Uncle Clyde’s shoulders inched toward his ears, and Mama breathed so rapidly, I worried she might faint.
The boys turned our way and watched us roll to a stop, the tires scraping across stones in the dirt. The engine popped and coughed with an obnoxious, hacking commotion that made us stand out even more than we already did.
Laurence looked to Robbie, who gave him a firm nod, and then my former childhood friend drew in his breath and strutted our way, the pistol by his side.
Laurence stopped in front of Uncle Clyde’s window and leaned down. “What can I help you with, Dr. Koning?”
“Mrs. Koning would like to pay a visit to your mother.”
Laurence glanced at Robbie again and received a cockeyed grin.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Koning.” He rested his free hand on top of the car, right above Uncle Clyde’s head. “Our house is now supporting the principles of a white homeland for Oregon. Your family isn’t welcome here anymore.”
“Laurie Paulissen,” hissed Mama, leaning across Uncle Clyde. “What despicable lies are you learning from those delinquents over there?”
“They’re not lies, ma’am.”
“I helped raise you, for heaven’s sake, and your mother helped raise Hanalee. I changed your diapers and wiped your snotty little nose, so don’t you dare stand there and tell me I’m banned from your house.”
“None of that matters anymore, Mrs. Koning.” Laurence scratched the side of his leg with his pistol. “I don’t want Hanalee coming anywhere near my sister. Not only is her skin color muddying this community, but we all know that she slept with a sexual deviant who’s threatening the moral integrity of Elston.”
I turned my face away from Laurence’s and discovered Mrs. Paulissen observing the scene through the butterscotch curtains of the living room window. From her bedroom window up above, Fleur watched over us with her palms pressed against the glass. My heart dried up into tiny granules of sand that scattered throughout my chest and piled in a sickening lump at the bottom of my stomach.
“Back up this automobile”—Laurence slapped his hand against the roof—“and keep away from this house.”
“You’re making a terrible mistake, son,” said Uncle Clyde, shifting the gears into reverse. “Your father would be appalled to hear the words coming out of your mouth right now.”
Laurence scrunched up his face, and without even hesitating, he raised the pistol in the air and cocked the hammer. At that, Uncle Clyde leaned his arm across the back of his seat and shot us backward down the driveway, swearing under his breath—something about “goddamned baby rattlesnakes not knowing when to stop biting.”
“WHERE’S JOE, HANALEE?” ASKED MY STEPFATHER AS we rounded the bend to our house.
I fidgeted, nudging the back of the front seat with the toes of my shoes. “Why do you ask?”
“Because those boys will kill him if we don’t get him out of Elston.”
I closed my eyes and forced myself not to feel a single thing—not anguish, not anger, not terror. A wicked pain bore down on my chest, squeezing a fist around my heart; if I wasn’t careful, the pressure would suffocate me. My heart would fail to keep beating, like my father’s.
“I don’t know where he is,” I said. Something about the tone of Uncle Clyde’s voice triggered an uneasy twinge in my gut. Trust had turned into a precious commodity that I’d only hand out with great care.
“If you do hear from him”—he glanced back at me for the breadth of a second—“if he comes to the house, looking for your help, hide him out in the stable, and then let me know he’s there.”
The fear of forgetting how to breathe again gripped me. I hooked my fingers around the bottom of my seat and thrust my nose into the air streaming through the windows until oxygen expanded my lungs.
CHAPTER 24
THAT IT SHOULD COME TO THIS
UNCLE CLYDE INSTRUCTED MAMA and me to remain inside the house, behind locked doors, while he honored appointments with two late-morning patients who required his attention. He drove away with the promise of returning by lunchtime.
Mama and I paced the entry hall.
My mother kneaded her scalp and tousled her hair with her fingers. “I’m going to start sorting through all the boxes in the basement. I don’t think we’ll stay here much longer. Go look through your belongings. Set aside anything you don’t absolutely need.”
“All right.” I gulped down a bout of nausea and trudged up the staircase.
“And at some point I should fix your poor, bobbed hair,” she called up after me. “Good Lord, it’s uneven as heck.”
“I don’t care about my damn hair right now, Mama.”
“Mind your mouth, Hanalee.”
“I don’t care!”
I slammed my bedroom door shut, slid the box of toys out from beneath my bed, and plucked a spare bullet from the cardboard container of ammunition.