Looking at it now, Lois knew the patience Merlene needed to do the hearts in all different shades of red and then frame them with a reddish-brown border. Lois could imagine her hoping that time would hold out until she finished, knowing she’d done everything she could for Wesley and now there was only this — this quilt to remind him of all the love they’d shared. Maybe in some small way, whenever he felt sad or afraid or alone, he’d be able to look at that quilt and think of her.
He was rubbing his hand gently over one of the hearts now.
“You miss your mother, don’t you?” Lois said to him.
“She wouldn’t like what I did.”
Lois sat down on the edge of the bed. “No, she probably wouldn’t, but she’d forgive you. I have absolutely no doubt about that.”
Captain looked at her. “She would?”
“Yes, she would. She loved you for you. No matter what, you were her son.” Lois scooted closer to him and held her arms open. “Come on,” she said. “Let me hug you.”
She sat there a good while, letting him press his face into her neck, patting his back while he sobbed, telling him over and over, “Hush, now. Hush. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Finally, once Captain had cried himself out, Lois asked him if he’d eaten anything.
“Not since lunch yesterday.”
“Lordy, you must be starving. Get dressed. I’m going to make something for you.” He looked at her, hesitating. “There’s only one thing to do when trouble comes,” she said. “I know it for a fact. Get out of bed every morning. Keep moving ahead.”
She went back to the living room, where Biggs and Shooter were still standing. Shooter was leaning against the wall, his head bowed. He was rubbing the back of his neck. Biggs had his hat in his hand, turning it around by its brim.
Lois said to Biggs in a soft voice, as if it were only the two of them in the room, “Our baby’s gone, and her babies, too, and nothing’s going to change that. Wesley Rowe? He’s still alive. I don’t want any hurt to come to him.”
Not everyone was willing to overlook Captain’s part in the fire. Even though it was generally known that Ronnie had gone to the trailer with the intent to burn it, had spread that gas before having a change of heart and driving away, there were still folks who couldn’t get beyond the fact that if Captain, a boy who wasn’t right from the get-go, had been home in his bed as he should have been that night and not out there striking matches, Della and her three children would still be alive. Too many people had invested too much in the suspicion that Ronnie set the fire, and even though he was the one who’d pay the price, they couldn’t help but spread the blame to Captain as well.
Boys at school made goat noises sometimes when he was near. They flicked lit matches at him and called him Scarecrow after the character in The Wizard of Oz.
Whether it was those boys who night after night came driving by the Rowe house, their car and truck horns blasting, or else adults who’d forgotten how to be civil, no one could say.
Then someone went too far. Someone came one night when Shooter and Captain were in Phillipsport doing their grocery shopping, and they went to work on the side of the barn with a red spray paint can. It was the side people could see from the road. They could drive by and see the gigantic red letters spelling out KILLER.
That was too much for Missy. She knocked on Shooter’s door and told him she was sorry for his trouble.
“I don’t approve of the way you handled things,” she said, “but you and Captain don’t deserve this.”
“Yes, I do,” he said, and then he closed the door.
_________
Ronnie told Angel he was sorry. He should have told her everything the night she showed him his pocketknife, hoping that he’d have some explanation. He did, but he didn’t know how to say the right words to her then, so he kept quiet, and in his silence, a horrible possibility took life.
“You know it all now,” he told Angel. “You know I got mad at your mother, and I started to do something bad.” Even though he’d never wanted his girls to know that he’d had thoughts about burning the trailer, had gone as far as spreading some gasoline, it was out in the open now, and he had no choice but to own up to it. “But I stopped myself. I got back to a better way of thinking. I patched the hole in the trailer to keep the pilot light on the furnace from going out. I had no idea you were all inside. I wish I’d knocked on your door. Maybe your mother would have asked me to come inside, and then who knows what might have happened.” His voice got so shaky then he could barely make the words he knew he had to say. “After it happened — after the fire — I was afraid you’d never want me. I didn’t know how to tell you I’d been there that night. I was there, but not when I needed to be. Not when I might have made a difference. I’ll know that the rest of my life.”
Angel said, “Brandi lied to me when she was in the hospital and she told me the story of that night.”
“She didn’t want you to think bad of me,” Ronnie said, “and right now I’m scared to death that you’ll never forgive me.”
Angel threw herself into his arms. She held him tight. She told him how she’d seen sparks outside her bedroom window just before the fire, but she hadn’t thought to get out of bed and move the ash box to the compost the way she was supposed to have done earlier that evening. She told him about how her mother had awakened her that night and told her the trailer was on fire.
“She told me to wake the others and help them to get out.” Here she paused, her breath coming hard, reliving it all in her mind. “I didn’t do it. Hannah was awake, and I told her to run. I ran with her. If I’d only tried to help.”
“Shh.” Ronnie rocked her in his arms. “Shh, now, baby. Shh. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ronnie waited while the State went through the process of discovering all the facts. In Illinois, his attorney told him, reckless homicide was a Class 3 felony, punishable by two to five years in prison, but probation was a possibility — a strong possibility, the attorney said, given the tragic circumstances and the fact that there were four daughters who needed their father.
Ronnie was able to hire his attorney because Missy Wade turned over the account at the bank to him.
When he called to thank her, she said, “I don’t imagine I’ll ever get over any of this.” Then she told him the story of the day in the bank when her silence started the rumor that he’d had something to do with the fire. “Even though you did what you did, it wasn’t right of me to let that gossip spread, and I’ve got no right now to keep watch on that money.”
The State decided not to prosecute. Even though Ronnie had gone to the trailer that night, he’d done so on the assumption that Della and the kids were at Lois and Wayne’s. Yes, he’d meant to set the trailer on fire, but in the end he’d come to his senses. He’d held his temper in check. He’d never meant for anyone to come to harm.
And now there were his girls to see to, those girls who had suffered enough.
The court put Ronnie on probation and left the question of custody of the children to another hearing.
Missy testified. She spoke of Ronnie’s love for the girls.
“He made mistakes,” she said. “We all made mistakes. But at the end of the day it’s clear to me that he loves those girls. I had no business to try to take them from him, and I wouldn’t want to now. He’s their father. I don’t believe he means them any harm, never meant to hurt them at all.”