Tess Gerritsen - The Bone Garden - A Novel

Sheer delight sent her flying into his arms. Small though she was, she almost knocked him backward. Laughing, he caught her and twirled her around in the tiny room, and felt her heart beating joyfully against his.

Suddenly Rose pulled away and he saw the doubt in her face. — But what will your father say about me? — she asked. — About Meggie? —

He couldn't lie to her, certainly not with her gazing so directly into his eyes. — I don't know, — he said.

IT WAS PAST THREE when the farmer stopped his wagon at the side of the Belmont road to let them off. They still had two miles to walk, but the sky was blue and the ice-crusted snow glittered bright as glass in the afternoon sun. As they trudged down the road with Meggie in Rose's arms, Norris pointed out which fields belonged to which neighbor. He would introduce her to them all, and they'd all adore her. The run-down house over there belonged to old Ezra Hutchinson, whose wife had died of typhus two years ago, and the cows in the adjoining field belonged to widow Heppy Comfort, who had her eye on the now eligible Ezra. The neat house across the road belonged to Dr. and Mrs. Hallowell, the childless couple who had been so kind to him over the years, who'd welcomed him into their home as if he were their own son. Dr. Hallowell had opened his library to Norris and last year had written the glowing recommendation letter to the medical college. Rose took in all this information with a look of eager interest, even the trivial tidbits about Heppy's lame calf and Dr. Hallowell's eccentric collection of German hymnals. As they neared the Marshall farm, her questions came more quickly, more urgently, as though she was feverish to know every detail of his life before they arrived. When they crested the rise, and the farm appeared on the horizon, she stopped to stare, her hand shielding her eyes from the setting sun's glare.

— It's not much to look at, — he admitted.

— But it is, Norrie. It's where you grew up. —

— I couldn't wait to escape from it. —

— I wouldn't mind living here at all. — Meggie stirred awake in her arms and gave a contented gurgle. Rose smiled at her niece and said, — I could be happy on a farm. —

He laughed. — That's what I like about you, Rose. I think you could be happy anywhere. —

— It's not the where that counts. —

— Before you say it's the people you live with, you need to meet my father. —

— I'm afraid to. The way you talk about him. —

— He's a bitter man. You just need to know that ahead of time. —

— Because he lost your mother? —

— She abandoned him. She abandoned both of us. He's never forgiven her. —

— Have you? — she asked, and looked at him, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

— It's getting late, — he said.

They walked on, the sun sinking lower, bare trees casting their spindly shadows across the snow. They came to the old stone wall, glistening with ice, and heard the bellowing of cows in the barn. As they neared the farm, it seemed to Norris that the house was smaller and humbler than he remembered. Had the clapboards been so weathered when he'd left only two months ago? Had the porch always sagged, the fence always leaned so crookedly? The closer they got, the heavier the burden of duty seemed to weigh on his shoulders, and the more he dreaded the coming reunion. Now he regretted dragging Rose and the baby into this. Though he'd warned her that his father could be unpleasant, she showed no signs of apprehension, walking quite cheerfully beside him, humming to Meggie. How could any man, even his father, dislike this girl? Surely she and the baby will charm him, he thought. Rose will win him over, the way she's won me over, and we'll all laugh together at supper. Yes, it could be a good visit after all, and Rose will be the charm. My lucky Irish girl. He looked at her and his spirits lifted because she seemed so pleased to be here with him, trudging alongside the crooked fence, toward a farmhouse that seemed ever more grim and dilapidated.

They stepped through the sagging gate into a front yard littered with a broken cart and a pile of logs still to be split into firewood. The Welliver sisters would quail at the sight of this yard, and he imagined them in their dainty shoes trying to pick their way through the hog-churned mud. Rose did not hesitate but simply hiked up her skirt and followed Norris across the yard. The old sow, disturbed by these visitors, gave a snort and trotted away toward the barn.

Before they reached the porch, the door opened and Norris's father stepped out. Isaac Marshall had not seen his son in two months, yet he called out no words of welcome; he merely stood on his porch, watching in silence as his visitors approached. He wore the same homespun coat, the same drab trousers as always, but the clothes seemed to hang looser on his frame, and the eyes that peered out from beneath the battered hat were more deeply sunk in hollowed sockets. He offered only the flicker of a smile as his son climbed the steps.

— Welcome home, — said Isaac, but made no move to embrace his son.

— Father, may I introduce you to my friend Rose. And her niece, Meggie. —

Rose stepped forward, smiling, and the baby gave a coo, as though in greeting. — 'Tis good to meet you, Mr. Marshall, — Rose said.

Isaac kept his arms stubbornly at his side, and his lips tightened. Norris saw Rose flush, and at that moment, he had never disliked his own father more.

— Rose is a very good friend, — said Norris. — I wanted you to meet her. —

— She'll be staying the night? —

— I was hoping she could stay longer. She and the baby are in need of lodgings for a while. She can use the room upstairs. —

— Then the bed'll have to be made up. —

— I can do it, Mr. Marshall, — said Rose. — I'll not be a bother. And I work hard! There's nothing I can't do. —

Isaac gave the baby a long look. Then, with a grudging nod, he turned to go into the house. — I'd best see that we have enough for supper. —

— I'm sorry, Rose. I'm so sorry. —

They sat together in the hayloft with Meggie sound asleep beside them and gazed down in the soft lantern light at the cows feeding below. The pigs, too, had wandered into the barn and were grunting as they competed for prime bedding space among the piles of straw. Tonight, Norris found more comfort here, amid the din of the animals, than in the company of that silent man in that silent house. Isaac had said little during their holiday supper of ham and boiled potatoes and turnips, had asked only a few questions about Norris's studies, and then had seemed indifferent to the answers. The farm alone interested him, and when he did speak, it was about the fence that needed mending, the poor quality of hay this autumn, the laziness of the latest hired hand. Rose had sat right across from Isaac, but she might as well have been invisible, for he'd scarcely looked at her except to pass the food.

And she had been wise enough to keep her silence.

— It's the way he's always been, — said Norris, staring down at the pigs rooting through straw. — I shouldn't have expected anything different. I shouldn't have put you through that. —

— I'm glad I came. —

— It must have been an ordeal for you tonight. —

— You're the one I feel sorry for. — Her face caught the glow of the lantern, and in the gloom of the barn Norris did not see her patched dress or her worn shawl; he saw only that face, gazing so intently at him. — 'Tis a sad house you grew up in, — she said. — Not any sort of home for a child. —

— It wasn't always this way. I don't want you to think I had such a grim boyhood. There were good days. —