Small Plates (27 page)

S
he'd had to wait for John Robbins to plow them out, so it was close to noon before Faith could leave for Bethany Farm. If Tom was puzzled by the intensity of his wife's need to get the baby things over to Mary, he didn't say so. Faith felt slightly guilty at keeping so much from Tom. It wasn't what they did—wasn't what their marriage was about. But she didn't want to upset him when he was coming along so well—or so she rationalized. She felt an almost painful surge of love for him, the kind of feeling you don't have until you're faced with an illness, or worse.

There was no way she was going to drag Tom into this.

The main roads were clear, but when she reached the Bethany Farm road, Faith saw to her dismay that it wasn't. She'd have to walk in, carrying a few things, but leaving most behind. She pulled off the road and started out. It was a bright sunny day—warm enough so the snow that clung to the trees was starting to fall in clumps to the ground. The weighted branches relieved of their burden sprang up like jack-in-the-boxes. Ben and Amy had barely stopped for breakfast before racing out to make a fort, or maybe an igloo, or maybe both with snowmen to stand guard.

By the time she got to Mary's door, Faith had peeled off her outer layer and imagined her children virtually naked from their exertions. It was hard to get them to wear jackets even when it was actually freezing. Mary opened the door immediately and Faith walked into a storybook picture—Jessie Willcox Smith or Tasha Tudor. A young woman Faith assumed must be Miriam was sitting in Mary's big chintz easy chair, Christopher cradled in her arms while she fed him. Her long shining dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, tumbled over the soft blue sweater she was wearing. She glanced up at Faith but finished singing to the baby, “You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town” before saying “Hi.” It was as soft and melodic as her singing had been.

“Faith, this is Miriam Carpenter; Miriam, Faith Fairchild,” Mary said, adding to Faith, “She knows all about you.”

But I don't know all about you, Faith said to herself as she greeted Miriam.

The room was glowing—with the heat from the stove, the smiles of the three women, and the radiant baby. Faith felt enormously relieved. Miriam was here, safe with Mary and Christopher. She wasn't in Orono, couldn't have been in Orono at the time in question and made it down to the island in the storm.

“I have a lot more stuff in the car, but it will have to wait until you're plowed out. If I try to drive in, I'll get stuck for sure,” Faith said. She put down the bags containing more sleepers, baby towels, more formula, bottles, and a Snugli. She'd viewed this as a necessity, so Mary could tend the goats with Christopher securely strapped to her chest. She hadn't bought any baby wipes—Mary got them by the carton to keep the goat's udders clean. She had plenty of Bag Balm too. Mary's hands were as soft as the finest French leather gloves. Faith had never milked Mary's goats, but she imagined they felt the same. Christopher's pelt would never suffer.

“I can walk back with you and make another trip,” Mary offered.

“No, I'll go,” Miriam said.

Mary shook her head firmly. “You're not to stir from where you are. You need to rest up. Besides, Christopher hasn't finished his bottle.”

Mary grabbed her jacket and the two women walked out into the sunlight. The air was fresh after the closeness of the kitchen, and Faith felt inexplicably happy.

The snow was so soft that small, sparkling eddies swirled about their feet as they made their way back to Faith's car. The surface caught the afternoon light, turning Mary's pasture into a field of diamonds.

“Have you listened to any more news?” Faith asked.

Mary shook her head. “I don't have that kind of radio. Even if I had I wouldn't have turned it on and upset Miriam. She doesn't know about it.”

“I heard the victim's name last night and again this morning. It was Bruce Judd.”

Mary stopped walking. “I thought that might be who it was right from the beginning. I haven't asked her any questions—and she hasn't said much. There's no need to push her.” She reached down and shook the snow from a bayberry bush, freeing its branches from the ground.

“I think we do have to tell her about what we've heard,” Faith said. “But I'm sure she's not involved. She wouldn't have made it all the way here in the storm unless she'd left Orono early.”

Mary started walking slowly. “I don't know when she left. It was almost three this morning when she turned up here.”

“Oh,” said Faith.

“Yes,” said Mary. They reached Faith's car, loaded up, and started back to the farmhouse.

Christopher was in his basket and Miriam was looking at the things Faith had brought when they returned through the kitchen door. Faith started to take off her boots and put them next to Miriam's on the boot tray. Miriam's boots were wet. Not still wet from last night, but newly wet. There was a coating of fresh snow on the right toe. Faith stopped what she was doing. Enough was enough. What had Miriam been doing outside? What possible reason could she have had to go to the barn—the only destination? It was time for the girl to start answering some questions.

“Miriam, your boots, they're—”

Miriam cut her off, shouting: “It's Duane and Ralph! Look!” She pointed out the window. A pickup was slowly making its way toward the house, the snow impeding, but not stopping, its progress.

“They'll kill us! Me, anyway! They want the money!”

Mary didn't waste any time. “Get your boots on and wrap the baby under your jacket. Go straight through the woods to the Marshalls. Faith knows the way. Go by the shore, just in case you have to use the canoe. The Reach isn't frozen solid. The canoe's under a blue tarp.” As she spoke she was dialing.

“I can't let you do this!” Miriam said.

“Don't waste time, just get out of here! You've got to get Christopher away from them!”

Miriam seemed immobilized. Faith pushed her toward her things. “Hurry!”

“You take the baby,” Miriam said, pulling on her parka and calling over her shoulder, “give them the money! Let them have it. Tell them where it is right away! You don't know what they can do!”

As she followed Miriam out the door, Faith could hear Mary telling Sanpere's volunteer fire department—the number you called if anything at all was wrong—“It's Mary at Bethany Farm. Send the truck, an ambulance, and call the police as fast as possible!”

Things with sirens. Faith only hoped they would get there in time.

Outside, the sun was almost blinding. Faith and Miriam with their precious bundle ran across the old pasture behind the house toward the woods. The pickup had stopped and discharged its cargo. The two men were coming around to the back door following the footprints Mary and Faith had made earlier.

“She's getting away! Both of them!” yelled Ralph, spotting the women. He started to run. “Come on!”

“There's someone in the house,” Duane said. “I saw the curtains move. She may be trying to trick us.” He pointed toward the two figures almost to the trees. “You go after them—I'm going in the house!” He started kicking at the door. “Open up, bitch. We know you're there!”

Inside, Mary knew the longer she could keep them out, the farther ahead the others would get. Ralph had stopped running while he waited to see who was in the house.

The door was solid oak and Mary had hopes it would last until help arrived.

“Sonofabitch!” Duane hopped on one foot, rubbing the toe of his boot, then went back to the truck for something stronger. “What are you waiting for? I told you to follow them, asshole.”

Ralph took off again; the two figures were still in plain sight but nearing the woods. Duane shook his head and smacked the side of the truck with his hand before he reached into the bed to get a crowbar. He didn't know what was going on. Mostly his life was pretty simple. He got what people wanted, gave it to people to sell, and they handed over a lot more money than he had paid in the first place. No, he didn't like not knowing what was going on. He felt better thinking about what he was going to do to Miriam when he got her—and he would get her.

L
yle Sanford got out of the cab of the pickup. He'd been watching the scene with detached interest. That was some awesome weed these dudes had was his main thought. He'd been at the register at the market when they'd come in looking for “some old lady who has goats.” Lyle had paused before answering, a pause Duane and Ralph mistook for reluctance to divulge information. In fact, Lyle was wondering why so many guys were looking for Mary Bethany, who was like older than his mother, and wondering even more where the two in front of him had gotten their cool tats. Before he'd had a chance to tell them what they wanted to know, they'd offered him some weed and more if he would take them to Mary's farm. Would he! But he had to wait until Darlene came on, so Ralph and Duane helped themselves to some Doritos, pork rinds, and a couple of beers and sat in the truck.

W
ho are they?” Faith managed to gasp as she ran toward the woods and safety.

“Drug dealers. They think I stole some money from them.”

There was no mistaking the sound that split the air.

“Oh shit,” said Miriam. “Ralph's got a gun.”

A
s soon as Mary saw Duane approach her door with the crowbar, she opened it.

“There's no need to damage my property. What do you want? And what on earth are you doing here, Lyle?” Mary had seen the boy from the window but hadn't recognized him at that distance. She hadn't seen him at the market for a while, so the transformation from white tee shirts to black and the addition of several pieces of metal stuck through various parts of his face was new to her.

“Not sure, ma'am,” he mumbled.

“Fer sure we're not here for a fuckin' cup of coffee. Now get Miriam and get the money.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Mary said.

Duane started toward her, fists clenched.

“That won't work,” Lyle said with surprising clarity. “You got to get her goats.” He pointed toward the barn.

“No!” Mary cried. “Don't you dare go in there. I'll give you the money. Miriam isn't here. You could see that.”

“Well now, this is much better.” Duane lowered his arms. “Ralph will take care of Miriam. Okay, Grandma, let's get the cash—and it had better all be there.”

“You stay here; I'll bring it to you.” Where was the fire truck? Why hadn't at least one volunteer arrived yet?

“No, I think we'll all stick together.”

“It's in the barn.” Mary hated to bring him anywhere near her nannies. They'd be upset for days. But there was no choice. Lyle tagged along, and as predicted, the goats bleated in panic. Mary tried to calm them, but Duane—after giving the goats a startled look; he was apparently a city boy—told her to hand over the money and hand it over fast.

She walked over to a pile of small square bales of hay—she bought it like this rather than in the rolls because it was easier for her to handle. Easy to handle the other day when she'd hollowed out the middle of one and replaced the straw with the money.

“Here.” She shoved the packet at him. “Now get out.”

Duane opened it up. “Looks like it's all here, but I think I'll just count it to make sure. Could be you wanted to use some of it for a new billy goat.” He laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. Mary didn't correct him as to the gender of her nannies. The longer he took the better. She was straining to hear the sirens, but the only sound in the barn was her goats' piteous racket, louder than ten fire engines.

“Now, now, what's this?” Duane snarled, grabbing Mary's arm. “There's two thousand dollars missing!”

“I don't know anything about that,” Mary said firmly, pulling free. “I haven't touched that money since I put it there.”

“So I guess you musta taken it out before then.” He reached into his pocket and took out a Buck knife, flicking it open. “Hey, Lyle, get that little goat over there. He needs a haircut.”

F
aith knew they were close to the shore. There had been a couple more shots, but since Ralph had to look down to follow their tracks, they'd been able to keep ahead of him. Mary's canoe was under a blue tarp. You could find just about anything under a blue tarp in Maine. Miriam tugged at it, freed the canoe, and dragged it to the shore. Mary had been right. The water in the Reach wasn't frozen the way it was in the smaller coves. There were chunks of ice, but they'd be able to get the canoe in, and then what? Faith certainly hoped Miriam knew how to paddle, because otherwise they were sunk.

“Get in! Grab a paddle and go! I'll push us off!”

“I don't know how!” Faith said. There hadn't been much opportunity for canoeing growing up in the Big Apple and she'd managed to avoid the activity since.

“You'll learn fast! Now go!”

Christopher had started to cry. Faith felt like crying herself but saved it for later. The canoe teetered in the water. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if they capsized. A minute, two minutes in water this temperature before they were gone?

Miriam was moving them along with strong, swift strokes. Faith tried to match the rhythm, but gave up and concentrated on calming the baby.

A bullet hit the water just behind them. Ralph was yelling at them from the shore. He emptied the gun as they pulled farther and farther out of range. Around the corner of one of the points of land that extended like gnarled fingers into the current, Faith could see the Marshalls' dock. They were safe. And some of the volunteer firemen must have arrived at the farm by now. Mary was safe too.

M
ary was fine, but Duane was suffering from a nasty bite on the hand from Dora, who had been very curious about the bright shiny object in his hand. She'd slid through the gate from the stall that Lyle hadn't closed properly, and lunged to explore the blade, encountering instead Duane's very fleshy palm. Before he could do more than just shove at the 180-pound pride of Mary's herd, the fire department, ambulance corps, and an officer from the sheriff's department all poured through Mary's barn door. He arrested Duane and Lyle immediately and sat down to wait for Ralph to return in the custody of the men who'd gone after him. One of the volunteers took pity on Duane and poured more than enough iodine on his open wound before bandaging it.