He is beautiful, though. And Cecily is mad for him. Ive never seen anyone love anything as much as she loves that baby. Even now, though shes facing the sky that rushes past, shes singing a lullaby for him. I recognize it as a poem from a book in the library on the wives floor. Jenna used to read it aloud.
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire
The sun is setting, making the world orange. I rub my fists over my knees, uneasy. I cant believe Vaughn let us use the limo for this. Maybe hes trying to stay on Lindens good side, to manipulate him by being contrite and reliable. I keep expecting the driver to turn on us and take me back to the mansion. But he has taken us so far into the countryside that Im beginning to let go of that fear. Its been minutes since we passed any buildings. Theres only grass, and the occasional lone tree that comes and goes like an explosion.
Cecily interrupts her song to ask, Where are we? and lean back into her seat.
Someplace rural, Linden says. Its hard to say. I never knew the street names.
Cecily reaches for the baby, and then holds him over her head, blowing absurd-sounding kisses on his belly; his giggles make her grin.
Its this turn, Linden tells the driver. Off the road. Follow the tire tracks.
Even the limo, with its smooth ride, jostles over the uneven terrain. And a few minutes later weve come to the only thing in sight: a two-story brick house that looks as old and stable as the mansion, but much smaller. Surrounding it are half a dozen tarps arranged like black car-shaped ghosts. Theres a dilapidated shed and a windmill. The roof is covered in reflective panels.
Cecily crinkles her nose and turns to Linden. We cant leave her here, she says. It looks like a junkyard.
Its not as bad as all that, he says.
Theres tinfoil on his roof!
Theyre solar panels, Linden amends patiently. So he doesnt have to use so much electricity.
Cecily opens her mouth to object, but I say, Its only for a couple of days. It looks fine. I dont mention that, while this is a step down from the luxuries of the mansion, its as nice as any of the homes I grew up near. And solar panels arent uncommon in Manhattan at all, where many cant afford electricity.
The limo stops, and I open my door quickly, afraid of sleeping gas or locks or snakes that could come slithering through the vents to strangle me.
Its early evening now, and without civilization for miles I can see darkness stretching toward me from every direction. The stars are bright, splayed across every shade of pink and blue, tracing a lone, oblong cloud.
Linden comes up beside me, follows my gaze skyward. When I was little, he says, my uncle told me the names of all the constellations. But I could never find them.
But you know which ones the North Star, I remind him. I remember that he told Cecily about it, and she was discouraged by his lack of romance.
Right there, he says, following the line of my arm as I point.
Thats the tail of Ursa Minor, I say, moving my finger along the corresponding stars. Its my favorite because I think it looks like a kite.
I actually see it, he says quietly, as though astonished. But I thought Ursa Minor was supposed to be in the shape of a dipper.
Well, I think it looks like a kite, I say. Thats how Im always able to find it.
He turns toward me, and I can feel his breaths, so faint and unassuming that they only move the finest hairs around my face. I dont dare take my eyes from the stars. My heart is pounding. Memories rush through me. Memories of his fingers unbuckling my shoes, inching under the strap of my red party dress. His lips on mine. The darkness of my bedroom swimming with ivy and champagne glasses the night we came home late from the expo. Snow dusting his shoulders and his dark hair the night we said good-bye.
Cecily slams the car door, snapping me back to reality. If Rhine is staying here tonight, she says, I am too, to make sure she doesnt get murdered by whatever lunatic runs this place.
I open my mouth to chide her for being so rude. To say that Lindens uncle was nice enough to let me stay, and that asking for anything more would seem ungrateful. And also to point out that shes barely as high as my shoulder, and how exactly would she fend off a lunatic if I couldnt?
But the words wont come out. The thought of my only remaining sister wife going back to that mansion is making my palms sweat. She was safe when Vaughn kept her oblivious, but now that shes seen the workings of his basement and she understands what hes capable of, I worry for her safety.
My uncle isnt a lunatic, Linden says, and opens the car door again to pull out the suitcase that was sliding around the floor on the way here.
Why does your father hate him so much, then? Cecily says.
Lindens father is no judge of who is or is not a lunatic, but I dont say this either. I lean back against the trunk of the limo because Im starting to feel light-headed, and the stars are throbbing, and Linden is right, I do need to rest before I venture into the world again. Everywhere I look, theres nothing. The world is so far away. All that effort, all those miles undone. I was in Vaughns basement of horrors for more than two months. Two months that felt like ten minutes. Gabriel must think Im dead. Just like my brother thinks Im dead.
But there has been so much sadness, so much disheartenment, that my body has worked up a defense mechanism to keep me from thinking about it. My head goes numb, and my bones start to ache. Hurricane winds spiral in my ear canals. A sharp pain has streaked my vision with a lightning bolt of white.
Cecily and Linden are talkingsomething about what counts as eccentricity versus insanity, I think, and the conversation is getting terse as they interrupt each other. Linden is a creature of saintlike patience, but Cecily has a way of wearing anyone down.
You okay? Cecily asks me, and I realize that theyve moved a couple of yards ahead of me, toward the house. Linden turns to watch me, Bowens diaper bag slung from his shoulder, and a suitcase in his hand; he packed some clothes for me from my old closet.
I nod and follow after them.
Nobody answers when Linden knocks on the door. He knocks harder, then tries looking into the only visible window, which has its shade drawn. Uncle Reed? he calls, and knocks on the glass.
Does he know were coming? I ask.
I told him last week when I visited, he says.
How often do you come out here? Cecily says, wounded. You never told me.
Ive kept it secret. Linden trails off, mouthing something to himself as he tries to see around the window shade. I think I see a light inside. He knocks again, and when theres no answer, he opens the door.
Cecily cradles Bowens head protectively, and casts a pensive stare into the darkness. Linden, are you sure? But he has already gone in ahead of us.
I follow him, my sister wife shuffling close behind and gripping the hem of my shirt.
Its so dark that I can barely make out Lindens shape as it moves ahead of me. Its a long hallway, the wood creaking under our feet, and theres the smoky smell of cedar and must. Then theres a faint orange light flickering in a room at the end of the hall.
Ive kept it secret. Linden trails off, mouthing something to himself as he tries to see around the window shade. I think I see a light inside. He knocks again, and when theres no answer, he opens the door.
Cecily cradles Bowens head protectively, and casts a pensive stare into the darkness. Linden, are you sure? But he has already gone in ahead of us.
I follow him, my sister wife shuffling close behind and gripping the hem of my shirt.
Its so dark that I can barely make out Lindens shape as it moves ahead of me. Its a long hallway, the wood creaking under our feet, and theres the smoky smell of cedar and must. Then theres a faint orange light flickering in a room at the end of the hall.
We gather at either side of Linden in the doorway. Weve come to a kitchenat least I think thats what it is. Theres a sink and a stove. But rather than cabinets there are shelves cluttered with things I cant make out in the darkness.
Theres a small round table, upon which a candle flickers in a mason jar. A man is seated there, hunched over something that looks like a giant metal organ. Its wires, pipes, and gears are the arteries, and its a mechanical heart, bleeding black oil onto the table and the mans fingers.
Uncle Reed? Linden says.
The man grunts, working some intricacy with a pair of pliers and taking his time before looking up. He sees me first, then Cecily. These are your wives? he says.
Linden hesitates. But he doesnt have to answer, because the man returns to his work rather unceremoniously and adds, I thought you said there were three of them.
Just two, Linden says, with so little emotion it gives me pause. Its as if Jenna never existed. And this is my son, he adds, taking the baby from Cecilys arms. Bowen.
The manReedpauses, astonished by something. But then he only grunts. Doesnt look like you, he says.
Cecily plays with a light switch on the wall; it doesnt work. Please dont touch anything, Reed says, and wipes his hands with a dingy rag that only spreads the oil around. He moves to the sink, and the faucet shudders before it spits out an unsteady stream. I cant be certain in the candlelight, but I think I see flecks of black in the water. Reed mutters curses.
Then he pulls a cord over his head, and bleary light fills the room from a bulb that swings from the ceiling. The shadows jump back and forth, animating jars and pipes and senseless pieces that fill the shelves. Theres a refrigerator in one corner of the room, but theres no electrical hum to it, no indication that its on.
Reed comes closer, inspects the child in Lindens arms. Bowens eyes are dazed, transfixed on the swinging bulb. Nope, nothing like you, Reed reaffirms. Whose is he?
Hes mine, Cecily says.
Reed snorts. How old are you? Ten?
Fourteen, she says through gritted teeth.
I get a whiff of something heady and smoky when Reed moves to stand before me. Its making my eyes water, but Im just grateful that he looks nothing like Vaughn. Hes not as tall, and hes a little overweight, and his gray hair is as wild as waves breaking on rocks. I thought you were dead, he says to me.
I must be worse off than I thought, because surely I just imagined that. But then Linden says, That isnt Rose, Uncle. Her name is Rhine. Remember I told you the other day?
Oh, right, right, Reed says. Im bad with names. Im usually much better with faces.
Ive been told I look like her, I offer.
Doll, you could be her ghost, Reed says. Do you believe in reincarnation?
She cant be a reincarnation of Rose, Cecily says, indignant. They were both alive at the same time.
Reed looks at her like shes something he just stepped in, and she inches closer to Lindens side.
Tell me, Reed says, turning back to me, because my nephews story was confusing. Youre running away from him, and hes helping you?
Thats one way to put it, I say. But Im not running away. Not really. Im looking for my brother. A lump is forming in my throat, caused by Reeds stare and his smell and the interrogating hue of that light. The last I heard, he was in Rhode Island. Hes gotten into asituation, and I need to find him. I wont be any trouble in the meantime. My words are coming out one atop the other, fast, and Linden puts his hand on my arm, and for some reason it calms me.
Reed looks me over, his mouth squished to one side of his face like hes thinking. You have too much hair, he says. Youll have to tie it back so it wont get caught in the machines.
I have no idea what hes talking about, but I say, Okay.
I told him you would help out a little, Linden says. It wont be anything arduous. He knows youre recovering.
From the car accident. Right, Reed says. I dont know what story Linden fed him to explain my injuries, but judging from his tone he doesnt believe it, or care to. Theres a room upstairs where you can put your things. My nephew can show you. The floors make a terrible creaking, so Ill have to ask you not to walk around at night.
Thats apparently our cue to leave, because he turns his attention to the contraption on the table. Linden herds us down the hallway.
Oh, Linden, Cecily whispers, her words almost lost to the creaking of the steps. I knew you were mad at her, but you cant be serious about leaving her here.
I am doing Rhine a favor, he replies. And she can take care of herself. He looks over his shoulder at me. Im two steps behind him. Cant you? he says.
I nod like Im not at all unnerved by this new cold side to him. Not cruel like his father. Not warm like the husband who sought me out on quiet nights. Something in between. This Linden has never woven his fingers through mine, never chosen me from a line of weary Gathered girls, never said he loved me in a myriad of colored lights. We are nothing to each other.
Reed may have forgotten my name, but he apparently remembered that I was coming, because the spare bedroom is lit up by three candlesone on the nightstand, two on the dresser. They and a twin bed are the only furniture in the room. Theres a cracked mirror on the far wall, and my reflection drowns in the darkness of it. Roses ghost. I almost expect it to move independent of me.
Cecily drops the suitcase and the diaper bag on the floor, and a cloud of dust bursts from the mattress when she sits on it. She makes a big show of choking on it.
Its fine, I say, shaking out the pillow.
Im afraid to even ask if theres a bathroom I can use, Cecily says.
At the end of the hall, Linden says, rubbing his index finger along the bridge of his nose; its something Ive only seen him do when hes frustrated with his drawings. Take a candle with you.
After Cecily has left the room, I sit on the edge of the bed and say, Thank you, Linden.
He looks at his reflection in the mirror. My uncle wont ask any questions, if you dont, he says. About why you arent staying at home with me, that is.
The silence is tight and unnatural. I grip the blanket in my fists and say, Are you and Cecily going back there?
Of course, he says.
He still wont believe me about everything that happened in the basement. About Deirdre. I vaguely remember whispering about her in my medicated delirium, and about Jennas body hiding away in some freezer. He rubbed my arm, whispering words that sounded like moth bodies flying into glass windows. Nonsensical things I tried to cling to. Maybe, lying there, I was so pitiful that he felt no choice but to love me. Now he says I can take care of myself. Now Im the liar trying to destroy the perfect world his father set up for him, who ran away, broke everything. And its getting late, and its time to part ways.