“Show him what?”
“That a name was just a name. That there wasn’t anything weak about him.” He repositioned himself against the wall. “You know, he glanced at me that day. Right when he told me to go wash up for dinner. He smirked. I think it was that day that he started to know.”
“Know what?”
“That I really was his son.”
Anna Belle nestled into his shoulder, and he welcomed her body warmth. “Your mother saved all the newspaper articles. All those headlines about you beating sickness and accidents and such.”
“I threw the box in the trash after she died,” he said. “What of’m?”
“Gabriel got them out of the trash. She looks at them still. She carries a torch for you, Ellsworth. I think we all have at some point.” They let that sink in, and then Anna Belle went on: “Bellhaven boy survives polio. Bellhaven boy miraculously defeats cancer. Bellhaven boy nearly drowns in lake but survives. Bellhaven boy overcomes the flu with little treatment. Bellhaven pitcher catches a ball to the face and returns to the mound in weeks.”
“Anna Belle, stop.”
“Bellhaven man strikes out Babe Ruth on three consecutive pitches. Bellhaven boy survives typhus; doctors befuddled. Bellhaven resident one of only two survivors in Georgia train derailment.”
“Anna Belle, I’ve seen all the headlines. Stop now.”
“You took that blow to the head the night of the fire and barely wobbled. You went into the burning town hall and came out untouched.” Her voice accelerated. “That bomb that took your leg killed the other five men around you. Tanner stabbed you in the heart, and you’re right here holding me.”
“Anna Belle . . .”
“I don’t think you can be killed, Ellsworth.” Her words were a slap to the face. He’d thought them before but had never heard them aloud. “Your father was your father. He was wrong not to believe your mother; other men thought sterile have fathered children. Anyway, you’ve ended up looking just like him. He may not have believed in miracles, but I do.”
Raphael squirmed outside the bars, repositioned himself, and resumed sleeping.
“I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck,” said Ellsworth.
“That I didn’t know.”
“They said my face was blue as a summer sky and I wasn’t breathing.”
She nodded; he was proving her point.
“The military doc told me I’d lose my leg from the knee down but feared I wouldn’t live through the procedure. I laughed at him. He asked what was funny, and I said life was funny. He said I was delirious. I closed my eyes and told him to start sawing.” He rubbed her arm and sank his chin back into her hair. “The other side has been trying to kill me since before I was born, Anna Belle. I’m not gonna dust out now.”
“He’s brought in guns, Ellsworth. Crates full of them.”
“I’ll protect this town.”
“Ellsworth, do you really think . . . that Eliza was some kind of guardian angel? And that you’re . . . ?”
He rubbed her arm. “I don’t know exactly what I am, Anna Belle. I’m just a man holding a woman, and right now we need to get some sleep.”
CHAPTER 25
Ellsworth awoke to sunlight and the flutter of bird wings.
At first he thought he was inside the chapel again, but then his eyes took in iron bars and broken bricks, the morning sun streaming in through the damaged jailhouse. Two redbirds flew from wall to wall.
He jerked up to a sitting position. Anna Belle? The door to the cell was open, lodged against the set of bulky keys she’d dropped upon her escape. He stood too fast and stumbled against the cell wall, his prosthesis only half attached. He secured it and hurried from the jailhouse. She’d better not have gone back into the woods—or to the yellow house. How could he have fallen asleep with the keys latched to his belt? How could he have trusted her?
He squinted against the sunlight and limped across the gravel road. Men and women, some of them strangers and some town folk, sat outside the town hall sipping coffee. Watching him, their supposed leader, stumble by hatless and with hair askew, covered with dust.
Omar was still at Ellsworth’s, leaning against a veranda post with his legs crossed at the ankles and holding a rifle as he stared up the hill toward Eddington’s house. There was no pipe in the mouth slit this morning, only focused eyes shining like wet coal behind the white mask.
“Dem good mornin’, Ellsworth.” Omar tipped his topper, a white fedora with a red silk band around it. It matched his suit, which was white and striped with threads of red.
Ellsworth smelled food. Omar’s men sat along the veranda with steaming plates on their laps, taking in the Bellhaven air as azaleas bloomed purple and pink in the flower bed beneath their feet. Their eyes moved back and forth from their food to the armed men atop the hill, dozens dressed in suits, button-downs, and suspenders. Mayor Bellhaven stood front and center with his eyes shaded by the brim of a bowler hat.
“Been standin’ der all mornin’ like dat, our mayor.”
“Where’s Anna Belle? Have you seen her?”
Omar smiled under the mask. “Relax, Ellsworth.” He nodded toward the house. “Whey you t’ink dem food come from?”
Of course. He let out a deep breath, eyed the full plates. Bacon and eggs. Biscuits and buttermilk gravy. Skillet potatoes and buttered grits. Only Anna Belle could have conjured up such a spread on little notice. He opened the screen door and found Alfred in his chair by the window, listening to the static of a newly repaired radio and mumbling about Linda May.
In the kitchen Uriel sat at the table with his back and shoulder bandaged. Gabriel was next to Raphael, both eating. Anna Belle stood at the stove, dressed to the nines in a pretty yellow dress that brushed past her knees. Her hair was done up in curls, and her smile showed fight. How could he have doubted her? But maybe she went into the woods and came back with the energy to feed a town. But he didn’t think so. Her eyes showed clarity, not guilt. She was cooking to stay occupied. Cooking so that she wouldn’t go into the woods.
Ellsworth hugged her and she didn’t give him brushback. “Welcome back, Anna Belle,” he said.
She smiled, patted his hand. “You stink, Ellsworth.”
Belly full and face fresh from the blade, Ellsworth checked himself in Eliza’s vanity mirror and straightened the lapels on his coat. He slanted his fedora—the look of a leader.
He met Anna Belle at his car and tossed her the keys. Gabriel, along with Omar and his men, was in charge of the town while they sneaked into Charleston. Father Radkin had been a priest at the cathedral when Ellsworth’s father died on the steps years before, and, according to Father Timothy, he was now in his eighties and in failing health. They’d told Father Timothy that Radkin possibly knew about the chapel, so he’d insisted on going with them.
Ellsworth checked his timepiece. Father Timothy was five minutes late, and he’d only give him five more. He didn’t like the idea of leaving town in the first place and was in a hurry to get back. He pulled a cigarette from the case inside his coat and offered Anna Belle one. They smoked side by side, leaning against the hood of the Model T. Ellsworth watched her red lips pucker against the thin butt.
“Eliza was seeing a doctor in Charleston,” he said. “She kept it secret from me, but I read it in her diary. A Dr. Blackburn? Do you know anything about it?”
Anna Belle flicked ash to the gravel. “Do you remember her headaches?”
“How can I not?”
“Do you know when they started?”
“The first one I knew of was a week after I met her, after the train wreck. It really scared me. She told me she’d been having them for years and not to fret about it. So no, I can’t pinpoint it.”
Anna Belle exhaled smoke. “After she moved here, they grew a lot worse, a lot more frequent.”
“I tried to get her to go see a doctor about them, and apparently she did. But why’d she keep it a secret from me?”
/> Anna Belle dropped her cigarette to the gravel and ground it under the flat of her black shoe. “She had one of those tumors, Ellsworth. In the brain. Dr. Blackburn told her it would kill her. He gave her months, a year if she was lucky. But she didn’t want to tell you because she was afraid that if you knew you would stop your baseball training. It put me behind the eight ball. I wanted to tell you, but I promised her I wouldn’t.”
“Do you think the tumor had something to do with the voice that she’d hear?”
“Dr. Blackburn believed so.”
“But Eliza?”
Anna Belle touched the dewy violet bloom of a rhododendron next to the driveway and then wiped the moisture on her dress. “She believed the voice was genuine. And I do too.”
Ellsworth finished his cigarette and dropped it to the gravel. “She wrote about a miracle. Something even this Dr. Blackburn didn’t understand?”
“The tumor started to shrink, Ellsworth. I think it had something to do with going to the chapel. The tumor had all but vanished by the time we had our last town-hall party.”
“I don’t know, Anna Belle. I don’t think the chapel can work that way.”
“Then what?”
“Something tells me that tumor could have started shrinking about the time she started watching over Raphael.” He checked the time again. “If Father Timothy doesn’t—”
“I’m here, alas!” The priest arrived with an envelope and something shiny and mechanical wrapped in a leather case.
Ellsworth asked, “What do you have there, Father?”
Father Timothy climbed in the back and closed the door. “One of those snapshot cameras. Thirty-five millimeter. Simplex. Much smaller than those clunky Kodak Brownies.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Anna Belle slid into the driver’s seat while Ellsworth moved to the front to crank the engine. The old car sputtered and caught, then finally settled into an asthmatic rumble as Ellsworth opened the front passenger door and climbed in. He reached over the seat for Father Timothy’s camera and pointed it at Anna Belle as she began to back out of the driveway. “Smile.”
Anna Belle braked the car and smiled, toothy.
“Say prunes,” said Father Timothy.
“Prunes,” said Anna Belle, attempting to hold on to the smile.
By the time the picture took, the smile had left her face, which was why in most portraits the posers were asked not to smile in the first place. It was too hard to hold it for as long as the exposure took. Better to not smile at all than get caught in between.
Ellsworth handed the camera back to Father Timothy and pointed down the road in the opposite direction of the avenue of oaks, where the main entrance to the town was still clogged with vehicles. They’d take the back roads out of town. Anna Belle kept both hands on the wheel, more comfortable driving now. Ellsworth looked over the seat back. “What’s in the envelope, Father?”
“Ah, yes. The reason I was running late.” He opened the flap and removed a thin stack of photographs. I just got these developed. It’s like magic. Jeremy Post down the road can do it in his barn. He has a self-made darkroom behind the chicken coop.”
Ellsworth leafed through the snapshots. “The chapel?”
“I’d like to show them to Father Radkin. I took them days ago but only just now had a chance to see them developed. Keep looking.”
Anna Belle kept her eyes on the road but glanced at the pictures when she could. There were several snapshots of the woods leading to the clearing. Five pictures of the clearing itself from several different angles. Ten pictures of the chapel’s exterior from every viewpoint, even from the opposite side of the creek behind it. The beauty of the place was still evident in black-and-white. The next snapshot was an up-close image of the arched wooden door. The one after that was of a bleak darkness, as if a cover had been left over the camera lens and the picture didn’t take at all.
Father Timothy leaned forward, patted Ellsworth’s shoulder. “Those I took from inside the chapel. The statues. The mosaic floor. The reliefs. The stained-glass windows. They didn’t develop at all.”
Ellsworth had walked ten paces down Broad Street before Father Timothy asked if he was heeled. He pulled his coat aside to reveal the revolver at his waistline. Out of respect for Charleston’s mother church, Father Timothy recommended he not enter the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist with his Smith & Wesson. Ellsworth returned the revolver to the Model T and stashed it under the passenger seat.
“Sorry, Father.”
Father Timothy waved it away, then led them into the shadows of the Gothic brownstone cathedral on Broad Street. “I’ve met Father Radkin numerous times. He’s a kind man. Ailing, but still mindful.”
Ellsworth paused on the front steps, pinpointing the exact spot where his father had collapsed and died, thinking he had an unfaithful wife. The doors were heavy. The nave still took his breath away, with its soaring columns and bright colorful light. Stained-glass windows. The rose window coat of arms surrounding the main doors. The Gallery of Saints. The chancel window above the high altar. St. John the Baptist baptizing Jesus with the Holy Spirit above and angels playing musical instruments. The replica of da Vinci’s Last Supper.
Ellsworth hadn’t been inside the cathedral since his mother died. He’d missed the tall walls and vaulted ceiling. Their footsteps echoed.
Father Radkin sat slump-shouldered in the front pew facing the marble altar. His hair was white as cotton. Instead of the colorful vestments he wore ceremonially, he now wore a simple black shirt and clerical collar.
Father Timothy genuflected before sliding into the pew behind Father Radkin. Ellsworth and Anna Belle genuflected, too, even though Anna Belle wasn’t Catholic. Father Timothy hurried through the formalities and introductions. Father Radkin already knew who Ellsworth was—the son of the man who’d died on the front steps during his first year at the cathedral.
Father Radkin looked over his shoulder with rheumy eyes and white hair. “What can I do for you, Michael?” His voice was brittle but still penetrated the empty cathedral.
“I actually go by Ellsworth now, sir.”
The old priest faced forward again, his smile obvious enough. “Sir?”
“I mean Father.”
“That will do, but I’d answer to Francis all the same.”
Ellsworth scooted forward, handed him the pictures. “I don’t have a lot of time. Strange things are happening in Bellhaven. The town folk have . . . well, they’ve gone off the tracks. There’s a chapel in the woods. From the outside it looks plain, but inside—well, the artwork, it reminds me a little of this cathedral. My late wife, Eliza Newberry—I believe she visited you years back.”
Father Radkin nodded but offered nothing. He handed back the pictures after barely glancing at them. Ellsworth looked at Father Timothy and Anna Belle on either side of him. “We were hoping you could tell us what you know about this chapel. Before the town rips itself apart.”
Anna Belle said, “There’s been vandalism. Crimes of vengeance and intolerance. And people are starting to arm themselves. We’re worried there might be more violence.”
Father Radkin bowed his head. “I shall pray today for the town of Bellhaven.”
“Do you know about this chapel?” asked Ellsworth.
The priest’s head bobbed as if palsied. “Stay out of the Bellhaven woods.”
“So you fear those woods too?”
Without turning around, Father Radkin held up a dismissive hand. He slid to his knees and bowed his head.
Outside, a cloud must have revealed the sun. A beam of light shone through the stained-glass windows and cast a rainbow across the pews surrounding the central aisle. A shaft of clean blue light reflected up the steps to the altar.
By then the three of them had already slid from the pew, and Father Timothy was inches away from placing his hand on the old man’s shoulder to thank him for his time.
“Wait,” said Father Radkin, staring at the blue
light on the altar. “Wait. Sit back down. Please.” He turned slowly toward Ellsworth. He took the blue light as a sign. He can see my color.
“I will tell you what I know.” The old man closed his eyes. When he opened them they were more alert, his voice stronger. “If what you say is true, it is my duty now as a servant of the Lord to help out however I may.”
“Thank you, Father Radkin.”
The grin again. “At this point, Michael, I believe I’d rather you call me Francis. That’s what the demons inside that yellow house on the hill called me.” Father Timothy put a fist to his mouth. Anna Belle’s eyes grew large. “I was newly ordained at the time,” said the priest, “and stationed at St. Patrick’s. I sometimes spend time on Sullivan’s Island, which is where Henry Bellhaven found me in the summer of 1870. He begged me to come to Bellhaven. Pleaded. His wife and children were sick.” He pointed an arthritic finger to his temple. “Not sick with disease, but sick in the mind. Henry told me I had to see it in person.
“I followed the man to Bellhaven. He went silent as our carriage stopped at the top of the hill. Once inside that yellow house, it soon became evident that something was amiss. Something . . . demonic. A swarm of big black flies buzzed throughout the building. ‘We kill them by the dozens,’ Henry Bellhaven told me, ‘but they still keep coming back.’”
“They were so loud I had to cover my ears. First he showed me his wife, Mary, upstairs in the bedroom. He opened the door and a suffocating heat come out. She looked up from the bed, eyes bulging. She hissed something at me in a demonic language and then . . .”
Ellsworth put his hand on Father Radkin’s shoulder.
Father Radkin found strength. “God strike me down, but Mary Bellhaven levitated above the bed. Two, three feet, and then four, the bedcovers coming right up with her like the skirt around a stage. She laughed. But it wasn’t her. It was dark and from the gutter. She—it—told me to get out. Once we were out in the hall, the bedroom door slammed shut. A candle sconce on the wall flickered out and then relit itself as I passed.”
All Things Bright and Strange Page 25