
Carting him down the hallway, Henry was surprised that such a small, wiry man was so awkwardly heavy to lug around. Henry kicked the door open behind him, and they took Livingston into the room he’d once shared with his wife.
“On three?” Alice asked.
Henry nodded, and they swung the unconscious man onto the bed, where he sprawled and bounced on the mattress.
“I have no intention of changing him into pajamas and tucking him in,” Henry said.
Alice wiped her hands on one another. “Don’t bother. He’ll be up and around soon enough, ready to go back to spewing nonsense. For now, he won’t even notice.”
They backed out of the room. As Henry shut the door, Livingston let out a snore and Alice couldn’t hold back a grin.
“I don’t know what to do about him, Alice,” Henry said, suddenly serious. “He’s out of control.”
“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Alice said.
“Yeah. But we know what your dad would say about wishes,” Henry said with half a smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Eve’s mouth was pulled into a thin line as she tried to concentrate on the steps Caroline had shown her, working the old loom. The experience of creating something with her own hands—something that could be touched, felt, given as a gift to another, some physical sign that would show that she existed—was compelling.
But Alice was in the house with Henry, and Eve found it hard to keep her mind from wandering there.
As if thoughts of Alice had conjured her into being, the door to the shed creaked, and there she stood.
“Hiya, Eve,” Alice said. “I don’t want to bother you. I just wanted to say hello and let you know I left some plates in the oven for you and Henry.”
Eve studied the woman. She was gracious and giving, but more than that, she knew Henry in a way that Eve never would. She’d known him since he was a child, watched him grow into the man he’d become. For Eve, Henry had become a part of her, and she could feel that growing stronger by the day. She couldn’t imagine life without him. Didn’t want to imagine it.
But Alice was easy with him, able to talk and laugh, so sure of her place in the world and in the hearts of the people who loved her. Eve wanted that. She envied that.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. It wasn’t Alice’s fault, but the envy didn’t seem to care.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Alice said, moving to touch a finger to the woven piece of fabric on Caroline’s loom. “You did this?” she asked.
Eve bit her bottom lip, and the jealousy wilted under the appreciation.
“It’s for Henry,” she said with a slight smile.
Alice sent her an admiring glance. “It’s amazing,” she said.
Eve felt a flush creeping up her cheeks as the emotions inside of her clashed with one another. Looking around, her eyes landed on the bucket of pink bougainvillea blossoms she’d collected to dye the wool, and she jumped from her stool, grasped the bucket, and fled for the door of the small, crowded shed.
Alice followed her out into the sunlight, but it was better, somehow, not to be closed in with the other woman.
Eve walked to where the water faucet attached to the side of the shed and set the bucket on the ground. It wasn’t heavy, not really, but she stretched and rubbed a hand along her lower back, pushing away at an ache. She’d been bent over the loom for hours, and her body felt stiff and creaky.
She turned on the spigot, and the crisp, cool water flowed over the blooms in the bucket, darkening them. A breeze kicked up, and it felt good to be out in the midst of the day after the dimly lit darkness of the shed. Eve turned her face and body into the wind and closed her eyes, drinking in the sensations caressing her skin.
When she opened her eyes, she was smiling.
She caught sight of Alice’s face, and the other woman was not. Alice had gone as pale as fresh-churned milk, and she was staring at Eve like she’d seen her own nightmares come to life.
“Alice?” Eve asked, taking a step toward her.
Alice put a hand over her mouth, like she was going to be sick at any moment, and backed away, shaking her head. She turned and nearly ran back toward the house and Henry.
Eve watched her go, her brows drawn together. Then she looked down at herself, where the wind had outlined and molded the loose dress she was wearing around her form.
She sucked in a breath, and for a moment it felt as if her heart had stopped beating.
Her secret was no longer hers alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Henry had practical matters on his mind when the front door flew open and Alice reentered the house, riding a cloud of indignation. He’d been hired to build a shed on the other side of town, and he was supposed to start tomorrow, but with all the uncertainty that went along with having two severed fingers delivered to your door, he was loath to leave Eve alone for that amount of time. She’d just have to come with him, he thought.
“Alice?” he asked, concerned. Her face was a wide canvas that had brush strokes of pain and betrayal slashed all over it.
“How could you?” she cried. “You let me pour my heart out to you, go on and on about a baby, and the whole time you never thought—”
She broke off her words on a sharp intake of breath, and Henry could see she was fighting back tears.
“Alice, what’s happened? Why are you so upset?” He crossed the room and put his hands on her forearms, and leaned down to look her in the eyes. She was trembling, he realized with a shock.
She threw her arms up, breaking the connection and taking a step back. This time when she faced him, it was disgus
t instead of betrayal he saw in her face. And Henry had the distinct impression that disgust was directed at him.
“How long, Henry? How long was she here before you started sleeping with her?”
It was his turn to take a step back.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“I know how you two feel about each other. I’d have to be an idiot not to see it, and I’m not an idiot, Henry.”
“Up until about five seconds ago, I would have agreed with you,” Henry said, folding his arms across his chest.
Alice gave a short, bitter laugh.
“Typical. Just like a man. What were you thinking?” she raged.
“I don’t know, Alice. But clearly you have an opinion about it, so why don’t you do me a favor and fill me in. What was I thinking?”
“Oh, you fool! How could you be so careless? So . . . so stupid? You had your whole life in front of you, and now you’ve gone and—”
She threw her arms up and looked him up and down.
“That girl,” Alice said, enunciating each word with a finger pointing in Henry’s direction. “That girl is damaged.”
“Her name is Eve,” Henry said coldly.
“I know her name!” Alice shouted. “How long did you know her name before you jumped into bed with her?”
Henry’s jaw clenched as he struggled to keep a leash on the anger that was threatening to break away from him.
“And now look what you’ve done! Not only have you completely disregarded her state of mind, you’ve really topped it off, haven’t you?”
“That’s enough,” Henry said quietly, straining to stay calm in the face of such fury. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, Alice, but I don’t like it.”
“Oh, you don’t like it?” she said with a harsh laugh. “You don’t like it? That’s rich, Henry. That’s brilliant. What difference does it make if you like it or not? You’re not the one who ended up pregnant, are you?”
A ringing began in Henry’s ears, and he shook his head, trying to clear it out, trying like hell to rearrange the sounds that had come from Alice’s mouth to create words different than the ones she’d just tossed at him like a grenade.
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