25. Evie

Chapter twenty-five

Evie

The drive out to the Orchard felt like it took years, though it couldn't have really been more than an hour. As they drove into the twilight that deepened rapidly into inky black night, she realized that while she had roved around in the countryside just outside of Tulsa in her younger years, petting with boys in buggies and telling secrets by moonlight with the other girls, she had never been this far outside of the city by horse or by car. She simply had no business. She didn't know any people who lived in the rural areas, or on the Reservations.

The open windows allowed the hot, sodden air of the summer night to pour through the car and whip her hair gently around her head. Silence permeated the car, though it didn't feel awkward. Each passenger was engaged in his or her own thoughts. Alex sat behind the wheel, with Lindsay drowsing in the passenger seat next to him. And next to her on the luxurious leather seat in the back of the car, Ryan sat smoking a cigarette and looking out the opposite window at the dark land that stretched on either side of them as Tulsa fell away behind. The half moon was high, pouring some light onto the landscape around them, but outside of the bright spill of the headlights that lit the way just ahead of them, the night still felt eerily dark and full, as if something waited for them beyond.

She had seen too much in the war to not believe in ghosts. She was haunted by them. By the man she loved. By the men she couldn't save.

Against her will, she thought of Tommy. The one she helped to kill, however inadvertently. Cold poured through her, like a glass of water dumped over her head. The thought had started to trouble her that perhaps he would haunt her too. She didn't know what he looked like, but her mind sketched a shadowy blend of Ryan and Alex both. Her imagination had a sense of him, and this shaded figure had begun to crop up in her mind's eye throughout the day. She was starting to wonder if it was really her imagination at all.

She'd done her best not to think of him, to erase the whole terrible ordeal from her mind, but in talking about it with Ryan that morning and expressing her sincere remorse, she'd been forced to examine it again.

The murder.

A tingle went down her spine and she surprised herself with the urge she felt to shift across the seat, closer to Ryan. As if his large, warm body could protect her from the ghost of his brother. As if it could protect her from herself .

She leaned her head out of the window just slightly and let the night air rush over her face. Closed her eyes and willed herself to be rational, to stop thinking of ghosts. Of the past. Always, she was a prisoner of the past and she longed to be free of it. Somehow, being kept in a cage for days hadn't felt unfamiliar to her. She was so accustomed to being trapped in the first place.

Finally, Alex turned onto a gravel road that she hadn't even noticed. The car bumped along so precariously that both of her hands shot out to steady her. Ryan's large, warm hand finding its way onto her shoulder surprised her. And though it was gone almost as quickly as it arrived, it left a lasting burn on her skin, the heat of which seeped through her like a poison.

Lights sliced through the darkness ahead of them and they slowed as they approached the large house that loomed out of the night.

A cabin, but quite large. It was difficult to see in the dark the whole of it but she could make out lights blazing in the downstairs, and lights blazing on the floor above. The dark outline of several figures on the large porch that wrapped around the house were surrounded by cigarette smoke. As they approached, several of the figures straightened up and began to wave their arms, shouting.

In the passenger seat, Evie nearly lunged forward to scold Lindsay as he leaned out of the window and began to wave his good arm, calling, "What are you doing up past your bedtime, you grannies?"

The car came to a halt and with the crank of the parking brake, Alex killed the gently ticking engine of the Ford.

Some of the dark figures on the porch vaulted the railing and pelted across the turf toward the car. Though they looked like shadows and all of her thinking about ghosts put a prickle of fear through Evie, they proved to be tall men in henleys with their suspenders hanging from their trousers. Three of them gathered around Lindsay's side of the car.

"Good God, look at you–"

"What have you done to yourself–?"

"You look like shit–"

Evie shrank back in the seat, feeling perplexingly shy. She felt like an interloper among friends and family. It didn't surprise her at all to see Lindsay so warmly greeted. Beyond the three men gathered around the car, chatting and clasping hands with both Ryan and Lindsay, she saw another figure coming down the gentle slope toward the car. He was much bigger than any of the other men and they parted to make room for him as he approached.

"Mal," Lindsay drawled at the big man, who put his hands on the lip of the window and peered into the dark interior of the car.

"Is Saoirse with you?" There was a note of tension to the big man's voice as he ducked his head, looking through the windows of the car.

"No," Lindsay said with a solemn shake of his head. "No one's heard from her. "

A heavy silence fell over the car for a moment. Evie itched to ask who Saoirse was, but she clamped her mouth shut. Later, she would ask Lindsay.

The big man sniffed.

"Bring all your miscreant friends, did ya?" Mal said, his voice carrying the musical twang of Oklahoma.

"Who are you calling a miscreant?" Alex said, climbing out of the car.

"You, little boss man," said the big man. It was hard to make out his features in the dark, but Evie could see the outline of a beard and a head of what looked like wild, curly hair. He tipped his head down to greet Ryan, who took his hand. "Cousin, nice to see you–" He stopped, looking across the car at Evelyn, who couldn't help but try to shrink into the shadows. "And who is this lovely thing you've got all cooped up in the back of this car?"

"That's Evie," said Lindsay. His head appeared in the window next to the big man, and though she couldn't make out his face either, she could see the gleam of his teeth as he smiled.

"Evie now, is it?" Alex said with a snort.

"Evie," said Mal. "Which one of these low lifes are you hanging around with?"

Oh, he thought she was someone's girlfriend. Which annoyed her and also made her feel absurdly normal for a moment.

"None of them," she said, straightening up. "I'm a nurse." And why not? It was as good as any identity to assume now that she had the freedom to .

The men all laughed.

"Nice to make your acquaintance," Mal said, a chuckle ringing through his voice. "Welcome, welcome."

"I feel faint," one of the men said behind Malcolm.

"A crick in my back–" another one said.

"I think I have a fever coming on–" another one offered.

"Shut up, all of you," Mal said over his shoulder.

She had the hysterical urge to giggle, but stopped herself. How strange to feel normal. This normal was so far from what she'd been experiencing these last days or weeks that it felt bizarre. Even frightening. And all the while, she waited for Ryan to make a correction, to tell them that she was a prisoner and not a guest. That they should take her at once to the storm cellar. That he'd changed his mind about her.

But none of that happened. The men all shuffled back as Ryan opened the car door and stepped out. He turned and waved for Evie to follow him. Awkwardly, she scooted across the leather seat. Then, she tried to find her footing out of the car and nearly fell face first onto the gravel.

She would have, if Ryan hadn't caught her. It was all over in a flurry and a flash, but for one single moment, they were eye to eye. His body was as still as her, his breath caged inside of his chest just like hers.

Then he was releasing her and a couple of the other men came forward, proclaiming their concern, asking her if she was okay. Lindsay waved them off and they gave her some room with some rude gestures and some taunts .

Lindsay just chuckled weakly and put his good hand on her elbow. "Watch your step."

"A little late for that." Though he likely couldn't see her expression too well, she scowled at him. "Let's get you up to bed. You're faint as a daisy."

"If you insist, Nurse Evie." The gentle tease in his voice made her stomach flutter, filled her with a warmth that made her feel silly and giddy all at once. It was a different feeling than Ryan gave her, but one that was just as pleasurable and just as intense. It just had a softer quality to it. Something she wanted to curl herself around and warm herself by. The touch of his gentle fingers at the back of her arm gave her a very distinct tingle of pleasure that made her bite down on her lower lip to keep herself from smiling.

"How's our patient, Nurse Dolly?" Alex was suddenly on the other side of Lindsay.

She licked her lower lip. "He's fine, but he'd be doing better if we could get him up to–"

"Got you good, didn't they?" Malcolm planted his feet and folded his arms, blocking the way of their progress.

"Just a little bite," Lindsay said, voice tired.

"Don't worry, we'll give them a big bite," Malcolm said, gruffly. And though Malcolm's voice was distinctly deeper, there was still a similarity in the way they spoke, the pattern of speech.

"This, Evie, is my oldest brother, Malcolm." Lindsay nodded toward the huge man. Though Evie couldn't very well make out his features in the low light, she had no trouble believing this was the case.

Malcolm clasped her small hand in his huge one, totally engulfing it, before he turned and led the way up to the cabin.

Though she couldn't see him, she could hear the heavy crunch of Ryan's boots against the ground just behind her. The urge to turn her head and look at him nearly throttled her, but she bit her lip and kept on walking.

The very strange and unsettling thought occurred to her as they walked up to the house that Tommy should be where she was. If not for his death, she wouldn't be here. He would be the fourth in this motley crew. The four men would be going about their business as usual. But he was dead, and now they had to settle for her. The thought put an ache in her throat, and she swallowed it down like a rock, hard and angled. The shadowy sketch of him hovered at the edge of her mind and she resisted the urge to look behind her. This time, not to look for Ryan, but to look for his lost brother, a specter in the dark.

A tingle passed down the back of her neck and she reprimanded herself. Ghosts weren't real. And even if they were, she would promise that ghost that she would do what she already planned to do–help them take their revenge on Walter Stanley.

They helped Lindsay up the stairs, one step at a time, and Malcolm held the door open with an air of impatience. "Come on, come on, haven't got all night." But it was a note of impatience that seemed to be hiding the concern he had for his younger brother.

In the bright light of the lanterns glowing on the porch and in the house, Malcolm's features came into sharp relief. And he did, indeed, bear a striking resemblance to his younger brother. With the exception that he had a mass of curly hair that was so dark red that it looked nearly mahogany and that in place of his left eye, he wore a facial prosthetic that covered his temple, part of his forehead, his eye socket and half of his cheek. Instead of the more sophisticated metal prosthetics she had seen that were carefully painted to match the patient's face, his was a beautiful polished wood that was carved to resemble the features of a face. It gave him a strange, godlike quality. Some Pan or Cernunnos out in Green Country, tending to his apples. He had the same spill of freckles as Lindsay, but his eye was a jeweled hazel. His features were stronger, his face more intense, and the lower half of his face was covered by a somewhat managed beard. The biggest difference between the brothers was the nature of their expression. Where Lindsay had a good, open face with an easy smile, Malcolm had a scowl and a cynical glint in his eye.

Evie smiled at him sadly, thinking of all of the mangled faces she's seen on the battlefield. She had worried for those men, wondering what would become of them once they'd returned home. The world was not kind to people who were different, no matter the reason .

Malcolm, for his part, was handsome. The damage to his face took nothing away from the authority of his presence in the room or his very evident and powerful sense of self.

Malcolm looked back at her, as if daring her to stare. She nodded at him slightly and allowed herself to be herded into the house.

Lindsay looked nearly green by the time they got him in the door.

"Down the hall," Malcolm said in a tone of voice that made it clear that he was accustomed to being in charge. It seemed like a given quality in the eldest sibling of a family, but Evelyn wouldn't have known. She didn't have any siblings of her own.

"At the end of the hall," Lindsay said. The door was open and a candle washed the room with warm, spare light. A simple, clean room with two large windows, open to let the night breeze into the room. Though it was hot outside, it was hotter still in the house, and the air that moved into the room, fluttering the curtains, was welcome.

"Who is Saoirse?" Evie asked Lindsay softly.

"Our younger sister." Lindsay winced as Alex helped to settle him into a more comfortable position on the bed, fluffing the pillows and fussing with the blankets.

"Pain in the ass," Alex interjected with a narrowing of his eyes.

"Not to say the half of it," Malcolm said as he turned away. "Y'all can have the room above the carriage house, too." And under his breath, "If you weren't all planning to sleep in the same bed."

A statement that made Evie turn bright red. She hoped Alex didn't notice.

"How many siblings do you have?" Evie said, to direct the conversation anywhere but the topic of Malcolm speculating on their relationship. Relationships?

"I had six." Lindsay shifted, grimacing a little.

"Six?" Incomprehensible. "Had? You mean–"

"It's only me and Mal and Saoirse now," Lindsay said, voice heavy and strained from pain. "Mona died from polio when she was a child. Callum, Sean, and Liam all died in the War. My parents both died from the Spanish Flu last year."

"I'm so–" she stared to say, reaching forward to touch his shoulder.

But he smiled at her tiredly and shook his head. "It's in the past," he said. "I think they're probably in a better place now."

Evie swallowed. "Is your shoulder paining you? Would you like some laudanum?"

Lindsay shook his head, eyelids growing heavy. He'd said before that it made him nauseated, but she couldn't help but want to do what she could for him. "I'll be alright. I just need to sleep."

She met Alex's eyes as she ran her fingers along the covers, making sure they were tucked in just right, and immediately wished that she hadn't. It was rare, she realized, for them to look directly at one another and now she remembered why. That look he had, like he could crack open even the smallest atoms in her body and draw out the shadows he found there.

"Good night," she said to Lindsay. And then she leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. It felt good to do it, and it put such a sweet smile on Lindsay's face that it made her already fluttering stomach explode with butterflies. He caught her hand as she moved away and pressed it to his lips. His gorgeous, talented lips.

"Good night, sweet lady." His hand was warm and held hers with such reverence that it made her blush. Which was ridiculous. As if she'd never had her hand held by a man.

"Don't get distracted," she said, half laughing, and extracted her hand from his weak grasp. "Go to sleep."

"Mmhmm." But his eyes were already closing.

"How sweet," Alex drawled, causing her to blush again. She glanced up at him, searching for an indication of jealousy, but there wasn't any. On the contrast, his eyes glittered with amusement. Perhaps even fascination.

The quick witted reply she would have liked to have shot back seemed somehow beyond her reach. Something about him was mesmerizing. Terrible and beautiful at the same time. Something she wanted to run away from, but also something she was also drawn to. The thought made her shudder. After all of the terrible things he'd done to her .

His hand brushed Lindsay's hair back from his head, and Alex never took his eyes off of her as he leaned to press a kiss to Lindsay's forehead as well.

Luckily, Ryan spared her from having to summon a reply by walking into the room and looking around with disgust. "Please tell me this isn't the only room he gave us."

"He said something about–" Evie started to say, but Alex cut her off.

"The carriage house, too," Alex said, turning his surgical look on Ryan, who only glanced briefly at him before turning away. A strange ribbon of tension followed the arc of his body through the air as he moved.

"We'll sleep out there," Ryan said, letting his eyes skip to Evie before he turned his back on both of them and led the way down the hallway. Despite her efforts, Evie glanced at Alex who stood watching her with a look that made a chill pass over her skin. She left him there, delicately massaging Lindsay's earlobe between his thumb and forefinger.

Grateful, Evie followed Ryan out of the room, making every effort not to run as she hurried to catch up with him.

There was a sprawl of men in the big room of the cabin, who all grew quiet when she entered the room. She smiled and nodded at one or two of them she made eye contact with and then averted her gaze. Not ideal, because she hated being seen as diminutive, but she also couldn't stand to be scrutinized right now. Ryan, thankfully, wasn't interested in pausing either. He walked straight through the room with a nod to the men.

"Whisky, Ryan?" one of them called after him.

"Save some for me," he called back in his rich voice. "Be right back."

"No, no, have a slug with us real quick," another man said. "And the lady too! Ya'll look like you could use a drink."

"I'll take one," Evie said, automatically.

Next to her, Ryan made a sound of exasperation, but that didn't stop the men from descending on them and shoving a bottle into Evie's hands. She tipped it back and nearly choked on the burn. But it was a good liquor, better than some of the harsh stuff that passed for bathtub gin that she'd tried. It didn't have the smoothness of the fancy smuggled brandies that Linus preferred, but it had a rich, appley taste that made her take more out of the bottle than she ought to have.

The men clamored around her, fawning over her, until Ryan pried the bottle from her hand and ushered her out the door while the men all protested.

The carriage house, it turned out, was a short distance from the house. A small outbuilding, fronted by two doors large enough to let a carriage through, a chain wrapped between the handles and latched together by a heavy padlock bigger than her hand. There was a smaller door just to the left that sood ajar. Windows on the second story of the small building hinted at a lantern flickering within .

Around the cabin and the carriage house, she could just make out the many hands of trees reaching toward the sky, half lit by a waning moon. Glancing into the deeper dark below, she could make out only the bare outline of a few tree trunks. And for a moment, she thought she saw the flash of eyes, which made her heart skip a beat. When she looked back, the eyes were gone.

Inside, the old carriage house carried a strong smell of apples. Old apples, rotting apples, fermenting apples, the brightness of fresh apples. It wasn't altogether unpleasant. The scent transported her instantly to her grandmother's house where she had to hopscotch around the fallen fruit as a girl, lest she put one of her bare feet straight into the mealy mush of a rotten apple, worm bitten and wasp full.

"Upstairs." Without looking back at her, he led the way to a shadowy staircase to the left of the big, dark room they were standing in. Large, looming shapes covered in large sheets of heavy canvas cloth were all she could make out in the gloom.

"Upstairs" turned out to be a loft of sorts, with a small bureau, and a mattress covered in a faded old quilt, resting on a battered old wood spindled bed frame. There was also a frayed old rug under foot and a woodblock print of a farmhouse on the wall in a cracked frame. A single chair, spindle backed like the bed frame sat near the window, framed by calico curtains. A wash basin with a jug sat next to the lantern on the old bureau, with a foggy old mirror showing a shadow of herself back to her as she moved into the little room.

As rustically charming as the little space was, it was stuffy and unbearably hot.

"Christ," Ryan said, and crossed to the window right away and opened it to let something of a draft inside.

Evelyn watched him, appreciating the strong, capable flow of his body as he moved across the room. The way his trousers hugged his waist and his perfect backside. She said nothing, in spite of the suddenly oppressive awkwardness of them being alone together.

Instead of turning toward her, he moved back toward the stairs. "I'll be back later. The door will be locked while I'm gone."

This time, she didn't argue with him as his footsteps moved away down the stairs.

She slowly turned back to the look around the small bedroom, alone.

Blissfully, totally alone.