She had one sheet of paper in her back pocket and a stub of pencil behind her ear to keep track of personal deals. Most of the bartering was done on a family level; the extra food and goods swapped for things from which everyone in the homestead would benefit, like honey for wool and a new grinder blade for her father’s work boots. But each person had his or her own items or skills to trade, as well. In her bag, she had a couple of books that, while interesting, were ultimately worthless to her. She had a good idea who would find them intriguing, though, and looked for the distinctive wagon of the Harts. All she needed to do was follow her nose and the crowd.
In the early days after Orphan Maker, Matthew Hart had raided the small museum in McAdam for a Conestoga wagon replica that had been on display. It was the only one of its kind in town, though the canvas cover was worn and patched now. Sticking up through a flap in the center was a smoking stovepipe, and several people gathered at the back. Loomis slipped into the crowd and pressed forward. Matthew and his sister, Alice, were the local distillers. While most people in Lindsay Crossing had learned how to make their own beer or mead, the Harts had gone into business with corn liquor, making their wagon a very popular destination during Festivals. Joined by his two best friends and her boyfriend, the Hart homestead was considered one of the richest in town.
When it was Loomis’s turn, she bellied up to the makeshift bar, a narrow set of tables blocking off access to the rear of the wagon. She saw barrels, crates and bottles inside, and it looked like they were brewing a batch even now.
“Loomis! What the hell can I do for you?” Matt’s green eyes twinkled.
She opened her bag and pulled out two books, carefully laying them on the bar. Next to them she placed a quart mason jar. “You can fill it up.”
He gave the books a cursory glance. “What do I need books for?” He leaned on his elbows so he had to look up at her. “We ain’t big readers at our place, you know that.”
Loomis grinned, sliding the books under his nose. “Maybe not, but I think you’ll want to read these.”
Matt winked at her. “Why?”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Because if I swap these with someone else, you won’t be the only one making liquor.” She tapped the nondescript covers. “These are books on making booze. They’ve got all sorts of recipes too.”
He blinked at her, then glanced around to see if anyone else had overheard. “Really?”
“Yup. Tells you how to set up your own still, how to make the mash…even gives recipes for different kinds of alcohol.” She frowned in mock seriousness, picking up one of the books, opening it to flip through the pages. Her voice became louder. “Of course, some of these won’t work since we don’t have the proper ingredients, but I’m betting someone with a little skill and experimentation could make up for that.”
Matt snatched the book out of her hand, slipping the other off the bar as well. “Deal.”
Loomis grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at him.
He took her jar and handed it up to Alice. “Fill her up, sis.”
When Loomis had the jar carefully sealed and put away, she asked, “You looking for any crops?”
Still slightly disgruntled at her methods of negotiation, Matt frowned at her. “Maybe.”
“I’ll reserve a bushel of corn for a gallon jug.”
“All right. Sounds fair.” He reached into the back of the wagon and pulled out a slate.
While he scribbled her name and the deal with a hunk of natural chalk, Loomis did the same on her paper, stuffing it back into her pocket when she finished. “Thanks, Matt. See you next month.”
He snorted at her, his grin reappearing. “Not if I see you first, Loomis.” He turned to his next customer.
Loomis eased out of the crowd. The edge of the field was well populated with camps. It looked like everyone had made it this month. The addition of the city kids made the town’s numbers swell. She strolled along, browsing trade goods as she went. It was odd to see strange faces pop up here and there. Not just that they were ethnic, which was a rarity, but that there were strangers in Lindsay Crossing at all. Since they’d all gotten together after the plague, Loomis knew everyone in the valley on sight. That was no longer the case, and the abrupt sighting of strangers jolted her from her shopping. She ignored the offerings, focusing on the faces, committing them to memory. Maybe at the town meeting tomorrow the city kids should introduce themselves. That’d go a long way toward easing her mind if she knew their names and with whom they were staying.
Most of the newcomers seemed to be fitting in well. The younger kids, of course, had easily adapted to their new surroundings. She laughed as she narrowly avoided a gang about Terry and Kevin’s age rampaging past with a decrepit soccer ball, a healthy mix of her people and city kids among them. A few of the older boys had stripped off their shirts and played a game of lacrosse in the center of the field. She was pleased to see a handful of black- and brown-skinned participants fighting for the small wooden ball. Lindsay Crossing’s version of the game was more violent than the accepted league rules, having reverted to its Indian origins, and she winced as one boy got sideswiped. After the pack ran on, he picked himself up and trotted after, massaging his shoulder.
“Loomis, how are you?”
She turned to see Dwayne Walker approach with a wide grin. He had his normal entourage about him—James Kipfer, Simon Massey, Susan Ashton and Malcolm Schneider. Also tagging along with them were three city kids.
“Hey, Dwayne.” Loomis shook his hand. “I’m doing well. How about you?”
“Couldn’t be better. I want you to meet some people.” He indicated the city kids with him. “This is Weasel Ramirez. He’s the Gatos’ leader. And these are his lieutenants, Tommy Arroyo and Gabino Covas.”
Loomis narrowed her eyes at the introduction, but politely shook hands with the Gatos. Why was Weasel still considered the leader of a group of kids that had been farmed out to other places? “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Same here, chica.” His grip was stronger than required and his dark eyes glittered with dislike despite the smile on his face.
Not one to let a challenge pass, Loomis squeezed harder, pleased to see his expression falter. She didn’t know why he didn’t like her and didn’t care. She’d been up against worse than him, coming out on top. Besides, Gwen had said many times that they’d survived for as long as they had because of Weasel’s intellect. When she released him, he surreptitiously flexed his hand.
Walker didn’t get the position of mayor by popularity alone; he sensed the animosity between them and chuckled nervously. “Excuse me a minute.” He took Loomis by the shoulder, leading her a few steps away. “Have your new people settled in well?”
Loomis felt Weasel’s eyes boring into her back but refused to look at him. “Yeah. They’re doing great.”
“Good, good.” He leaned closer. “You have Gwen Grant with you, right?”
“Yeah, we do. Why?”
Walker glanced over his shoulder at the group waiting nearby. “It seems that she used to be Weasel’s girlfriend. He’s not a happy camper that she ditched him, if you know what I mean.”
Loomis’s mouth dropped open and her heart thumped. “She never said anything about that.” She blindly searched for Gwen even though the Loomis campsite was on the far side of the field. Why hadn’t she said anything? Why does it matter? Walker was speaking, and she forced herself to pay attention.
“Just so you know. He hasn’t caused any trouble, but it’s only been a couple of weeks.”
Loomis closed her mouth. “Why are you introducing him as their leader? They’re not part of a gang anymore. You’re giving him power that he doesn’t have.”
He raised his hands in supplication. “I know, I know. It’s more of a transition thing. It’ll be easier for them to accept as we slowly integrate their power structure into ours.”
“You’re the politician. What about town meetings? How are you going to run them if
you’ve got two seats of government?”
Walker rolled his eyes. “It’s more like a sovereign nation within a larger country. At least for the time being.”
Loomis raised her chin. “Does that mean they’ll have their own rules and regulations?”
“Look, Loomis, unlike us these kids are killers. At least half of them have murdered someone.”
Her stomach swooped. She wondered if she was going to lose her dinner. Evidently, she conveyed her emotions because Walker grasped her upper arm lightly. “That doesn’t mean I have anything against…you know… What happened happened, Loomis. I’ve got nothing against your family. Nobody does. But we’ve got at least twenty-five young men and women who have willfully killed others many, many times. We’ve got to make it a smooth and easy changeover for them. This is the best way to do it.”
Getting her anxiety under control wasn’t easy. She released a deep breath. “All right. I’ll support it for now.”
“Thanks, Loomis!” Walker shook her hand. “That’s all I ask. By summer, I hope to have it all on an even keel.”
Loomis nodded and looked over his shoulder. Weasel still glared at her. Why me and not at Rick? Why the hell hadn’t Gwen said they were involved? Knowing from experience the festering that could occur if things were left alone, Loomis returned to the gathering and planted herself in front of Weasel. “What’s your problem?”
His lieutenants bristled, but he looked up at her taller form with lazy disdain. “You ain’t all that.”
“Never said I was.”
“Gwen thinks so. She thinks you’ll be a mighty fine skill twist. But don’t let that chica fool you. She’s only in it for the power.”
Skill twist? Loomis ran through her recent crash course in street slang. Sex? That can’t be right. Refusing to be distracted from the situation, she focused on Weasel. “I don’t have any power.”
He sneered. “Good looking and stupid, too? You really are pure.”
“Weasel,” Walker said, stern warning in his voice.
“Wake up, chica. Look at your supporters.” He gestured to the mayor and his council as they reacted to his derogatory tone. “Don’t let some little bitch with a taste for power fuck you up.”
“I think that’s enough.” Walker stepped between them. “Come on, let’s go back to the house and get some lunch.”
Weasel let himself be herded away but turned back once. “Mark my words, Loomis. Better keep on top of the heap, or she’ll drop you like she did me.”
Then Walker put his arm around Weasel’s shoulder, urging him away, leaving Loomis to stand alone.
Chapter Twenty
Loomis sat on the low brick wall separating the field from the two-lane highway into town. Her bag sat at her feet in a heap, and she sipped at her jar of Hart’s moonshine as she stared at the festival. Engrossed in her thoughts, she hardly saw the activity going on before her. Gwen used to be Weasel’s girlfriend. Made sense that Gwen had always said he was a great guy. Loomis didn’t think she’d have stayed with him if she didn’t like him. At least she hoped not.
Did she love him? Loomis scowled as she tried to remember her conversations with Gwen about the Gato leader. When her parents had talked about each other, they always got that soft look in their eyes. Loomis had never seen that when Weasel was the topic of discussion. Was that because her parents were just mushy, or that Gwen didn’t feel the same level of affection for her former boyfriend? Maybe that was why Gwen joined the Loomis homestead—she’d wanted out of a relationship where she wasn’t happy, and this was the best way. It surely wasn’t because Loomis held any power in the community. That thought was laughable in the extreme. All Loomis did was teach people how to survive, give them some direction to keep them from floating away, nothing more. Right? Her frown deepened. She took a healthy swig of the corn liquor, gasping as it burned its way down her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she gave a raspy whoop and shook her head.
“There you are.”
Loomis blinked and sniffled, her vision clearing to see Gwen walking toward her. Despite Weasel’s words about Gwen’s changeable affections, Loomis couldn’t help the thump in her heart at the sight. She capped her jar of alcohol and carefully set it on the wall as she stood. If Weasel was right, Gwen was very dangerous.
“I have some friends I want you to talk to.”
Loomis noticed a small family tagging along behind Gwen. An angry-looking black man shouldered a heavy backpack, obviously exasperated with following Gwen here. Beside him stood a Hispanic woman with a smaller pack and a three-year- old on her hip.
“This is Tommy Boy, his girl Emerita, and their boy, Franklin. They’ve got something to say.”
“Hi, I’m Marissa Loomis.” She reached out to shake their hands.
Tommy Boy stared down his nose a moment before conceding. He seemed surprised when Loomis used the proper street handshake. Emerita was less restrained, easily stepping forward with a slight smile on her face. They stood a moment in silence until Gwen nudged the man’s shoulder. “Tell her.”
He gave a loud click of his tongue. “We ain’t staying where we ain’t wanted.”
Loomis cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my boy’s not going to be raised by a bunch of motherfuckin’ haters.” He stepped forward, glaring at Loomis as if she were at fault. “Maybe some of y’all’s is a’ight, but not the bastards we ended up with. We didn’t fucking kill ourselves to get here just so’s we can clean and keep house for some cracker renegades.”
“Whoa!” Loomis held up her hands, alarmed by his allegations. “I know that’s not what you came here for, and that’s not what most of us want, either.”
Tommy Boy spit on the ground. “We only here because Gwen said we was to talk to you before heading out.”
“Where are you going?”
He grunted, not answering.
His girlfriend looked from one to the other before answering. “We don’t know.” At his exasperated stare, her voice rose. “Well, we don’t! You know it as well as I do, T. We don’t have no place else.”
“Where were you staying?”
Tommy Boy refused to answer, but Emerita said, “With the Hansens.”
Loomis closed her eyes. Damn. Once the Riddicks had gone, the Hansens had taken over as the least-liked family in Lindsay Crossing. They weren’t nearly as bad as Riddick’s thugs had been, but they were always up for tormenting their neighbors whenever possible. Loomis’s annoyance with having to walk the walk by taking in some city kids herself had interfered with her common sense. She should have stayed at the church that day, oversaw things to forestall occurrences like this.
Tommy Boy’s growl brought her back from her castigation. “You don’t got any idea neither. Come on. Let’s blow. We can make McAdam before dark.”
“Wait!” Gwen jumped forward. “Give her time to think, T. Jesus, keep in check.”
Tommy Boy pursed his lips, disgruntled, but dropped his heavy pack on the ground. Emerita followed suit, setting Franklin down to play in the grass. Gwen took Loomis’s hand and pulled her away from the couple. Irrespective of the recent discussion with Weasel, Loomis liked the feel of her touch. She was both pleased and concerned when Gwen didn’t release her. What does she want with me, really?
“Any suggestions?”
Loomis forced her mind back to the current crisis. “Not really. Dwayne should never have let the Hansens volunteer. They’ve always been jerks. I don’t doubt that they did exactly what Tommy Boy said.”
“I have an idea.” Gwen looked down at their linked hands.
“I bet I won’t like it.” She was rewarded with a lightning smile, and couldn’t help the silly grin she felt cross her lips.
“Probably not. I want you to take them in for a couple of weeks, teach them how to survive.”
Loomis groaned, the grin disappearing as she rolled her eyes. “I knew I wouldn’t like it.”
“Come on.” Expression stern, sh
e tugged on Loomis’s hand to regain her attention. “That’s what you do, Loomis. You teach. You told me that teaching a man to fish would feed him his whole life, and it seemed stupid—”
“—to let people starve, I remember.” She looked away, nettled at her words being used against her. “Where the hell are we going to put them, Gwen? We don’t have much more room in the cabin, and I can’t let a toddler sleep in the barn. It’s still too cold at night for that.”
“Let them use the cabin floor for now.” She stepped closer, forcing Loomis to focus on her. “It’ll only be for two or three weeks. Our family can teach them what they need to know, and we can find someplace they can set up their own homestead.”
Loomis blinked at her. Our family? The pleasurable feeling immediately fled. Did she mean that, or was it just her way of ingratiating herself? She frowned at the second-guessing, wishing she’d never met Weasel.
Gwen thought her frown had another cause. “Please, Marissa? They don’t know any more than the townies did when the plague came through. They’ll die out there alone.”
Weasel said that Gwen followed the power, but this loyalty to Tommy Boy and his family had nothing to do with strength. They were in a bad way with no place to go, a death sentence hanging over their head even though they didn’t realize it. “Why?”
Gwen stared at her in confusion. “Why what?”
“Why help them? Were they your friends in the Gatos? Did you and Emerita hang out? Is Tommy Boy an old boyfriend?”
They stared at one another for long moments. Loomis’s doubts faded the longer she bathed in those sea-green eyes. How could anyone with so clear a gaze be such an accused deceiver?
“They’re my family, Marissa.” Gwen’s voice was barely loud enough for her to hear, though they stood inches apart. “I can’t let them go.”
Loomis studied her, knowing the words for truth. With a bracing breath, she squeezed Gwen’s hand. “Let’s go talk to them.”
Orphan Maker Page 15