Sometime later, through the fuzzy walls of an uneasy doze, she thought she heard footsteps outside her door, and when they persisted, she went to look, parting the curtain slightly, but there was only a paper cup from McDonald’s skittering across the parking lot at the whim of an errant breeze. The taillights of a car nearing the exit caught her eye. Dark blue, she thought, although it was hard to tell in the wash of light that pooled beneath the motel’s vacancy sign. When the car turned, Abby saw the driver was a woman. Maybe she was related to the old man at the desk; maybe she’d brought news of the daughter-in-law. Abby hoped it wasn’t bad.
* * *
When she woke again, the glare of morning sunlight edged the curtains. She could feel it needling her eyelids and crooked an elbow over her face. Her head ached, and she felt heavy, hangover heavy. From driving half the night, she thought. From the stress of not having a clue about what she was doing and doing it anyway.
Abby sat up slowly. What did she think she was going to wear while she was here? She looked down her front at her rumpled sweater and Nick’s sweatshirt that she wore underneath it. She prodded the canvas tote with her toe. What was in it? A couple of T-shirts. Maybe another sweater, a pullover, some underwear. She couldn’t recall exactly what she’d tossed into it yesterday, but she was pretty sure she was wearing the only pair of socks, the only jeans. She would need more than that if she intended to stay. Did she? What was her plan? Would she grill the old man at the front desk, demand to see the guest register, ask all over town if anyone knew a woman named Sondra?
She took a shower, and once she was dressed, she walked to the motel lobby. She was glad when the girl working at the reception desk told her that the old man had gone home to rest and that his daughter-in-law was going to be fine. Abby had breakfast, and afterward she drove the short length of Main Street hunting a shop to buy a jacket, clean socks and underwear. She didn’t know what to think of herself. As if it was rational to believe her family had survived the flood and were now—what? Wandering like vagabonds? Or maybe they’d found housing atop some remote cliff and were living off the land.
At Gruenwald’s General Store, Abby bought a fleece-lined jacket, bright red, a happy color, two pairs of thick socks and two pairs of underwear, another bra, Playtex, in the box. When she pulled her wallet from her purse, the book of matches came with it. She handed the clerk her credit card and tucked the matches back inside, thinking: Sondra. Thinking: Well, who knew? Could be anybody. A client. Somebody’s secretary.
While Abby waited, she thought how little she knew of the people in Nick’s professional life. But was that so unusual? Was it any different than other marriages? Families? She had her role to play, Nick had his. Of necessity, their daily routines were separate, involved different places, different people.
The clerk pushed the sales slip across the counter toward her.
Abby signed it and pushed it back. “I’m trying to locate someone,” she said.
The clerk waited.
Abby’s cheeks warmed. “Never mind. Can you cut these?” She indicated the tags on the jacket, slipping it on once they were removed. Leaving the store, she stowed her shopping bag in the car and walked down Main Street toward the river. Bandera had been settled in one bent elbow of the Medina River in 1856. Now more than one hundred fifty years later, the river still wasn’t much of a hike from the center of town.
She crested the hill where Main crossed Maple and dipped toward the junction with Highway 16. Last time she was here, the Medina had been raging over the intersection. Now as she threaded her way around twiggy clumps of possumhaw, buttonbush and gnarled mesquite, her steps raised powdery dust. Dry blades of yellow switchgrass brushed the sides of her boots. Nearer the water, where a thick layer of cypress needles mixed with oak and sweetgum leaves cushioned the ground, she paused to look at the water flowing east.
After the storm, when she’d come here with Kate, she had watched for her Jeep, certain that she would see it with Nick and Lindsey inside. She had imagined diving in. Somehow she would swim against her fear of water, swim against the furious current and save them. A miraculous rescue. Today the water level was normal, the flow sedate. Still, Abby hunted the river’s edges for a sign. The sun’s glitter off the car’s roof, a tire partly concealed in the gnarled fist of a tree’s roots. But there was nothing like that. The water passed her, placid, heedless of what it had done, what it had taken. Did she intend to walk its length? If she spoke to it, prayed to it, would it give up its secret? Tell her where it had left her husband and daughter? Would it deny it had ever taken them?
“Abby?”
She wheeled. “Oh, Katie.” Abby walked into Kate’s embrace. “Who called, Mama or Jake?”
“Your mama, early this morning. She thought you’d be at my house or that you would have at least called me by now.”
“I was going to.”
“I saw the BMW outside Gruenwald’s, and when I didn’t find you inside, I figured you were here.”
“Your nutty friend.”
“Insanity,” Kate smiled, “the tie that binds.”
“I can’t seem to give up.” Abby surveyed the river.
“Where did you stay last night?”
“Riverbend.”
“Oh, Lord, how depressing. Come on.” She linked Abby’s arm with hers. “Let’s get your stuff. George can bring one of the men later for the car.”
* * *
The road leading out of town was edged by a thick limestone shelf, and the view shot into the blue, vacant nowhere, down the wall of a canyon that would end in a boulder-filled crevice. Looking out the window, Abby wondered, Was the Jeep there? In this one? That one? The one fifty feet on?
Stop! The word shouted in her mind. She bit both lips to keep it inside. They could go from dawn until dark and never see into all the canyons and gorges. The land was like a rumpled sheet. If only she could, Abby would pick it up and shake it out flat.
Kate said, “I think I saw Nadine Betts in town.”
“The reporter? Say you didn’t. Say she doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Umm, not sure. I was coming down the street toward Gruenwald’s. Looked like she, or somebody who looked an awful lot like her, was checking out your car. She was gone by the time I found a parking place.”
Abby thought of the blue sedan she’d spotted leaving the motel parking lot late last night, too late for it to have been there for any good reason. “What does she drive? Do you know?”
“Ford. Taurus, I think.”
“What color?”
“Dark blue. Why?”
Abby explained and then groaned. “How does that woman know I’m here when I didn’t even know myself that I was coming?”
“Hah!” Kate said. “You’re forgetting where you are.”
* * *
Long ago, according to legend, in the midst of a terrible drought, a Comanche chief came to the highest bluff near his village in the Hill Country to survey the brown wasteland that lay in every direction. Nothing moved; there was no sign of anything left alive. All the game that had fed his people—the deer and the buffalo, the jackrabbits, even the lizards—had died off or escaped, and now, without adequate food and water, the chief’s people were dying. He fell to his knees then and there, and in a last act of desperation, he petitioned the Great Spirit for relief. The answer came swiftly. In exchange for rain, the chief was told, the Great Spirit would accept his most precious possession, his beloved daughter. The chief was devastated. Never was a child so dear to a father. He begged to give his own life instead, but the Great Spirit refused, and the chief went away with a heavy heart.
It was while he was in consultation with his tribal council that his small daughter approached. In her hands she carried her most prized possession, a small doll made for her by her grandmother from cornhusks before the ol
d woman died. In the ancient voice of the wise grandmother, the chief’s daughter announced that she had come at the request of the Great Spirit. The girl told how Spirit was so moved by the chief’s love of his child, and his sorrow over her impending loss, that He had changed His mind. He would not take her. Rather, the chief must dress the doll in a bonnet made from blue jay feathers and lay it atop the bluff in offering, and rain would come. This was done, and the promised rain fell like a gentle blessing throughout the night.
But the true miracle wasn’t found until the next morning when the chief and his people emerged from their tepees to find the hills surrounding their village awash in a sea of flowers. Tipped in white, the tall spires were the same clear, beautiful shade of blue as the jay’s feathers. They were called bluebonnets from that day, and the people honored them as they honored their chief, whose unwavering love for his daughter had inspired the selfless gift that had saved them and their land.
Abby had first heard the legend from her mother, and she had repeated it to her children many times when they’d asked. One very hot, dry summer day when they’d been camped near the Guadalupe River at a site not far from Camp Many Waters—sadly, no longer in existence—Lindsey had offered to sacrifice her Barbie doll to bring the rain. Abby had turned away to hide her smile, somehow not able to picture it, Lindsey’s full-busted, pencil-waisted Barbie dressed in blue jay feathers. Standing at the window now overlooking Kate’s deck, Abby thought if only it did work that way. If only she could leave a doll in offering, and the Great Spirit would return Lindsey to her.
George came up beside her and handed her a glass of wine. “Big difference since you were here last. In the weather, I mean.”
Abby looked at the sky, unblemished now at evening except for the moon, a frosted sickle, that hung in one far corner. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you? For coming, for thinking I can find out what happened.”
George slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I just hope you won’t be hurt any more, Abby, that’s all.”
She thought of saying it wasn’t possible to hurt any more than she already did; she thought of asking him point-blank what he knew. Because she sensed there was something. But didn’t she sense that with everyone? Was she wrong? Could she even stand knowing?
She sipped her wine. “I’ll be fine,” she said.
George tightened his grip. “I hope so, honey. I truly do.”
Chapter 13
A few mornings after Abby’s arrival, Dennis stopped by. He was in uniform and looked official; he looked like the police and not at all like the man Abby had come to know through weeks of phone conversations. This man was a stranger. It was difficult to meet his eye; she couldn’t say his name. When he smiled, her face warmed. When he asked how she’d been, she said, “How did you know I was here?”
“Kate called me after she heard from your mother. They were worried, ready to put out an APB on you.”
Kate brought Dennis a mug and filled it with coffee.
Abby offered the pitcher of cream.
He said, “Thanks, but I take it black,” and kept her gaze. “I thought maybe you’d like to go horseback riding this afternoon.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think so.” Abby looked at Kate.
“Well, I meant George and Kate, too. We could meet at my place, maybe pack some wine and cheese, ride downriver, make a party of it.”
“Sounds like fun,” Kate said, “but George and I have to go into town to the courthouse. We have an issue with this year’s taxes.” She looked at Abby. “You go; it’ll do you good.”
Abby made a face. She could only imagine the planning behind this invitation. The discussion they’d all had about her. What could they do to distract her from her fixation? Her obsession? Considering the extent of some of her wild imaginings, Abby might have laughed. They’d lock her up if they knew, she thought. She caught his eye. “I’d like to go,” she told him. “It’s been a while since I’ve ridden, and I’ve missed it.”
He rapped his knuckles on the table and said, “Good deal,” and from the light in his eyes, she knew he was pleased.
* * *
She was nervous later, following Dennis into his barn, but as she stepped around, helping him with the routine of saddling the horses, she became aware of a welling sense of joy. And she paused a moment to study it, this strange, half-remembered, sweet contentment that seemed to be stealing through her. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to climb into the saddle, and just as suddenly, tears pricked her eyelids.
How could she be happy?
She didn’t notice the rifle Dennis had loaded onto his mount until they were some distance from the corral, and even then, she didn’t ask. She didn’t want to disturb their silence. Abby had noticed this about Dennis before, that silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward.
They were crossing a field when he asked her if she was aware that Mormons were some of the first settlers around.
Abby answered she hadn’t heard that.
“There were German immigrants, too, Dennis said, “and a few Polish families. There was so much timber back then, they built mills and manufactured lumber. Lumber and furniture mostly.”
“Huh,” Abby said, and they fell silent again.
Above them the day was all blue air, cool breeze and fall sunshine so warm down Abby’s back that she took off her new red jacket and tied the arms at her waist. The horses picked their way over the parched ground, around clumps of prickly pear and wedges of brush that Abby decided was some kind of thistle in its dying season.
She said, “I thought this was ranch country.”
“Not at first. Not until the late 1800s when the ranchers south of here started banding their herds together. They drove the cattle up this way and stopped on the banks of the Medina, right there in town where it makes that big bend? Guess it seemed a natural place to rest the herds and fatten them before hitting the trail north.” Dennis paused. “The land’s been overgrazed now in places.”
In the distance, Abby saw what appeared to be buzzards circling the sky. Dennis saw them, too. “If you don’t mind, we’ll ride that way and see what’s up.”
She shook her head, aware of the rifle again.
“It might be nothing,” Dennis said, sensing her distress. He asked about her house. “Didn’t you tell me you designed it?”
“Yes,” she said, knowing it was an attempt to distract her and glad for it.
“That porch is something, the way it wraps all four corners.”
“That was Nick’s idea,” Abby said. “He very nearly blew our budget on that porch. It surprised me, too. He’s usually so frugal. You have to be when there are two—two children to put through—to—” She couldn’t finish. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, blinking furiously. Please don’t cry, pleaseplease. She felt the horses stop, felt Dennis bend toward her, felt him wondering whether to touch her.
He didn’t.
Finally, when she thought she was all right, she said, “I don’t know how to talk about them.”
Dennis straightened, and they started the horses walking again. He seemed to understand there was nothing he could say.
Abby concentrated on the sound the hooves made as they swished through rough yellow grass. The leather saddle creaked beneath her. She listened to her mount breathe. From somewhere close by four songbird notes shimmered up a scale and died.
“Mockingbird,” Dennis said.
“I thought so,” Abby answered.
They spotted the blood almost as soon as they entered the thicket. Dennis dismounted and swiped his fingers over the glossy stain in the leaves at his feet. “Fresh,” he said. Handing Abby his reins, he unholstered his rifle and disappeared into the woods.
At first Abby could hear him, then after a bit, she couldn’t anymore. She jumped when he emerged on
her other side, his expression grim. “Oh, no,” she said.
“Some bozo shot a doe and left her,” he answered. “She’s hurt pretty bad. Her fawn is close by.” He went to his saddlebag, took out a rope.
Abby dismounted.
“No,” he said reading her intention. “Stay here with the horses. They might spook.”
“You have to kill her?”
“Nothing else to do.”
“The fawn?”
“I’ll try and get a rope on it first.” He looked disgusted and furious enough to cuss, but he wouldn’t, Abby thought, out of regard for her.
He glanced off as if he needed a moment to gather himself, and she thought he would go, but he didn’t. His gaze returned to her, and their eyes locked. She could not have said who moved, but somehow they were standing closer together, so close she could smell the sun on his skin, the minty warmth of his breath, a fainter undercurrent of pine. He slid his fingers from her elbow to her wrist, then loosely cupped her hand and she felt her knees weaken. She felt herself sway. The moment elongated, shimmered. It was sensual but not. And then it was over. She caught herself, broke their gaze and stepped back. Or Dennis did. Abby wasn’t sure.
He plowed a hand over his head. He seemed abashed, chagrined, some combination.
Abby didn’t want him to feel badly. “You’ve been so kind to me,” she said, and she wasn’t sure what she meant. More than was on the surface, she thought.
“You’ll be all right,” he said.
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