Chapter 25
Ruthie
“He’s coming closer.”
Fawn’s voice was strangely calm and matter-of-fact as she looked out the window—as if they had visitors all the time.
Ruthie hurried over to join her sister at the window, hoping against hope that it might be their mom.
She imagined her mother walking through the door, shaking off the snow, and taking the girls in her arms. “I didn’t worry you, did I?
” Ruthie could almost feel those arms around her, smell the damp wool of her mother’s shawl.
Ruthie put her arm around Fawn and squinted out the window, past the mirrored reflection of her and Fawn huddled together.
It was dark now, but Ruthie could make out a figure crossing the snow-covered yard.
Whoever it was wore a bulky coat with the hood up and was hunched over a little, maybe from walking into the cold wind, or from the effort of wading through the deep snow.
There was a scarf wrapped around his face, which gave him the appearance of being faceless, bandaged like the Invisible Man.
Could it be their mother? No. Ruthie was sure she’d recognize her own mother’s walk.
This person took small, almost cautious steps.
Their mother did everything, including walking, with a bustling, determined sureness that Ruthie could sense a mile off.
“Who is it?” Fawn asked.
Ruthie only shook her head.
“And where did he come from?” her little sister asked.
There was no sign of a car. And this person wasn’t coming down the driveway—he was coming across the yard. He left a jagged trail through the snow behind him, a trail that seemed to lead out of the woods.
“Don’t know,” Ruthie mumbled.
Fawn squinted up at her sister, waiting expectantly to be told what they should do. Ruthie felt the overwhelming need to protect her sister. It hit her hard in the sternum: Save Fawn. Do not let this man near her.
The stranger had reached the front door. The first knock made Ruthie’s heart skip a beat. It was a loud and determined I’m-not-going-away kind of knock.
“Do you want me to get it?” Fawn asked. She was closer to the door.
“No.” Ruthie bit her lip. Think. What should she do?
Her parents had always taught them never to open the door to a stranger.
But her parents were gone now—her father dead, her mother missing.
And what if this was a stranger with information, some kind of clue about where her mother might have gone?
But why had he come from the woods?
“Are we just gonna ignore him?” Fawn asked, hunkering down low, the way her parents had taught them to do when a stranger came. Ignore it. Stay down so they can’t see you. Eventually, they’ll go away.
And why, exactly, had her parents encouraged them to hide?
“If you ever see anyone you don’t know come out of those woods, you get inside, you lock the door, and you hide,” their mother had told them, again and again.
Never open the door. Even if it looks like someone nice, someone harmless, keep the door locked, and hide.
It was as if her mother had been expecting someone all along—someone dangerous and evil.
But the reality was, they’d had few visitors over the years: the occasional Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness, census takers, a man checking facts for the town assessor’s office.
Ruthie checked her watch. It was nearly six on a Saturday evening. No one with official business would be out now, not in this weather, not without a car.
She thought of Visitors from the Other Side, the idea that the dead could be awakened. Absurd, wasn’t it?
Maybe that’s what the man knocking on their door was—a sleeper from up in the woods. Maybe it was the ghost of Martin Shea, searching for his wife and daughter.
Stop it, Ruthie told herself. There’s no such thing as ghosts or sleepers.
“Maybe he’s lost?” Fawn whispered.
The man knocked harder, louder. Called out, “Hello in there!”
Only it wasn’t a man’s voice. It was a woman’s.
“Ruthie? It’s Candace O’Rourke.”
“Oh, shit,” Ruthie breathed.
“Should I get it?” Fawn asked, moving right up to the door, putting her hand on the deadbolt.
“No,” Ruthie whispered harshly. How had Candace found them?
“I think I might have an idea about what happened to your mother. I’ve come to help you find her.”
Before Ruthie could stop her, Fawn undid the deadbolt and yanked open the door.
A gust of cold wind slapped them in the face.
“Hi, Ruthie,” Candace said, flipping back her hood and unwrapping the scarf from her face.
Her cheeks were bright pink. “It’s so good to see you again.
May I come in?” Behind the shock of wind, Ruthie caught the scent of expensive perfume, cigarettes, and booze.
Without waiting for an answer, Candace crossed the threshold and stepped into the hallway.
She looked down at Fawn, who had scuttled back. “Hello there,” Candace said with a huge smile. “What’s your name?”
Fawn didn’t answer. She clutched Mimi tight against her, then slipped away back down the hall.
“Oh, she’s shy!” Candace said with amusement.
Ruthie shrugged. Or she’s realizing that she just let a crazy person into our house, she thought.
“It’s freezing out there,” Candace said, shivering for emphasis. She looked around the hall. “No sign of your mother yet?”
Ruthie stood still, not answering.
“I see there’s a truck in the barn. Is that your family’s only vehicle?”
Ruthie was determined not to tell this woman anything. Not until she got some answers of her own.
“Where did you come from?” Ruthie asked. “How did you find us?”
Candace only smiled and unzipped her coat.
Ruthie tried again. “You said you had an idea what happened to my mom?”
Candace smiled an all-in-good-time smile and stepped farther inside, moving right past Ruthie.
“This is so nice,” she said, going straight for the woodstove in the living room, peeling off her gloves to warm her hands.
“Really cozy.” She looked all around the room.
Ruthie tried to imagine how it must appear to someone like Candace—the rough-hewn floorboards, the faded rugs, the beat-up couch and coffee table.
“Look, however you found us, this really isn’t a good time,” Ruthie said, following her into the living room.
Candace had tracked in snow on her boots, leaving great puddles across the old pine floor. It was a house rule to take your shoes off in the hall. Ruthie’s mother would have a conniption if she were here.
“Hello again,” Candace said, as Fawn peeked at her from around the corner. “If you don’t want to tell me your name, that’s okay. But how about your dolly, she must have a name, right?”
Fawn only stared. Her cheeks were flushed from her fever, and she’d been in the same dirty red overalls for days. Her hair was in tangles. Ruthie realized she looked like a feral child, a little girl raised by wolves.
“I have a boy about your age,” Candace said. “His name is Luke. Let me guess, you’re six, right?”
Fawn gave a tentative nod.
“My Luke—you know what his favorite thing in the world is? He has a stuffed platypus. Can you guess what he named it?”
Fawn shook her head.
“Spike,” Candace said, laughing a little.
Fawn laughed, too, stepping into the living room, coming to join Candace and Ruthie near the woodstove.
“Silly, huh?” asked Candace. “Who names a platypus Spike?”
“Where is he now?” Fawn asked. “Luke?”
Candace’s smile faded. “He’s with his father.
We’re divorced, you see, and Luke’s father, he’s one of those men who always get their own way.
Luke lives with him now.” Candace ran a hand through her hair.
“But, with any luck, that will be changing soon. He hasn’t heard the last from me.
It isn’t right, is it, keeping a boy from his own mother? ”
Fawn gave her a sympathetic look. “This is Mimi,” she said, holding the doll up for inspection. “And my name is Fawn. I’m six and a half.”
“Six and a half is very big indeed. I can tell you’re a big girl. And very smart. So let me ask you, where do you think your mother has gone?”
Fawn thought a minute. “Away. Far away.”
“Fawn,” Ruthie interrupted, “why don’t you go up to your room?”
“You poor thing,” Candace said to Fawn, ignoring Ruthie completely. “It must be hard to have your mother gone like this. You really have no idea where she might be?”
Fawn shook her head, looked down at her doll.
“I know you found Tom and Bridget’s wallets somewhere in the house. Tell me, Fawn, did you find anything else with them?”
Fawn’s eyes shot up to Ruthie’s, her look a question: Should we tell?
Ruthie gave the slightest little shake of her head, hoping it was enough.
Ruthie didn’t know what the hidden wallets and gun meant, but she knew Buzz was right—they made it look like her mother might be involved in something dark, something criminal.
She didn’t want Candace O’Rourke to know about any of that.
“There was nothing else,” Ruthie said, stepping forward.
But Candace continued to ignore Ruthie, keeping her eyes on Fawn.
“Sometimes big brothers and sisters and grown-ups, they don’t tell the truth. It doesn’t make them bad people—they’re just doing what they believe is right. But you, Fawn, you always tell the truth, I can tell. Was there anything else with the wallets? Any papers? Anything at all?”
“I told you, there was nothing else!” Ruthie had had enough. “I’m sorry, but you need to leave now.”
“And I’m sorry, Ruthie, but I simply don’t believe you,” Candace said. She looked up from Fawn finally, and stared coldly at Ruthie.
“Do I need to call the police?” Ruthie asked.
Candace shook her head with evident disappointment.
Keeping her eyes on Ruthie, she opened up her coat to reveal a holster strapped to her chest. She pulled a handgun out of it, slowly, almost awkwardly.
The gun was smaller and more square than the one they’d found upstairs; this barrel was silver, the grip black.
Candace was clearly not a pro at this, more like an actress with a prop she hadn’t had much practice with.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” Candace said with a sigh. Shit.
Ruthie thought again of all her mother’s warnings throughout the years—Never open the door. She thought of Little Red Riding Hood being tricked by the wolf in Granny’s clothes.
Fawn’s eyes got huge. “Are you the police?” she asked.
Candace laughed. “Hardly. Look, I really hate guns. I do. And I’d really hate to have to use it,” she warned, turning to Ruthie, then back to Fawn.
“So here’s what’s going to happen: You two are going to tell me everything you can about your parents and Tom and Bridget O’Rourke.
You’re going to show me just where you found the wallets and everything else you found with them. ”
Ruthie looked at Candace and at the gun, trying to keep a rising sense of panic under control. She didn’t think Candace would actually shoot them, at least not on purpose. But she was obviously a wacko—who knew what she was capable of? “If you hate guns so much, why did you bring it?” Fawn asked.
“Because I can’t leave here without getting what I came for. I really can’t. You need to understand that.” The gun dangled from her right hand, pointed toward the ground. She plucked at her hair with her left.
“What is it you’re looking for?” Ruthie asked.
Candace scowled at Ruthie. “Something Tom and Bridget had, and I think that your mother, wherever she is, has it right now. So I need you to start answering my questions. Okay?”
Neither of them spoke. Fawn looked petrified, and Ruthie’s mind wasn’t working fast enough. She was too busy staring at the gun.
“Please don’t make me point this at either one of you,” Candace said, raising the gun, her finger on the trigger. “So are you ready to cooperate? Because, really, I think we all want the same thing, right? We want to find your mother, don’t we?”
Fawn moved closer to Ruthie, snuggled right up against her. Candace waved the gun at them, pointing it first at Fawn, then at Ruthie. “Don’t we?” she repeated.
“Yes,” both girls sang out. “Yes.”
“Good.” Candace smiled and lowered the gun, looking relieved. “I can see you’re two smart girls. And now that we’re all on the same side, I think we’re really going to get somewhere. I really do.”