No one was outside, which meant they were all inside the two-story cabin going over their lessons. Smoke trickled from the chimney despite the midday heat. Loomis figured Cara was getting an early start on dinner. Pretty soon the season would get too muggy, and she would have to move her cooking to the summer kitchen or overheat the cabin something fierce. About the only modern apparatus in sight were the four solar panels on the roof of the stillroom, and even they had seen better days. Otherwise, the place looked as rustic as a farm from the 1800s.
They stopped at the corral. Kevin made an awkward jump from the saddle and stumbled. Loomis was heartened to see Gwen easily slide from the back of Tempest as if she did it every day. Maybe she used to ride horses before the plague. The small woman hobbled a bit on sore legs as she followed the corral fence around, leaving Lucky on the horse.
Loomis reluctantly reached up to take the baby. “Rick, get over here and help.” While he assisted the mother down, Loomis cradled the child. God, it weighs less than a feather. Are we too late to save it?
“I’ll unsaddle the horses.” Rick took Tempest’s reins. “You want to get them up to the house?”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Loomis gladly gave Lucky back her burden. She raised her voice to be heard by Gwen. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the others, and we can have some lunch.”
At the thought of meeting new people, Kevin’s shoulders hunched and he returned to his taciturn state. Loomis wondered if maybe someone had beaten him to make him act so scared of encountering strangers. How bad had it been in the city? By the look of them, horrendous. Lucky limped on her stylish torture devices, hugging her baby to her chest. It looked like they would have to cut those sandals off, the way her feet were swollen around the straps.
Loomis glanced back after a few steps. Gwen stared out at the sheep herd, an inscrutable expression on her face. “Gwen! Let’s go! There’s food at the house.” Gwen visibly shook herself and pushed away from the corral. Loomis waited for her to catch up. “We’ll heat some water for baths, probably in the summer kitchen, get you guys cleaned up, and doctored.”
“Why are you doing this?” Gwen asked, her voice rough as if rusty from disuse.
Frowning, Loomis stared at the ground as they walked. “I’ll admit it ain’t because I want to. But what I said back in the church stands. Our folks wouldn’t appreciate us throwing the lot of you to the wolves. It’s not right to treat people like trash, no matter what you might have against them.”
“What did Dwayne Walker say to get you to agree to taking us in?”
Loomis glanced sideways at her. Her expression was sober, and she seemed to really want to know. “He reminded me of my responsibilities to Lindsay Crossing.”
Gwen nodded thoughtfully, not saying anything else.
Being in close proximity, Loomis’s nose twitched from the rank scent they carried. Even if inviting them in was the polite thing to do, Cara wouldn’t thank her for the aroma. Most of the glass in the southern face of the cabin was for the greenhouse or passive solar heating. Not many windows actually opened to allow more than cross ventilation. On the other hand, Loomis didn’t want to insult these folks by bringing attention to their situation.
As they passed the garden, an acre of raised beds that fed the family through the growing season, Lucky trailed to a stop. “These are tomatoes.” She caressed a plant leaf.
Loomis almost saw her mouth water. “Yeah. We’ve got a lot of vegetables here. Come harvest we’ll spend a few days putting it up for winter, and start sprouting seedlings in the greenhouse. Keeps us in fresh vegetables for the cold months.” She reached past Lucky and pulled a spring ripe tomato from the vine. “Here. Take it.”
Lucky gingerly took the fruit, raising it to her nose for a luxurious inhalation. “I’ve always loved tomatoes. My mama had a small garden in the backyard, and we’d have tomatoes all summer long.”
Her delight was childlike, and it caused Loomis a moment of embarrassment, as if she witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to see. To cover her discomfort, she looked at the other two. “You want one? We’ve got plenty.” Kevin came forward, studying the sun-warmed tomato with a combination of distrust and awe. Gwen refused. By that time, Lucky had bitten into hers with a groan of pure pleasure, increasing Loomis’s uneasiness.
“Come on then,” she said, gruffly. To avoid smelling up the cabin, she took them past it and to the picnic table. Dolls were still scattered across it from the morning play session. Loomis pushed them to one side. “It’s cooler here than inside. Besides, we have to fire up the stove out here if we’re going to heat enough water for baths. You folks just sit tight, and I’ll get the rest of the family.”
Loomis tensed when Gwen raised an eyebrow at her, expecting an argument. Instead, she straddled the bench so she could see the cabin, her back to the summer kitchen. Kevin still anticipated something horrible, clutching his uneaten tomato in one hand as he sat. Lucky breathed a sigh of relief as she got off her feet, finishing her treat with relish. Relieved they weren’t going to make a fuss about not being invited inside, Loomis left them. As soon as she stepped into the cabin, Megan jumped up from the table where she learned her letters, and dashed across the room.
“You’re back! I missed you!”
Loomis’s trepidation faded at the little girl’s joy. “I’ve missed you, too, baby.” She scooped the child up and hugged her. After accepting a sloppy kiss, she turned to the others.
Terry’s face held stern concentration as he ignored her arrival. He was working his way through the books of James R. Walker about Lakota Indians. Written in the late 1800s, they were a little above his reading abilities, and the thick dictionary lay open beside him. Delia and Heather worked with mathematics flash cards, and Cara sat in her rocker near the fireplace, knitting.
“Look at my printing.” Megan waved toward the small slate board she used. “Heather says I do the letter ‘I’ really good.”
“Really well,” Loomis corrected, carrying her to the table to see.
“Do not,” Terry grumbled, not even looking up. “They look like slashes.”
“They do not!” Megan scowled at Loomis. “Do they?”
Loomis had to admit they did look slanted. “I think you’re doing a good job. You just need a little more practice.”
Placated, the girl stuck her tongue out at Terry, who ignored her.
“What happened in town?” Cara laid her project aside and stood. “Did you see Annie?”
“No, no Annie.” Loomis set Megan back onto the bench in front of her work. “But we have guests for lunch.”
“Really?” Delia asked, blue eyes wide, the flash cards forgotten. “Who’s here? Are there kids to play with?”
Loomis rubbed the back of her neck. “One kid about Terry’s age. A couple of girls and a baby.”
Heather frowned in thought. “The Olsens are here?” The Olsens were the only family with a baby at the moment.
“No. About forty refugees arrived in town from the city. The town voted to take them in, and Dwayne Walker talked me into bringing some home.”
“Bringing some home?” Heather repeated. “Why?”
Cara answered for Loomis. “Because there’s no place else they can go.” She looked at her older cousin. “Is this going to be a temporary or permanent arrangement?”
“It’s looking permanent.”
Becoming businesslike, Cara began giving orders. “Heather, let’s get these things put away. Girls, help Heather. Terry, put the books up, make yourself presentable for company. Have they had lunch?”
It took a moment before Loomis realized she was being asked a question. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.” Before Cara could run off to do something, she continued. “They’re in pretty bad shape. They really need baths and clean clothes. The boy, Kevin, has got to have a serious haircut. And they haven’t seen much food the last few days.”
Cara nodded. “We kept your lunch warming in the oven. Won’t take anything
to add a bit more for the extra mouths. How old’s the baby?”
Loomis shrugged. “I don’t know. Lucky—the mama—is the healthiest of the lot, but that ain’t saying much. The babe can’t be more than a couple of pounds. Either it’s newborn, or it’s starving as bad as they are.”
Tsking under her breath, Cara bustled into the kitchen, grabbing her apron from a hook. “Heather, I’ll need your help in here.”
“Can we go see the baby?”
Loomis looked down at Delia, and smiled. She caressed curly blond hair, and cupped her cheek. “I think that would be a fine idea.” Taking each girl by the hand, she said, “Come on, Terry, let’s meet your new brother.”
***
Gwen couldn’t believe how sore the ride from town had made her thighs. She’d ridden ponies once in a while as a child, mostly at camp, but had no idea it would make her so stiff. How could she hurt so much when the horse did all the work?
Her conversation with Loomis irritated her. At first Gwen thought the woman was a hater with all that talk about Lucky being stupid for balling. That would be the shits if Gwen had hooked up with a bitch that thought they were dweebs or something. Loomis’s comment about taking them in because of her responsibility to Lindsay Crossing hadn’t raised Gwen’s opinion. Had she made a mistake by not sticking it out in town with the mayor?
Gwen reviewed the meeting in the church and the group dynamics all over again while she, Lucky and Kevin waited at the picnic table. Sure, Walker was the big man in town, but his little speech about adopting the Gatos had been met with a lot of resistance. Gwen had no doubt that a vote before Loomis spoke up would have had very different results. Instead of sitting under a shade tree waiting to meet her future roommates, she’d be walking to her death at Weasel’s side on the other end of town. No. When the Loomises had entered the church, all the townies had shut up without being told, giving her their attention even though the mayor ran the show. When Loomis spoke in favor of Walker’s proposal, the majority had caved and agreed without argument. The power was here, resting in the heart of that opinionated asshole.
In the past Gwen had been down for whatever with other girls. Weasel never minded if she had a female cut buddy. He got jealous when she showed interest in other boys, something she only did to make him crazy. Given a choice, Gwen preferred feminine companionship to masculine any day, but what she wanted and what she could get were two different things. Not many girls held power unless it was because of whom they bedded. Gwen had had no choice but to let Weasel chop on her to get what she wanted; she’d seen what happened to girls who teased too much. She wanted no part of that for herself. Life had been good while she banged Weasel. It had been the right choice at the time.
Marissa Loomis was a dime piece. Her brother, Rick, was cute, but Loomis was the better looking of the two. It wouldn’t put Gwen out to warm Loomis’s bed. But out here in the sticks did they even go there? Loomis’s admonition about her language harkened back to memories of Gwen’s ’rents. They’d been pretty controlling before the sickness got them. What would they have said about her banging girls instead of boys? Were Loomis and her crew of the same mind? Then there was the whole possibility of Loomis not liking girls that way. Gwen sighed, glumly staring at the cabin. What the hell was she going to do if that were the case? This was her last stop. Hooking back up with Weasel was out of the question. He was low man on the totem pole now. It would take years for him to be a force to be reckoned with here.
The cabin door opened, and she watched Loomis come outside with three little girls, holding two by the hand. One had curly blond hair, obviously not a close relation, while the other had the same auburn coloring as the family. That one couldn’t be more than five and she looked small for her age; she must have been newborn when the plague hit. Behind them was an older girl with blond braids—the bigger sister of the curly haired kid? She had a surly sort of walk, stomping as she went, displeased at having to come out here. As the group neared, Gwen realized that the laggard with the attitude was a boy, not a girl, and his braids had red and gray strips wrapped around them.
Loomis stopped at the other end of the picnic table, still holding the girls’ hands. The littlest one hopped up onto the bench, Loomis automatically taking her weight and lifting her up with ease.
God, the kid’s her spitting image. Well, except for the shape of her chin.
“Lucky, Gwen and Kevin, this is Megan Loomis, Delia Hansen and Terry Chapman.” Loomis released Delia’s hand to urge Terry out from behind her and closer to the table. “Say hello to these folks. They’ve traveled a long way, and are going to be living with us from now on.”
The blond girl blushed and acted shy, though she smiled at them as she inched behind Loomis’s legs. Gwen’s heart stuttered as an overwhelming mix of emotion surged through her. A part of her thought the kid was sweet, and longed to grin encouragement or say something to ease her bashfulness. Another part wondered if she’d ever been so innocent. Logically she would have been at that age, but she didn’t have much recollection of that time in her life. The worst was a combination of disgust and dismay—didn’t this kid understand the nature of the world yet? None of the five- and six-year-olds she dealt with acted this way. They knew their place, and worked hard to not piss off their elders lest they get beaten. But Delia had no idea of the hell her peers had gone through a hundred plus miles south of here. She had been raised in a safe and apparently loving environment. Gwen heartily wished she had been here instead of the city when Methuselah had disrupted the world.
A voice cut off the sudden yearning accompanying the thought. “What’s the baby’s name?” Megan had released Loomis’s hand, and walked down the bench to lean across the table in front of Lucky, eager to catch a glimpse of the bundle she held.
“Oscar.” With careful movements, Lucky unwrapped her son and held him out for the girl to see.
Not to be left out, Delia tossed off her timid demeanor and clambered up next to her friend to get a better look.
While they fawned over Oscar, Terry swaggered over to Kevin and gave him a thorough once-over. Gwen recognized his type—he was a bully in the making—and she bristled. “You stink,” he proclaimed in a haughty manner.
“Terry Douglas Chapman!” Loomis took a step toward him. “That’s rude. You apologize right now.”
“But he does.” Terry’s bravado wilted under Loomis’s stern glare.
Gwen wisely kept her mouth shut. Better to let their posturing work through their systems than interrupt. Besides, even if Terry and Loomis weren’t related, they lived together. Things could get as bad as with siblings. Nobody with any brains got in between that. She watched Loomis’s suntan darken, mentally noting that anger gave her a sexy, dangerous air.
“You don’t know anything about what these folks have been through. Apologize or you’ll go to bed without supper.”
Terry raised his chin, not budging on his opinion.
Kevin knew the way of things too. He could roll over and take the abuse, or stand up for himself. He was at the age when boys started groping for power. Gwen felt a measure of pride as he stood up menacingly. He wasn’t much taller than Terry, standing almost eye-to-eye. “At least I don’t look like a girl.”
Delia and Megan tittered, and Terry blushed. Gwen glanced at the little girls, seeing a knowing look. Obviously, Terry had been mistaken for a girl before, and it was a sore point.
“I ain’t a girl! I’m an Indian warrior!”
Kevin’s lip twisted into a sneer. “You ain’t nobody but a dumb cracker wannabe. You ain’t even the same color as a Indian.”
Risking a glance at Loomis, Gwen saw she was still mad, but didn’t interrupt. Instead she stood with her arms across her chest, watching them verbally duke it out. Would she intercede if it came to physical violence, or let them scrap until one of them won over the other?
Kevin looked Terry over in disdain. “Those ain’t even real moccasins. You made those, didn’t you?”
“’Cause I seen real ones before.”
“Really?” Terry edged closer, his badass attitude quickly fading. “Where?”
No longer being challenged, Kevin also became less aggressive. “In a building in the city. My brother said it was a museum. It had lots of Indian stuff in it.”
Terry eyed him for a moment, gauging the veracity of his information. “You want to see my lodge?”
“I do!” Megan piped up.
“No girls allowed.” Terry hardly gave her a glance. He kept his attention on Kevin. “Well? Do you?”
Kevin affected nonchalance. “For shizzle.”
“Huh?”
“He means yeah,” Gwen cut in. When Terry looked directly at her, she realized that he shared a lot of Loomis’s features.
“Let’s go then.” Terry turned away, heading toward the pond.
“Be careful,” Loomis called after the boys. “Kevin’s been sick lately.”
Terry rolled his eyes at her, and Kevin mirrored the reaction before trotting after him on his tattered sneakers.
Once they were out of hearing range, Loomis said, “I think that went pretty well.”
“Kevin’s cool. He’s always in check.” Gwen watched Loomis purse her lips in confusion, and realized she would have to explain. “He’s in check. He doesn’t push buttons or rile people up.”
Loomis rubbed the side of her jaw. “If you say so.”
How can she irritate me so much with just a look or a word? Gwen looked back at the cabin. “Is it just you guys then? ’Cause if you’re looking for a nanny, you can just keep looking. I didn’t come here to cook and clean and look out for your little brothers and sisters.”
Orphan Maker Page 4