“Do you want me to dry the dishes before I go to Rose’s?” Evelyn asked.
“You go ahead, dear. I can manage. You don’t want to be late,” Bess said, taking a clean cup towel from the cabinet drawer.
“You’re sure it’s all right?”
“Yes, dear. Go ahead.”
“Take the car,” Otis said, checking the slop bucket before going to feed the pigs.
“I can ride my bike.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. It’s already dark, and I’d feel better if you were in the car, what with that tent show in town.”
“Oh, Daddy.” Evelyn grimaced.
“He’s right, Evie,” Harold chimed in. “I never saw such a scurvy bunch in my life.”
Evelyn wrinkled her nose at him. “All right. Whatever you say… Hal.” She turned quickly to her mother before Harold’s black look could turn into a retort. “Mama, did you see Kindred of the Dust?”
“What?” Bess looked up and frowned.
“Kindred of the Dust, by Peter B. Kyne. ‘The soul-searching story of Nan, the sawdust-pile mother and a child who cries for a father he will never know. Of Donald McKay, torn between love for Nan and the love he bears for his father,’ ” she recited dramatically. “Francine wants to borrow it. She reads Kyne and Harold Bell Wright and bawls her head off.”
“I put some books on the mantel,” Bess said absently. “I don’t know about any others. If you wouldn’t leave them layin’ around, you wouldn’t lose ’em.”
Evelyn kissed her mother. “Sorry, Mama,” she said.
Bess grinned and shook her head. She pushed back her hair with her wrist but got soap suds on her forehead anyway. “Light the lamp while you’re in there, would you?”
“Sure.” Evelyn gave her brother a pat on the shoulder and picked up her overnight case. Her father followed her into the parlor and lit the lamp. She got the book from the mantel and gave him a kiss. She pushed the screen door open with her shoulder. Otis caught it before it slammed.
“Be careful,” he said. “Looks like there’s a cloud comin’ up.”
She tossed the overnight case and the book in the back seat. “I will.”
“And be sure and have the car back in time for church in the morning.”
“Stop fussing,” she said and laughed. She started the car and waved as she backed around and started down the lane.
Her father leaned against the porch railing for a moment, watching the car, then went back in the house.
Evelyn made a left turn at the main road and the headlights skimmed over the undulating wheatfield. It moved in slow rolling waves that gave her the momentary sensation of almost driving into the sea. It lapped against the barbed-wire fence like gentle breakers, crowding the sides of the narrow road. She felt a brief surge of vertigo, like a tightrope walker; one misstep and she would fall into bottomless depths. She unconsciously edged the car closer to the center of the road.
Heat lightning flickered in the south, illuminating the underside of the bank of thunderheads hanging there. But in the north she could see stars. The moon, ahead of her in the southeast, caught the leading edge of the faraway storm in silhouette. As she watched, the gap closed. The cloud began edging across the moon.
She caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eyes.
A figure stumbled from the darkness beside the road into the pool of light preceding the car. A sound caught in her throat. Her foot hit the brake frantically. She twisted the wheel and the car swerved, the tires grinding in the gravel. The figure’s arms went up as it slipped past the front fender and down the side of the car. The face of the pale apparition gaped at her as it whirled by her window.
The wheels slid in the loose gravel with a ripping sound. The car bucked and stalled. The front end bounced into the bar ditch and stopped in the high grass. Evelyn released her breath with little gasps and her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Then her hands trembled as she relaxed them. Stillness settled over the dark road threading through the grassy sea. She could hear nothing but the crickets and the ticking of the cooling car motor.
She clutched at the handle of the door, then had to use both hands because her fingers wouldn’t close properly. She opened the door and looked behind her. She had recognized the face as it darted past her. Even in the darkness she could see the white hair of the man on his knees in the road behind the car.
She hesitated a moment, holding on to the car door, then went to him. He crouched in the dust, his chin against his chest and his hands clasped between his knees. He raised his head slowly and watched her approach. He smiled and sunshine flickered across his face, but his eyes were pained and haggard.
“Angel?” Evelyn said. She knelt beside him. “What… what are you doing here? Are you all right?”
He nodded and clasped his arms across his chest, holding himself tightly, as if he were afraid he would fall into little pieces. His smile flickered and he looked at her hesitantly.
“I didn’t hit you, did I?”
He shook his head quickly.
“You nearly scared me to death. Why did you run out in front of me like that?” Her voice was sharper than she wanted it to be.
The pain increased in his eyes and his throat tightened.
She put her hand on his knee, clumsily attempting to reassure him. “Do you want me to take you somewhere! Back to the Wonder Show?”
Angel’s body tensed. She felt the muscles tremble under his hand. He shook his head violently. His mouth worked and air hissed from his throat. He put his hands on her shoulders and she winced at the pressure. She caught his arms, trying to comfort the agitation and pleading in his face. He pulled his arms away and held them before him, his tight fists cording his wrists. Evelyn shrank from the anger in his face, and then realized it was directed at himself and not at her. His face crumbled in frustration and he began hitting his mouth with his fist, over and over.
“No,” she said softly and caught his hand. “No,” she repeated and felt his hand tremble. There was blood in the corner of his mouth.
Suddenly he freed his hand and leaned over. In the dirt of the road he wrote, “Ran away,” with his finger. He turned his head sideways and looked at her, his ruby eyes begging for understanding. Then he sat back on his haunches, his body trembling as if rebelling against the rigid control he had forced upon it.
“Come on,” she said suddenly and stood up. “I’m taking you to Dr. Latham. You don’t look like you could take three steps without falling down.” She took him under the arms and pulled him to his feet. Angel shook his head and tried to push her away, then stumbled and fell against her. She put her arms around him to keep him from toppling over.
His body was helpless against hers. She felt sensations she had never felt before pouring through her. The feel of him was exciting and comfortable and warm. She cradled him in her arms like a child, his breath ruffling the hair on her neck.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” she forced through her tight throat. “Dr. Latham won’t tell anyone.” She looked into his face, into his strange eyes like embers. “You can trust me, Angel.”
He searched her face, reading it, reading her eyes, reading her soul. He nodded. She helped him into the car.
She backed the car out of the ditch and continued toward Hawley. The bank of thunderheads in the south had grown high and the heat lightning was brighter. She turned her head now and then to look at Angel, slumped against the door, his head leaning on the glass. His eyes were open, but were focused on something only he could see. Occasionally he would twist his head from side to side as if to clear it of an obstruction.