Missing (10 page)

“That was three days later,” says Van. He sounds shaken. He's probably imagining what those three days must have been like for his grandpa.

There is one final clipping. The paper looks newer, the print not as faded. I check the date. It's more than twenty years after the other articles. We read it together.

August 2, 1979

CASE STILL ACTIVE AFTER TWENTYFIVE
YEARS

Police have reopened several cases of interest in
the area, including the disappearance of Livia
Willard in 1954. Four-year-old Livia disappeared
twenty-five years ago on July 7, 1954, from the
Double R Guest Ranch, where she was vacationing
with her parents, Joan and Wayne Willard, her
sisters, Iris and Esta, and her English cousin Melissa.
Despite a thorough search, the little girl was never
found. The police are interested in speaking to
anyone who lived in the area in 1954. A local man,
a former employee of the guest ranch, was questioned
extensively at the time. He was charged
but released after a few days. Now fifty-eight years
old, he remains a person of interest and has been
requestioned by the police. He claimed that he was
fishing at Marmot Lake when Livia disappeared
and has always maintained his innocence.

Van looks sick. I wish we had never come. My head spins, but it always comes back to the same thing. It's insane trying to connect Livia's disappearance with Heb, who carves beautiful birds and loves his grandchildren.

Van shoves the newspaper articles back into the folder. “Let's get out of here,” he says.

We don't talk as we walk back to school. A horn honks; it's Dad in his pickup truck. He pulls over to the curb. He says that he's been in town picking up some building supplies and that he'll give us a ride home. I wonder if Van would rather take the bus on the last day so he can say goodbye to his friends. I'm going to tell him that I don't mind if he does, but he says, “That'd be great, thanks,” and we both climb in.

As we drive out to Gumboot Lake, Dad and Van talk across me about where all the good fishing lakes are. Van is polite and answers Dad's questions, but I'm sure that he's still feeling as stunned as I am. I stare through the windshield at the road. I can't stop thinking about Van's grandfather and Livia.

E
leven

I get out at Van's house and tell Dad I'll be home for dinner. Prince, the family's golden retriever, gallops across the grass to meet us. I kneel down and bury my face in his neck.

Dawn and Ginny are in front of the barn, brushing the ponies. I go over to say hi and then join Van in the kitchen.

Van's mom is making strawberry jam. Gleaming jars are lined up on the counter, and a huge pot simmers on the stove. “Hi, Thea,” she says. “Help yourself.” I pick a fat strawberry out of a cardboard flat and pop it into my mouth.

Van is pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage. I can feel the tension coming off him in waves.

“I
know,
Mom,” he says finally in a tight voice. “I
know
about Grandpa and that girl that went missing.”

Jane stops stirring the pot and stares at Van.

“Why didn't anyone ever tell me?” he says fiercely.

“Oh, Van,” says Jane. “How did you find out?”

“It's my fault,” I say. “I found a newspaper article about Livia. And I wanted to know what happened to her. So we went to the museum and we read about it there.”

“I just want to know why you didn't tell me,” Van says.

A voice says quietly, “We didn't tell you because we promised your grandpa that you would never know.”

It is May, in the doorway.

“I don't want you upsetting Grandma,” says Jane.

“Nonsense,” says May.

She asks Van and me to join her for tea in her and Heb's sitting room.

“It's a good time to talk,” she says. “Heb has gone to town with Van's dad to do some chores.”

We go into the sitting room. I marvel again at Heb's birds. They are so lifelike. They look as if they might burst into flight at any minute. I stroke the feathers on a duck while May pours tea into china cups. She opens a round tin and puts some cookies on a plate.

“Van is right,” May says. “He should have been told. After all, we have nothing to hide. What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” says Van.

May is silent. I wonder if she is doing what I do, picking out the bits she wants to tell, deciding what should remain a secret. After all, some things are nobody's business.

“First of all,” says May finally, “the charges were dropped. There was no evidence whatsoever that Grandpa was involved. It was just the story of a mixed-up teenager.”

“That's so unfair,” says Van.

“Of course it is.” May folds her hands, her tea forgotten. “We knew the Willard family well. They came to the ranch every year, right from when Livia was a baby. They always came in the beginning of July and stayed for two weeks. Esta was the oldest, Iris was in the middle and then there was little Livia. The family always took the same cabin, that big one with two bedrooms and a loft.”

A slight shiver runs over me. That sounds like the cabin Dad and I are living in. I wonder if all three girls slept in my room. I imagine them in old-fashioned nightgowns, whispering until they fell asleep.

“The year Livia disappeared, they had their niece from England with them,” says May. “Her name was Melissa. She was a great rider. Her parents owned some kind of fancy riding stable in England. The day Livia disappeared, Melissa went on a trail ride all afternoon and left the two younger girls with Esta.”

Disapproval sharpens May's voice. “Melissa was in charge. She should have stayed with the girls. Especially Livia. She was only four.”

I try to remember exactly what the newspaper articles said. “The girls' parents had gone back to Vancouver,” I say.

“That's right,” says May. “I can't remember why. Some kind of family emergency, I suppose.” She frowns. “They didn't want to leave the girls at first. There was quite a to-do, especially about whether Livia should go with her parents. She was so young. Wayne wanted to take her to Vancouver. He adored her. He was absolutely crazy about her. And he was worried.”

“What was he so worried about?” I ask.

“Livia suffered from asthma. Her asthma had been particularly bad that summer. I remember the poor little mite struggling to catch her breath. But she'd been better the last few days, and in the end they decided to leave her at the ranch. I think they thought she'd be happier there.”

“If Livia had gone with her parents, everything would have been different,” says Van. He sounds bitter.

“If Wayne had had his way, she would have. But Joan said to leave her at the ranch with Melissa. After all, Melissa was in her twenties. She wasn't a child.”

May pauses. “Don't get me wrong. Livia was the apple of her mother's eye too. You see, she was Joan's only child.”

“But what about Esta and Iris?” I say.

“They weren't Joan's. She was their stepmother. Wayne had been married before. Esta and Iris's mother died of cancer.”

“So Livia was their half sister,” I say.

“Yes,” says May. “Joan was younger than Wayne by quite a number of years. She was ecstatic to have her own child. She was always fixing Livia up nicely. Those curls weren't natural. Oh no. Joan used to set Livia's hair every night. I used to think it would be nice if she spent a little bit of that time on Iris. Iris had straight mousy hair and a little peaked face, but she was appealing in her own way. Esta was such an unattractive girl. She couldn't help it. She had what we used to call a pudding face. And she was big for her age. Awkward.”

“Did Esta and Iris mind that Livia got so much attention?”

“Esta did. Definitely. I don't think Iris noticed so much. She was crazy about the horses and spent a lot of time at the barn. I remember thinking— after their parents were killed in the accident and their aunt took them back to England with her—that at least Iris would have all those horses to console her.”

“But Esta minded?”

“Oh yes, Esta was fiercely jealous of Livia. I saw her push her right down in the dirt more than once when she thought no one was looking.” May sighs. “Esta bullied Iris too, and I think both girls were afraid of her. It's a terrible thing, to be afraid of your own sister.”

Van speaks now, his voice tight with impatience. “The day Livia disappeared. What happened?”

May doesn't answer for a long time. Then she says, “Esta was in a foul temper that afternoon. She complained all through lunch. She didn't think it was fair that she had to look after Livia and Iris while Melissa was having fun riding. Livia could be a handful and she was fussing—missing her mother and father I expect.”

May's blue-veined hand trembles. She sets her teacup down and it rattles in the saucer. “Esta said they went for a walk,” she says softly. “I always suspected it was to that old cabin at the end of the road. It was never used for guests so it was empty. Esta used it as a kind of playhouse, and sometimes she made Iris go there with her.”

“The cabin's still there,” I say. “Van and I found it.”

“Really?” says May. “Well, the girls weren't supposed to go to the old cabin that summer, and according to Esta, they didn't. But Esta, quite frankly, was not a truthful girl. She said they played on that little beach toward the end of the road, and then Iris and Livia went back to the cabin they were staying in. Esta insisted that the two of them left together. Esta stayed a little longer. She said that when she got back to their cabin, Iris was asleep on the bed. She woke Iris up and asked her where Livia was and Iris didn't know.”

“But Esta changed her story,” says Van. “She said she saw Livia in Grandpa's truck.”

“Yes, she did say that,” says May slowly. Her eyes fill with shadows. The lines in her skin seem deeper. “It was a confusing time. Melissa was hysterical when she got back from the ride. She blamed herself. Everyone was hunting for Livia. And then, of course, that night we got the terrible news that the girls' parents had been killed. The police said that Wayne crossed the center line. He must have been in an awful state, driving back to the ranch knowing that Livia was missing.”

“Esta changed her story,” Van persists, his voice angry. “Why did people believe her?”

May hesitates, as if she is choosing her words carefully. “She didn't really change her story. She just added to it. She always insisted that Livia had gone back with Iris. The police said that, with all the trauma, Esta's memory would come in bits and pieces. They thought that perhaps Livia had wandered away when Iris fell asleep and that Esta had seen her in Heb's truck when she was walking back to their cabin.”

“What did Iris say?”

“Iris?” May frowns. “All I remember is Iris crying. Crying and crying and crying. She was only eight, and she was devastated. She screamed when the police tried to talk to her.”

“So it was just Esta's word,” says Van. “What about Grandpa?”

“He never saw Livia that day. He took the afternoon off and drove up to Marmot Lake to throw in his fishing line. He wasn't even here. The problem was, no one saw him leave. And there was no one at Marmot Lake, so there was no one to give him an alibi. We were expecting a big crowd the next week, all the cabins full, and I was baking all afternoon, trying to get a store of pies and muffins and such in the freezers. So I didn't see him leave either. The ranch was quiet—most of the guests were off on the trail ride. When Heb got back, everyone was looking for Livia and he joined in the search right away. He was upset, terribly upset, thinking that something bad might have happened to her.”

May stares at her teacup. “We all thought she'd drowned. It was the obvious thing to think. We spread out along the lake, searching under all the docks and in the weeds and lily pads along the shore. And the police dragged the lake. Not a sign of her.”