Bone River (7 page)

I gave him a polite smile in return. “I assure you I am. Have I seen you about? Do you know my husband, Mr.—”

“No. I just came up from San Francisco. I’d read about him and the mummy in the paper.”

“In San Francisco?”

He nodded. “The
Morning Call
.”

It had made the papers—of course it had, hadn’t I been expecting it? But that it had made it to San Francisco...that was farther than I’d expected, and more quickly than I’d anticipated. If news of this was in San Francisco, it was only a matter of time before Baird discovered what I’d found.

I hurried toward the barn as if my speed could somehow ease my sudden dread. When we were only a few yards from the open door, I called out, “Junius! June! There’s someone to see the mummy!”

No answer.

“I wonder where he’s got to?” I asked, even more irritated on top of being upset. I looked at the man beside me. “I’ll see if I can’t find him—”

“Perhaps you could show it to me in his stead,” he suggested.

I wanted to tell him no, but I had no idea where Junius was or when he would be back, and I wanted this man gone.

“Of course.” I grabbed the oil lamp from its nail and the matches settled on the edge of a crossbeam. He waited patiently while I lit it, and then I took him over to the sawhorse bed, where the mummy lay covered with a blanket. Not put away in the trunk after Junius had shown her, damn him. The only good thing about that was that it meant he couldn’t be far away.

I uncovered her and lifted the lamp to shine over the old leather of her skin, the fine black eyelashes and brows, the browning pegs of her few teeth. I felt that reverence again, that draw. I could not resist; gently I touched her hair, and I felt him go still beside me.

“She looks as if she’s only asleep,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“How did he find her?”

“It was me who found her, actually. Didn’t the newspaper article say?”

He shook his head. “It said that Junius Russell found a mummy near the Mouse River. Not much else.”

“Of course not.”

He eased closer, reaching out a hand, and I opened my mouth to tell him not to touch her, but then I didn’t say it. There was something about the way he went about it, as if he were afraid to startle, as if he knew it was discourteous and didn’t want to offend, and I found myself appreciating the gesture as if it were me he directed it to. “She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?”

I was surprised by his words. I looked at her again. Odd, yes. Compelling, certainly. But beautiful? The lamplight made her skin seem waxed. It brought out the reddish hue of her hair. The saffron cloth seemed to glow. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

He turned heavy-lidded blue eyes to me. “How old do you think she is?”

“Junius thinks before the Indians. But I’m not so certain.”

“
Junius
thinks? How would an oysterman know?”

“He and I...we collect relics for the National Museum. We’ve done so for years.”

“You do?” He looked surprised again. “The story didn’t mention that.”

“Apparently it didn’t mention a great deal.”

“I suppose not,” he said with a smile. He looked back at the mummy. “But you said you didn’t agree with him. About how old she is. Why not?”

“I don’t know enough yet. My father was an ethnologist. He taught me to observe before I jumped to conclusions, and I haven’t studied her enough yet to form an opinion.”

“
You?
You mean—”

“I’m an ethnologist as well.”

“But you’re—”

“A woman. Yes,” I said grimly, wishing he would leave. “Does that shock you?”

He shrugged. “I suppose that explains why the newspaper didn’t mention that you were the one to find it. I’ll have to set the record straight.”

“Set the record straight? What do you mean?”

“I’m a reporter. I’ve come to do a story on this.”

“I didn’t realize we had guests.” Junius’s voice startled us both. I turned to face the open barn door where he stood.

“There you are,” I said in relief. “This gentleman has come to see the mummy. He read about it in the newspaper. In
San Francisco
, Junius. He’s a reporter from—what paper did you say you were from?”

But the man ignored me. He was staring at Junius as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re Junius Russell?”

“I am.” Junius held out his hand. “At your service. And you are—?”

The young man did not extend his hand. “Daniel Russell. Your son.”

T
HE WORDS FELL
into silence. Daniel Russell was staring at my husband with something that looked like challenge in his eyes, and when I turned to Junius, stunned and expecting him to deny it, I saw that he looked at the young man—
his son
—the same way, with equal challenge and...and wariness too.

“You have a son?” I heard the rising hysteria in my voice.

Junius cut me off with a gesture. “I’ll explain later.”

“But—”

“
Later
.” He looked back at Daniel Russell. “Daniel. Well, well. Look at you. How old are you now? Why, you must be...twenty six?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Your mother?”

“Your
wife
is dead.” The word was blunt, uncompromising. “Last year.”

Wife.
Yes, there’d been a wife, I remembered. A vague idea of a person, something I’d put on a shelf long ago, and not thought of since. I felt thrown back in time.
I’m already married, Lea. She means nothing to me. I’ll take care of everything.
Yes, I’d known about the wife. But a son...a son who would have been five or six
when Junius had left them. He’d never told me there was a son. Why not?

“You know she waited for you. She never stopped waiting. But you never intended to return, did you?”

“But she knew,” I broke in, unable to help myself. “She knew not to wait, didn’t she?” I looked at Junius. “
Didn’t
she?”

Daniel looked at me. “You knew he was already married?”

Helplessly, I started to make the excuse that shamed me.

Junius held up a hand to stop me. “Leonie, please.”

But I’d had enough. “God
damn
you, Junius.”

I was out of the barn before he could say another word. I ran across the yard, past where Lord Tom sat on the porch. I was inside and nearly to the stairs before I heard the door slam behind me, before Junius caught up with me, pulling me to a stop. I wrenched loose. “Don’t touch me.”

“Lea, please. Let me explain.”

“You’ve had twenty years to explain.”

“It isn’t like that.”

I turned on him. “Then what is it like, Junius? Why tell me about a wife but not a son?”

He looked helpless and out of control, not the Junius I knew, but I was too angry and ashamed to soften. He said, “It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.”

“Your
son
didn’t matter.”

“I knew you wouldn’t leave it if I told you. I knew you’d tell me to go back. But you needed me, and...and Mary and I were done, Lea. We were done. I hoped she would think I was dead.”

I stared at him. This was not the man I knew. “But why?”

He swallowed, glancing away. “We’d married too young. Her parents disliked me. I was...restless. Couldn’t keep a job. We did nothing but argue. I thought they’d be better off without me.”

“But...your
son
,” I said, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with loss and absence, with the grief I thought I’d come to terms with, that I’d accepted. But that horrible sadness swept back,
worse, because now I knew without a doubt that our lack was my fault. Mine. I had not had children, and I had kept him from the one he had.

“Lea,” he said softly. “I knew you would take it like this. I knew if I told you, you’d be...”

He was a blur in front of me. “Be what?”

“Don’t cry,” he said. “Lea, sweetheart. Please don’t cry.”

“You should have told me,” I managed.

“Why hurt you needlessly? I wasn’t going back. It would only have come between us.” He gathered me in his arms, and I found myself bending, melting into his chest, burying my face in his shirt. He whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you found out this way. I’ll send him away. You’ll never have to look at him again. I’ll go out there now and send him back to San Francisco.”

I shook my head against him. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

I pulled away, swiping my hand across my eyes. “You abandoned him. You can’t just send him away. You have to find out what he wants. You have to make it up to him. You would have gone back if not for me.”

“No—”

“I know you would have. You’re an honorable man.”

“Lea, for God’s sake. It’s long past time to make things up. I promise you he’s here because he wants something, no other reason. Let me find out what it is and send him on his way.”

I pulled away hard, stepping from the circle of his arms. “You talk as if he means to takes something from you.”

“Why else would he be here?”

“Perhaps to get to know his father.” I could not keep the bitterness from my voice.

Junius let out a heavy sigh. “Perhaps. But I doubt it. Why don’t you let me find out what the hell he wants before you start thinking we need to make things up to him?”

“But we do,” I said softly, feeling my responsibility and my sorrow like a weight. “He’s your
son.
”

Junius gave me a troubled look. “You have a good heart, Lea. But there are some people who don’t deserve it.”

“You don’t know that he’s one of them.”

“You don’t know that he isn’t.” He dragged his hand through his hair and turned back to the door. His shoulders sagged, he looked tired and
old
. “I’m sorry, Leonie,” he said again. “You don’t know how much.”

But I was still angry and guilty and hurt, and I wondered which he was sorry for—not telling me about the son he’d abandoned, or for being caught in the lie?

I followed him out, back into the chill. Lord Tom was still on the porch, his chair angled back against the wall, his hat pulled low. He’d no doubt heard every word.

He tilted his hat back. He was frowning. “Your son is still in the barn.”

Junius went down the stairs. As I made to follow, Lord Tom reached out, touching my arm, stopping me. When I looked back at him, he said softly, “Bad luck.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said impatiently, but his words startled me; I looked at the barn, Junius striding toward the young man waiting inside.

Lord Tom said, “
Kloshe nanitch, okustee.
”

“Yes, of course I’ll be careful.” I pulled away, hurrying after my husband.

At the barn door, Junius paused, and I came up beside him. Daniel Russell was inside, as Lord Tom had said, and he was standing by the mummy, holding the lamp, looking at her with a kind of studious attention that made me pause, uncertain whether to be pleased or troubled. When he heard us, he turned around, lowering the lamp, and I found myself looking for Junius in him, some evidence of blood. He had the same color eyes, I
realized, and that alone was enough to make my stomach sink.
Junius’s son. Who was not mine.

Junius said, “I imagine that wasn’t the greeting you were hoping for, boy. I’m sorry for it. You...you caught me by surprise.”

Daniel glanced at me. He was nearly vibrating with anger. He glanced back at Junius. “I imagine so.”

Junius licked his lips a little nervously. “So I...what do you want from me?”

“Junius,” I warned.

“He’s come with some expectation, Lea, as I said. I just want to know what it is.”

“It’s all right,” Daniel said. “It’s a fair question. As it happens, I do want something.”

Junius turned to me triumphantly.

Daniel went on, “I want a story about the mummy for the paper I work for.”

“A story?” Junius’s voice was heavy with suspicion.

Daniel’s smile was thin. “A story.”

“You didn’t come all this way for that.”

“My editor says I did. But you’re right, that’s not the only reason I came. I wanted to see you as well. Now that I have, well...I guess the story’s the better reward.”

Junius’s mouth tightened. “Talk to your stepmother about it then. She’s the one studying the damn thing.”

Daniel looked at me. I said quickly, “Of course. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. But...well, it could take some time to discover anything of interest, and in the meantime, perhaps you could stay here with us.” I said the words before Junius had time to protest.

Daniel raised a brow.

Junius glared at me. I glared back at him. “It would give you and your father a chance to know each other.”

Daniel laughed shortly and glanced away.

I felt a swift surge of anger, of dislike. Before it could gain sway, I nudged Junius, who said bluntly, “If you decide to stay, it won’t be free room and board. You’ll work like the rest of us, but I’ll pay you fairly for it.”

His distrust was in every word.

Daniel let out a breath. He looked back at me, and then at Junius, and that gaze was assessing and distant, uncomfortably so. Suddenly I was sorry I’d suggested it. I wanted him to say no, to walk away and let me forget he existed. Junius was right; he was a stranger, and one who had plenty of reason to hate us both.