Prairie Gothic (32 page)

“Grandma!” Another shock for her, but the fact that her grandmother had supported decisions like the one she was on the verge of making obviously helped.

“I made her quit when I found out who she was. If secret abortions were being done in this county, I thought they ought to be done by someone with a medical degree. Your grandmother agreed, though not because I was more qualified. I think she had a premonition she wouldn't live much longer. She was afraid there wouldn't be anyone to carry on.”

This time it was Heather who embraced him. “Thanks, Doc,” she told him. “Thanks for everything.” This time, the tears were his.

***

“The dam?” the sheriff said. “That's where the real Ezekiel Hornbaker and his Cheyenne family ended up?”

“That's right,” Dorothy said. “See, the real Zeke had the ring. The authorities kept it with his effects while he was in prison. That's part of why no one ever looked in the box.”

“I wasn't around much then. Simon was growing up, none too bright and unloved. He was a mean kid. And his momma was caged up in that room at the end of the hall. Worse, Tommie took over from Abel trying to breed a new Messiah. With crazy Becky at first, then with one of their daughters he kept and raised. Then a granddaughter, then Mary. You should have explored more. There were cages in the basement, and more graves. Eventually, Tommie kept Judah and Levi and pretended they were Simon's, but plenty of others just got disposed of or stuck in jars in Tommie's lab.”

“So, I traveled, clicked my heels and took off. But Obadiah and Tommie stayed, adjusted to their roles. Obadiah even grew to like it. He spent most of his time in the fields or with the animals. Didn't have to put up with the animals in the house. He got to like the way the land renewed itself and provided, year after year. When I did come back, he and I got to be close, closer than I ever was to Becky or Tommie.”

“Then Zeke got out of jail,” the sheriff prompted.

“That Cheyenne girl never stopped working to get his case reviewed. Not even after they ran a zillion volts through Malachi and planted him in a potter's field. She finally got Zeke pardoned.”

“Zeke had a half-breed daughter, a lot like you, Mad Dog. She might be just half Cheyenne, but that was the part that mattered. Zeke thought taking her up to Wounded Knee might help win her over.”

“I thought about going up there myself,” Mad Dog said.

“Zeke started out,” Dorothy said.

“Then ended up in that dam with his family,” Mad Dog continued. “The girl was pregnant, wasn't she?”

Dorothy nodded. “The baby's father was supposed to be among the defenders. Her momma and Zeke and her, they loaded themselves in an old pickup with a camper. They got hold of a case of AK 47s through connections Zeke made while he was in prison. Had some boxes of TNT as well. And Zeke knew one of Abel's curiosities the family had inherited was Custer's scalp. He didn't believe it was real, but Abel made convincing imitations. Zeke told his woman and daughter and they decided to pick it up along the way.”

“Custer's scalp.” Mad Dog shook his head. “Why not, with all the other stuff out there?”

“Zeke figured they owed him. Obadiah agreed, and promised to get him some cash as well.”

“Did Tommie kill them?” the sheriff asked.

“In a way,” Dorothy said. “Tommie seldom did things himself. He liked to persuade somebody to do them for him. Usually, Becky.”

“Obadiah welcomed Zeke and his family. Tommie and Simon didn't. That's why Zeke camped in the pasture by the slough while Obadiah raised the cash. Then Tommie let Becky out of her cage.”

“So Becky murdered them,” Mad Dog said.

“Obadiah cleaned up after her. His life would have unraveled if people investigated. He liked being Tommie Irons. To go on with that, he had to cover for her. He buried the bodies, hid the weapons, cleaned out their belongings and packed them in his own car and drove it to Wichita. Left it in the parking lot of some go-go joint with the keys in it. Obadiah used a couple of sticks of that dynamite and some gasoline to blow the truck and camper to smithereens. And he and I locked Becky back in her room. ”

“Obadiah and me, we considered doing the same to Tommie, only Zeke's arrival and disappearance opened a door for him. Zeke's death turned into Tommie's escape.”

“All those years hiding behind a dress and pretending to be his sister had taken a toll. He'd begun obsessing about the treasure, wondering if what was in that chest could buy him a different life. When he turned Becky loose, she was supposed to get him the key. She left it on Zeke's finger. Obadiah found it and kept it then, so Tommie couldn't have it.”

“That upset Tommie at first. Only somewhere in there it occurred to him that Zeke and he resembled each other. After a few weeks, Tommie worked up his nerve and tried it. Cut his hair down to a burr like the one Zeke wore, dressed in some of Obadiah's clothes, and tested himself on downtown Buffalo Springs. He was Zeke Hornbaker, come back to reconcile with Becky and take charge of the family, even though Simon was already growed up. If anyone noticed Zeke had lost the broken nose he'd had last he was here, they never said. Becky—Tommie under a fresh wig he picked up in Wichita—vouched for him. So did Obadiah. It got Tommie out from underfoot.”

“I never suspected,” Mrs. Kraus said. “Don't seem possible things like that could go on in a place like Benteen County and nobody know.”

“He'd done the hard part. He'd passed as Becky for years. The new Zeke was popular. He was so glad to be released from life as his sister, he turned generous, big spender of the family fortune. There was enough. Obadiah didn't object.”

“Fellow picks up your tab at Bertha's a few times, you put up with what annoys you about him. It worked for Tommie. Got him elected, as Zeke, to the County Board, didn't it?”

Indeed, the sheriff realized. It had.

“And Tommie didn't take the key from Obadiah because he couldn't,” Dorothy continued. “He tried. Even in the Towers Obadiah made a fuss, said things that didn't make sense, except to Tommie. Tommie figured he better wait. He had a back-up plan. Me. Stuck me in the Towers as a charity case so's I could keep an eye on Obadiah. Bag the ring when I got the chance. Only Obadiah was my friend, so he was the one I tried to help.”

“And that explains it,” the sheriff said.

“Yeah,” Judy agreed, “but for one big thing.” She looked across the room at the figure over whom Dorothy hovered. “What becomes of Mary?”

***

“Heather's doing fine,” Doc said, pushing through the swinging doors and into the lobby.

Judy started toward him. “Can I see her?”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Doc said. “Not for a while, anyway. I just got her to doze off. Nothing better for her than sleep right now. And she's pretty concerned about how you're going to react to what she did today—from pre-dawn toilet papering of a classmate's yard to skipping school for unauthorized driving lessons. I've got her in a free room with one of the residents who used to be a nurse keeping an eye on her. Heather should get some strength back before she faces an angry mother, or a protective one. For now, Judy, best you can do for her is leave her alone.”

Doc watched the internal struggle. The mother who planned to take over fought it out with the one who wanted what was best for her child. It was a near thing, but the latter won. Judy slumped a little.

“She's afraid of me?”

“Your daughter got seriously knocked around out there. She has a mild concussion. She got kicked in the abdomen and she had some internal bleeding. It's under control, but she was a little hysterical about having to face you and explain how she got herself into this. She'll be fine. With a little rest, she'll be just as anxious to see you as you are to see her. Only, not right now.”

Judy dropped into a chair beside the door. “You know best, Doc.” She didn't sound convinced.

He wished he believed it himself. “Sheriff,” he asked, “what day is this?”

The sheriff looked surprised. “Geez, I don't know Doc. Still got a couple of hours of Thursday left, if that clock behind the reception desk is right.”

“What was your mother's name?”

“Sadie,” the sheriff said. “Why?”

Doc came over and shone a penlight in the sheriff's eyes. “You seem to be recovering nicely, Sheriff. Anybody disagree? Anybody notice signs of confusion?”

“No more than usual,” Mrs. Kraus muttered.

“He's being the sheriff again,” Mad Dog said. “We were just getting quite an interesting story from Dorothy before you popped out here.”

“Where'd she go?” the second Heather wondered. “She was here a minute ago. And where's Mary?”

Doc and the sheriff went through the swinging doors together. A little old lady sat at the end of the hall. She wore bright red tennies, but she wasn't Dorothy. Same shoes, different senior.

“Where's the woman who gave you these shoes?” the sheriff demanded.

“Dorothy? Why she just traded with me. Wasn't that nice? Those others never fit right, and these red tennis shoes are so soft and comfortable.”

“Where?” the sheriff repeated.

She pointed across the hall. “She and the child just took the elevator.”

Doc looked at the indicator. It changed from two to three as he watched. “Why'd she run out?” he asked.

“The question of Mary's future came up. I expect that troubled her. And maybe she worried some about her own.” The sheriff reached out and punched the elevator button. “You better come with me, Doc. Reassure her, in case she's decided I'm some kind of threat.”

Doc nodded. “You think she's gone to her room?”

“Where else?” The elevator was coming down. Doc watched the indicator return to
ONE
. The doors opened on an old man.

“You know Dorothy?”

“Our Dorothy. Sure, Sheriff, everyone knows her. Why?”

“Where'd she go?”

“I don't know. Haven't seen her since you and those blamed Hornbakers left this morning.”

“She didn't get off this elevator before you got on?”

“No. I punched for it and it came up. Nobody in it when the door opened.”

The sheriff looked at Doc and Doc looked back.

Mad Dog joined them. “Ma'am,” he asked the woman who had traded for Dorothy's tennies. “What color were those shoes you gave her?”

They all knew the answer before they heard it.

“Silver. Does it matter?”

Evidently, it did.

***

Heather Lane was impressed. Boris had waited. He was too desperate with the need to relieve himself to more than wag his tail a few times, briefly drench his people with kisses, and poke a curious nose at Hailey's butt as she limped, heavily bandaged, beside Mad Dog into his brother's house. Hailey snarled, but it was more a matter of form than content.

The two canids cautiously watched each other across the room as Judy went around lighting candles and starting the fire that was laid on the hearth.

Englishman and his brother fell into a pair of easy chairs and Two curled up on the couch beside Boris, where she reassured him about Hailey. Judy brought them all quilts to huddle under and took orders for coffee or hot chocolate, or some of the brandy she kept for special occasions and emergencies. This qualified.

Judy fussed and mothered them until she couldn't hold the question in anymore. “Heather, do you know about Harriet?”

If Judy hadn't been digging in the bureau for more candles, she might have noticed Heather look away. She missed it though, and the quick lie that followed.

“Harriet? No, who's she?”

“I thought she was long gone,” Judy explained. “Abortions used to be illegal here. Even after that changed, none of the local doctors would do them. According to the grapevine, though, they were available. The way I heard it, if you were in trouble you went to Harriet. I never knew who she was until today.”

“You found out today?” The idea worried Heather.

“On the road to Mad Dog's place. Not far from where you left the cruiser in the ditch. There's a little cemetery, remember.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Heather sounded doubtful.

“I never paid it any attention,” Judy said. “Until today. As we were going by, I noticed a red flower by a headstone. Harriet's stone. That graveyard, that particular grave, was the place abortions were arranged in this county. I think Becky, or Tommie as Becky, was doing those abortions. The chairman said something about a laboratory in the house, and jars with dead babies, before he was shot. Oh, Heather! Forgive me, but I thought…”

Heather knew exactly what Judy thought. She avoided her foster mother's eyes and got busy petting Boris.

Judy didn't quit. Evidently she still had doubts. “You aren't, are you Heather? You aren't pregnant?”

The accusation hurt, no matter how close it came to being accurate. What hurt most was that she was the one Judy assumed had gotten in trouble. She was the outsider, the perfect Heather's imperfect twin. Her parents had experienced sexual abuse, maybe practiced it as well. That made her the bad seed. It was tough, but the anger she felt at the accusation helped. She locked eyes with Judy.

“No,” she said. “I'm not pregnant. I've never been pregnant. If you want, you can get me tested to see if I'm lying.”

Judy looked away. “No. I'm sorry. I was just so afraid that you, or maybe Heather…It wasn't Heather, was it?” Judy couldn't let it go. There were tears in her eyes, as well as a silent plea for another negative reply.

“No!” Englishman said to Heather's relieved surprise. He sounded certain. “Something happened to me today. I can't explain it. Concussion, I suppose. But for a little while, I went where Mad Dog tells us he goes as a Cheyenne shaman. Like I said, I can't explain it, but I'm as sure about Heather as I am that I'm sitting here. Neither of our daughters is with child. They didn't go to Becky, or Tommie, for an abortion. That rose you found, Judy, it had to do with someone else.”