Straddling her from behind, with his coveralls and underwear dropped down to his ankles, was a tall man with a straw hat. He was shoving his member into the girl with a throbbing cadence, his eyes closed and his head tossed back in a trance, groaning with clenched teeth and saliva dribbling from a corner of his lips.
None other than Joseph Vincent Loudermilk grappled with one hand under the naked girl’s belly, jerking her into his crotch as he pumped. In the other hand he brandished a willow branch that he used to strike the girl across her cream white back, now covered with welts and crimson streaks of blood that trickled down her rib cage. The girl cried out only meekly, sobbing between thrashes.
Katherine Belle sat on a chair beside her, humming a sweet lullaby that Molly vaguely remembered from her youth. A shallow ceramic bowl of rust-colored water rested in Katherine Belle’s lap. She rubbed a coarse sponge over the young girl’s back to soak up blood between pauses in the whacking of the willow branch.
The repulsive contradiction of humming and grunting and weeping and whacking were more than Molly could bear. She turned from the window and braced herself against the shed. Sliding down the side of it, she ignored the rotting planks scraping against her neck and the sting of a splinter embedded in the back of her scalp. Not until she looked up did she see the barrel of a shotgun aimed at her face.
Trying hard to make out the person behind the weapon, Molly shifted her head and squinted through the shrubbery. Whoever it was had every right to shoot an intruder.
“What you doing here, lady?” an angry voice shouted.
The shotgun that reached out for Molly’s face didn’t budge. Neither did Molly. She crouched, staring into the rays of sun reflecting off the steel barrel and desperately wanting to rub the back of her head where the splinter had lodged.
“Hey, lady! I’m talkin’ to you.”
Molly recognized one of Katherine Belle’s daughters from the encounter in the general store. “I… I had an appointment with your mother.”
“My mother?”
“With Katherine Belle. I assumed—”
“She don’t make appointments, and she ain’t my mother.”
Molly dropped her hands and placed them on the ground, carefully pushing her weight upward. The long barrel of the shotgun tracked her like a coiled rattler. She rolled up onto her knees. “I was confused. I—”
“Why, Miss Schoonover! I didn’t expect you this early.” Carrying a towel and drying her hands, Katherine Belle rounded the corner. “Now put that gun away, Marilee!”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Marilee said, her voice trailing off. She gingerly lowered the weapon to her side.
Katherine Belle turned to Molly. “Please come with me to the house.” We can look at a fine batch of fabric samples I’ve collected for you. I was planning to spend some time with you this afternoon.”
Molly wrapped her arms around her chest. “I apologize for coming over early. It was rude of me. I’ll just go back home now.”
Katherine Belle reached out to take her by the arm. “Don’t be silly.”
Molly recoiled. “No!”
Her shout startled the women.
“I should be going,” Molly said.
Peering from around the corner, Joseph Vincent Loudermilk leaned against the shed. “I’d advise you, Miss, to pay closer mind to trespassing signs.” He straightened up and walked toward Marilee, grabbed the shotgun and nestled it across his midriff.
Molly backed away without taking her eyes off the weapon.
“Be careful!” Katherine Belle yelled.
Molly tripped over a tree branch and fell hard to the ground. Unnerved, she jumped up and turned, then jogged down the graveled driveway without looking back.
NINETEEN
Dieter palmed a cold beer while he chatted about the miserably hot weather. He stood on the deck of the sprawling lake home as Mr. Little Bear prepared a barbeque of pork and glazed duck on the grill. Each side of the log home offered a grand view of either the water or the forest.
Amy often spoke of her Dad and family, who moved off the Blackfeet Reservation from upstate not long after she was born. Her dad was a guide and outfitter in the wilderness surrounding the lake, a lucrative job. An increasing number of outdoor sportsmen were coming to Montana from around the world to fish for wild trout or hunt for trophy elk, bear, bighorn sheep, and deer.
Mr. Little Bear’s bronzed face had features chiseled by the harsh Montana seasons. While he tended the grill, a single-engine prop flew out over the lake and gave him reason to talk about the Cessna he proudly owned. Dieter was surprised when he mentioned Amy’s talent as a pilot. She not only had a license to fly—Mr. Little Bear had given her lessons at age fifteen—even before she had a learner’s permit for driving.
“So, it was you who found the body down on the Madison?” Mr. Little Bear casually asked.
Dieter walked to the corner of the deck to toss his empty bottle into the trash. Had Amy gotten to her dad so damned quickly? After promising him she’d keep it to herself? “You heard about it?”
“It’s a small town. Entertainment is limited,” Little Bear said. He brushed more sauce onto the meat. “Lots of crazies out in the wilderness. I can tell you that from my years of guiding. But I don’t worry about those things too much whenever I’m out there.” He leaned down and tugged on a trouser leg above his boot, revealing a pearl-handled pistol no bigger than a pack of cigarettes.
A steady afternoon breeze triggered a light chop on the lake’s surface. Dieter’s glance followed Michael and Megan as they scampered down to the edge of the water with Amy. The tails of her blouse dangled outside her jeans and her long sleeves rose above her elbows. She radiated youth and vitality. It was the first time he saw his kids laughing together since he and Fran played with them in their Bucks County backyard.
When he noticed Dieter’s stare, Little Bear asked, “You know that Amy won’t be with you much longer, don’t you?”
“Our agreement was until the kids got settled in school,” Dieter replied.
“Her heart is set on California. The Pacific coast has always enticed her, for some reason I can’t figure out. That’s where she’s headed.” He paused to turn the meat over with his spatula. “Unless of course she ends up marrying.”
Dieter had to scramble. “She hasn’t told me much about her interests.”
“You have to give her a chance to talk. Lead into it gradually. Like her mother, she doesn’t do much talking about herself. Prefers to listen and learn. She’s a teacher when you come right down to it. Loves kids.” His eyes beamed as he spoke. “I’ve tried to talk her into returning upstate to Browning where our people are. Living on land provided so… generously. The reservation needs teachers as skilled as she is.”
Michael and Megan ran up the steps of the deck. Rusty followed on their heels and Amy tagged behind.
“I had a great time yesterday,” Megan announced, trying to catch her breath as she spoke. “We gotta ride a lot. I got to gallop once!”
“Gallop?” Dieter asked, surprised.
“Now, I don’t think you were galloping on Belzer,” Mr. Little Bear said.
“Daddy, did you know that Indians can ride horses without a saddle?”
“I suppose Amy showed you how that’s done?”
“Amy’s not a real Indian, you know. But her daddy is!” She shoved a peppermint into her mouth and then spoke out of the side of her teeth. “I think her mom is, too.” She ran down the steps and back into the yard, chasing Rusty.
Dieter grinned and turned to Mr. Little Bear. “That’s a beautiful herd of horses you’ve collected out back.”