Poppa took the developer’s watch, too, a big glittery thing. And his belt and shoes. Those shoes that city people wore to the country, leather with big treads and fancy laces. Nice looking but not waterproof, not really.
Then they drove out to The Chapel (as the local kids called it) a run-down old barn out in the middle of The Hollows Wood. There were several long, wide trails behind the house on their property (one of several) that led straight to it. And Poppa did a good job of keeping the paths wide and passable for the truck and the snowmobile. So even a fancy car like the Bimmer could make it at least to the clearing. And since the ground was still dry because there hadn’t been as much rain this year, Poppa was able to drive it right inside the old barn.
It didn’t seem like the best hiding spot, because local kids came up here all the time. Bobo snuck out on full-moon nights and watched them smoking and kissing and more inside. Even though the place was so tilted and sagging that it looked like it could come down at any second, they came up here with six-packs of beer and cartons of cigarettes, sleeping bags. They made fires in the field, played music sometimes, and danced. There was a place in the back where Bobo could sit and watch them through a triangle opening in the wood. Whispered words, exposed skin, sometimes laughter, sometimes raised voices and tears. Bobo wanted to be one of them.
But there was no one up there now. Big fingers of sunlight streamed in through the gaping holes in the roof. That’s why Bobo thought of it as The Chapel, because it looked like church somehow. Like God was reaching down to touch it.
Poppa drove the car back as far as they could go into the shadows. Then he got out and started pacing, which he did when he was thinking about what to do. Finally, he started taking things from all around—broken-up crates, pieces of wood that lay around. There was an old tarp by the door, a balled-up blanket in the corner.
They worked for a while to hide the car behind a pile of debris. From the door, where the car was parked toward the back, you couldn’t see it. And the kids didn’t do much exploring. When they came up here, they weren’t interested in the barn or the woods around it. They were mostly just interested in each other’s bodies, seemed like. The car might not be discovered for a good long while. And once the snow started falling, no one would come up here again until spring. It was supposed to be a long, cold winter, according to Poppa. And the way the air felt, it wouldn’t be long before it fell over The Hollows.
The walk back to the house was long, but Bobo didn’t mind. He wondered if Poppa noticed that they were leaving tracks in the field and on the trail. Tracks that would lead back to the house, if anyone was looking. Of course, he did; Poppa had taught Bobo all about tracking, about looking for the print on the soft ground, or the succession of broken branches, the nibbled berry or the scat in the leaves. Every creature left his mark, if you knew how to look. If you were quiet and patient, you could almost always find him. Poppa wasn’t being careful, because he knew that most people weren’t quiet or patient and certainly didn’t know how to look at the woods to see what had journeyed down the trail before them. That must be why.
*
When they got back to the house, New Penny was still on the ground where she’d been lying unconscious since Poppa took the belt to her. Poppa told Bobo to get her cleaned up. In the chair on the porch, Momma rocked wearing that blank look she often wore, as if she were looking at something no one else could see. Maybe she was watching. Maybe not. She could stay that way for a long time. Bobo carried New Penny to her cot, head lolling, blond hair wild and dirty. Then he got the chain and locked her up again.
New Penny was whispering something that Bobo couldn’t hear at first. When Poppa left, Bobo stood listening.
IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyou
That was the thing about New Penny that was different from the others. She wasn’t just afraid. She was full of fire. That’s why he liked her better than the others. She was angry, just like him.
TWELVE
Finley rode her motorcycle to Agatha’s big old house, not knowing where else to go. Eloise had been clear that Finley must find her way, that she was more or less on her own with the squeak-clink. But Finley felt lost. So she wound her way out of town to see Agatha. The vision was receding to the point of being inaccessible, like a dream that had just slipped away, and the few remaining pieces seemed disjointed and nonsensical.