Chris Whitaker: We Begin at the End

Dolly broached the subject of formal adoption one morning, as they swept chokecherry leaves from the driveway. Duchess said nothing for three days, then told Dolly if she was stupid enough to want her as a daughter then she should see a doctor. But if he gave her a clean bill then yes, she would like to stay.

Duchess kicked her boots off. “I need to earn some money.”

Dolly looked up from her newspaper.

“I owe someone. I need to pay it back.”

“I can give you—”

“I have to earn it myself. Outlaws settle their debts.” She hadn’t yet figured out how to track down Hank and Busy. She’d start at the motel, make calls. She would make things right.

Duchess went to pass her, stopped when Dolly held up a letter.

“This came for you.”

Duchess took it from her. She saw the Cape Haven stamp and retreated to her bedroom, which she had painted a shade of green that matched the hills.

She closed the door behind her and settled into the big chair by the window.

She knew the writing, small enough that she imagined Walk spent a week composing it.

She read it slowly. He apologized for lying in court, for shaking her faith in him. He told her sometimes people did the wrong thing for the right reason.

For twenty pages he spoke of his life and her mother’s, a young Vincent King and Martha May. He told her how he was sick, and how he used to be ashamed of it, and scared of losing his place. And of place he rambled for a page before he got to it, and told her the kind of truth that saw her drop the papers, stand and pace her room.

When she calmed she gathered them up and read on. He told her of Vincent, of the blood in her veins, and how she should not feel sad but proud. Of how her mother had always loved him, and had kept that love alive through the harshest of conditions. He mentioned Vincent’s torture, of how he could not atone for the life he had stolen. She was loved though, that’s what he said. She and her brother were born of the most unbreakable love.

Enclosed was a single photo, Walk on a rusting boat, the sign new, CAPE HAVEN FISHING . In the water Duchess saw the reflection, a small lady with dark hair, holding the camera, the widest smile on her face.

And along with the photograph was a legal document that was Vincent King’s last will and testament.

Later, Dolly would tell her how she, along with Robin, now owned a grand house in Cape Haven. Vincent had been restoring it for them. And that they did not need do anything yet, but one day she could visit, or sell it, or do whatever she pleased. In the space of a little time she had gone from having nothing, to something, the future still uncertain but it was there.

That night she lay awake and thought of all that had gone before, what she had learned and what she would forget. She had been waiting, healing, getting strong enough again.

The next morning she told Dolly she was ready.

48

THE TOWN ANNOUNCED ITSELF WITHOUT fuss, just a small sign that told its name.

Owl Creek.

Dolly had a friend in Rexburg, they’d made the drive overnight. From there Duchess had ridden the bus herself. Dolly had asked once if she needed her. Duchess told her no, but thank you.

The bus was long, silver with red and blue detail. When it pulled over she grabbed her bag and stood, walked her way down the aisle and stepped out into Wyoming air.

The driver called and wished her safe travel, closed the door and moved on. She cast a last look at the windows, reflected stares, a couple of smiles. The smell of the engine, mechanical heat.

She walked with her head down now, since that day, quieter than she had been before.

She passed the Capitol Hotel. Awnings hung over of the kind of stores that saw well-heeled visitors shopping their windows. Lacey’s Pottery, Aldon Antiques, The Pressly Flower Shop.

Past the Carnegie Library, the sun low and heavy over the Bighorns, the vista of rolling plains before it. She breathed deep, her back ached from the seat. She freshened up in the restroom of a shiny gas station, wanted her hair to be just right beneath her hat.

She carried a small map, where she needed to be was circled and didn’t look all that far. She walked less than a mile and found a wide patch of grass bordered by pretty houses.

Another road and she found it.

Owl Creek Elementary.

The building was low, signs painted white, flowers broke from hanging baskets. Across was another patch of grass, and beyond that a large oak that reminded her of the wishing tree. She made her way over, stood beneath the arms then sat on a shaded patch of leaves so orange she scooped one up and held it toward the sky.

In her bag was a bottle of water and she drank a little, saving some for later. She had a candy bar but was too nervous to eat.

The first car pulled up, then another, but most, she noticed, walked their way through the town to collect their children.

She saw Peter right off, Jet tugging on his leash, Peter smiling hello to just about everyone.

She clutched her chest when the first children came out. She fussed with her hat, then retied her sneaker. She wore her best dress, yellow, his favorite color.

She gasped when she saw him.

He looked taller, his hair cut shorter, his smile unalloyed and beautiful. She knew he would one day be a heartbreaker.

Beside him was Lucy, and he gripped her hand tight as she led him to the end of the path. And then he saw Peter, and Robin ran toward him and Peter scooped him up and they hugged tight, for a long time, her brother’s eyes closed.

Peter set Robin down and handed him the leash, Jet jumping up and licking his face, Robin laughing. Duchess stood rooted as Peter led them to the small park beside, pushed Robin on the swing, helped him up the steps then collected him at the bottom of the tall slide.

She watched them, felt each of his smiles as if they were her own, heard his laughter carry far. Lucy joined them, she carried a bag, papers spilling from it. When Robin saw her he ran toward her like it had been the longest time.

Duchess moved when they did, stayed a good distance behind, but they would not have noticed her. She tried to call out, several times, so quiet she could barely get out his name.

They lived in a nice home. Green clapboard, white shutters, neat yard. The kind of house she had once dreamed of finding for them.

They had a mailbox, The Laytons . She walked up their street as the sun dropped, Wyoming sky coming at her with such delicate beauty. She checked out the neighbors, saw kids, bikes, a bat and ball.

When dusk fell she made her way back and slipped down the side of their place, into the yard. A swing-set, a barbeque, a bug motel.

For a long time she stood frozen, night replaced day with so many stars.

She made her way to the porch, took the steps and stopped by the window. The light burned from inside, the perfect scene played. Lucy with Robin, helping him with his reading, Peter at the counter, calling out dinner, a plate for each of them. They sat together, the television on but muted, Jet beside Robin, his eyes expectant.

Robin finished every bite.

She watched them till it was time, till Peter kissed Robin’s head gently, and Lucy took the reading book and his hand and led him up the stairs.

She wondered if he would remember, all they had been through. She knew there was a good chance he would not, not the detail. He was young enough to be anyone. The world was his. He was a prince, and, finally, she understood why.

She was not a girl that cried, but right then tears fell as she allowed the dam to break.

She cried for everything she had lost, and everything he had found.

Duchess pressed her palm to the glass, and said goodbye to her brother.