Tomorrow River

something protrudin’ like that? Well, do ya?”

“You don’t scare me! Charity tol’ me she was born with that hump,” Lou yells back.

“She’s lying. Her back was flat until-” From the corner of my eye, I can see that my argument-hating sister has thrown back her head and opened her mouth wide. Papa is right outside. “No… no… don’t…” I gasp, letting go of Lou and lunging for Woody, but her howl has already broken free. I slap my hand over her mouth to make her stop, but under the tick tick of the cuckoo clock that hangs over the pantry and the bouncy tune that’s coming out of the transistor radio, I can hear the front door open and close with a slam. He heard. He’s coming.

“What is going on in here?” Papa asks, materializing in the kitchen doorway. “What’s all the shouting about, Shenandoah?”

He’s not sure which twin I am, so I bare my gaped teeth and say, “Good afternoon, Your Honor. So sorry to disturb you. There’s nothing going on here of any importance. Woody… ah…” My sister is only staying upright because I’m holding her so. “Jane Woodrow… she… stubbed her toe is all.” I chuckle. “You know how she can be.” I said that not directly to him, but to Lou. I avert my eyes to her hair that I got hidden in my hand.

“Is that right, Louise?” Papa asks for confirmation. He’s got to look up to her because she’s taller than him by a few inches.

“Oh, thas’ right, sir, thas’ right. Nothin’ goin’ on here but a stubbed toe,” she says with a rise of her lying right eyebrow and an arch of her back. I am digging my fingernails between her shoulder blades to remind her of my hump-hexing promise.

“You look so nice,” I say to Papa. Despite the sternness in his voice, I can feel my need for him bubbling up. “Have you got something to attend to this evening? If not, maybe you and me and Woody could go up to the fort and star-”

“Everything all right, Walt?” someone calls out of the hall that leads off the foyer into his study.

“We’re in the kitchen, Abby,” Papa says, his penetrating gaze still not letting up on us.

Abby?

Abigail Hawkins. I didn’t see her Cadillac parked out front. She probably parked down by the barn. Yes. She’d feel right at home down there.

The Hawkins and the Carmody families have at least a hundred years of hunting and drinking under their belts. Our grandmother loves to tell the tale about how everyone in Rockbridge County took it for granted that her precious baby boy and the Hawkins girl would eventually tie the knot. It came as no surprise when they set a date to wed after they finished high school. Abigail worked on the family horse farm and Papa went to college and everything was going according to plan. Until Abigail came down with something the night Papa had planned to attend a sock hop at Washington & Lee. That’s why he was all by his lonesome when he spotted Evelyn Anne MacIntyre across the crowded dance floor. Just one look, that’s all it took. He fell head over heels for Mama. Swept her off her size sevens. Abigail Hawkins’s clodhoppers didn’t have a chance.

Gramma always concludes the story with a long sigh. “As you can imagine, losing Walter like that to another woman, poor Abby took the breakup hard. She never did wed.” Hardly a surprise, I always think to myself. Who’d want to wake up every morning for the rest of their lives next to a woman who bears a resemblance to one of the Clydesdales her family breeds?

“Walter?” Miss Hawkins comes into the kitchen with a bick… bick… bick of huge white heels with shiny buckles on their toes and a belted blue gingham dress in a size too small. She must’ve come to do more of her Betty Crockering or what Beezy called “Web spinning.” I didn’t notice until just now two of her picture-perfect pies sitting on the kitchen counter.

Bait.

Miss Abigail throws her hands to her chubby cheeks, says so concerned, “Everything all right in here?” When she speaks, her ponytail bobs back and forth. It’s the same rambunctious red as her lowbrow nephew Remmy’s.

Oh.

No.

After he left the Triple S, did that boy drive right over to her farm to tell his auntie that he’d run into us? Is that why she’s here? Has she come bearing bad news along with those pies? My heart starts thrumping in anticipation of her saying, “Well, here are those naughty girls Remmy saw this afternoon at the gas station with that half-breed Sam Moody.”

I bring my eyes up to my father. Concentrate. When he gets like this, our mother taught Woody and me, “It’s important to not only listen to what he’s saying, but to study him the same way you would a map, girls. Pay attention to the way his shoulders draw up into little mountains. Check to see if his brow is rutted or if his cheeks are deep like pot holes. Those are signs that he’s angry.”

And he is mad, but not in the worst kind of way. Not how he’d be if Miss Hawkins just informed him that his girls had disobeyed and taken off from Lilyfield. If that was the case, his face would look like a froze-over pond. But beneath that icy crust would lie a man ready to blow.

Papa puts on a gleaming smile before turning towards Abigail. “Nothing to concern yourself about, Abby,” he tells her. “Just a stubbed toe.”

“Oh, goodness. Those always hurt worse than you think they should. Perhaps I should get some ice,” she says, heading towards the freezer like this is her own house.

“There’s no need for that.” Papa shoots us a be-on-your-best-behavior-or-else look. He hates for us to make a fuss in front of other people. “Girls, where are your manners?”

I am still shaking from my tussle with Lou and worried about Woody, but I do what he expects. I step up and curtsy the best I can in blue jean shorts. “Good afternoon, Miss Hawkins. What a pleasure it is to see you again. Thank you for bringing us those lovely pies.” I point over at the counter. While Gramma Ruth Love wins all firsts at the fair, Miss Abigail always comes in second. “Are they peach? Mmm… mmm… mmm. Can’t wait to get me a slice.”

I’d rather eat tree bark. I’d rather be dead.

Miss Hawkins says, “Why, aren’t you the sweetest thing. It’s very nice to see you again… ah…”

“I’m Shenandoah Wilson, ma’am. This is Jane Woodrow,” I say, nodding towards Woody, who’s still looking mighty rocky. “She’s the strong, silent one.”

Still plastered against the broom closet door where I pinned her, Louise pipes in with, “How do, ma’am. Would ya like me to fetch ya a glass of something cool?”

“We don’t have time for that,” Papa says. “Miss Abigail has a meeting of the Ladies Auxiliary to conduct.”

“Excuse me, Your Honor?” I need to ask him for a favor, even though my twisting tummy is telling me the timing’s not right. Mama always said that was important, too, that you had to pick the right moment. Maybe Abigail Hawkins being here will help. Seems like he’s trying to impress her. “That dog I asked you about earlier? Ivory? I don’t think he’s eaten for days. He’s lying out on the Minnow porch looking very skinny.”

Papa turns to Abigail and says apologetically, “I’m afraid my daughter has a hard time following directions.” To me, he says, “Did you go over to the Minnow place?”

“No, sir.”

The corners of his lips are tucking into the triumphant smile he gets when he thinks he’s caught a witness lying on the stand. “Then please explain how you know that the dog is out on the porch.”

“I can see him from our bedroom window, Your Honor. Do you think I could go get him?” I ask, before he comes up with another question that I might not be able to answer. “We’ll take good care of him.” Grassy breath and all that fur. My sister needs that.

He says to Woody, “Is that true? Do you want that dog?”

She does not bring her eyes up to his, she looks down to the floor and reaches for my hand, squeezes so hard.

I say, “She really does. She is missing Mars so bad.”

Papa thrusts out his chin. Narrows his eyes. I know that look. If he had a gavel, it’d be pounding. His Honor is about to announce a verdict. He says to Woody, “If you ask me for that dog in your own words, Jane Woodrow, I might give my consent.” He wants her to start talking again so she can answer his questions about the night Mama vanished. Threatening to send her away is the worst thing he could do, but this is bad, too. Papa knows that Woody is madly in love with all creatures great and small. She even gave up fishing