“You have to tell me what happened,” I say, hoping I don’t sound afraid. “You didn’t leave him? Little as he is, you must have been with him, must have seen what happened. You’d never leave him to his own.”
Most boys Dale’s age would fare just fine on their own, but not Dale. He should have been born in the city, where life is easier on a body. His coming into this family was a mistake. Dale’s kind of softness can’t be beaten out of a boy.
I pause then, waiting for an answer. Juna’s black eyes stare up at me. When the silence stretches and she says nothing to fill it, I nod, urging her along. I stroke the back of her hand, lightly, brushing the tiny hairs against the grain. The small lantern, the only one in the room, dims, and the glow shrinks and falls lower on the walls. Overhead, the ceiling is black. I try to smile, always the one to smile.
“I know you’d not leave him,” I say again. “Can’t you tell me what happened?”
Another pause as I wait for Juna to tell the truth.
“You must know something,” I say. “You have to tell. Daddy, he thinks you know. He thinks it for sure, that you know and you’ll not tell because he loved Dale best. He says you’re punishing him. He thinks you’re wicked and that this is proof of it. He says he’s always known it. Tell me it’s not true. Tell me what happened.”
Juna closes her eyes, but opens them again when I grab her by both arms. She has always been leaner and stronger than me. Daddy says a man will be tempted by a beautiful girl and she’ll make him do things he ought not do. A man doesn’t need a beautiful girl; he only wants one. It says something about a man if he walks with a beautiful girl at his side, but a man will eventually get his fill. Eventually, he’ll leave her for a pleasing girl. A man will always come home to a pleasing girl because she doesn’t think so much of herself as a beautiful girl. This is what a man needs. A man needs something soft to bring him joy, something to rest his head against, something to sink his fingers into. I am all of these things. You’re lucky, Daddy will sometimes tell me when the house is dark and quiet and we’re alone, to be one who’s not so tempting. In the end, a man can’t help what he needs.
“You have to know something,” I say, clinging to Juna’s hand. I lift it, press it to my mouth. “Daddy says you’ll not be long for this house if you won’t tell. Surely you seen what became of Dale.”
? ? ?
ABRAHAM PACE GETS word of what’s happened from Abigail Watson, and his heavy boots and the sound of his voice soon fill the house. I still sit with Juna in the small, dark bedroom, waiting for news of Dale. The door opens. Daddy steps into the room. Abraham Pace and John Holleran follow, all of them staring at Juna in her underthings. Abigail stands at Abraham’s side, her small hand clinging to the edge of his jacket. Abraham is always saying he hopes to have children of his own one day, God willing, but if not, he’ll always have his Abigail. I can see straightaway because of the way not one of them will look me in the eye that if there is news, it’s not good.
“I’m hot,” Juna says, staring at the three men and Abigail but speaking to me. “The window. Open the window.”
Abraham starts to step into the room to lift the window’s shutter, but I stop him with a raised hand and by shaking my head. Daddy won’t have it, another man in his daughters’ room. Understanding this, Abraham pulls Abigail’s hand from his jacket and nudges her toward me. She grabs at him again, holding on with both hands this time. She’s frightened that whatever became of Dale will soon become of her. Abraham strokes her head and tells her to get on. She stares at him for a moment and then lets loose and steps up to help me. Using both hands, I lift the wooden shutter, hold it overhead with one straight arm, and with my free hand, I point to the two-by-four we keep for just this purpose. When a nice breeze is blowing or the house needs airing, Juna and I do this together because the shutter, made of solid oak, is too heavy for one of us to manage alone. With Abigail’s help, I jam one end of the board into the sill and let the shutter rest on the other end.
“You men don’t belong here,” I say, placing a hand on Juna’s shoulder.
John Holleran lowers his eyes, pulls the hat from his head, and disappears from the doorway. He’s always one to do what’s right. It’s probably why, despite what Mary Holleran says about our bright, clear future, he’s not so tempting as Ellis Baine.
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Juna says as I press a tin cup filled with milk to her lips.
She needs nourishment most of all. Water, some sugar, meat if only we had any. She’ll come around. She’ll remember, but as she’s done all day, she pushes the milk away. I suggest again that we send for the doctor. She refuses.