Once Upon a River Page 0,63

do you want me to learn?”

“That you can’t live like a wolf girl. That there are laws for a reason, that laws allow us to live together. Even finishing school—there’s a reason for it, so you can be a better citizen. Now I see that. If you turn yourself in this morning, I’ll do anything for you. I’ll hire you the best lawyer I can afford. I’ll spend every penny I have to get you free. Maybe you won’t even go to jail. I could tell them he was crushing my throat, like you said.”

She studied his face, tried to figure out whether he would really turn her in, whether he would be able to lie for her. He was an honest person, and she didn’t want him to have to lie.

“Stop it,” Michael said. “Stop sitting there looking like a kidnapped Indian maiden. I didn’t steal you, Margaret Louise. You came to me. Remember. You came to me.” He shook his head. “You came to me with no home, and I took you in.”

She went back to petting the fishing dog. Maybe Michael had seen her the way he saw Cleo, as a pleasant creature for whom he could provide a home.

“I’m trying, Margaret, but I’m scared,” he said. “Tell me you’ve never done anything like this before. Tell me you’ve never shot anybody.” He let his face fall into his hands. “Oh, God, you have killed someone before.”

“No. I just shot him. I didn’t kill him. He did something. I was just getting even so I didn’t have to send him to jail. Jail is worse than being shot for some people.” Margo looked out through the sliding door, settled her gaze on the reflection of Michael’s security light on the surface of the dark river.

Michael sat at the end of the bed beside her. “Why did this have to happen?” he said. “Tell me what you’re feeling, Margaret.”

“He could have killed you,” she said. She didn’t know how she felt except that she was scared.

“You’re probably right he could have hurt me,” Michael said. “Was that his shotgun?”

“His brother gave me that shotgun. I didn’t steal it.”

“Maybe it would be just a little while in jail. A juvenile home, maybe, with other kids.”

“I don’t think I could stand one day,” she said. “Would you turn me in?”

“I’d have to. Or I’ll go to jail, too, for being an accessory. But you’ll turn yourself in, won’t you?”

“Why don’t we just wait and see what happens?”

“I can’t live that way, dreading what might happen. Knowing I’m guilty of a crime. Thinking any day the hammer could fall.”

Margo herself had lived with dread, like every other creature in the wild. Dread about what she might lose or who she might encounter that day, maybe someone who wished her harm.

“You can’t stay here if you don’t turn yourself in,” Michael said.

She was startled to hear the words spoken so bluntly, but it all made sense. She’d known this orderly, comfortable place wasn’t her home. Michael had given her clothes and books, but he hadn’t changed who she was.

“I can’t have anything to do with you ever again if you don’t turn yourself in,” he said.

The dog raised her head from Margo’s thigh and looked at her.

Margo stood up and dragged her backpack from the closet. If she turned herself in, not only would she be locked away, but Michael might spend all his money and destroy his own life in the process of defending her. She had no choice. She would give up the comforts here and return to her real life on the river.

“Oh, Margaret. This is all a mess,” he said.

Margo took her hairbrush off the dresser. She moved as deliberately as she could, putting her few stray things into her bag, which was already packed, as it had been the whole time she’d been there. She pulled her rifle from the wooden rack Michael had built. She slung it over her left shoulder, dropped the four boxes of .22 cartridges into her bag, and looked around for any other evidence she had been there. She hadn’t brought much into the house other than what they’d eaten. She took the new Annie Oakley book from the bedside stand. She wanted to take the Indian hunter book, but Michael had not given that to her. She said goodbye to the fishing dog and to Michael without looking at either of them and headed toward the river.

• Chapter Thirteen •

When Margo