The River Widow(14)

“He’s alive.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I feel it!”

Buck’s brow went flat, and his eyes burned. “You feel it? Like you got some kind of special way of feeling ? Like the abracadabra nonsense you once used to get poor fools to part with their hard-earned money for?”

There was no use defending herself as Buck stood there studying her, and the weight of three pairs of eyes nearly buckled her knees. She was an impostor pretending to be human, playing a role. “Listen to me. I was in shock. I was fighting for my life, too. I wish there had been some kind of magic to intervene, and maybe I did get lucky somehow. I don’t know where Lester went, but my gut tells me he’s okay.”

Buck said, “Like I said, no doubt you was in the river, but how you got there and how my youngest got in there is still a mystery to me. A mystery I’m damned sure to solve.”

Mabel was sniffing and wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. “Why didn’t you two stay together in the water?”

Hoping to glean one shred of kindness, Adah turned to Mabel. “We tried. But the river was too strong for us.”

Jesse broke his silence and interjected, “It weren’t too strong for you.”

Buck glanced at his wife and then back at Adah. “For now, I gotta make one last search for my missing son.” He flicked a finger at Jesse, indicating that his son was to come along; then he looked at Mabel. “You hold tight.” And then to Adah: “You stay put.”

After the men left, Adah took a step closer to Mabel and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Mabel sat rigid for a few long moments, then lifted herself and walked slowly off. Reluctantly Adah followed her to the kitchen area, which was much larger and better equipped than most with plumbing against one wall, an icebox and stove against another, and a checkerboard linoleum floor. Mabel was already pulling out potatoes to scrub and had put a pot on the stove to boil. As usual, she declined Adah’s offer of help.

After gathering her strength Adah asked, “Where’s Daisy?”

Mabel flinched, but she breathed out an answer. “She’s down for a nap.”

Adah lightened her voice, if only a little bit. “That girl hates her nap these days.”

“That girl’s been a bunch of trouble since you left her here that night. On top of not knowing where my son is, I been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to take care of her.”

Adah’s brain recoiled. “That girl is your granddaughter. And thank God we brought her here, Mabel. She would’ve probably ended up in the flood, too.” No response. “I’m sorry she’s been an added burden, but I’m here now. I’ll look after her.”

Mabel’s head snapped up. “Like you done looked after Lester?”

Adah took a step back, determined not to become defensive. “What does Daisy know?”

“We told her you two was gone and would be back shortly.”

Adah said, “I understand.”

Wiping her hands on her apron and then chopping onions, Mabel shot a hate-filled glance at Adah. “Reckon you got no other place to go now, do you?”

Her do you? felt like a shove. Adah stood still, then slowly nodded.

Mabel tossed a rotten onion into the bin. “I’ll fetch you an old dress.”

Buck and Jesse, like animals drawn by innate hunger at the smell of food, appeared just as Mabel was fixing to set the table. By now Adah was wearing one of Mabel’s old housedresses, so large on her it was like a cape with sleeves. After she’d helped Daisy wash her face and then gently combed the girl’s hair into a ponytail, she had gotten down on the floor with her to play with blocks that were too young for the girl. But the Branches kept no other toys in their home for their granddaughter.

“Let’s make a house,” Adah whispered.

“A new house,” Daisy replied. “With flowers out front.”

“And a white picket fence?”

Daisy gazed down at the blocks. “We don’t have a fence.”

“So we’ll pretend,” Adah said and gulped. Her life now was all about pretending.

Buck headed for the kitchen while Jesse climbed the stairs. Adah could overhear Buck tell Mabel, “He ain’t turned up now, he ain’t never gonna turn up.”

Then Mabel’s wrenching sobs.

Over supper everyone seemed to find their plate in need of focused attention. No one looked up except when passing the platter of fried calf’s liver with onions or the bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans or the basket of biscuits and crock of butter. Adah made Daisy’s plate and set it before her, then made her own.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” Adah said. Daisy was staring into her food as if she saw some kind of riddle on the plate.

“I don’t like beans,” Daisy replied.

“I know, honey,” said Adah. “That’s why I gave you a small serving. Just take a few bites.”

A moment of strained silence hovered in the air, then Buck turned to Daisy. “Hold on, there, little lady. In this house, you’ll eat what’s put on your plate. Every bite of it, you hear? We don’t put up with no complaining.”

Daisy looked down, her soft little lips quivering. “But I don’t like—”