Bone River (40 page)

“She can decide what’s worthy of her time herself, don’t you think?” Daniel asked. “Or are you making all her decisions for her now?”

“Daniel,” I warned.

“
Daniel
,” Junius repeated, mockingly. “Let him say what he thinks, Lea. You sound like his mother.”

“She could not be less like,” Daniel said, and I wondered if Junius heard that tone in his voice that I heard, the one that made me have to look away.

Junius sat beside me on the settee, close, putting his arm around my shoulders, drawing me into his side. Daniel watched impassively—how bland he was; the only thing that revealed his agitation was the flex of his jaw, something I only saw because of how well I knew him.

I said quickly, trying to ease the tension, “Papa was talking about the experiment again. I wish I knew what it was. You’re certain you haven’t any idea, June?”

“None at all.” He sprang up again, restlessly, as if something were prodding him. He went to the organ, shoving up the cover over the keyboard. “How about a sing-along?”

“A sing-along?” Daniel asked.

“You can sing, I take it? I’d be surprised if the Russell talent eluded you.”

“I didn’t know there
was
a Russell talent.”

“There is. Singing,” Junius said. “What are your preferences? Ballads? Hymns? Bawdy tunes? Opera? We’ve got them all.”

“None of them,” Daniel said. He looked back down at the journal he was reading. “You go ahead without me.”

“Not acceptable.” Junius reached for the folder of music. “Come now, boy, I’m trying to make amends, as your dear stepmother wishes.”

Daniel bristled. “You’ve no real desire to make amends, and I’ve no wish to accept them.”

“Ah, you see, Lea?” Junius spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I’m surprised at how willing you are to disappoint her, boy.”

Slowly, Daniel closed the journal. Very deliberately, without looking at me, he said, “Not at all. I am devoted to her every happiness.”

Junius laughed and looked at me. “Well, well, how fine. You hear that, sweetheart? He is
devoted
to you. No doubt the ladies line up to hear such talk, boy. Women love poetry. I imagine it’s worked to your advantage a time or two?”

“Once or twice,” Daniel admitted. I felt his glance, and I refused to meet it.

“Well, I know Lea appreciates it. It’s good for her to hear some pretty words now and again. Lord Tom and I don’t possess the faculty for such romance, I’m afraid.” He glanced at Lord Tom, who sat at the kitchen table, silently watching us as he mended a net. “Isn’t that so, Tom?”

“Junius,” I said with difficulty. “Please.”

“Please
what
? What’s wrong? I’m trying to get along with the boy, just as you asked.”

“You’re baiting him.”

“It’s all right, Lea,” Daniel said quietly. “It’s not as if I can’t manage it.”

“You see, sweetheart? He’s a tough one. Why, look at all he’s done with his life. Working hard, taking care of his mother, saving my wife from drowning...Is there nothing you can’t do, boy?”

“I can’t save her from you, it seems,” Daniel said.

“Is that right?” Junius asked, and now his false joviality was gone. His expression went hard. “Have you tried?”

“That’s enough,” I said, launching to my feet, my voice too loud. “You’re being ridiculous, Junius. And you too, Daniel. It’s late. I think it’s time we all went to bed.”

Junius raised a brow and gave me a half smile. “It’s not that late. And I wanted a sing-along, remember?”

“This mood you’re in...”

“What mood is that? I thought I was being friendly. I’m only trying to get to know my son. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not this way,” I said quietly.

Junius shrugged. “It’s only that you think him admirable, and I’m not so certain. I can’t help but wonder why he showed up when he did. It seems a bit too coincidental to me.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We find the mummy and suddenly here he is too.”

I brought him for you.
I looked at Daniel, who was watching his father warily, and I said, “He’s working on a newspaper story. It
was
the mummy who brought him. You know that already.”

“Ah yes, the newspaper story.” Junius nodded. “How close are you to finishing that, boy?”

“I’m waiting for more information,” Daniel said carefully.

“I see,” Junius said. “Or is it just that you’re finding ways to prolong your stay? Pretending to help her by reading journals, looking for some reference neither of you will ever find.”

“We will find something,” I protested. “I’m certain of it.”

Junius ignored me. He looked at Daniel. “Well, the thing won’t be here for much longer. Did she tell you that? We’re sending it off. And I would think you’d be in a hurry to get back home. You’ve got a fiancée waiting for you, don’t you? Time to move on with your life, boy, and leave us well enough alone.”

I managed, “Daniel’s been very helpful to me, June.”

“I imagine.” Junius’s voice was dry. “But he’s got a fiancée, Leonie, and no doubt she’d like him back. You’re not being fair to keep him.”

Junius was right, I knew. I’d known it last night. My rational self. The Leonie who wanted to keep the promises she’d made. The Leonie who was content. I should let Daniel go.

I looked at him, uncertain, afraid.

As if he knew what I was thinking, Daniel shook his head. Nearly imperceptible, but I saw it. He said to Junius, “I’m in no hurry. Not if Lea wants me.”

Wants.
Not
needs
or
wishes
or any of those words that had no other meanings.
Wants
, and suddenly I was back in the kitchen and he was pressed against me, speaking low and urgently in my ear.
Come with me. Let me make love to you. Let me remind you of what we are.

Junius said, “I’m certain she doesn’t wish to keep you.”

Daniel’s smile was very small, “I’m certain she knows her own mind well enough not to require your certainty.”

Junius frowned. He looked at me. “Well, Lea? Should we send the boy on his way?”

“Junius, this is ridiculous—”

“Does he go or stay?” My husband’s face was hard.

I knew what he wanted me to say. I felt the demand of it. But I couldn’t. I said, though I knew I was a fool, “I want him to stay.”

Junius stood abruptly, shoving the folder of music back into its place, slamming down the lid on the organ.

Daniel said, “You mean there’s to be no sing-along?”

Junius glared at him. “I find I’m more tired than I’d thought. I’m going to bed. Stay up and sing hymns to yourself if you want.” He strode over to me and held out his hand. “Are you coming?”

I said nothing, but when he took my hand, I didn’t protest or draw away. His fingers gripped mine hard, and I saw the way he looked over his shoulder at Daniel, I felt the way Junius took ownership of me, the way he laid claim, and instead of feeling angry or misused, I felt...sad. Impossibly sad and tender, so I went with him to bed. And I tried not to think of the expression
on Daniel’s face when I’d gone. As if he’d been both reprieved and punished in the same moment.

She ran, and I ran after, chasing glints of saffron that blurred in the glare of the sun, dark hair gleaming with red. My heart pounded, my breath came hard and fast, but she was always just beyond my reach. She turned and beckoned, haloed by the sun behind her, her edges shimmering and dissipating, the glare of the sun moving to her center until she was not quite real, but only an illusion born of heat and light. I could not see her face, but I heard her voice in my head, no voice but more a feeling. I was too slow. I must hurry. I sped, hoping to catch her while she stopped, but she turned and ran off again and then she was gone, disappearing into the light of the sun, and I halted and put my hand to my eyes, searching for her in a limitless plain, nothing but grassy hills and dust, but she was gone, and a terrible sorrow swept me. I sank to my knees, and suddenly I was falling, sinking fast into a stormy sea, cold to my marrow, frozen and fighting the waves and the current and the storm, struggling to breathe, to reach the surface, my legs tangled in my dress and my boots pulling me down into blackness, my lungs bursting.
You almost died, and what a waste
...I could not reach the top. I was shrinking and withering, my breath gone, nothing but cold and blackness all around, and she was in it. I felt her there, angry and demanding, menacing.
What do you want from the world?

Dawn broke on a cold and wet morning, the air gathering as if it meant to storm, but when I left Junius’s side and rose, the air seemed to snap and dissipate—not a storm after all but only the aftereffects of the dream that left me shaken and sad. I had not had a nightmare like this for weeks. Not since...not since I’d been sleeping in Daniel’s bed, and what that meant I wasn’t certain, nor was I ready to contemplate it.

But my discomfort grew, increasing with the tension in the house, Daniel and Junius circling, my own desires battling good
sense and habit, Lord Tom’s thoughtful glances. I was glad when they went about their chores and left me alone, and I sat at the table and opened my father’s journal and dedicated myself to the reading of it.

August 3, 1854: Such weakness is in man! Moral principles, common sense, rationality...how easy it is for the passions of the body to rule us instead. Such force of will it requires to live a life unsullied! Do any manage it? Or are such offices given only to Christ and His saints? I can only believe that our God-given intellects are strong enough to overcome our lower emotions—else for what reason were they given? But it requires great intellect, study, and reason to live blameless and pure, and when such things are marred by the very worst of bloods! Oh, how I see it and despise it. What my own weakness has wrought! What does God mean by instilling within us passion and desire along with intellect and rationality? Such contradictory things—what cruelty to ensure that we all must fight such a war within us, and how I suffer and lament the fact that there is no hope for those who do not have the capacity for higher thought and reason. For the superior man, it is difficult enough. Those animals who live on the bay have no hope of it, for they do not possess intellect in vast enough amounts to overcome the will of their senses. The only fortunate thing is that they lack the sense to understand their shortcomings. They cannot suffer what they do not know. But the suffering that is given to one who
does
know it!

They cannot learn. They cannot be taught. But to leave it as it is, to not try...what is that but compounding my own sin? Surely I owe God my most earnest attempt.

The suffering in my father’s words was profound, and I was more confused than ever, my own decisions clouded by the things he
said. I had not thought him so encumbered. I remembered what Daniel had said, how we were all just apes wearing clothes, hiding what we really were, and I was afraid. Of my father’s written suffering, which I didn’t understand, and how it tangled my own war with passion and rationality. Because I had lived both sides, and I knew contentment with one and liked the ease of it. To be content was good. But could it compete truly with that feeling of being so truly alive? How was it possible to fight it? Should one even try?

And that was where rationality told a truth I knew. Such things could not sustain themselves. They burned themselves to ashes, and then what was left? Was it worth throwing everything else away?

The sadness from my dream pricked again, and I felt melancholy and strange, removed from myself, as if a part of me had gone with Daniel and not thought to return. I fingered the edges of my notebook, thinking of Loowit and Quoots-hooi, the pictures that formed in my head like images in smoke, and then I was opening it, flipping the pages until I came to the half-translated story of Loowit. My phonetic spelling of the native Chinook, then the jargon, and my translated English version. I picked up a pencil and began drawing in the margin—the Bridge of the Gods, the fire, and Loowit herself, and her face was so clear to me. Dark eyes and red-brown hair, and I realized I was drawing her from my dream. The dress she wore was the same, and I’d drawn a deerskin headband decorated with embroidery of porcupine quills. And then her transformation, because Sahale had turned her into Mount St. Helens to punish her—a beautiful, perfect ice-covered cone of a mountain with a volcanic heart of fire.

I forgot my father’s journal and my nightmare. I thought only of the story, of drawing the pictures that chased themselves in my head, and when I was done I stared at the drawings I’d made. The story was there, the pictures telling it better than had the English
words I’d tried to find, and I felt a satisfaction that bubbled inside of me like joy, and I was smiling when Junius came inside, bringing with him the smell of rain and smoke.

My first impulse was to slam shut the notebook and push it away. But I found myself resisting the urge. I left the book open; I did not put down the pencil I held.

Junius said, “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

I swallowed and told him the truth. “Working on the translations.”

Junius paused in taking off his coat. “The
what
?”

“The Indian legends,” I said.

“The legends? Lea, you know I think those are a waste of time.”

“But I don’t,” I told him. “I love these stories, June. You know I do. They mean something to me. I don’t know why, but they do. They always have.” Without thinking, I pulled the notebook closer to me as if to protect it. I saw he noticed it. His jaw tightened.

He went on, “Half of those stories are obscene. They’re not meant for a respectable woman’s eyes. They’re savage, Lea.”

“And you think they’ll turn me savage as well, is that it?”

“I’m only worried for you. Your imagination—”

“I should think you’d prefer a little savagery in me, Junius,” I forced myself to counter. “Most of us feel passion and desire. Don’t you?”

He stared at me as if I’d sprouted wings.

I went on, “Even my father fought it, I’ve discovered. He despaired that he could ever overcome passion with intellect. But do you know what I think? I think it made him feel more alive.”