The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter (25 page)

"Hello!" said Laura, giving the old woman a hug. "Now that winter is over, I thought I'd come to see you." She was slender again, in jeans and an East Tennessee State T-shirt. Will Bruce's alma mater. Her hair glinted gold in the sun, and she was smiling.

"You're looking good," said Nora Bonesteel. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes," said Laura. "I guess you heard about the flood. Bet it didn't do any harm up here, though."

"No," said Nora. "I reckon I'm safe from floods till the Lord revokes the rainbow. I used to think I was safe from everything up here, being so far removed from civilization, but the world has a way of getting smaller. New York reached out with the chestnut blight and got me, and now the river comes into the valley, bringing the taint with it."

Laura sat down in the grass beside the rocking chair, and looked out across the blue hills. "I lost the baby. I guess you know that. And it may be because of that poisoned river."

"There's nowhere safe in the world," said Nora. "But we're safer than most."

"I know. I've accepted it. For a while I was angry, because you didn't tell me, but then I thought, What good would it have done?"

Nora Bonesteel said, "Knowing is one thing. Changing is another."

"I know. And I couldn't blame you for keeping it from me. I kept it from Will. After it was over, I called him. He took it really well. He thinks he'll be coming home soon."

Morgan Robsart was standing patiently beside Nora's chair, looking politely bored. His blond hair was neatly combed to make him presentable for company, and he was wearing a red knitted sweater with a circle of green designs around the collar. It fit him perfectly.

Nora turned to the child. "Look here, boy," she said. "On my front porch I've got a basket of dried apples that I've been saving all winter. If you'll go get you one of them, there's a mighty hungry whistle-pig in the field out back who'll eat it right out of your hand."

"She woke up!" said Laura.

"Yes. Persey's back. It's spring. And look yonder." She pointed to a tree near the front porch. It was hardly bigger than a fishing pole, but it had sprouted leaves on tiny branches at the top. "The chestnut made it through the winter."

"Can I go get that apple?" asked Morgan. "Where's that whistle-pig?"

"Out back, near the pond. Her name is Persey. Short for—Well, never you mind."

Laura Bruce waved him away. "Just be careful of that groundhog. Make sure she gets apple and not fingers!" She watched him as he ambled off. "He's so wonderful," she said. "Will says we can start the formal adoption procedure when he gets back. That is, if Morgan's real father is willing." She paused for a moment, waiting for Nora Bonesteel's reply.

"It's likely," the old woman said at last. "So you've got your hands full these days?"

"Oh, Morgan is no trouble, but I've been to the hospital in Knoxville twice to see Maggie Underhill. She's going to be all right. She's in therapy now, and they think she'll be able to go off to school next year. I've also been getting more involved in community matters."

"Ladies' Circle?" asked Nora with a trace of a smile.

Laura made a face. "Not a chance. I tried. Honest I did, but that just isn't me. But this evening there's a meeting of the Little Dove Action Committee down at the church, and I'm going to that. Taw McBryde is getting up petitions to take to our senator in Washington." Laura looked away. "I've been working on a letter to send with the petition, telling the senator that I think the river might have been responsible for my stillborn child."

"Bring me up a petition, and I'll sign it," said Nora.

Laura looked at the piece of cloth in the old woman's lap. It was a pillowcase, carefully embroidered with vine leaves and red flowers. She wondered if Nora Bonesteel was making wedding presents, and, if so, did the recipients know yet that they were getting married? She didn't ask, though. She leaned back, enjoying the feeling of warm sunshine and the silence of the mountaintop.

Nora Bonesteel stood up. "Would you excuse me just a minute?" she said. She walked down the hill a little ways, toward the clump of apple trees just past the vegetable garden. Over near the pond, she could see Morgan Robsart sitting in the green grass with a lapful of apples, the groundhog at his side. Persey was up on her hind legs, holding a shriveled apple between her paws.

Nora turned back to the grove of trees, and took hold of an apple branch. Tavy Annis was standing amid the new leaves, looking back at her with a pleasant expression, as if he'd dropped by to pay her a call. He was wearing his red flannel jacket, gray work pants, and a baseball cap with fishing flies stuck in the bill.

"Guess you'll be going up on the ridge now," said Nora, looking out across the waves of mountains rippling on toward the horizon, blue and purple and gray. "You go ahead on. Things are being taken care of here. Godspeed."

She turned away and went slowly back up the hill to sit in the sun.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sharyn McCrumb is rapidly becoming one of the most acclaimed of American women mystery writers whose work transcends genre. She won the coveted Edgar in 1988 for Bimbos of the Death Sun, and her nationally lauded novel, // Ever I Return, Pretty Peggy-O, was named a New York Times Notable Book for 1990. It also won the Macavity Award and was a finalist for the Anthony and the Nero. McCrumb's most recent novel is Missing Susan. She lives with her family in Virginia.