Small Bones

by Vicki Grant

  “Not Finlay. Eddie. Tell Eddie I need to talk to him. Please, Glennie. Please.”

  Thirty-Two

  IT WAS 12:52 when I got back to the housekeeper’s office. A woman was standing at Mrs. Smees’s desk, her back to me. The tight white bun and broad behind seemed familiar, but it wasn’t until she turned around that I could put a name to them.

  “Why, Dot. I was hoping I’d catch you.” Mrs. Naylor smiled at me. “I just came to pick up Ward’s good suit. He thought he was going to get away with wearing his old one, but I wasn’t going to stand for that.”

  I tried to nod. Mrs. Smees was going through her top drawer, not looking at me. Mrs. Naylor tapped the desk and said, “Well, better be on my way, Muriel.” Then to me, “Seen Eddie recently, dear?”

  “Yes. No. Not really.”

  She laughed. “I feel the same way with that boy. He breezes in and out so fast, you’re never sure whether he’s a mirage or not.”

  I could feel Mrs. Smees getting angrier and angrier. She knew we’d been lying about the dress.

  “Oh, listen,” Mrs. Naylor said to me. “We should have a chat sometime about Hope. We probably have a few people in common. You wouldn’t know Agnes Hazelton, would you?”

  I said no, but she didn’t fall for it. As soon as I handed her that spoon, Mrs. Naylor figured out who I was.

  “Oh, too bad. Thought you might. She’s quite well known in those parts.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help noticing that she left empty-handed. She clearly hadn’t come to get Ward Adair’s suit.

  I spent the afternoon in a panic, not sure what to do. If I could just find Eddie, I could explain why I’d done what I’d done. How I’d thought he was my brother. How it had seemed like my only option. And in my mind, I saw him putting his arms around me, forgiving me, and we were happy again.

  And then it flipped, and instead he was telling me he could never forgive me. It wasn’t just him I’d insulted, but his father too. How could I possibly believe Gunky would do something like that? I was as bad as all the rest.

  Or maybe Eddie would forgive me but wouldn’t want me once he found out I wasn’t the rich guy’s daughter—at least, not the rich guy’s daughter he’d thought I was. I was just a lying, necessitous girl. An orphan.

  And anyway, who was I kidding? Ward Adair wasn’t going to want me around, that was for sure. I wasn’t even a townie. I was lower than that. I had to go.

  Times flies when your heart is breaking. It was ten after five when I looked up from my sewing machine to see Mrs. Smees standing in front of me.

  “Here’s your pay. There’s twenty dollars extra in there, in lieu of notice. Thank you for your service. We won’t be needing you anymore.”

  Thirty-Three

  I WAS TO pack my bags and vacate the premises as soon as possible. I asked why, but all she’d say was, “Your services are no longer required.” She wouldn’t even look at me.

  Mrs. Smees knew. That’s why she was getting rid of me. Mrs. Naylor knew. Lloyd Quigley knew too. Ward Adair must have told him to kill the article. (On top of everything else, had I ruined Eddie’s career too?)

  I had to catch the nine o’clock bus into town if I was going to make the late train to Albany and oblivion. I got out my suitcase and started throwing stuff in. Just as I was finishing up, I found the three postcards I’d bought to send to Mrs. Hazelton and the girls.

  I had other people to send them to now. Funny. It was the first time I’d ever written a letter to real people.

  Dear Eddie,

  You’re right. I’m not who you thought I was. I’m not a college girl from a fancy family. I’m an orphan from the Benevolent Home for Necessitous Girls in Hope. I should have told you that right from the start, but I was worried you wouldn’t like me if you knew the truth. Then I found out—or at least I thought I found out—that you were my brother, and by that time I was too much of a coward to say anything except horrible things that I didn’t really mean (including that stuff about Finlay being good-looking). I needed to make sure you’d never want to have anything to do with me again, because I was pretty sure if it was left up to me, I

  And that was all the room there was on the postcard, even with writing up the sides and along the little white strip on the front where they’d put Dunbrae Arms—Where Happiness Happens! and it still wasn’t enough to say everything I wanted to say, like how I’d never been as happy in my life as that time we sat in front of the seamstress’s cabin and laughed and laughed about a baby disappearing in the woods, and how I’d never been as sad as I was right at this very moment. I tore the postcard into tiny bits and threw them out the window.

  I took out another postcard.

  Dear Bas,

  I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around to tell you all about my mystery. Thank you for trying to look after me. You were right. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  I hope things get easier for you once peach season is over.

  Your friend (I hope),

  Dot

  I took off my uniform and put the postcard in the pocket. He’d find it when he did the next load.

  Then I took out the last postcard.

  Dear Mr. Adair,

  I understand my birth complicated many people’s lives and realize why you couldn’t keep me. I don’t know what you were thinking when you took me to the orphanage. If it was because you wanted to give me a chance at a good life, you did the right thing. I grew up with lots of friends and was well looked after. I owe you my existence, and for that I’m very grateful. I hope my presence this summer has not been too disruptive.

  Yours sincerely,

  Dorothy (Dot) Blythe

  PS Thank you for looking after Gunky and Len too.

  I put the postcard in the pocket of the cashmere coat, then changed into Lorraine’s aqua linen suit. It looked a little odd with Glennie’s sneakers, but at least they were comfortable. I had a long trip ahead of me.

  I looked out my window and made sure no one was around. The party was in full swing now, so the colony was deserted. I left my uniform on my bed and headed out the door with my stuff.

  Going down the path through the woods, I thought of my mother. The mousy little minister’s daughter with the thick glasses and big imagination. Had she been afraid? Did she want me? Or was she trying to get rid of me?

  And was she the one who had left me the bones? I didn’t know. I tried to figure out what they meant. What she might have meant by them.

  And then decided not to. Thinking about my parents had only ever gotten me in trouble. When I was little, it was why I wasn’t listening. When I was older, it was why I’d forget what I was doing. Now it was why I was leaving.

  It was almost dark and had started to rain. I made it to the edge of the woods and peeked out. No lights on in the big house, just as I’d hoped.

  There was a light on in the little cottage, but the curtains were shut. Eddie told me once that there was always a light on there. Len didn’t like the dark.

  I tiptoed past the cottage, banged my shin into a metal garden chair, then ran up to the house, cursing under my breath.

  I took the coat out of my suitcase. I was just going to leave it on the patio, but after all it had been through, I didn’t want it to get wet. I decided to leave it in the kitchen instead. I remembered Eddie feeling along the top of the doorframe for the key. I stretched up as far as I could, but my fingers barely touched the frame.

  I heard a noise behind me. I turned around.

  Leonard Peters was standing on the patio. Eyes and mouth twitchy. Angry.

  “I told you to go. Didn’t you see the bones? Didn’t you see the note?”

  Thirty-Four

  “THEY’RE GOING TO be back soon.”

  Mr. Peters grabbed me by the wrist, his hand cold and sticky and tight. “We have to go.” He pulled me away from the door. “Now.”

  I struggled. I kicked. I pushed him away, but I couldn’t make myself scream.

  “You can’t fight. Not
this time. We’re leaving,” he said and dragged me up toward the woods behind the house. I tried to grab the doorknob, the pillar, the flower box—anything in my path—but he pulled until my hands gave way.

  He took both of my wrists and brought his face close to mine. “I’ll carry you, if I have to. You understand?” I was terrified. He smelled like he was terrified too—or maybe just unwashed. I nodded.

  I stood up and he started dragging me again. There’d be no one back in the woods. Not tonight. Everyone was working at the party.

  “I’m sorry.” I wanted to explain that I hadn’t meant to spill the coffee on him, but that’s all I could get out.

  “You’re always saying sorry. Don’t talk. Don’t say anything.” The woods were dark. The leaves were starting to get slippery. I tripped, and my knee slammed into a rock. I thought he was going to get mad at me again, but he helped me up and said, “We can’t go by the road because they’ll find us. We’ll stop for a bit at the clearing, but then we have to keep going.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He put his hand over my mouth and waited at the edge of the woods until a car drove past. Then he half-carried me across the resort road.

  When we were in the woods on the other side, he took his hand away and put me down. “I’ll take you anywhere you want,” he said, but it still sounded like a threat. “I’ll do better this time. I have money. It was just the blood before.”

  Why was he talking about blood? I started to shake.

  “I should have been able to help you.” The words and the voice didn’t match. “It was my fault the baby died.”

  He took a breath, wiped his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, Lucinda…”

  I blinked, shook my head. Lucinda?

  He turned and really looked at me for the first time.

  “I let you down, Lucinda. Our baby died because of me.”

  Is that what this was about? It was just a mistake. He was confused.

  “I’m not Lucinda, Mr. Peters. I’m Dot.”

  “Don’t say that. They know you’re here. I’ve heard them talking. They’re going to get rid of you. They think you want something from me. They think that’s why I’m upset, but it’s not. I want to do right by you this time, Lucinda.” He took my hand and started walking again. “We have to go. They’ll be back soon.”

  “I’m not Lucinda.” I wouldn’t move my feet.

  “I told you. Don’t say that. People are always treating me like I’m crazy. You were the only one who didn’t. I knew you were Lucinda the moment I saw you. Ward tried to tell me you weren’t. So did Clara. But they can’t fool me. We can be together now.”

  I took a step toward him, put my hand on his face. He closed his eyes, let his cheek lean into it.

  “Mr. Peters,” I said. “Len.” I shook his face until he opened his eyes. I wanted him looking at me when I said this. “I’m not Lucinda. You didn’t let me down. You’re the reason I’m alive. I’m the baby.”

  I held my father’s hand and led him through the woods and across the road and back to the Adairs’. The rain had stopped. Two police cars were pulled up on the lawn, and the lights in the house were all on.

  Ward and Gunky were on the patio, ties undone, talking to policemen with notebooks in their hands.

  Mrs. Naylor saw us first. She slapped her hands on either side of her face and shouted, “Len!” Ward and Gunky started running toward us. They both had a limp, but Ward’s was much more pronounced. It would have been hard to miss.

  Eddie was there too, but he held back.

  Thirty-Five

  20 July 1964

  Dear Dot,

  I’m sorry this has taken me so long to write. I had quite a shock when Ward called to tell me what had happened. I didn’t quite know how to respond.

  With an apology? With an excuse? I promised myself I’d avoid those. Instead, I’ll start where all good stories start—and I do hope this turns out to be a good story—at the beginning.

  My father was the Right Reverend Archibald Harvey. My mother died when I was twelve, so it was just the two of us. He used to take me on his house calls to visit the unwell. That’s where I first met Len. He was living in the cabin at the Adairs’. I saw him there with Father after the war, but we rarely spoke.

  The fall of ’46, when I was seventeen, I started taking art lessons with Miss Cameron, and a whole new world opened up for me. I was freed from my obligations to my father and encouraged to express my creative side. She’d send me out into the woods for inspiration. Len went there for solitude. We met again.

  I was shy initially. He was a lot older than I was—almost twenty-five—and also not the most approachable person. (I actually hid from him the first time I saw him!) But one day, I found a bird skeleton in the woods. It must have been there for ages, as it had been picked clean. I was looking at it with new eyes—Miss Cameron eyes—enjoying its lines and textures and form. Len saw me.

  “What’s so interesting?” he said, then apologized for startling me. He knelt down beside me and told me what each of the bones was and speculated about whether they’d come from a starling or a thrush of some type. He’d been a biology major before the war and an amateur ornithologist. We started to talk. There, in the quiet, he was an ordinary man. An interesting, wonderful, ordinary man. Not the bundle of nerves I’d seen pacing at the Adairs’.

  After that, every time I went into the woods I hoped I’d meet him. Eventually, I’d run into him enough times to realize he wanted to meet me too.

  Of course, we had to keep it secret. There was the age difference, my being a minister’s daughter and the fact that I’d been involved in a relationship, albeit an innocent one, with a local boy named Basil Simmonds. Most of all, though, there was Len’s mental health. No one would have approved.

  I was still going to Miss Cameron’s art classes and could meet him on the way home. We just needed some way to make arrangements. Len figured no one was going to be suspicious of small bones left in the woods. (Wild animals die too, he used to say.) We came up with a number of different signals, but I can only remember two. If he left the bird skull by the sign to Cameron Lane, it meant he wanted to meet me at the tree near the clearing. If he left the wing, it meant “Don’t go. Danger. Someone’s coming.” I don’t believe we ever had to use the wing, but Len wanted to be careful.

  And we were—about that, at least. But then one thing led to another. It only happened once. I thought it was the beginning of our life together. Len, unfortunately, thought different.

  I saw the skull by the sign the next day and raced up to the tree. Len was there. He apologized. He said he’d acted dishonorably and begged my forgiveness.

  I tried to argue with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t a man anymore, he said. He couldn’t look after me. He couldn’t give me the life I deserved. I told him I didn’t care about any of that, but he just kissed me on the forehead and told me it was over. We could never see each other again.

  I was devastated but had to hide that too. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. It was my last term of school. I wanted to die.

  My periods had never been regular. When they stopped, I just thought it was because I’d gotten so thin. My mother had died before she could explain the facts of life to me. I didn’t realize I was pregnant until I was a good five months along and noticed I was getting a tummy.

  I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do. I just hoped it—the “it” wasn’t a “you” yet—would go away. I got the job in the Kiddy-Care Center at the Arms and came up with this idea of Loosey Goosey. I wasn’t even admitting to myself why I wanted to wear a big hot clown costume all summer. (I’m afraid I’ve always been pretty good at sticking my head in the sand when I don’t like what I see.)

  I had no plans for what I was going to do with this baby when it finally came. I had fantasies, of course—I’d arrive at Len’s door with my little bundle of joy, and his heart would melt—but even I knew that was unlikely. By then,
he’d had another bad spell.

  I figured the baby would come sometime in the early fall. I’d be finished at the Arms by then. I’d have some money. I’d go somewhere. That’s all I knew.

  And then on Tuesday, July 8, just before the parents came for the kids, I fell down the stairs. I was leading everyone in one of my goose chases around the lodge and those silly clown shoes of mine caught on a brick, and I went flying. The kids all thought it was part of the game, so I had to scramble back onto my feet to keep them from flinging themselves down the stairs too. It wasn’t until a little boy pointed out the blood on my costume that I realized something was up.

  I went into the ladies’ room and tried to stop the bleeding with paper towels, but there was too much for that. I couldn’t go to the hospital. I was worried someone would tell. Len lived nearby. He was a medic in the war. He’d know what to do.

  Even in crisis, I was scheming to see him. I patched myself up and cut through the woods to his cottage. I knocked on his door but got no answer. It wasn’t locked, so I went in. I was going to wait for him but was afraid someone might see me. Mrs. Adair had just died, but Ward, Mrs. Naylor or Muriel Smees (the maid I knew from Buckminster) could have shown up at any second.

  Len had a number of bird skeletons on his bookshelf. I put the skull from one on a piece of paper on his kitchen table and drew an arrow pointing at it. I didn’t know if he’d understand, but I was too afraid to write anything else. It was Tuesday. The resort kids would be at the Boat Club dance. I made my way up to the clearing and waited. I didn’t know it yet, but I was in labor.

  By the time Len got there, it was dark. I was in so much pain I could barely talk. I can’t imagine what the poor man was going through. He’d come back from overseas with a full-blown terror of blood and, obviously, hadn’t had to deliver any babies on the battlefield. But he saw me through. We both thought the baby was dead. You were so tiny. He took off his shirt, wrapped you in it and left you there. He carried me back to his cabin. Then he disappeared.