I was ten when they finally found her body. Or at least what was left of it. Really she’s just a pile of bones after so many years.
I’d been six when she went missin’, but I still remembered her. Really, I guess I remembered her smell more’n anything. She smelled like home and love.
And I though I’d cry if they ever found any of her, but I didn’t. Aunt Mag said I’d cry. But I didn’t. I went to live with her when Pa skedaddled to Lord knows where when people started sayin’ he’d done somethin’ with my Ma. Then when he’d left that made ’em sure he’d done it.
I had no one else when he left so I went to live with Aunt Mag, my Ma’s sister, and Uncle Mo.
“What’s wrong with that boy? Don‘t he know that’s his momma they found? ”
“He knows, Mo,” I heard Aunt Mag tell him when they thought I weren’t around. “He knows it’s Angie. He knows it’s his momma and he’ll handle it best he can just like the rest of us. Just cause he’s only ten don’t mean he don‘t care. So just leave’m be. He’ll let us know if he needs us.”
“But…..”
“I said leave it be, Mo. I don’t wanna hear no more about it.”
Uncle Mo did like he was told as he usually did.
Aunt Mag wanted a wake ‘fore they buried what was left of Ma. It was tha next day after they found her and I had to wear a tie. Didn’t see why, but Aunt Mag said I’s goin to, so I did. There weren’t no casket, I guess cause there really weren’t no body.
The funeral people stuck the bones in a rosewood box they’d gotten somewhere. It looked kinda like the boxes I’d seen cigars come in when I watched ‘em, get a load in at Maxie‘s General Store. But I don’t guess it was cause it didn’t smell like ta’baca and it was too big, more like the size of a big hat box, but square ‘stead’a round.
And even as big as it was, it didn’t look big enough to hold all the bones a body’s supposed to have in ‘em. But it did, I guess. I didn’t see tha bones, mind ya, but a body could’a figured things like that hisself just by figurin’.
The funeral home had some chairs set up in tha parlor and I was sittin’ by Uncle Mo when Mr. Simpson sat down on t’other side of him.
“Mo. Alfie,” He nodded to us and we nodded back.
I’d learned a long time ago that most people tried to stay clear’a Mr. Simpson cause he talked way more’n seemed necessary. Guess he just liked to hear hisself.
“She been gone a long time now,” He said then took a drink of coffee. He wiped his mouth with his hand then said. “She shore was a pretty girl, Angie was. Same age as my Lizabeth I believe.”
Uncle Mo just nodded as he had been for the last five minutes or so to answer most of what Mr. Simpson had been sayin’. Then Mr. Simpson leaned over close to Uncle Mo’s ear.
“How’d they find ‘er?” He whispered thinkin’ I wouldn’t hear ’em, but I did.
“Clete Johnson found his dog with one’a her thigh bones. Knew right off it weren’t a cow or deer leg or nothin’ like that.”
“Ya still think he killed her?”
“Yea. I always said he did it. Never liked ‘im from tha first time I met ‘im. Never trusted ‘im.”
It didn’t take much for me to know that they’s talkin’ ‘bout my daddy, now. I remember his smell too and it was different. Not bad or nothin’ like that, just different. It was that smell that really woke me up that same night when he snuck in and got me.
“Heard they found some’a ya momma.”
Pa hadn’t said a word till we got far enough from Aunt Mag’s house to slow the big bay to a walk. I could see him easy with the full moon and all. His back was broad and powerful like I remembered.
“Yessir,” I answered. “Just bones, though.”
“Hum,” Pa just grunted an’ I watched his shoulder’s roll with the movement a’ the bay. We walked for another good half hour ‘for he spoke again.
“They still say I did it…..I hurt her?” His voice was different when he asked this. Almost sounded like he’s ’bout ta cry. Course I couldn’t see ‘is face, but it sounded like ‘at.
“I guess Uncle Mo thinks so. He told Mr. Simpson so at tha wake.”
Pa mumbled somethin’ then we dint say a word ‘tween us all the way ta tha Ridge. Even with tha full moon I couldn’t see real well, but I knew where we’as goin’.
“Git the tow sack, Al. Got some food in it.”
I liked it when Pa called me Al. Made me feel older. I grabbed the tow sack from the saddle and followed him inta the huntin’ shack. We didn’ own the shack. Fact, I didn’ know who owned it.
Funny how things come back to ya. That’as 25 years ago. They caught Pa a little later and hung ‘im. I’as 16 then and too young to go the hangin’. Don’t matter now. Uncle Mo’s dead now, too, but Aunt Mag’s still kickin’. Came ta see me t’other day. Brought a pound cake. They don’t ‘llow no visitors to give us much, but food’s okay……’specially if ya guard gets some.
She never blamed me for Ma. She knew it’as an accident. She still blamed Pa, though.
“He bought you that .22 knowing you’as too young,” she said through the glass one day. “You pulled the trigger, all right, but he killed her.”