Chapter 24. Jenny
JENNY
Jenny was glad for the cooler air inside the house, but it didn’t help settle her nerves. They were sitting at an oval kitchen table and waiting for Ruth to finish mixing a pitcher of iced tea. The metal spoon clinked against the glass and blended with the sound of the fan in the corner.
Whoosh. Clink. Whoosh. Clink.
Alice was beside Jenny. Simon sat opposite, and William was at the head of the table with his back to the wall.
Jenny could see into the living room. The front door was propped open, and a screen door covered the entrance.
The floors were a dark wood, scuffed, and worn smooth through the center where they’d been walked on the most. When she’d tried to take her shoes off, Ruth had stopped her.
“It’s a farm, honey. We track in dirt all day long. I mop at the end of the night.”
William and Simon were talking about the tractor, which William had parked back under the carport before coming inside.
It was old and rusted, but William didn’t want to buy a new one.
He didn’t know how much longer they’d be able to stay on the farm.
They had two sons and a daughter, but they’d all moved away. None of them wanted to be farmers.
Jenny thought about her mom’s parents. They were farmers and might have lived in a house like this one, with a colorful crocheted blanket on the back of the velour couch, lace doilies on the side tables.
Books crowding a sagging shelf. A woodstove with a river-rock hearth to warm your feet on, and a kitchen that smelled of cinnamon-sugared apples and fresh bread.
Jenny couldn’t imagine her mother on a farm.
She’d only ever complained about the long Saskatchewan winters, summers spent fending off blackflies, and how much she hated her parents.
Though Jenny never knew why. Her mother preferred talking about how she’d danced on pointe by the time she was eleven and been chosen for the principal role in Swan Lake by sixteen.
She was going to move to the city and dance professionally, but then she’d gotten pregnant.
Jenny’s father would smile when he’d tell Jenny how he’d loved her mother since they were kids, but she wouldn’t go on a date until he got a job and a car.
He’d always wanted a family and hadn’t minded getting married young.
Her mother had different feelings. “Don’t throw away your dreams for a man,” she’d tell Jenny.
“And for God’s sake don’t get pregnant.”
Her father would say that it had been a mutual decision to leave Saskatchewan and move to Vancouver. But Jenny knew that her dad had missed the prairie fields, the wide-open sky. It had all been for her mother. A consolation prize for losing out on the life she’d really wanted.
The memory made Jenny rest her hand on her belly. She didn’t want the baby to ever feel like she had been made to feel. Across the table, Simon and William were talking about how many animals lived on the farm. Five cows, one calf, two retired work horses, and around thirty chickens.
“You have a big piece of property,” Simon said. “Neighbors must be a long way off.”
Jenny had a bad feeling about that question. She felt Alice stiffen beside her too.
William nodded. “Got about fifty acres.”
Ruth brought the iced tea and glasses over to the table and poured them each one. She also set out small dessert plates and a plate heaped with cookies, then dropped into the chair across from William.
While Bones snored under the table, William peppered them with questions about their trip. He was amazed that the RV had air-conditioning.
“Only way we can keep things cool around here is if we put them in the basement.” He stamped his foot on the floor. “Got a hatch right here so I can get to my whiskey barrels.”
Ruth laughed. “William’s always brewing something down there.” She slid the cookies closer to Jenny. “Take one, dear. They’re blackberry oatmeal.”
Jenny added one to her plate and drank some of the iced tea. It was sweet and tart, refreshingly cold, but she couldn’t enjoy it. She didn’t like Simon pretending to be nice to these people. It made her think of how he was when they first met Tom and Alice.
Alice lifted her glass and took a few deep swallows. Ruth was staring at something on Alice’s arm, her mouth pursed.
“That’s quite the bruise you have,” Ruth said.
Alice set the glass down and looked at her arm. “It’s turning a lovely shade of blue, isn’t it? My fault. I walked into the metal arm for the awning.” Alice gave an embarrassed smile, while Jenny tried to think when that could have happened. Was Alice lying?
Ruth patted her shoulder. “I’m always walking into things too.”
“May I use your bathroom?” Simon said. “I’d like to wash my hands before eating.” Jenny looked at his face, trying to read his expression. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Just down that hall.” William pointed.
The rest of them continued drinking their iced tea. William smacked his lips and told Ruth it was the best she’d ever made. She waved him off with a giggle that made Jenny think he probably said that every time, and she felt such a stab in her chest she had to rub at the spot.
Alice murmured compliments as she nibbled at a cookie. Ruth slid another one onto William’s plate. He was smiling at her, then he made a small sound, his mouth gaping. Jenny stared at him. Was he choking? Beside her, Alice dropped her iced tea, liquid splashing.
Jenny looked up.
Simon was standing in the kitchen entrance with the gun pointed at William.
“What have you got for a vehicle? Car or truck?”
“Truck,” William stuttered. “A Ford 100.”
“Wife doesn’t have a car?”
William shook his head.
“Give me the keys.”
“It’s not running. It’s in my garage.”
Ruth was clutching at the front of her dress, and looking around at them all, like she was trying to understand what was happening.
“You’re bullshitting me.”
“Boy, I’d give you the truck if I could. The rear differential is busted. I’ve got the parts, but I hadn’t gotten around to it. U joint and drive shaft need to be replaced too. Then brake shoes.” He paused for a moment. “Think that’s it, but it’s been running rough.”
“Are you telling me your truck is a piece of junk?”
“It’s a great truck,” William said, indignant. “It’s just old.”
“Goddamn.” Simon moved into the kitchen, pacing back and forth in front of the cupboards. He halted abruptly and looked at William. “You got guns in this house?”
William hesitated. Before he could deny anything, Simon said, “Don’t lie to me, man. I can shoot your wife right now.” Simon pressed the gun to the back of Ruth’s head. She gave a startled gasp and squeezed her eyes shut. Her lips were moving like she was saying a prayer.
“There’s a rifle,” William said. “Behind the bedroom door.”
“What else? Farmers always have more.”
“Shotgun in the closet.”
“Where’s the ammo?”
“Box beside it.”
Simon moved the gun away from Ruth’s head, and she opened her eyes, which were glassy with tears. One leaked out, traveling the folds of her round cheek.
“Get the guns, Jenny.”
“Let’s just leave,” she said. “We don’t need anything from them.”
“Too late now.” Simon yanked the phone out of the wall, ripping the pretty wallpaper and leaving a hole. He smashed the phone against the edge of the counter until it split open, then he dropped it onto the floor. Wires and phone innards scattered across the linoleum.
Bones was at Ruth’s feet under the table, a confused whine coming from his throat. Jenny had a jolt of fear that he might try to bite Simon, but the dog stayed by Ruth.
“You can have our money,” William said. “Guns, food. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Nah, I think we’re going to stick around for a bit.”
“We have to talk.” Jenny got to her feet, standing between her chair and the table. Her hands were so tight her fingernails were biting into the palm. Simon barely glanced at her.
“Later.” He turned to Ruth. “Stop staring at me or I’ll snap your neck.”
Ruth dropped her gaze and slowly linked her fingers on top of the table. She had small hands, with blue veins marbling the freckled skin. Her wedding ring was tarnished and worn.
“Jenny,” he hissed. “Get the guns.”
This time she turned and stumbled down the hall. She opened and closed the first door on the left, a hall closet, barely noticing the contents. The door on the right was a bathroom.
The rifle was behind the third door of what looked to be the main bedroom, with a neatly made bed, a blue flowered coverlet, and an antique dresser and mirror.
When she opened the closet, she found the shotgun and, beside it, white and green boxes of ammunition, some larger and heavier.
She grabbed two boxes of each, then slung the guns around her shoulders by their straps.
Simon’s dad had owned guns. Simon said it was because the marina had been robbed and his dad was paranoid.
He’d taken his dad’s rifle a couple of times without his dad knowing, and they’d gone target shooting on one of the islands.
Simon had said it would be good for her to learn how to use one, which she’d thought silly.
Why would she ever need a rifle? She’d hated the noise, the sudden burst of power, the gun recoiling into her shoulder, and had been terrified she’d make a mistake and hurt herself or Simon, but now she was glad she knew some basic things, like how to check that the safety was on, and to always point the muzzle down.
“You find them?” he yelled.
She walked back to the kitchen.
“Nice.” Simon’s eyes gleamed as he took the boxes of ammo and placed them on the counter. She passed him the rifle. He looked it over and set it against a cabinet. When he took the shotgun, he paused, ran his hand down the glossy wood stock. “My dad had one like this.”
He looked at William. “Where’s your rope?”
“Not sure if I have any.”