“My pa is home!” Deirdre said over her shoulder to Gentry. “You can meet him. He’ll want to thank you for seeing me safely home.”
Gentry frowned, his eyes narrowing. “If it’s all the same to you, Miss Werner, I’d rather be on my way. I’ll call on you some other day.”
“Oh, we won’t keep you long at all.” Deirdre bounced up the porch steps. She flung open the door and burst inside. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. The kitchen was empty.
“Mama! Pa! I’m home. I’m sorry I worried you.”
From the back room, where her parents slept, came a soft whimpering. She heard the bed creak, then a hushed tangle of voices. Her folks were likely renewing their affections, and she was thankful she hadn’t walked in on them, as she had once when she was a girl. The memory was still too keen for her liking.
A few moments later, Mama came rushing down the hall, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were rimmed red, cheeks puffed and swollen. Pa followed, a tall gaunt shadow in her wake. Deirdre endured Mama’s patting and scolding, then ran to Pa, resting her head against his chest. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“Deirdre Jane, you had your mother in fits. I raised you to have more sense than to run out in a storm.”
“I know, Pa, I know. I got turned around in the holler, and it was raining so hard I spent the night up in Garnet Cave. That pastor—Mr. Gentry—saw me home, Mama. He said you sent him and a few of the menfolk out to find me.”
Mama’s brow wrinkled. “I thought of such, but in this storm . . . well, I couldn’t have walked up to that lighthouse to ask for help all on my own, or down to town, neither. I spent the night praying and pacing the floor, until your pa come through at dawn. Perhaps the angels sent Mr. Gentry to find you, Deirdre,” Mama said. “Let’s see him in, husband, so we might thank him.”
“Did you say this man is a preacher?” Pa swore under his breath.
“Yes, a travelin’ healer,” Mama said, grasping his arm. “He laid hands on me and prayed. I haven’t coughed since, Jakob, even with this damp!”
“You might as well have let the devil himself through the door, Nola. I’d a feeling I’d tarried too long away.” Pa pulled away from Mama, strode to the hearth, and took down his long gun.
“Jakob!” Mama rushed toward Pa. Her expression shifted from confusion to fear. “Surely there’s no cause for your gun.”
A wash of panic flooded Deirdre. “Pa! What are you doing?”
“Deirdre, you stay in this house with your mother.”
“Jakob!” Mama screeched. “This is foolishness!”
Deirdre had never seen Pa so het up. He slapped his hat on his head and stormed out the door, his rifle cocked and ready. Deirdre rushed to the window and parted the lace curtains. As far as she could tell, Gentry had already rushed off on his long legs and was likely halfway to Sutter’s holler by now. Pa paced the garden, scanning the tree line, then disappeared around the side of the house, cursing the whole way.
“Lands, Mama, what’s got into him?”
“I’m not rightly sure.” Mama came to her side, twisting her garnet rosary. “All that man did was pray over me and see you home. I hope Jakob won’t do anything foolish. He has a reckless streak when it comes to you, daughter.”
A rifle shot cracked and echoed across the hillside. Deirdre flinched. A moment passed by, then another. Pa burst in the door, out of breath. “I saw him. Shot at him and missed. He ran, like a coward. He won’t be gone for long, though. That coat you’re wearing—is it his, poppet?”
Deirdre looked down at the wool greatcoat that had kept her modest and warm. “Yes, I reckon so.”
“Take it off and I’ll burn it. Anything else he gave to you, likewise.”
Though she was confused, Deirdre hurriedly shrugged the coat to the floor. Pa gathered it up and tossed it into the hearth. The heavy wool caught and flamed hot, sending a shower of sparks onto the floor.
“Jakob! What’s gotten into you?” Mama said, stomping them out. “You’re half-mad!”
“There are things you don’t understand, Nola. Things I’ve seen that you can’t know the half of.” Pa poured a mug of cider and topped it off with his flask before passing it to Deirdre with shaking hands. “Drink, poppet.” She took a warm swallow, tasting the bite of whiskey on its tail. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you, in any way?”
Deirdre shook her head. “No, not at all, though I can’t reckon why he lied about Mama going to the lighthouse for help.”
“His sort is full-up with lies.” Pa grimaced, the wrinkles on his face deeper than she’d ever seen them.
“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t run off, daughter.” Mama’s fitful eyes rested on the wall above Deirdre’s head, where the morning sun made a hot white circle on the wall. “She’s been rebellious while you’ve been away, Jakob. Disobedient.”
“Maybe that’s so, but you invited that man into our house, Finola.” Pa’s square jaw worked beneath the scruff of his ruddy beard. “I’ve told you about lettin’ men on the place when I’m gone.”
“He was polite. Kind. I only thought to be welcoming to a stranger, as the Bible bids us be. The only other man who’s been on the place is Mr. Cash, to help with the things I couldn’t manage on my own.” Mama turned away. A stab of guilt ran through Deirdre, knowing what she’d seen between Mama and Arthur Cash. But she’d keep that to herself, at least for now. There was no use in complicating things.
Pa had always been overprotective, but this seemed rash. Dangerous. Deirdre half rose from her chair. “Pa, what’s got you so riled? I didn’t care much for the man, but that can’t be reason enough to shoot him.”
“Like I said, you ain’t seen what I’ve seen.” Pa raised his head, rubbed the deep furrow between his brows. “Go on up to the loft and get yourself decent, Deirdre. It’s time we talked about the past—about what happened to your Oma.”
SEVEN
GRACELYNN
1931
Granny’s first shot glances off the sugar maple out by the fence, sending a spray of splinters through the air. The second lands at Bellflower’s feet, making him dance. He just laughs. She lowers the gun and racks the slide again. This time when she shoots, it knocks the hat clean off his head. A stray bit of bird shot nicks his neck, drawing a skinny line of blood.
Bellflower’s lucky Granny can’t shoot fish in a barrel, but she might aim true, yet.
Aunt Val screams. I hadn’t noticed her before, lurking in the shadows under the porch. “Mama, stop! You’ll kill him!”
“You don’t know who this sonofabitch is. I’m tryin’ to protect you.” I ain’t never heard Granny cuss like that. Not ever. “Gracelynn Anne, you get up on this porch. Now.”
“Yes’m.”
Bellflower watches me cross the yard, his eyes burning into my back.
“Ma’am,” he drawls, all slow and syrupy sweet. “I believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I mean no harm to you or your girls.”