The Weight of Blood (25 page)

Ransome

In the weeks after Lucy Dane's visit to Riverview, Ransome fretted over the question she hadn't asked: She had wondered all these years if Lucy still had her baby quilt and whether the girl knew Ransome had sewn it. But she'd been so taken aback when she laid eyes on Lila's daughter that the question had dried up in her mouth. She knew it was Lucy who stood before her, but for a second she wondered if it was Lila's ghost, come to take her to the other side.

When Lila left the garage—when Carl carried her away—she didn't take anything with her. Ransome thought for sure Carl would come by to fetch her belongings, but he never did, and she wasn't about to drive Lila's suitcase over to the house. It was best if she didn't see Lila or talk to her. After a while Crete told Ransome to clean out the garage. She was bagging everything up for the burn barrel when she pulled a ratty pink T-shirt out of the chest of drawers. It had belonged to the first girl. She pressed her face to it, trying to recall the girl's smell, but it was long gone, nothing left except the musty stink of old wood. She stuffed the shirt in the trash bag along with Lila's clothes and hauled it all up the hill to her house.

She looked forward to spending the winter in the front room by the woodstove, gazing out over the dead fields and working on her quilts. As soon as the first hard frost hit, she dumped the bag of clothes on the floor and started cutting. She'd heard by then about the baby. Birdie Snow had told her. Ransome stitched a crib-sized quilt, piecing together bits of Lila's abandoned jeans and shirts and nightgowns, and held back a square from one of the prettier blouses to use on another project.

She didn't go to Lila's baby shower, but she sent the quilt and let the gift speak for itself. She stayed home that day and sewed together the first two pieces of a new quilt: the silky square she had saved from Lila's blouse, and one she had cut from the first girl's pink T-shirt.
Maria
, she printed on the back of the pink square, and
Lila
on the other.

Over the years it fell to Ransome to clean up what the girls left behind, and they almost always left clothes. They shed their outfits like old skins, leaving them in piles on the floor. She tried to pick something she remembered the girl wearing, something to link a face and name, and she'd cut a square and sew it to the rest. Her quilt of lost girls. It felt right to keep a record, guilt stitched into the seams. She touched the squares and said their names, like a Catholic worrying rosary beads, so that when the time came to sew on the backing, she could still recite them by heart.

Lucy

A few weeks after the tornado struck, Daniel and I sat on a blanket at the mouth of Old Scratch. It was an unlikely spot for a picnic, but the cool air from the cave was soothing in the late-August heat. I had brought a bouquet of wildflowers for my mother and placed them in a patch of sunlight nearby. One good thing had come out of the storm: Daniel had found work clearing debris, allowing us some time together before he had to go back to Springfield and start classes at the tech college.

“You ready for school to start?” Daniel asked, eyeing the remains of my lunch.

“Yes and no,” I said. I gave him my half-eaten sandwich, and he stuffed it in his mouth. “I'll miss you around here. But it's good that you're going, I guess. At least my dad thinks so.”

He smiled. “Good that I'm going to school or good that I'll be gone?”

I punched his arm. “You'll visit, right?”

“Until you're sick of me.”

We sat in silence for a while, staring into the cave. I didn't know which, if any, of Crete's last words were true, but I chose to believe that my mother hadn't meant to leave me. I didn't need to know everything about her to know how much she had loved me.

Daniel brushed my hair back over my shoulder. By now I'd stopped cataloging all the times he touched me; not that the thrill had worn off, just that I had lost track. He'd shown up at my house the day after the storm, walked up to the door, and pulled me into his arms without saying a word. He had kissed me right there, in front of my dad, who hadn't even protested.

“You getting used to working for Carl?” he asked.

“He's annoying,” I said. “But it's kind of nice having him around.” However hard it was for Dad to sit at Crete's desk every day, surrounded by reminders of his brother, he was unapologetically delighted to have a job that kept us tripping over each other every day.
We'll be spending a lot of time together before you leave for college
, he'd said with a bittersweet smile.

I was worried about my dad. He couldn't bring himself to say much to Birdie, though he knew she had shot Crete only out of fear for my life. I'd told him what I had found in Crete's basement—the folder with Mom's picture and her unsettling job application. Everything left his face: color, emotion, awareness. He retreated to his room to drink, and I went to stay with Bess and Gabby for a few days. They had stuck to me like a couple of seed ticks, constantly asking if I was okay.

While I was there, Gabby took me out to the woodpile to see the one remaining possum from the litter of babies I'd brought her back in May. Its siblings had all disappeared into the woods, but the last possum appeared to have formed a bond with its adoptive mother, the mama cat, and it had chosen to stay. Gabby got all teary when we found the cat and the possum curled up together to sleep, and Bess rolled her eyes and told her to go light a joint.

When Dad came to pick me up and take me home, he reeked of smoke, and his eyebrows were singed. He'd spent a whole day at Crete's house, burning things. He'd carried all the boxes of paperwork out of the basement and set them on fire. He looked rough, but he was sober, so I got in the truck with him. Neither of us said anything on the ride home, but I figured when he was ready—if he ever was—he would talk.

Many things were in limbo. Ray said that, without a body, it could take years for Crete to be declared legally dead, yet he insisted that I see the will right away. Both houses, the store, the land, the insurance, an astonishing assortment of bank accounts: all in my name.
For
Lucy, who is like a daughter to me
. However I tried to interpret them, those words hit me hard. I didn't know for sure whether Crete had attacked my mother—and whether it was possible that he was my father—but I knew I was nothing like him and that Carl would always be my dad. Still, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't escape the fact that Crete and I were family. We had loved each other. I had loved a monster, and a monster had loved me.

It was a relief for my dad to have our home and property restored to us, and while he'd never imagined himself a shopkeeper, it was clear he felt a sense of pride in taking over his father's business. The cash was another matter altogether. In addition to the bank balances, there was the safe under Crete's desk. Dad had drilled it open and found it packed with stacks of bills. I had no way of knowing how much of it was made off girls like Cheri and Holly. Girls like my mother. I wouldn't keep it. I wanted to use it to help other girls escape, or to keep them from being trafficked in the first place. Ray promised to help me find the best organization to give the money to, and I would make the donation in Cheri's name.

I hadn't expected to feel guilt snaking through me as I read Crete's will. The things he had left for me meant nothing compared to all that I'd lost, all that he'd taken away, and I hated him for it. He deserved to pay for what he'd done. But I'd never wanted him dead. I remembered how he had sung to me, though sometimes I wished I could forget.

It was well past lunchtime. Daniel and I needed to be heading back, but neither of us was in a hurry to leave.

“So, do you think you'll come back here after college and take over the family empire someday?” Daniel asked.

I didn't know the answer. The Ozarks did have a way of calling folks home, though I'd never thought I would be one of them. All my life I had told myself I didn't belong here. Henbane was a map of the devil, his backbone, eye, and throat, its caves and rivers a geography of my loss. But I hadn't taken into account how a place becomes part of you, claims you for its own. Like it or not, my roots tangled deep in the rocky soil. I would leave Henbane, but home sings in your bones, and I wondered how far I could go before the hills would call me back.

“Maybe,” I said, leaning in to him. “And if you're lucky, maybe I'll hire you.”

I ran my fingers along the chain around my neck; they came to rest on the blue butterfly. I'd taken Cheri's necklace out of hiding, though I didn't feel right wearing it. It would always belong to her. I unhooked the clasp and rose to place the necklace with the flowers.
I'm sorry
, I whispered.
For everything
. I hoped that somehow she could hear me.

I turned away from the cave. I couldn't stare at it any longer, expecting answers that wouldn't come. I was done waiting for ghosts. I pulled Daniel down onto the blanket and kissed him, hard.

“I haven't been replaced by Jamie Petree?” he teased, trailing his fingers along my cheek.

“Hardly,” I said. “He's a terrible kisser.”

Daniel wrapped his arms around me and drew me close to him, almost as close as I wanted to be. On the blanket, in the filtered light, doves lamenting in the trees, I felt at home—with my world, myself, with him. I let myself get lost in the moment, looking neither forward nor back, seeking nothing absent but embracing what was right in front of me.

Thank you to the Runge and McHugh families, especially my mom, Veronica Runge, for everything, and my sisters, Lisa Gilpin, Diane Berner, and Ellen Runge, for their unfailing belief and love. Thank you to my in-laws, Barb and Bill McHugh, for their kindness and support.

My husband, Brent, deserves a huge thank-you for suggesting that I stop trying to squeeze my pregnant belly into an interview suit and instead use my newfound unemployment as an opportunity to write a book, like I'd always wanted. His love and support kept me going. Thank you to our daughters, Harper and Piper, for making me want to work harder.

I am forever grateful to my agent, Sally Wofford-Girand, for all she has done. She made my dreams come true.

Heartfelt thanks to my wonderful editor, Cindy Spiegel, who believed in the story and made it better, and to everyone at Spiegel & Grau and Random House who helped. Thank you to Selina Walker for her invaluable insight and to E. Beth Thomas for copyediting.

Much love and gratitude to my writing group: Ann Breidenbach, Nina Furstenau, Jennifer Gravley, Jill Orr, and Allison Smythe. I'm lucky to be surrounded by such talented and generous friends. Special thanks to Jill for the endless encouragement and for sharing this journey with me.

I would like to thank everyone who read early drafts, answered questions, offered advice, or cheered me on: Paula Parker, Hilary Sorio, Elizabeth Anderson, Angie Sloop, Sally Mackey, Emily Williams, Jennifer Anderson, Liz Lea, Amy Messner, Julie Hague, Nicole Coates, Jessica Longaker, Scott Greathouse, Dan Sophie, Ryan Gerling, Thomas Jacobs, Keija Parssinen, and Paula Chaffin of New Horizons for Children. Thanks also to Taisia Gordon, my favorite photographer.

Thank you to the friends and neighbors who offered to babysit my children when I needed help, and last but not least, thank you to Daniel Boone Regional Library, where I spent countless hours drinking coffee and working on this book.

Laura McHugh
grew up in small towns in Iowa and southern Missouri, the youngest in a family of eight children. She holds a master's degree in library science and has worked as a librarian and a software developer. Her short fiction has appeared in Confrontation and Big Muddy: A Journal of the Mississippi River Valley. As a full-time mom, she spends most of her time doing laundry and playing My Little Pony, but she also likes to garden, sew, and watch zombie movies. McHugh lives in Columbia, Missouri, with her husband, two daughters, and dog.