Arrowood (26 page)

Josh parked at the top of the hill, on the gravel drive. I wanted to see the new headstone on my own, and he understood. He squeezed my hand and released it, and I looked back, halfway down the hill, to see him waiting in the biting wind, there if I needed him. On the slope beneath the sycamore trees, I traced my name on the stones of the three other Ardens. I had somehow outlived them all, and I hoped that I had a long way to go before the time came to join them. I would be the fourth Arden Arrowood to lie on the hill, and the last.

My father's grave was nearly a year old, the ground smooth and covered with bleached winter grass. I thought of the panicked moments as I'd drifted downriver in Heaney's boat, Dad's voice calm and clear in my head. He never got a chance to make amends, but I hoped he knew that I had forgiven him, that a part of him would always be with me.

Next to Dad's grave lay a mound of bare dirt with a new granite marker, flanked by two marble angels.
ARROWOOD,
read the chiseled block letters. Beneath that,
VIOLET ANN
&
TABITHA GRACE, DECEMBER 12, 1992–SEPTEMBER 3, 1994
. For my sisters, who had been together at the beginning and the end, it was fitting to share a stone. The interment had been private, just me, and I had watched the pearl-colored casket lowered down. Though I knew now where they were, where they rested, I couldn't think of them buried in the cemetery or hidden beneath the house; I couldn't picture them tucked into the earth. They existed for me as they always had, in memory.

I had brought along one of Singer's photographs that I'd stolen from Josh, the one of me with the twins on the day they went missing, and I bent to place it on my sisters' grave. It was an accidental gift from Singer, that he had captured this moment, Violet and Tabitha as I would always remember them: laughing beneath the mimosa tree in the front yard of Arrowood, clover crowns in their hair, matching white shirts with yellow buttons shaped like ducks—and me, watching over them, smiling, no hint of the darkness to come.

Before turning to go, I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer to the burning saints, that they might watch over us all, the lost, the found, the living, and the dead, and light our way home, wherever that might be.

In memory of Floyd and Telka Silvers and the little white house on South Fourteenth Street

Thank you, as always, to my family—the Runges, McHughs, Gilpins, Gipsons, and Berners—and especially Brent, Harper, and Piper.

Huge thanks to all the people who helped bring this book into the world. I'm grateful for the opportunity to work with the exceptionally kind and gifted Cindy Spiegel and the fabulous folks at Spiegel & Grau and Penguin Random House, including Annie Chagnot, Beth Pearson, Jennifer Prior, Elizabeth Eno, Sandra Sjursen, Julie Grau, and publicist extraordinaire Maria Braeckel. In the U.K., the wonderful Selina Walker at Century Arrow, and Judith Murray at Greene & Heaton. And, of course, my hardworking agent, Sally Wofford-Girand.

Much love to my dear Beasties: Ann Breidenbach, Nina Furstenau, Jennifer Gravley, Jill Orr, and Allison Smythe.

Many thanks to Veronica Runge, Lisa Gilpin, Diane Berner, Ellen Runge, Jessica Kirby-Runge, Barb and Bill McHugh, Paula Parker, Elizabeth Anderson, Hilary Sorio, Angie Sloop, Sally Mackey, Thomas Jacobs, Ryan Gerling, Dan Sophie, Nicole Coates, Melinda Jenne, Emily Williams, Amy Messner, Julie Hague, Sarah Norden, Liz Lea, Mary Atkinson, Angela Scott, Taisia Gordon, Adonica Coleman, and Martha McKim. Long overdue thanks to Helen Breedlove and Janice Blisard—I've never forgotten what you taught me. I'm also incredibly grateful to all the librarians, book clubs, booksellers, writers, and readers who have supported me along the way.

I owe a great debt to the cities of Fort Madison and Keokuk, Iowa, my first homes. I took liberties in my portrayal of Keokuk and the surrounding area, though many of the landmarks mentioned in the book are real. Special thanks to the Samuel F. Miller House and Museum, the Lee County, Iowa Historical Society, and
Tales of Early Keokuk Homes
by Raymond E. Garrison for providing inspiration, and thank you to Diane and Kevin Berner, whose historic Second Empire home inspired aspects of the Arrowood house.

To my grandparents, Floyd and Telka Silvers, thank you for giving us a place to call home. I wish that we could all be together again in the little white house.

The Weight of Blood

Arrowood

L
AURA
M
C
H
UGH
is the author of
The Weight of Blood,
winner of an International Thriller Writers award and a Silver Falchion Award for best first novel.
The Weight of Blood
was named a best book of the year by
BookPage,
The Kansas City Star,
and the
Sunday Times,
and was nominated for an Alex Award, a Barry Award, and a Goodreads Choice Award. McHugh lives in Missouri with her husband and children.

Facebook.com/​lauramchughauthor

@LauraSMcHugh