One Came Home (16 page)

Even when her hair tumbled to her shoulders, the tiny girl didn’t notice the ribbon was gone. She was too busy sucking that licorice stick.

I wonder how many significant decisions in the course of history have been made because of mosquitoes. Billy and I made a decision that way. We decided we could not fathom sacrificing our bodies to the fog of mosquitoes floating in those valleys. So we did not go back the way we came, as Mr. Garrow had advised. Instead, we went up the bluff. We took the store owner’s advice and followed the remains of Old Line Road. Along the way we hoped to find a flat stretch of ground to lie upon. Honestly, I barely remember discussing the topic—the decision felt
that
insignificant.

Past Garrow Farm, Old Line worsened in a hurry. It narrowed as it wound around the bluff. Trees pressed in, and fully grown bushes and brambles lined the ridge between the
wagon tracks. We squeezed through, the branches slapping my legs and the barbs snagging my clothing.

Still, there’s always a rut where wheels have rolled. Though after what Mr. Garrow had said, I wondered if this road would abandon us, wearing away at the top of the bluff. Fortunately, it did not.

While we rode in the usual formation—Billy and Storm ahead, Long Ears and I following—I pulled out the blue-green ribbon. In the honey light of the setting sun, I observed the row of stitches. It was a homemade ribbon. I rubbed it between my fingers and stared at it some more. For all the world, this ribbon appeared to be made from the same material as Agatha’s dress. Was my sister
alive
? A thousand tiny hopes swarmed over me like a cloud of gnats.

All that hope nearly did me in. I had no endurance for it. I stuffed the ribbon into a saddlebag. I was so, so tired. From my saddle, I watched the shadows lengthen and tried not to think about
any
of the day’s happenings. The bruise on my face had finally succeeded in closing my left eye, and seeing one-eyed made me dizzy. Between tiredness and dizziness, I knew it would be a joy to go to sleep.

I do think there is a limit to how much a person can feel and think on one particular day. I’d been to the nowhere place and come to the realization that my sister was dead. I’d been ready to go home. Now? I didn’t know what I thought or what I wanted.

Finally, the last of the sunlight slipped over our heads,
lavender evening came upon us, and we arrived at a wide, grassy spot with purple-gray boulders to lean against. Through my right eye, I could see where the fire pit should go and where I would unroll my bed. The river sprawled below, slipping by sand islands. Behind the open area was a bald, rocky hill that climbed maybe forty feet, and then the forest took over, thick as a lumberjack’s beard. I felt irked with Mr. Garrow for not mentioning this spot, but the irritation passed because
finally
the day was at its end. Billy and I dismounted, hobbled Storm and Long Ears, and set up camp without a word.

Seeing how we ate quickly and in silence, I think both of us were spent. I remember pressing my finger against the plate to dab up the last of the jam and then wiping my hands on the split skirt. I felt a tingle and found a tick winding its way up my shin. I flicked it into the fire and watched half amazed as it crawled right out. I swear those things are made of iron. I grabbed a twig, put the hot-to-the-touch tick on the end of it, and pushed the end into some embers. The end of the twig burst into flame. I pulled the twig out of the fire and examined it. When I looked up, I saw Billy watching me.

“A tick,” I explained. It embarrassed me to have Billy observe me being cruel (even to a tick).

I threw the twig into the fire, looked at him, and said what I was thinking: “I want to go back to the Garrows’.”

Billy nodded. “Yeah, that confusion between Darlene Garrow and Agatha would make anyone want to go back. There’s two young ladies with auburn hair gone from home,
and a
pack
of red-haired kids at that farm. I started wondering if Agatha might be alive. First time I
ever
thought that.”

“Mr. Garrow recognized the photograph too,” I said.

“Huh. I couldn’t tell.”

“I read something in his face. I’m not sure what, though. Not fear, or anger—which is what I’d expect if he shot Agatha. And if he recognized her—saw her someplace—why wouldn’t he say so?” I paused for a moment, trying to remember the look on Mr. Garrow’s face. Finally, I had it. “He looked
confused
. Why would Mr. Garrow be confused?”

Billy shook his head. “Who knows.” Then he chuckled. “Asking about whether Darlene and Agatha had met was quick thinking.”

I liked that he’d noticed and said so.

Billy observed me for a moment.

“I need to show you something,” I said quickly. I got up and dug in the saddlebags. I brought the blue-green ribbon back to Billy. I told him how I got it.

Billy leaned forward and held the ribbon up to the light of the fire. He looked at me. “Do you think this is the same fabric?”

“I can’t be sure. No one remembers colors exactly without a sample. But my instincts tell me it is. It’s too similar, and Agatha’s dress was made of fabric Ma ordered from Boston. It isn’t a fabric that makes its way to Wisconsin all that easily.”

Billy whistled low. “If this is made from Agatha’s dress, how did it come to be in that little girl’s hair?”

“Exactly,” I said.

Billy turned it over in his hand, then gave it back to me. He shrugged. “They could have cut it off the body—salvaged a piece.”

I frowned, unable to dismiss the ribbon as Billy seemed to have done. “I need to go back. I need to ask about this ribbon.”

Billy pushed his hat up. “No, Fry. This is as far as we’re going to pursue it. We’re going home now.”

I met his eyes. “What’ll it hurt?”

“Remember what happened to Agatha? If those people are at all connected with that, you and I are not enough. We’d need a posse.”

“We’ll wait until Mrs. Garrow is alone.”

Billy put his hands out. “Hold it right there, Fry. Yes, this is odd—I readily admit it. Another girl with auburn hair gone? And from a household where a similar fabric was found? But we’re not returning.”

Then Billy stopped and looked down at his hands. “I understand, Fry. I do. There were moments—back there—when I thought her alive.”

He raised his head and looked me squarely in the eye. “You have no idea how much I want her to be alive.”

He exhaled and continued: “But hope muddies up reason. Think about this
reasonably
. First, how could Agatha and Darlene meet? It would be the chanciest of chance meetings. Her ma said Darlene didn’t leave their hilltop much at
all. Also, we’d have to believe that Agatha sold or gave away her dress. You and I both know she thought the world of it. And then there’s the problem of Darlene eloping with this Morgy. That’s
two
people gone missing, which means
two
families are saying that their children eloped in secret. The elopement makes sense to those families. Sure, they’re angry, but they’re not worried. And two people traveling together don’t come to trouble as quick as one.” He shook his head. “When I think about Agatha going off alone and endangering herself …”

His eyes met mine again. “
One
body was found—a body wearing your sister’s dress. This ribbon? Probably a coincidence. But even if your hunch is correct, it’s most likely that you’d be discovering only what happened before—or after—Agatha died. Does before or after truly make any difference to you? Is it worth getting shot at? Your sister, Agatha, is
dead
.”

Without warning, he scooted around so that his back was to the fire and put his head between his knees. I heard a halfstrangled sound and then Billy began to sob.

I fidgeted for a moment. People don’t come to me for comfort and consolation. I don’t know why. They don’t, is all. But it had led me to conclude that I had no talent for it. Right then, though? I was it.
Buck up
, I said to myself. I went over, sat down next to him, and laid my hand on his shoulder (like I’d seen others do).

“I can’t get her back,” he said into his knees.

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled in my best imitation of a soothing tone.

I sat there, patting his shoulder awkwardly, and in the meantime, two things became clear to me. First, no matter what he’d said to the contrary, Billy McCabe could not marry Polly Barfod. Billy was in love with my sister. He’d need
time
to ease the pain.

The second? Tomorrow I would leave Billy. I had my Bechtler gold dollar coins (reflexively my fingers brushed the five lumps beneath the split skirt’s waistband). I could also travel wherever I wanted. Long Ears listened to me now. I’d learned to speak the language of sugar cubes.

Tonight I needed sleep. But tomorrow morning I’d be awaiting my chance. I imagined that sometime midmorning, when Billy and Storm got so far ahead I could barely see them, I’d make my move. Long Ears and I would go back the way we’d come—back to the Garrows’. By the time Billy realized I was gone, I’d have an hour’s head start. At that point, Billy could choose to follow me or go home. I did not care. I’d get my chance to talk to Mrs. Garrow. I
had
to find out about the ribbon.

Billy wiped his nose on his sleeve, and gave me a little grin. I smiled back, stood up, and went to my seat on the other side of the fire.

When I sat down, I said it like I meant it: “Let’s go home.”

“You mean it?” he said, turning around.

For better or worse, one skill I’ve acquired by growing up
in a store is the ability to sell. I am not proud of what I did that night, but at the time I thought I needed to convince Billy that I wanted to go home, and I
sold
him on it: “Yes. It
is
crazy that there’s this other redheaded girl gone, and that there’s this ribbon, but it is not enough to suggest that my sister might be alive. As you said yourself, this Darlene Garrow situation involves two people—not one. I think Mrs. Garrow told us the truth about that. So I say we remember all of this, and when we get home, we’ll tell your pa. We’ll see what he makes of it.”

I did feel bad about lying so baldly, but if Billy suspected I had any intention of going back, he would keep an eye on me.

Billy nodded. “Good. We’re going home.”

I stole a glance at Billy then. The firelight played on the underside of his hat, and along the side of his jaw where his beard started in.

Billy caught me watching, and smiled.

I looked away.

Billy chuckled. “You found out more than Pa did. I’m sure of it.”

I blinked.

Billy continued: “Pa would be the first to say it. If Pa had found any connection between the pigeoners and the Garrows, he would have told me. And removing that ribbon like you did? Using the licorice stick? That was smart.”

Was Billy McCabe complimenting me again? I grinned.

Billy grinned back. “
And
you did a job on your face. I’ve never seen a bruise so encompassing.”

I put my hand to my cheek. The heat pounded. My left eye was now swelled tight. “There’s an entire marching band inside my head.”

“I bet.”

Feeling bolder, I let my one open eye linger on Billy, sipping him in, taking my time. Yes, he was well made. I would give him that. I thought about how we’d walked side by side into Garrow Farm, how he’d made me laugh, and how I made him laugh too. I thought about how I had known him all my life. He called me smart! I was wrong about Billy McCabe. He wasn’t half bad. And before I knew it, I said: “You can’t marry Polly. You’re still in love with my sister. Maybe you should wait it out. Maybe if you waited
long enough
, someone like
me
would come along.”

Had I said that out loud?
My breath went shallow. Of course, I regretted it.

Billy’s eyes got wide. This was swiftly replaced by that amused twinkle. After much exertion to contain himself, Billy said: “That’s sweet, Fry. But I need to start my life now. I’m gonna marry Polly. I didn’t mean what I said about using Polly to bring Agatha around. I’ve got a temper. You made me mad and I said it, but it’s not true. Not anymore, anyway. I love Polly. Polly’ll be a fine wife for me. Better than I deserve.”

It was a misery sitting there listening to him defend Polly. What
had
I been thinking?

And had Billy called me
sweet
?

Billy smiled one of those smiles and said: “You are, by far, the best part of this journey.”

“Oh,” I said. It was all I could manage.

I felt utter gratitude when Billy asked for “that book” I’d brought along. I never moved so quick! I pulled
The Prairie Traveler
out of my saddlebag and handed it to him. Billy opened the book, shifting so firelight illuminated the page.

“You didn’t tell me this was written by a captain of the U.S. Army,” he said. I saw he’d turned to the back of the book to read the biography.

“You didn’t ask,” I said.

He didn’t look up from the book as he replied: “There is no peace with you, is there, Fry?”

I could have answered, but why? Anyway, it seemed he was already deep in that book. I stood up and brushed off my split skirt. “I’m going to climb this hill. Come after me in fifteen minutes if I don’t return,” I said.