Here On Earth

Before she leaves, Gwen takes a piece of bread from the groceries Louise Justice has left, and crumbles it up for the mice. She leaves a note on the table: “I was here. You were plastered. See you tomorrow. Your loving niece, Gwen.”

It is late in the day when Gwen walks back through the Marshes: the sunlight is pale and thin and already fading. Her boots make a path in the muck and ice, which Sister follows. A flock of starlings startles and takes flight when Gwen and the dog come too close. Out here, Gwen feels as though she’s reached the end of the world. Every time she takes a step she can hear something break-hermit crabs, mussel shells, cattails. This spring she will turn sixteen, an age she has been waiting for for what seems forever. Why is it that spring seems impossibly far away, as if it were a goal she can only yearn for and never quite reach?

Gwen and Sister are both quiet when they get to Guardian Farm; they slip through the back door, but they’re not quick enough. Hollis is in the kitchen.

“I thought you’d taken off and weren’t coming back,” he says.

He always makes snide remarks like this to Gwen; he must think he’s amusing. Well, now that she’s face-to-face with him, she might as well ask.

“No such luck,” Gwen shoots back. Since she’s already spoken to him, she decides to take the next step. “Did the papers come through?” Gwen tries to be casual about this, but deep inside she thinks herself a fool: she should have gotten ownership of Tarot before she agreed to move in.

“Papers?” Hollis says. He’s having a cup of hot tea made nearly white with milk.

“Tarot? Remember? He’s mine.”

“Right, you weren’t going to give your mother a hard time about moving over here, and I was going to sign over ownership of the horse.”

“Right.” Gwen breathes a sigh of relief.

“You believed that?” Hollis shakes his head as though she were the sorriest dolt he’d ever seen.

Gwen stands watching as he goes to the sink and rinses out his cup, then lays it neatly on the drain board.

“I want those ownership papers,” she forces herself to say.

“That’s too bad.” He’s speaking to a bothersome fly, a gnat and nothing more. “Because you’re not getting them.”

Gwen can feel her face grow hot; she’s been co

Shit, Gwen thinks, when he turns and comes back at her. Instantly, she’s afraid of him, though she hates herself for being so easily scared by the likes of him. He gets her by the arm before she can maneuver away. Sister begins barking, a hoarse frantic yip.

“You little bitch,” Hollis says to Gwen.

“You’d better let go,” Gwen says, as if she had any control here. “I mean it.”

Sister’s barking like crazy now, a growly sort of bark. Hollis is really hurting Gwen; it’s as if he wants to break her arm or something. Gwen can tell he wants her to give up, and maybe, if she were smarter, she would.

“Fuck you,” she says.

“Maybe what you need is a good spanking,” Hollis tells her. “Maybe that would solve the problem.”

When he grabs Gwen around the waist, Sister, who’s been darting closer and closer, goes for Hollis’s leg. The dog’s teeth don’t reach skin, but Hollis loosens his hold on Gwen so he can kick the terrier, who yowls and skitters off. Gwen breaks away and runs out of the house without thinking; luckily, the door flies open behind her and Sister can escape before it slams shut again.

As soon as she’s outside. Gwen is ru

She continues down Main Street, past the building where her grandfather Henry Murray used to have his offices, past the library and the Lyon Cafe. In Gwen’s opinion, the street where the Justices live is the prettiest in town; all the houses are white, and each yard is surrounded by a white fence. In the dark, the facades seem illuminated, as if starlight had been mixed in with the house paint. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be a girl in one of these houses, with real parents and a bedroom up on the second floor. She would have wallpaper then, and a closetful of clothes, and someone who knew what hour she came in at night.

Gwen goes up to the Justices’ front door, gathers her courage, and knocks.

“I really hate to bother you,” she says when the Judge opens the door. She has no idea that her eyes are bloodshot from crying. “Would you mind if I used your phone?” Shock has made her unbelievably polite.

“It’s March’s girl,” the Judge calls to Louise. He signals for Gwen to come inside, and once they’re in the parlor he studies her. Gwen places Sister on the floor, and the dog cowers behind her legs.

“Been out for a walk?” the Judge asks.

Gwen realizes how muddy her boots are. She sits on a couch and eases them off. “Sorry about the mess.” Her voice breaks then, and she has to look away.

Louise has come in from the kitchen and she and the Judge exchange a look.

“She wants to make a phone call,” the Judge tells Louise.

“Help yourself,” Louise says; then she guides the Judge into the kitchen to give Gwen some privacy. “What happened?” Louise asks him.

“Not the slightest idea.”

“It’s something to do with that man,” Louise decides. “You wait and see.”

Unfortunately, Gwen’s father isn’t home and she has to leave a message. She wants a plane ticket, which he can mail to the Justices’, to be sure it arrives safely. She loves him and misses him, and there’s nothing more to say.

“Did your phone call work out?” Louise Justice asks when Gwen comes into the kitchen, carrying her boots so she won’t track mud in, the little dog following close behind.

“Not exactly,” Gwen admits. “I might get some mail from my father delivered here, if that’s okay.”

“Perfectly fine,” Louise says, although she wonders why that would be.

Gwen sits at the table, which is already set for di

“Would you like to have di

Actually, she’d like to move in. She’d have first and then second helpings, with apple pie for dessert, then she’d go upstairs and sleep in the guest room, on clean white sheets, with the dog curled up beside her. The problem is her attachments, as if devotion were a downfall.

“I’d better head back,” Gwen says.

Louise Justice can’t help but think of that windy night, all those years ago, when she saw the bruises on Belinda’s arm.

“Well, you’re not walking,” Louise decides.

“Really, it’s not far,” Gwen insists, but the Judge, who’s come in for di