by Hannah West
SIX
Natalie Colter
ONE MONTH AND EIGHT DAYS UNTIL THE CLAIMING
My language intensified from uncouth to ungodly as I fought my way through after-church traffic.
Kate had finally texted me that morning. She apologized for missing my calls and asked if I could drive Avery to Emmy’s house on my way home from church. She needed a last-minute babysitter and knew I was already committed to the lake trip.
No problem, I responded. But I need to ask you about the journal from Miss Maggie when you have the time.
I don’t know much about it, but she’d adore a visit. She’s busy with the ladies’ luncheon and hosting a festival board meeting at her house today, but you could take Avery to see her when you work tomorrow.
With a sigh, I parked in front of Calvary Baptist to pick Avery up from Sunday school. The ambiance of the stately white church only added to the morbid tales about Malachi Rivers. The pews were rigid as soldiers, the carpet river-of-blood red, and everything creaked at the touch. A local wealthy architect had designed and donated this building after the second church building had met its demise by fire—a fire some said Malachi started. Reverend Rivers had reportedly found the Gothic Revival style of this new building gaudy, but he didn’t protest much, seeing as he got a free church and a newfangled indoor baptistery out of the deal.
Inside the foyer, I passed photographs of balding, bespectacled former pastors and spared only a glance for the sanctuary where mass murder had occurred. Twice. How did people attend services here like nothing had happened?
Fighting a shiver, I turned right at the end of the foyer. Through the open door of the fellowship hall, I saw women gathered around tables and heard Miss Maggie preparing to lead them in a prayer over their lunch.
Briefly, before she bowed her winter-white head, we locked gazes. She smiled, but her eyes were sharp as evergreen needles. Before, I’d thought of her as a sort of strict but doting fairy godmother figure. Now, I sensed an appraisal. By giving me that journal, she hoped something would change. What did she want from me? Could this venerated woman possibly be capable of evil? Poisoning wine? Sacrificing animals? Murder?
Screeches from the nearby nurseries scrambled my thoughts. When I reached the preschool room with the Noah’s Ark mural, the teacher sagged with relief. She already had Avery’s polka-dot backpack ready to go. “I’m so sorry,” she said, passing it over the gate.
“For what?” I asked. And then I saw Avery. Her glasses were streaked with silver paint. She wore spray-painted cardboard armor of God, complete with a sword of the Spirit. It was not a good idea to give Avery a weapon, even a flimsy one.
“We thought all the paint was dry before we gave them the armor,” the teacher said. “I tried, but I can’t get it off her glasses. Her parents are going to—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I promised.
She nodded, on the cusp of crying tears of relief. Bless her—one preschooler was more than enough responsibility for me.
“Looks like we’ll be throwing Emmy in the deep end,” I muttered as I helped a whining Avery buckle into the booster seat in the back of the gray truck I’d inherited from my dad, careful not to smash her breastplate of righteousness.
On the drive, I rolled down the windows to the let the sharp paint odor subside.
The Langfords lived on ample acreage along Midnight Road. Their house was idyllic, ivory with blue shutters and nestled near a rash of trees. I had visited once to tutor Emmy at Mr. Langford’s invitation, and once when Mom had enlisted me to help her group of parent volunteers make homecoming mums.
Avery dragged her feet as we mounted the porch steps. When I knocked, she pressed her face into the skirt of my yellow sundress.
Emmy answered the door, wearing a pink floral dress and a kind smile prettier than a strand of pearls. Her vibrant red hair framed a clear, pale face with full lips and pronounced cheekbones. She welcomed me with a hug, dainty as a bone china teacup, then clapped her hands on her knees. “Hi, Avery! Are you ready to have fun?”
Emmy offered her hand. I expected Avery to recoil in shyness, but after briefly scrunching up her features like a wrinkled tomato, she accepted.
“Would you mind taking her to wash her hands while I clean her glasses?” I asked, working them off Avery’s dark curls. “I’ll need cotton balls and pure acetone, if you have it. Nail polish remover will work fine if you don’t.”
“Sure thing! Follow me.”
The entryway split into a hallway and a staircase, with the dining room where I’d made mums to the right. A den to the left displayed a family picture over the fireplace. The coffee table held all sorts of gorgeous books: nature photography, architecture and design, illustrated poetry. I read a few titles as we passed a bookshelf running the length of the hallway wall. It seemed no topic failed to tickle the family’s intellectual fancy. You could see the passion for learning in their home the way you could smell Tex-Mex cooking regularly in mine.
Sporadic clanking welcomed us into the airy, sunlit kitchen. Where our house was usually messy with laundry and junk mail, the clutter here was books and cups of drying paintbrushes.
A dirt-streaked white tee, six inches of solid midriff, and a long pair of legs in fitted jeans stuck out from the cabinet under the kitchen sink.
I felt a pinch behind my navel. How cruel of Levi to be handy with tools and look good wielding them when I already had the memory of his lips on mine to think about. This just seemed excessive.
“Levi, do we have any pure acetone?” Emmy asked. Levi paused in the middle of twisting something with a wrench to grope through the displaced cleaning products.
I was closest to him, so I took the bottle with a peppy, “Thanks!”
His face emerged from the shadows. “Oh hey, Nat. Thanks for helping Emmy get a job.”
“I was about to work at Country Catfish Buffet,” Emmy said.
“Refill girl?” I asked, depositing Avery’s backpack on the counter. Emmy nodded. “That job’s always open. I tried it for a week and nearly got clawed to death every time I rang the fresh catfish bell. Babysitting saved me from that dangerous lifestyle.”
“I know! And I don’t like that they only hire girls and make them wear tiny cutoff jean shorts.” Emmy made a face at Avery, who giggled in response. “Come on, we’ll go get the cotton balls.”
Emmy led Avery down the hall, leaving Levi and me alone in the kitchen.
“Would you mind turning on the faucet so I can check for leaks?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Tiptoeing through the bottles, I edged along his body. The easiest way to reach the faucet would be to plant one foot on either side of his torso, but I considered myself a lady. Instead, I reached diagonally across the counter to make an awkward grab for the gleaming new handle. “You weren’t kidding about your family putting you to work,” I said over the rushing water.
“Sadly, no,” he said, in a tone that betrayed how much he didn’t mind being needed. “But I should have been doing this stuff all year. It’s my fault. You can turn it off now. Thanks.”
I did as he requested and stepped away, giving him room to negotiate his way out of the cabinet. He stood, tugging the hem of his shirt back to his waistline. The “howdy” grin he gave me was a little cockeyed, as modest as it was self-assured. Turning his sweaty back to me, he scraped gray putty from around the edges of the new faucet. I studied Avery’s lenses, testing the paint with a scrape of my thumbnail just to have something to do.
Avery sped into the kitchen ahead of Emmy, as giddy as if she’d found a pile of presents waiting on her birthday.
“Somebody’s in a good mood today,” I teased. “But Miss Emmy’s about to see what it’ll take to earn her keep. It’s medicine time.”
Avery moaned as I dug out a package of cookies and the bubble-gum-flavored allergy medicine. “Do you want to give it to her?” I asked Emmy as I measured it out. “She gets a cookie if she doesn’t try to knoc
k the cup out of your hands, two if she doesn’t whine at all. She rarely gets two cookies.”
Emmy took the cup of pink liquid and sniffed it. “Mmm, smells good,” she said exaggeratedly. Avery pursed her lips with the “you shall not pass” expression I knew well.
“I have to take medicine, too,” Emmy said. “But mine doesn’t taste nearly this yummy. If you don’t take it, I sure will.”
Like I hadn’t tried that one before. But Avery tilted her head back so Emmy could pour the syrup in her mouth. The little punk swallowed and licked her lips, conveniently deciding it might not be poisonous swamp muck. I surrendered the cookies. “I stand corrected.”
“Can I take her out to the tire swing?” Emmy asked.
“Tire swing!” Avery repeated, her mouth coated in wet cookie crumbles.
“Sure, I’ll bring her glasses out when I’m done. Just remember that she can’t see much.”
The back door banged shut behind Emmy and Avery as they crossed the green lawn. Levi leaned against the counter and wiped his hands on a rag, his pensive features directed at the floor.
The spray paint came off easily, and soon Avery’s glasses were so clean the lenses sparkled. Levi stood there, absentmindedly brushing the calluses on his hands.
“Guess I should bring these out,” I said. “I need to go get ready for the lake trip.”
“Do you want water or coffee before you go?” he asked, remembering his manners. “I just made a fresh pot.”
“Water would be great,” I said. Or a cold shower.
Levi filled a glass from the cabinet and handed it to me. I tried not to notice the tips of his warm fingers brushing mine.
“You know, your mom doesn’t seem like the type to display human sexuality books on the shelves in her entryway,” I said.
A laugh shook his chest. Something about the sound warmed me, like hearing the first Christmas song of the winter season on the radio. “Those were my dad’s. It would probably embarrass her that you noticed. You want to see something even more surprising?”
I couldn’t help but grin at the mischievous lift of his brow. “Of course.”
He jerked his head. I followed him back to the front of the house. As we passed the den with the family portrait, I stared at the image of Mr. Langford. The red hair had skipped a generation—Levi’s dad had had hickory brown hair and a beard of the same color—but his hazel eyes and height matched Levi’s exactly. The seniors at San Solano High had all adored Mr. Langford’s gregarious personality, poetic spirit, and participation-based grading system. Last year, I’d looked forward to being in his class.
Levi led me upstairs to a study with an oak desk and hundreds of books on the built-in shelves. The attic door on the far side of the room stood open, boxes scattered in front of it.
“I started cleaning out the attic and found some of my parents’ old stuff.” Weaving through the boxes, he reached behind the desk to retrieve a large canvas. “Imagine Jennifer Langford, small-town realtor, volunteer Baptist event coordinator, and”—he flipped it over—“painter of nudes.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp-turned-laugh. It was a respectable work of art, an impressionistic flurry of bright strokes and shapes, but still a graphic depiction of two naked bodies.
“And look at this one.” He set it down and hurried to grab another. The dewy, pale smudges made up a woman in the nude.
“Wow,” I said. “They’re beautiful.”
“I always knew she liked to paint and do crafts, but I didn’t know she was this talented.”
“Are these your dad’s books?” I asked, gesturing around.
“Yeah.” Levi lifted his eyes to the shelves. A number of emotions, dark and peaceful, coexisted effortlessly in that expression. Again, I felt as if I had seen something too intimate for words, glimpsed it through a window before getting a chance to knock on the door.
An empty feeling of loss overcame me as I thought of Grandma Kerry. I wanted answers about the mark under her bed, her writing in that
book.
I walked to the window facing the backyard and looked outside. Avery was a smiling blur on the tire swing.
Noticing a book of Pablo Neruda poems sitting spine-up on the window seat, I brushed the title. “Was this one of his favorites?”
“One of many,” Levi said. “When I was nine, he found me reading that and put it in the restricted section.” He pointed to the top shelf. I wouldn’t be able to it reach it, but grown-up Levi wouldn’t even have to stretch.
A stack of old photographs lay on a cardboard box nearby. I set down the book and picked up the top picture of familiar young women sitting on a porch. “Hey, that’s my grandma!”
Levi moved close behind me. He smelled like sweat, in a good way. I flashed back to after the kiss, hoping he would call me, wondering if he would come home during fall break, scolding myself into getting over him when he didn’t show up during winter break. It was easy now to remember why I’d hoped.
“I think Miss Maggie gave that to my mom when she was making a history exhibit for last year’s Heritage Festival,” he said, and I felt his deep voice near me. “My mom didn’t end up using it because of the cigarettes.”
I checked the date written on the back—1970—and studied the image more closely. The colors were bright but tinged with the faded yellow of early color photographs. Fair-haired Kerry sat on a lawn chair in a red floral dress with a collar and long sleeves, casually holding a cigarette, her bare toes dug in the grass. The other wore a green polka-dot skirt with a ruffled white blouse, and her chestnut hair was neatly smoothed back by a white headband. Her round, kindly eyes smiled as she took a drag from her cigarette. My fingers went stiff. “Is that Miss Maggie with my grandma? I didn’t know they were friends.”
“Really?” Levi asked, surprised.
I looked up at him, mentally stiff-arming my appreciation for his shapely lips and the dust of light freckles beneath his tan so I could focus. “Don’t you think that’s odd? I never even saw my grandma talk to her.”
He gave me a curious look, narrowing his eyes as though I’d said something strange. “It’s been more than fifty years. Maybe they drifted apart.”
“Maybe,” I agreed quietly, thinking of the secret journal in my desk drawer at home.
A feral screech drew us both to the window. “Better go check on them. Can I borrow this?”
“Be my guest.” Levi gestured for me to exit the study first. I slipped the photo into the pocket of my sundress and jogged downstairs, his clunky footsteps right behind. The screeching grew louder as we rounded the corner into the kitchen and burst through the back door.
“Is she hurt?” I made a mad dash to the tire swing.
“No, I just told her that a rhyme she heard wasn’t a nice thing to repeat,” Emmy said, sounding distressed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I wiped the tears off Avery’s face so I could work the pink glasses back over her head. “Did you say something that wasn’t nice to Miss Emmy?”
After palming away another tear, she clapped her hands together and recited, with hand motions, “Here’s the church, here’s the steeple, lock the doors, and kill all the people.”
She laughed hysterically. I’d seen enough horror movies that the twisted nursery rhyme made goose bumps prickle down my legs.
“Avery, Miss Emmy is in charge of you now. If she says you’re not allowed to do something, you have to obey her or there will be consequences. Do you understand?”
Circling her toes on the grass, Avery nodded.
“Are you sure it’s okay if I watch her today?” Emmy asked.
“You’ll be fine,” I assured her. “She likes you! And you can text me if you need anything.”
The back door swung open and Mrs. Langford appeared on the porch. Tall and elegant with a glossy, highlighted bob, she looked like someone who had it all together. Her summery blouse was tucked into slacks and to
pped by a linen blazer. “Hello, Natalie,” she called. I thought I could see her features chill slowly, like lukewarm water poured over ice.
“Hi, Mrs. Langford.”
An uncomfortable silence yawned. As a ritual, even unexpected visits in San Solano were met with an offer of sweet tea.
Did she disapprove of me? I glanced down at my dress. It was shorter than the school dress code had allowed, but not short enough to advertise the goods.
“Well, I guess I’d better go,” I said, and looked at Levi. “See you at the lake?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you there.”
“We’ll walk you out,” Emmy offered, taking Avery’s hand again.
The glass outer door had already shut behind Mrs. Langford. Emmy chatted aimlessly as we walked up the porch steps and into the kitchen. Levi traipsed behind us.
“Have a good day, Natalie,” Mrs. Langford said, her statuesque cheek bones looking somehow cruel even as they participated in a soft smile. No “you’re welcome any time” or “tell your mom I said hello.”
“Bye, Mrs. Langford,” I replied, attempting to sound unfazed. As Emmy led me to the front door, I overheard Levi and his mom whispering in the kitchen. Emmy was busy talking to Avery and didn’t notice this not-so-discreet conversation.
“I told you to discourage Emmy from taking that job,” I could hear Mrs. Langford say.
“What was I supposed to say? That certain people are off-limits?”
Off-limits? Who did Levi mean? Certainly not Kate—she had babysat Levi and Emmy when she was a teenager. The Langfords were close to Miss Maggie, too.
But that left only me. Did Mrs. Langford know about the kiss? Did she wrongfully think I would get her son into trouble, or hear a fabricated rumor about me being promiscuous? She didn’t seem to fit the holier-than-thou, premarital purity–obsessed profile, but I couldn’t think of another explanation. Except the ancient drama between Lillian and Malachi.
Lillian and Malachi. I remembered the photograph of Miss Maggie and my grandma in my pocket and itched to have another look.