Yesternight (21 page)

Tillie nodded. “I'll tell her.”

We continued onward, switching the cigarette back and forth, our lipsticks smearing together into a rosy flowering of scarlet and magenta. It was the closest I'd come to kissing another person on the lips since my long-ago night with Stu, and the intimacy of it, the girlish silliness of it all, gave me the giggles. The O'Daires and the Rooks disappeared into the log cabin, and we stopped and hurriedly took more puffs before gaining the strength to join them.

“How are you going to go back to intelligence tests after all of this?” asked Tillie, nestling close to keep warm.

“I honestly don't know.” I handed the cigarette back. “Despite how exhausted I am from all of the traveling, how routine the job often seems, I do enjoy helping the children. I know they need people like me, especially the tougher cases.” I sighed and drew a line through the snow with the heel of my right boot. “However . . .”

“Ah, yes, the big ‘however.'”

“I've wanted to study human memory on a more advanced level ever since graduate school. And now this . . .” I turned to face the cabin, inside which Janie now chirped about numbers written
across the walls. “
This
opens an entirely new door to the uncharted limits of human memory. This changes everything.”

We both stared at the cabin, hearing the cadence of the others' voices within.

Tillie dropped the cigarette to the snow and snuffed it out with the toe of her right boot. “Shall we go in?”

I nodded. “I suppose.”

“Aren't you curious about Violet's writing on the walls?”

“Of course.”

I followed Tillie to the cabin, realizing I didn't necessarily want to observe Janie's reaction to Violet's equations. I imagined her tracing her little fingers over the curves and the lines of the numbers and biting her bottom lip as she studied Violet's incomplete work, perhaps discovering missing components of her own theories. I even pictured her trooping onward with the families to the frozen lake on the property. I could see the graveness of her eyes as she peered out at the layer of ice shielding the waters that had claimed Violet's life, and I envisioned her marking the figure eight on the ice with the toe of her little brown boot.

And yet I couldn't do a single thing with that information. Frustration smacked me hard across the face out there in the brutal cold. The impotency of my situation was comparable to someone telling Thomas Edison,
Well, it's swell that you figured out how to create an electric lightbulb, Tommy old boy, but you can't breathe a word about it to anyone. You must sit in the dark and pretend as though you hadn't discovered it at all.

Tillie stepped into the cabin first, and I poked my head through the doorway behind her, finding that the structure consisted of only
one single room that smelled of damp wood. Two oil lamps burned on a table that looked to have been built from a barn door, and they cast a meager light across the backs of the families, who surrounded Janie in front of the farthest wall. I edged three feet farther inside and shivered at the sight of pencil markings scrawled across the lighter slabs of wood. Sure enough, the equations—a jumble of numbers, algebraic letters, and signs—resembled the markings on Janie's yellow walls. The more I blinked and allowed my eyes to adjust to the cabin's dimness, the more the calculations emerged on the boards, from floor to ceiling.

“Do you understand any of this, Janie?” asked Mr. Rook.

“Of course.” The child giggled. “Why wouldn't I?”

Rebecca glanced over her shoulder and caught me watching them like a spy in the shadows. An intruder.

“I'm going back to the main house,” I said, backing up.

“Are you sure?” asked Michael with a peek at me, his eyebrows knitted.

“It's time for the families to be together without me observing everything and getting in the way. I'll meet you all back there after Janie has seen and heard all that she needs to experience.”

“Thank you, Miss Lind,” said Rebecca, and she put a hand on Janie's left shoulder, the only part of the girl I could see from my vantage point.

I burrowed my hands back into my pockets and retreated across the field of snow, leaving the O'Daires, the Simpkins, and the Rooks to finish weaving their memories together without me.

D
EAR
G
OD
, I believe!
I wrote in my notebook back at the house.
The evidence is astounding and conclusive: Janie O'Daire proves that
reincarnation deserves serious research within the academic circles of the United States of America. I wish more than anything to be the person to conduct it.

Countless obstacles stand in my path, namely a lack of authorized proof that I can present to a research clinic. However, I will not give up the fight for children such as Janie.

For former children such as me.

M
rs. Rook invited all five of us to stay through Christmas. “It's been such an unexpected pleasure having all of you here,” she said as we disappeared into our hats and coats in the entry hall. “Won't you consider staying with us? I'm sure Janie would prefer to spend Christmas inside a comfy house rather than in a hotel or on a train . . .”

“Three of us already own tickets for a train that's departing this evening,” said Rebecca, which caused my fingers to fall still on the buttons of my coat.

Michael looked similarly flummoxed, his right hand frozen halfway inside his glove. “You're leaving this evening?” he asked.

Rebecca affixed Janie's hat on the child's head. “I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Rook, but Tillie, Janie, and I made plans for a Christmas escape in a lovely hotel elsewhere.”

Michael still didn't move. His voice deepened. “You're not staying in Friendly any longer than today?”

Rebecca didn't answer him, and neither did her sister. They wound their scarves around their throats and refrained from looking at him, although Tillie glanced at me with anxious eyes.

Michael fitted his cap over his head with his gaze fixed upon his ex-wife. “Are you certain Janie has experienced enough of Friendly?”

“She's ready to go home,” said Rebecca.

“Are you, Janie?”

Janie fastened her coat buttons and nodded.

“How did she react to the lake?” I asked Tillie beside me, my voice lowered to a near-whisper.

“She didn't want to stay at it for long. She started talking about wanting to go home.”

I nodded and turned toward Janie, asking, “Do you have any last questions for the Rooks?”

“Nope.” Janie brushed her hair off her cheeks. “I'm getting really tired. I want to go home.”

Mrs. Rook bundled her nose beneath her handkerchief. Her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders and swallowed, which, for some reason, brought my attention to that cleft chin of his that Janie had described as a Rook family trait way back in Gordon Bay. Again, the progress I had made disintegrated with the swiftness of sand sifting through my fingers.

We bid our hostess good-bye out in front of their house, next to the Model T that still bore our frosty suitcases upon its roof.

I shook Mrs. Rook's hand. “Thank you so much for allowing us to visit. You've been a tremendous help.”

“I wish it had all lasted a bit longer.” She lowered her face and wept into the handkerchief.

I stroked her right arm, below her shoulder. “If your sister truly did move on to the body of this little girl, then know that she has a
bright and wondrous future ahead of her. She'll continue on with her mathematics and finish whatever it was she'd been starting. Her parents will see to that.”

“Yes . . .” Mrs. Rook nodded. “I'm sure they will.”

More handshakes ensued, although Janie climbed into the backseat of the car without saying good-bye to anyone. She looked exhausted. I reminded myself she was just a child. The sky purpled from the onset of twilight, which meant her bedtime likely neared.

Mr. Rook cranked the Ford to a start, and we all situated ourselves in the same seating arrangement as before. Mrs. Rook waved good-bye, and her husband steered the car around in the driveway.

To my surprise, Janie craned her head and watched the woman fall into the distance behind us. I observed the girl, wondering what thoughts coursed through her young mind, yet not daring to ask in front of her mother, who surveyed me with unblinking eyes.

We reached the end of the driveway.

Janie stiffened. “Stop the car!” she shouted. “Stop it quickly!”

Mr. Rook slammed on the brakes, and we skidded to a jarring, squealing halt.

“What is it?” asked Michael. “What's wrong?”

“I didn't say good-bye to Eleanor.” She crawled over her mother's lap and grabbed the door's handle.

“Careful, Janie,” said Rebecca, raising her arms for her to pass. “You're hurting me.”

The child leapt out of the car and ran back up the driveway at a speed that caused her to skid twice on the snow. Mrs. Rook remained on the front porch, her posture erect, arms hanging by her sides, but in a matter of seconds, the child threw herself around the
woman, and the two of them embraced with the fierceness of loved ones bidding each other good-bye. I turned away and gritted my teeth to refrain from crying. We all did. No one said a word.

A few minutes later, footsteps galloped our way, and Janie, out of breath, blew back inside the car with a gust of cold air.

“All right.” She plopped back down in her seat between her mother and aunt. “I'm ready.”

B
ACK AT THE
Brighton Depot, Michael and Mr. Rook unloaded our suitcases from the car's roof.

“In case any of you are staying around here tonight,” said Mr. Rook, “the hotel's right there across the street.”

I took my bags from Michael and said nothing of the hotel. Originally, I had assumed that all five of us would be lodging in the establishment and returning to the Rooks' farm the following morning, or at least exploring the rest of Friendly. We hadn't even gotten a chance to view the main town.

Rebecca picked up her suitcase and Janie's. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Rook. We appreciate all that you've done.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you folks?” he asked.

We shook our heads and told him we couldn't think of anything.

“Good-bye, little lady.” He offered his hand to Janie. “It was quite an experience meeting you.”

“Good-bye,” she said, giving him a shake. “Thank you for the food.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “You're welcome.”

The rest of us thanked him and shook his hand, too.

A westbound train rolled into the station with plumes of white steam converting into languid gusts of frozen air above the smoke
stack. As its iron wheels glided to a stop along the rails, Mr. Vernon Rook—the schoolteacher's son, husband to Eleanor Sunday, witness to the death of Violet Sunday—stepped back into his car and chugged back home to Friendly.

I half-believed he'd been a figment of our imaginations.

Rebecca, Tillie, and Janie gathered up their suitcases and joined the other passengers who were lining up to board. They stood ten or so feet away from Michael and me, their backs toward us, not a single good-bye spoken.

“Isn't Daddy coming with us?” asked Janie with a glimpse over her shoulder.

“Watch my bags for me,” said Michael to me, and he walked over to his family with his hands balled by his sides.

My heart flinched. I clutched my briefcase to my chest.

“Rebecca!” he called. “Why aren't you letting Janie say good-bye to me? Why are you lining up like I'm not even here?”

She turned toward him. “Please don't make a scene, Michael.”

“Why would I make a scene?”

In response, she swept Janie behind her back with her right arm.

Michael's shoulders tightened. “Why are you hiding her from me?”

“I have something to tell you.”

Tillie cast me a look of consternation. I inched toward them, my breathing shallow.

Michael shifted his weight between his legs. “What's going on?”

“As soon as we're back in Oregon”—Rebecca gripped Janie's right shoulder behind her—“I'm putting the house up for sale.”

“Why?”

“We're moving to Salem, to be closer to Mother and to put Janie into a city school that will meet her needs as an advanced student.”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck and rocked from side to side.

“I've come to realize how much potential she has.” Rebecca's gaze flitted toward me for the breadth of a second. “I think the Violet Sunday stories might leave us one day. As I've told you, and as we all witnessed here, they're not showing up as frequently as they used to. But Janie's intelligence will remain.”

“But—”

“It's not fair to keep her inside that little schoolhouse. I know that now, and I'm sure you know that, too. Tillie will join us at the end of the school year to find a nearby teaching job.”

“Well . . .” Michael swayed for a moment, as though he might collapse, but he righted himself and grabbed his right ear as if it ached. “I'll . . . I'll come visit on Mondays and Tuesdays, then, when the hotel's not so busy.”

“No,” said Rebecca. “You won't.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know you, Michael. You're going to keep hounding Janie about the Violet stories, even if she wants to let all of this go. You never give things up easily.”

“That's not true, Rebecca. Jesus”—he reached for Janie—“stop hiding her from me.”

Rebecca pushed the child farther away. “You make me nervous.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you're going to continue associating with Miss Lind. I'm willing to bet money that as soon as we climb aboard this train, you're going to check into a hotel room across the street with her.”

I stepped forward. “No, that's not true, Mrs. O'Daire . . .”

“Who cares if I do?” snapped Michael. “We're not married anymore, Bec. Miss Lind has sworn she's not publishing any papers about Janie, even though she's pouring all of her goddamn savings into this trip and giving up Christmas with her own family. Did you ever stop to think about that? Have you seen how much time and money this woman has invested into our child, while all you do is berate her and accuse her of having sex with me?”

The people ahead of Rebecca in line spun Michael's way with ugly glowers. A young mother clamped her hands over her little boy's ears.

“Step away from the line, Michael,” said Rebecca through her teeth. “You're making a scene.”

“Let me at least hug Janie good-bye.”

“No!” She backed away with the girl. “I don't want you grabbing her.”

“Let me hug my daughter good-bye!” Michael pushed Rebecca aside, which drew shrieks and gasps from the crowd.

“Could we get a police officer over here?” called a man toward the front of the line. “There's a man disturbing the peace. He's hurting a woman and her child.”

“No! Christ, no!” Michael pulled away from his daughter. “Don't do this to me, Rebecca. Don't turn me into a criminal right here in front of Janie.”

“You
are
a criminal, Michael. You run a speakeasy, for heaven's sake. You're lucky I've let you see Janie as much as I have. You're lucky I haven't contacted the Feds about you.”

Tillie jumped out of line and squeezed my hand. “What should I do? Oh, God, how can I make this stop?”

A conductor with thick jowls tromped our way in a no-nonsense march, his fists swinging by his sides. “What's going on down here?”

“I just want to hug my little girl good-bye,” said Michael, now in tears. “My ex-wife's taking her away from me, and she's telling me I can't even hug her before they leave.”

“I'm scared he's going to grab her and run,” said Rebecca, also in tears. “Please make him leave.”

“I want to hug Daddy,” said Janie, her eyes bloodshot, lips shaking. “I don't like that he's crying. I don't want you yelling at each other.”

Michael shifted toward the conductor. “I'll hug her in her front of you, sir. You can all hang onto her shoulders—I really don't care. I just want to tell her good-bye.” He reached for Janie again. “Please, Rebecca. Don't rip her away from me like this. I want the best for her, too. I only want the best for her.”

Janie took hold of his outstretched hand and sidled around her mother. The conductor muscled his way around Michael and positioned himself next to the child with a meaty paw clamped around her right shoulder. Rebecca clutched Janie's other arm, and the girl resembled a wishbone, about to be broken into two. Tillie and I clung to each other's hands, holding our breath. I feared I'd instigated every appalling second of this family's present battle.

Michael managed to slip an arm around Janie and hug her. She leaned her red hair against his tweed cap amid the tangle of other arms, and Michael's shoulders quaked. I heard him crying without a shred of shame. The other passengers boarded the train with glances over their shoulders.

“All right,” said Rebecca, tugging Janie back. “That's enough. We need to board.”

Michael staggered to his feet. “You're a selfish human being for banning me from seeing her again, Rebecca. I hope you know that. A selfish bitch who's crazier than your fucking mother.”

The conductor yanked him away by both his arms. “All right, sir. You're coming with me to the police station.”

“No! Leave me alone.” Michael shook the man off him.

“Tillie, what are you doing over there?” cried Rebecca, dragging Janie up the train's steps. “Hurry! We need to board.”

“Go.” I set Tillie's hand free. “Keep Janie safe. I'll stay and watch over Michael.”

She nodded and ran after her sister and niece, while the conductor pulled Michael away from the train with his arms hooked beneath Michael's armpits.

“Let me go!” shouted Michael when Janie's head of red hair disappeared into the train and a porter closed the door behind her. “Let me go! I'm not going to kidnap anybody. I just wanted to tell her good-bye. Oh, God. Janie! I'm so sorry, Janie! I didn't mean to talk to your mother that way.”

Michael broke away from the conductor and stumbled toward the train. The conductor latched onto his arm before he could reach the closed door.

“Come along, sir. Time to pay a visit to our friendly neighborhood police station.”

The train chugged to a start.

“Jesus Christ,” said Michael, “I'm not going to disturb the peace anymore. Look—she's gone. You let her take my little girl away.” He squirmed and struggled to free himself again. “Just leave me alone. It's almost Christmas Eve, and I've just lost my daughter. Leave me alone.”