“You were off playing with Cord, weren’t you! You irresponsible brat! If you’d pay attention to your chores instead of that spoiled kid, everybody would be better off!”
“I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m sorry…”
“I’ll make you sorry, all right, Clari Marie. I’ll make sure you don’t forget again!” She took a bridle strap from its peg on the barn wall.
Theresa didn’t hear about this scene until the next day. By that time, Cord was gone.
“Who saw him last?” Theresa demanded. His brother Keith said, “Not me. We woke up this morning and Cord wasn’t in his bunk and the blankets were still all smooth.” For the last year, the bedrooms had been shuffled yet again to make separate bunkrooms for boys and girls. This wasn’t observed much; the kids slept wherever they chose, at whatever house they chose, in whatever groups the evening’s play had dictated to them.
Theresa looked at the people assembled in the great room: seven ten-year-old children, Lupe, Carolina, and a clutter of younger children. The others were already busy elsewhere. Lillie had left for town before dawn. Theresa said to Keith, “Was Cord around when you went to bed last night?”
“No,” volunteered Gavin, Bonnie’s son. “We looked for him and Clari to play Hot Rocks, but they weren’t around.”
“Clari’s missing, too? Carolina?”
“No, no, Clari, she here. She come breakfast, eat nothing. I say, ‘eat,’ but she no eat. She cry and cry.”
“Where is Clari now?”
“In the girl room. Not in her mother’s house, I say Clari no do chores today. Senni hit Clari.” Carolina’s dark eyes flashed; she didn’t approve of Senni’s child-raising methods. Her and Jody’s son Angel was never hit, and he was very well behaved.
Theresa said, “Senni hit Clari? For neglecting the herb garden?”
Carolina nodded, her lips pursed.
“All right, kids, everybody get to work. You, too, Lupe. I’ll take care of this.”
She knocked on the door to the girls’ bunkroom. There was no answer, but she pushed in anyway.
Clari lay rumpled in a dark corner of a bottom bunk. Theresa looked at the child’s miserable, tear-stained face and inwardly cursed Senni. Her daughter was a hard woman. Why Senni, when Jody and Spring were so sweet-tempered? Even moody Carlo would never have hit a child. And Clari herself was the gentlest kid on the farm. Genes were so strange.
“Clari, it’s Grandma. I want to talk to you, honey. Come out.”
Ever obedient, Clari crept from the bunk. She was taller than Cord but smaller-boned, with short brown curls and blue eyes. Theresa said, “Where did your mother hit you? Never mind, I can see from the way you’re moving. Take off your pants, honey.”
Painfully, Clari wiggled out of her pants. Red welts striped the backs of her thighs. Something turned over in Theresa’s chest: anger and fear and a painful love for Senni, who was alienating those who should love her. Carefully she took Clari on her lap.
“Tell Grandma what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”
Every child at the farm and most of the adults obeyed that tone in Theresa’s voice. Clari said, “We were playing, me and Cord and Kella and Susie and Angel. Monday and Tuesday, a long game of Hot Rocks, it lasted three days and I forgot to take care of the herb garden in the evenings.”
Theresa had never asked the rules for Hot Rocks, an enormously complicated game the kids had invented and, apparently, kept adding to. She said, “Go on.”
“Mommy hit me and Cord found out ‘cause I was crying. He got really mad. He threw the Ender Rock so hard it broke, Grandma. Then he said him and me should run away and that would show Mom.”
“Run away? Where? How?”
“To our secret place. On Uncle Scott’s old horse.”
Cold seeped up Theresa’s spine. She hadn’t thought to check the horses. Scott’s bay, the one he’d first used when he came here, was too old for real use, but Scott let the children ride him for short periods and short distances. Cord wasn’t a very good rider.
“Did Cord go to your secret place on Uncle Scott’s horse?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t go with him, Mommy would have been really really mad. I came here and slept in Angie’s bed. Is Cord gone?” Clari looked scared.
“Yes, but I’m going to get him back right now. Where is your secret place, Clari?”
“Where all the dead bad men are buried. It has ghosts.”
Theresa closed her eyes. She should monitor the stuff the kids watched on the Net more carefully. There was never time. The “bad dead men” were the refugees that Jody had killed with the bioweapon and buried in the arroyo, once again dry in the year-and-a-half drought. How had Clari even known about that incident?
She didn’t ask. “Clari, I want you to go ask Carolina for some breakfast, eat it, and do two units of school software. It’s your turn.” DeWayne had bought school software and computers for all the kids to share.
“Is Cord okay?”
“Of course he is. Now go do as I told you.”
Scott’s nag wasn’t in the barn. No one had noticed, since all the other horses were in use out on the range. DeWayne’s truck, which he had purchased in lieu of the fancy little car he’d arrived in, had gone to Wenton. The bus was finally dead, and the new one Lillie had ordered last year had had to be sold as the farm funds dwindled.
Theresa smacked her fist against the barn wall in frustration. She could have gone back to the house and Net-paged Jody out on the range, the pagers being another innovation due to DeWayne. But God knew where Jody was. He could be halfway to the El Capitan mountains with their cattle. The arroyo was only a little over a mile away. She put on the wide-brimmed hat with neck curtains that the high UV made necessary, filled a canteen, and started to walk.
By the time she reached the arroyo, Theresa’s legs felt wobbly. She didn’t walk much anymore on the open range. She had a canteen with her but wanted to save the water for Cord. The arroyo was completely dry, and the gray rough bark of the cottonwoods looked tired and dusty. Cord wasn’t there.
She sat in the welcome shade, panting. Hoof tracks led away from the arroyo. But there was nothing in that direction but desert. Desert that a year ago had just begun to be prairie, its greening now cut off like an execution.
Theresa took three long swallows of water and started walking. If Cord hadn’t thought to bring a hat… it had been night when he’d run off. And he’d been too angry to think straight or he wouldn’t have started this stupid trek in the first place.
A few miles out, Theresa came across Scott’s horse. It had found a semi-living green bush and was chomping at it eagerly. The saddle was empty.
Now she was genuinely afraid. How far had Cord gotten before he fell off, or let the horse wander away, or whatever had happened? The child could be laying injured in the hot sun, dehydrated, alone…
Theresa took two more swallows of water—her last, she promised herself—and kept on walking. How soon before someone followed her? They would, of course. Senni would have the sense (and the remorse) to Net-page Jody or Spring. Lillie and DeWayne would come home from town. Someone would come.
Meanwhile, she kept walking, kept calling. “Cord! Cord, can you hear me? Cord, answer me! Cord!” Her throat grew hoarse.
The wind was picking up. Sand started to blow against her face, into her eyes. Oh, God, no, not a dust storm, no one would ever find Cord or her, and alone out here in a dust storm… “Cord! Cord!”
The wind blew harder.
Was that him? She ran forward, her legs aching, but it was only an unusually large prickly pear, vaguely shaped like a prone boy.
She was sobbing from frustration and fear when she finally spotted Cord. Lurching, stumbling forward, she fell on her knees beside his crumpled little body, lying beside a clump of thorny mesquite.