Small Bones

by Vicki Grant

  I felt faint. “Where would blood have come from?”

  “Don’t mean to scare you, dear, but Mother Nature doesn’t make it easy for us gals.” She looked at me with something like pity. “Giving birth is a bloody business.”

  Eddie was holding his mouth like he was trying to crack a nut between his teeth, like he still wasn’t sure about all this.

  “I apologize for washing my hands, Eddie,” Sandra said. “Didn’t realize I’d be required to provide proof seventeen years later.”

  “I’m just trying to see it from Mr. Quigley’s perspective, that’s all. He’s going to say, How do you know it wasn’t a baby animal, or that some teenaged hooligan didn’t just cut himself? You know what he’s like. Stickler for details.”

  Sandra was getting huffy. “Okay. Number one. Dougie told me they unwrapped the shirt, saw the umbilical cord, counted all the little fingers and toes. I don’t know any animals with fingers, do you?”

  I almost said, Raccoon, but I kept my mouth shut. Our Forest Friends used to be one of my favorite books too.

  “And number two. If they’d just concocted some crazy story, they’d have gotten over it. But they didn’t. Cecily changed that night. Stopped having fun—stopped being fun. Dougie quit the Arms, left town—and he wouldn’t have done that lightly. His family needed the money.”

  That was good enough for me. “So what do you think happened to the baby then?”

  Sandra looked across the lake, eyes fixed, not quite shaking her head. “Somehow, someone managed to sneak it out past twenty kids. To where? Don’t know. I always wondered if there’s a shallow grave up there that we missed.”

  “What about the mother?” I said. “Any sign of her?”

  “Other than the blood? Not that we could see. We told the other kids there that night about the baby. Everyone turned on their lighters and flashlights and tromped through the woods, but there was nothing. That was another reason we all agreed not to tell. We’d just be getting ourselves into trouble for no good reason.”

  I said, “Any idea who the mother might have been?”

  “No idea. And believe me, Cecily and I spent every waking moment that summer trying to figure that out.”

  “Any top contenders?”

  “Oh, sure. Angela Landry—but it turned out she’d just put on a few pounds. That’s a problem when you work as a waitress. Hard to keep your fingers out of the pastry tray. There were some other girls we wondered about too. Marcia Shaw, for instance, but that was based entirely on the fact we didn’t like her. Our best lead was this other girl, a townie, who spent the summer in a big clown costume, entertaining the little kids. We figured she’d at least be able to hide the fact she was pregnant. She quit just after the baby was born, so we were all abuzz about her for a while, but then we found out she had mono. The manager got rid of her quick. All the Arms needed was a break-out of ‘the kissing disease.’ Can you imagine? They’d lose half their staff. Anyway, after a while we just gave up. We realized we’d probably never know who the mother was. Guests. New ones coming and going every week. Could have been anybody.”

  “What about the father?” My voice went funny just saying the word.

  Sandra coughed out a laugh. “Think it’s hard narrowing down the mother? The father could have been a teenage boy or a married man or someone’s grandfather, for that matter.”

  “He might never have stepped foot in Buckminster County,” Eddie said, “and even if he did, he’d have had nine months to disappear. No way of knowing who he was.”

  But there was.

  I wanted to say something, but it was like when I was learning to skip. The rope would turn and I’d get ready to leap in, but then it would turn again, and again, and I’d still just be rocking on my toes, too afraid to jump in.

  I decided I’d wait until I’d had a chance to talk to someone at St. Ninian’s about the spoon before I said anything. I told myself I didn’t want to explain everything in front of Sandra, but the truth was, I was just chicken.

  “Where’s she now?” Eddie asked.

  “Who? Cecily?” Sandra’s lips turned down, a frosted pink horseshoe. “Haven’t the faintest. Wasn’t someone I kept up with. Her parents divorced, sold the cottage. I don’t think I saw her after that summer. She wasn’t anxious to return.”

  “And Dougie?”

  “He’s in Toronto. Got a big job with a bank, I understand. Did okay for a little guy from Buckminster.”

  “He ever come back this way?”

  “I saw him at his mother’s funeral a few years ago but not since then. She used to clean for our family. Nice lady.”

  “What about other people who were there that night?” I asked.

  “Oh, heavens.” She lit another cigarette. “Carole Ferguson. Ann Cowan. Barney Someone-or-other…”

  “Anyone who’d be here now?”

  “Now? Like today?”

  “Well, soon,” Eddie said. “I’d like to get the article written before this year’s party.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.” She noticed her watch. “Oh my Lord, Eddie! My hair! I was supposed to wash this out fifteen minutes ago. If I go bald…Girls, get Mummy’s shampoo!”

  She raced down to the dock and dove into the water, cigarette and all.

  Fourteen

  “WHAT ARE YOU thinking? Got enough for a story?”

  I was supposed to get an early night so I’d be sharp for work the next day, but it didn’t happen. We put the kids to bed while Sandra inspected her scalp for bald spots, then headed over to Eddie’s for bologna and more raisin bread. (He promised he’d go grocery shopping before he asked me for dinner again.)

  The day had cooled off suddenly—a north wind would do that, he said—so we were back inside, sitting on that old chesterfield.

  “No. I need more proof than what Sandra’s giving us. I might go into town tomorrow and talk to Dr. Talbot, poke around the hospital. See if anyone there remembers a woman showing up needing help.”

  “Seventeen years ago?”

  “I know. Not likely. And even if someone did, doctors aren’t allowed to blab about their patients’ sordid little secrets. Sure make my job a lot easier if they were.”

  “Yeah, but then everyone would know about those extra toes of yours.”

  He flicked a raisin at me. “And what your nose used to look like.”

  “Ha.”

  “Ha yourself.”

  Eddie slid down into the cushions and chucked his crust into the fireplace. “I’m starting to think this story is a dead end. Too much time has passed. Too many maybe’s, what-if’s, could-be’s, who-the-hell-knows. Sandra won’t even let me use her name. I think I’m just going to drop it.”

  “No.” My hand was on his somehow. “Don’t do that. It’s a really good story. I’d read it. Everyone would. Go to the hospital. Ask in town. Maybe Sandra will remember something else, someone else who might have been there.”

  He was smiling now. “Gee, I had no idea you were so keen.”

  I’d overdone it. My face went hot and I sank into my corner of the chesterfield, but he had my hand, and he wasn’t letting go.

  “Wanna help me with it?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You want to?”

  “I do.”

  “You really want to.”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed, but it was just low, and he was kind of biting his lip too. “Want to what?”

  And I turned my face away.

  “I’m embarrassing you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll stop.”

  I didn’t really want him to, but I didn’t know how to tell him that, so I didn’t say anything, and he stopped, but before he did he looked at me a certain way, and that was almost more than I could stand anyway.

  Fifteen

  THE NEXT DAY started out like the best day of my life.

  Ida made sticky buns and saved a big one for me.

  On my way to the lodge, I
ran into Miss Cameron, who still couldn’t remember my name (“Close as I can get is that you’re not Lucinda”) but did refer to Eddie as my boyfriend (“Tell your boyfriend I’ve got bats again”).

  Then I got to work and there was a note on my table saying Mrs. Smees wouldn’t be in until eleven. Bas must have known she’d be out because he had the radio turned up high. First song I heard was the Beatles singing “I Want To Hold Your Hand.”

  EddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddieEddie.

  I reached for the mending pile and pulled off the jacket on top. It was a girl’s windbreaker, about my size, light blue. I checked the tag to see what needed fixing.

  I found this at the cottage and thought it would look good on you. You’ll need it for tonight. We’re going fishing. Come over to the Adairs’ as soon as you’re through work.

  Eddie.

  P.S. I called the editor last night. He gave me the go-ahead on the Bye-Bye Baby story. Or should I say “us”?

  I looked around to make sure no one in the empty room was watching, tore off the note and tucked it into my bra. Someday I was going to have so much to tell Sara.

  Mrs. Smees arrived at quarter to eleven. I was halfway through a tricky bit on a sleeve so didn’t look up until she was at her desk.

  Her hair was swept up into a beehive, and she was wearing a fitted lilac dress. I’d only seen her in dresses the color of putty or rubber bands or the skin on old lady’s elbows.

  “What are you looking at?” she said.

  “Nothing. You.”

  “Nothing. Me. Why, thanks very much.”

  “Sorry. I mean, you look nice. I like your hair.”

  She smiled but not in the usual way, not like she was just throwing you off guard before socking you with a zinger.

  “Thank you.” She gave her bangs a tug. “Not too much?”

  “No. It’s very flattering.”

  Mrs. Smees had a small waist and slim calves. Without the scowl, she was actually sort of pretty.

  “It’s our anniversary. I usually duck out early to get my hair done, but Rita was booked all afternoon. Had to take what I could get. Hope it won’t be all wilted by the time Walt gets here for dinner.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I smiled. She smiled. We got back to work. Two happy lovebirds biding time until we got to see our men. Mrs. Smees actually hummed along to the radio.

  She shooed me out at ten after five. I raced back to the cabin with my new jacket and changed. I still had that lipstick Mrs. Welsh had given me. I put it on but couldn’t decide. I stared at myself in the mirror and tried to hear what the Seven would have to say. Malou would have liked it. She liked everything. Sara would have said pink was my color. Toni would have said, You’re wearing lipstick to go fishing?

  I wiped it off. Didn’t want to look too eager. (Or did I? And what’s too eager anyway? These are the things no one tells you.)

  I ran through the woods behind the cabin but stopped to catch my breath before crossing into the yard at the Adairs’. I could see Eddie’s tin boat docked at the wharf but didn’t see him until he grabbed me from behind, and even then I mostly saw just his legs (tanned, hairy) and his sneakers (large, hole in toe of right foot) as he ran up the hill with me under his arm, bleating and helpless as a lost lamb, only a whole lot happier.

  “Put that poor girl down, Eddie.” A lady rapped at the kitchen window, not quite laughing. “You’re not rustling cattle, for goodness’ sake.”

  I stood up, tucked in my shirt, straightened my shorts. Mortified. Eddie dragged me inside, snickering.

  The lady was plump and white-haired, a little round hen. She was wearing an apron and tending to various pots on the stove and bowls on the counter. A circle of pastry was rolled out on a sheet of wax paper.

  “So you’re the famous Dot,” she said. “Clara Naylor. I’d shake your hand, but mine are—” She held them up, powdery with flour. “Eddie tells me you could use a decent meal.”

  Even more mortified. “You made all this for me?”

  “Heavens no. I still come in twice a week to cook. Nothing to put a few extra potatoes in the pot.” She peered into the oven for a second, then got back to her pastry. “So tell me about yourself, Dot. I’m presuming you’re not from these parts, or Eddie would have found you sooner, pretty eyes like that.”

  Eddie was dipping his finger into a bowl. “She’s from Hope. I saw her on the train a couple of weeks ago. Snapped her right up.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Naylor dusted her hands on her apron, turned and looked at me. “Hope?”

  “Just outside.”

  “Pretty part of the world.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “Oh yes. Lived there as a girl. Didn’t I hear the orphanage just burned down?”

  I must have gone white.

  “Oh dear! Didn’t mean to upset you. You knew people there?”

  “Um. Well—” I was stuttering, trying to cover up. Eddie jumped in.

  “Dot was in a fire when she was little.”

  Mrs. Naylor put her hand on her throat. “Goodness, child. Well, let’s not talk about that anymore, shall we? So what brings you here?”

  I tried to look brave instead of just relieved. “I heard the resort had jobs. I’m working as a seamstress.”

  “For Muriel? My. You’re holding up well.” She smiled at Eddie—a secret joke. “So you two going to eat here, or should I pack it up?”

  He was juggling a piece of too-hot piecrust around in his mouth. “Pack it, please. I want to get to the shoals before someone takes my spot.”

  “Your spot. Only you would think you own a spot of water on the lake.” She tucked package after package into a picnic basket. “Coke?”

  “Lime Rickey.”

  “I’ll be right back then.” She turned the heat down under a couple of pots, then headed out of the room.

  Eddie and I sat down. I whispered, “Shouldn’t we help her?”

  He put his hand on the back of my neck and whispered too. “No. Don’t want to act like we think she’s old. She wouldn’t like that.”

  “And here I thought you were just being lazy.” His hair tickled my lips.

  “Me? I told you. I’m nice to old people. I never help them.”

  And then there was a noise—a little one, the squeak of a shoe on tile or a new breath in the room, something as small as that—and we jumped apart, guilty as sin.

  A man was standing in the doorway.

  Not a man. The man. The man I’d spilled coffee on in the restaurant, the man with the crazy face. He’d changed his shirt but not his face.

  “Uncle Len!” Eddie was up and over to him, shaking his hand, patting his arm.

  The man was staring at me. A tendon jumped in his neck.

  “You’ve met Dot?” Eddie said, like we were at some cocktail party. The man turned away.

  “I don’t know her.”

  “Well, here’s your chance.”

  “I said I don’t know her!” I thought he was going to hit Eddie.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Uncle Len?”

  “I don’t want to sit down.” He knocked Eddie’s arm away. “There’s nothing the matter with me.”

  Mrs. Naylor bustled back in. “Smelled the pastries, did you, Len?” He turned to her, his face still twitching. “I’ll have to pick up some ice cream for you. Best with ice cream, aren’t they, Len?”

  His chest heaved up and down, but eventually he nodded.

  She looked at us. “He loves my turnovers. Here’s your Lime Rickey. Now, why don’t you two get going?”

  “We could stay for a while if you’d like,” Eddie said.

  “No, no.” Then she mouthed, “He’ll be fine.”

  Eddie took the basket, kissed Mrs. Naylor and said, “We going to the drive-in this week, Len?” But the man didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked out of the room.

  We were anchored at the shoals, our fishing poles baited and in the water, by the time I found the cou
rage to confess. “I have something to tell you.”

  Eddie put down the reel he was attempting to untangle. “Oh, good. Let me get comfortable.” He leaned back against the bow of the boat and twiddled his toes against my shin.

  I told him the whole story about Mr. Peters and me—at least, the whole story minus the part he would have liked the best: the fact that I was only in the dining room to sneak a look at him.

  “That’s it?” As in so what?

  “I didn’t know he was your uncle.”

  “You mean you only scald people I’m not related to?”

  “I mean, it just makes it worse knowing he’s your uncle.”

  “I have a confession too.” He took my hand and looked deep into my eyes. “He’s not my uncle. So go ahead. Scald away! He’s all yours.”

  I laughed. Maybe this wasn’t that big a deal after all. “Why do you call him uncle then?”

  “He grew up with Dad. The three of them. Dad, Len and Ward Adair. Buckminster boys.”

  “So what’s his story? Was he always like that?”

  “No, but for as long as I’ve known him. Len used to be quiet, sort of an egghead, Dad says. Then the war came. He ended up as a medic in Italy. I guess it was a bloodbath. He was pretty messed up when he came back and only got worse. His girlfriend left him. His parents couldn’t handle him. The Adairs have the extra cabin, so they took him in. Ward’s looked after him ever since.”

  “Nice thing to do.”

  “I don’t think Ward would say that. He and Dad both feel pretty guilty about Len. The poor guy didn’t want to go to war. He was a pacifist. Wanted to be a science teacher. He’d already done a couple of years at the university, but they badgered him into it. Ward and Dad were the hotshots around here back then. Everyone looked up to them. They made him out to be a sissy, so he signed up. They both got wounded early on, came back heroes. Len suffered through all six years, came back a basket case.” Eddie shrugged, sad, maybe a little ashamed.