Once Upon an Equinox

by Dovie Ruth

  Delaney sat bolt upright in bed as if the bony had had emitted an electric shock. “Who’s there?” she screamed. Instinctively, she folded her own hands over her chest -- over the place she was certain Mavis had touched. Her skin smoldered with humiliation and fear. “Where are you?” she demanded as she swung her focus from door to window to door. All were shut tight.

  Mavis was nowhere to be seen – at least not in her physical form.

  Delaney was certain her body had been touched by her creepy hostess. She had felt the physical pressure of the woman’s pasty white hand. It had felt more real than if it happened in broad daylight. And she felt so violated. Delaney hugged her rounded tummy. A fluttering inside let her know that little Samuel was still all right. “I am so sorry, baby.” She burrowed under the covers and rocked them both to sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The morning sun rose softly over the distant mountain range.

  Delaney turned in her bed. She smelled something warm and delicious wafting from the kitchen. Some sort of baked good. She was starving. After tying her robe around her ever-expanding waist, she waddled off toward the beckoning aroma of goodness and sanity. She didn’t bother to stop at the bathroom or run a brush through her hair. She really didn’t care if Mavis saw her looking unkempt. Perhaps it would back make her off.

  A basket full of warm homemade biscuits sat on the kitchen counter nestled in a tea towel. A tub of butter and a small glass bowl of orange marmalade had been placed close at hand. Coffee had been made and was still warm.

  There were no immediate signs of Mavis. From the look of the saucer next to the sink, she had already eaten a biscuit or two.

  Scowling a bit, Delaney nosed around the room. She was grateful for the biscuits, but needed some protein for her growing babe. The stove top was empty and cold. There was no breakfast food warming in the oven. There wasn’t even any milk in the refrigerator. Occasional spells of dizziness threatened to overtake her. Delaney prayed she could get into town for some nutritious food before she passed out.

  Delaney didn’t want to be rude and eat without Mavis, but she and Samuel could wait no longer. Ravenous, Delaney attacked the biscuits.

  Delaney’s bedroom didn’t seem as menacing by the light of day as it had in the middle of the night. Nevertheless, she dressed and began to pack her belongings. She had to figure out a way to leave with grace, and most importantly, with the life of her child.

  The mother-to-be scolded herself. She was embarrassed by the bad thoughts she was harboring about her hostess. But without proper nutrition, it was difficult to think. Besides, Mavis had meant no harm. There was a chance she just didn’t have any experience catering to the needs of an expectant mother.

  Delaney nibbled on her last protein bar. As she savored the final bite, she gazed out the back picture window. She had hoped to enjoy that view of paradise for three days.

  She eyed the French doors for the umpteenth time. This time, however, they triggered a sudden realization in her distressed psyche. The beautiful pair of doors Miss Beasom had noted in her brochure as an attractive private entrance could also be used as an escape route.

  Delaney began making plans to set her getaway in motion. On the far edge of the deck was a wooden staircase that descended to ground level. She would drive her Mustang around the cabin and park there. It would only take a few minutes to carry her suitcase and satchel through the French doors. From there, she could walk down the stairs and stow her belongings in the trunk. In no time, she would be motoring down Mineral King Road.

  If luck was with her, Delaney wouldn’t even have to say goodbye to Mavis. As far as Delaney was concerned, Miss Beasom could choke on that witch manuscript. She had a backup copy at home.

  With a start, Delaney saw the picture window for what it really was – a bare piece of glass with no curtain. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed the lack of a privacy screen the night before. Or maybe she had.

  In the distance – almost to the canyon’s sharp edge – Delaney spied a murder of crows. They made ragged swoops through the misty morning air, then landed on the bare branches of a tall oak. Beneath them, the top of a straw hat bobbled along, barely visible amid the overgrowth. Mavis appeared to be gathering and stacking firewood. It was odd she hadn’t brought a cart or a pickup truck along to tote the dead branches home.

  In Delaney’s estimation, she had the perfect opportunity to escape. She would be able to load up her car and be down the road before Mavis was able to reach the cabin on foot.

  “If she even bothers …” Delaney mumbled as she dressed in a dotted Swiss blouse and a denim skirt with a ruffled hem. She smirked as she slipped on a pair of flat sandals. “Mavis will probably be glad I’m gone.”

  Delaney made sure her private exit onto the deck was unlocked. Then she turned to exit the house through the front door since that was where her car was parked. Her bags were already packed and on the bed. She took one last glance out of the back window. Delaney needed to reassure herself that Mavis was still out in the bushes stacking wood.

  “Okay, Samuel,” she whispered as she stroked her tummy. “Are you ready to get the heck out of here?” Delaney grabbed her keys, then moved with purpose down the hall, out the front door, and toward her car. Even though it had been out in the storm all night, it didn’t look any worse for the wear. “Right now, I wish you weren’t such a bright sparkly red,” she informed her prized Mustang. “Mavis is probably going to see us making our break.”

  Delaney wedged her thick tummy behind the steering wheel and was grateful when her car roared to life. She popped the Mustang into gear and followed a paved drive, which circled around to the back of the cabin. She located the short flight of steps ascending to the deck and parked her car at its base.

  Delaney wanted to take the wooden stairs two at a time. She was already feeling a little guilty, though, about what she'd already put her poor son through. Instead, she was careful where she put her feet and only carried one bag at a time to the trunk of her car. She paused each time she reached the top of the stairway and confirmed Miss Beasom’s whereabouts. Her hostess was still gathering and stacking wood.

  Once the last load was in the car, Delaney slammed the trunk of her Mustang. Then she wedged herself behind the steering wheel, and prepared for her getaway. The ignition responded without delay. Delaney backed her car twenty feet or so, spun the wheels, then aimed for the front entrance. “Or maybe the only entrance,” Delaney noted. She wasn’t aware of any other roads that left the property.

  The long driveway was still wet from the torrential rain the night before. Puddles of standing water stretched like a land of lakes along the graveled route. Delaney drove in slow crooked curves along its length, avoiding the deeper holes. Her heart pounded like a metronome. She wanted to push the accelerator all the way to the floor. She wanted to leave The Tilted Plume far behind her like a forgotten story.

  A rivulet of tears began to seep down each of her creamy cheeks. Delaney didn’t know whether to feel angry, disappointed, or just plain sad. The writers’ retreat had been a bust. What would she tell Chad?

  Perhaps things would have been better if the other guests had shown up. Or had her fellow students even existed at all?

  A tiny part of Delaney’s heart felt sorry for Mavis. She was out at the edge of a remote canyon -- all by her lonesome – and now, Delaney was leaving her, too.

  Delaney’s empathy lasted until she arrived at the heavy cattle gate. It was chained and padlocked shut.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Curse that witch! Delaney hissed.

  Mavis had completed a whole list of chores before the sun rose in the sky. Locking the front gate was just one of them.

  Delaney nosed her Mustang up to the gate and slid out of her seat with a certain lack of grace. Her white sandals sunk a bit into the wet ground. She rattled the lock and chain on the gate, hoping the clasp would come loose. When it became apparent to Delaney that she was a captive, she rest
ed her head against the massive wooden gate post and sobbed.

  The roar of an engine and the squeal of brakes broke her fugue.

  “Delaney!”

  Delaney turned to face her teacher. “Yes?” she whimpered.

  “Where are you going?” Mavis flailed her long arms. Her right hand clung to Delaney’s manuscript envelope.

  “Oh, just to the convenience store.” Delaney tried to sound innocent.

  Mavis stepped up to the Mustang and peered inside. “With that baby quilt?” she scoffed as her black eyes lit on the passenger seat. “Besides, I saw you loading your luggage into the trunk.”

  Delaney took a deep sharp breath. She felt as if she had been shot in the heart.

  “I know why you’re leaving!”

  “You do?” Delaney’s voice cracked. She was still reeling from the vivid dream she’d had about Mavis the night before. Or was it really a dream? She had distinctly felt her teacher’s hand resting between her breasts while she slept. She wondered if Mavis read minds as well.

  Mavis stood tall and shook the manuscript envelope at her mutinous student. “You’re afraid to hear what I have to say about this! You just can’t stand the heat!”

  “I just want to talk to my husband.”

  “Your husband knows you are just fine.” Miss Beasom lowered her pointed jaw. “He called again this morning while you were fast asleep.”

  Delaney’s eyes flashed with the intensity of a cornered animal. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Mavis gave her student an amused look. “I thought you came up here to write. And now all you can think about is going home. How do you expect to become an author that way?”

  Delaney weighed her options. As it stood, her Mustang was wedged between a locked cattle gate and Miss Beasom’s Land Cruiser. There was no going forward or backward.

  Mavis continued her rant as she shook the envelope containing her pupil’s manuscript. “Your characters have no motivation here. It’s just a strange family. All they do is sit around a kitchen table reading tarot cards.”

  “Their neighbor has just been murdered,” Delaney argued. “They are trying to figure out who did it.”

  The tall romance novelist clucked her tongue against the roof of her bony mouth. “That – young lady – is not a normal family.”

  “Well, who wants to read about the boring families?” Delaney mumbled under her breath.

  “What?” Mavis snapped.

  “They are trying to solve their friend’s murder – not to mention protect themselves.”

  “Using tarot cards and mediums?” Mavis scoffed. “In a town called Roughneck? Unbelievable!”

  Delaney glared at her critic. “Have you ever been there?”

  “And this murder victim of yours – a deranged spinster who hires a w –”

  Mavis could not pry the word witch from her angry tongue. Instead, she danced around like a black shapeshifter performing the Tarantella.

  Delaney studied the agitated crone. She didn’t want to mention the word witch, either, for fear of what her teacher might do.

  The towering pedant pointed at her student with an elongated finger. “Your characters should be scrambling to survive.”

  “They are,” Delaney argued.

  “No! That’s not what I mean!” Mavis retorted. “The other day I was reading about two young girls in the newspaper. Someone had abducted them.” Mavis gripped Delaney’s envelope until it crumpled. Her voice rose like the wailing of peacocks in a dark wilderness. “Those two little girls were assaulted! They were assaulted! And they did everything within their power to survive.”

  Delaney backed away from the histrionic woman.

  “They survived! Mavis screamed so hard her torso gyrated. “They survived!”

  Delaney jammed her key into lock on the passenger side door of her sports car. She pulled out her backpack, her purse, a few bottles of water – and last but not least -- the blessed baby quilt. She wasn’t leaving The Tilted Plume without it.

  Mavis’s black eyebrows bent upward like two rafters hovering above a pair of broken windows. “What are you doing?” Her tone made it clear she expected an answer.

  Delaney averted her eyes from Miss Beasom’s gesticulating hands. She felt no obligation to share her plans with the demanding woman. She might not be able to go through or climb over the metal cattle gate, but she could certainly go around it. Without any further ado, she stepped along the length of the barbed wire fence bordering the property. On the other side was the twisted road she had followed to come to the retreat.

  Delaney found a section where the wires were spaced far enough apart to squeeze her belly through. “Oh, darn!” she grumbled as she felt a barb grab the ruffle of her skirt and produce a tear. She lifted the hem to inspect the damage. She was relieved to find the gash wasn’t anything that was going to prevent her from walking back down Mineral King Road. It didn't matter that her white sandals were already filled with mud and grit.

  Delaney had decided she wasn’t going to spend one more night under the same roof with Mavis Beasom.

  “Are you crazy?” Mavis yelled after her rebellious student.

  “Probably so,” the runaway admitted to herself, but she was confident she wouldn’t have to walk all the way to Three Rivers. There were houses along the way. She could stop and get help. Besides, before little Samuel came into the picture, Delaney had been a long distance runner.

  “You need to come back before you get hurt!”

  “Focus, focus, focus,” Delaney reminded herself. “Don’t pay attention to that crazy witch.”

  “You come back here this minute, young lady!”

  “Not in a million years,” Delaney mumbled as she glued her eyes to the road ahead. In one aspect, she was already triumphant. With her Mustang wedged between the gate and the Land Cruiser, Mavis wouldn’t be able to get through the exit. It might take her hours to sort out that logjam. Unless, perchance, there happened to be another egress out of the property.

  Regardless, Delaney could not slow her animated pace or her pounding heart. Adrenaline had overtaken her to the point she wasn’t even hungry anymore. As soon as she got out of eyeshot from Mavis, she knew she was going to have to slow down and find a place to change her shoes. If she kept going, her flimsy white sandals would rub her feet into a mess of blisters.

  After a half mile or so, Delaney ducked behind some tall shrubs and unzipped her backpack. She pulled out some sneakers, socks, sweat pants, and a hoodie. They were a little stinky from the gym, but the wrinkled outfit was more than welcome on that twisted mountain road. For once, Delaney was happy she had forgotten to take her dirty laundry out of her car.

  Delaney listened for signs of traffic. She craved the sound of a park ranger’s truck. She also wanted some privacy while she changed out of her torn skirt and painful shoes. Hearing nothing but the rattle of buzzing insects in the bushes and the occasional cry of a blue jay, she shucked her clothes and donned her sweats. Delaney sighed as she stowed the tattered remains of her skirt and shoes in the bottom of her backpack. She knew full well they would end up in the trash when she arrived home.

  Home. That word sounded wonderful – even if it might only be a dream. She didn’t want to consider the possibility of never reaching Three Rivers alive. Let alone Visalia. There was always a chance she would succumb to the elements. Or she might slip and fall. Perhaps a black bear would consider her to be a tasty meal. Or worst of all, another traveler might have bad intentions.

  Patting the outside pockets of her backpack gave Delaney an additional reason to be hopeful. She found three granola bars. Encouraged, she began walking. And praying.

  Delaney walked another half mile down the steep unpaved shoulder of Mineral King Road before she spotted another cabin. The small redwood bungalow was uncommonly close to the ragged asphalt road. The property was nestled into the crook of the sweeping bend of the byway. A high wooden fence enclosed most of its perimeter, blocking any motorists
’ view of the property. A locked chain link gate guarded its only apparent access point.

  Delaney peered through the gate and shook the lock and chain – just to make sure. She called out a greeting, but all was silent. No dogs. No vehicles. Probably just a vacation home, she surmised. “Hello!” she called out, time and again. “Hello!”

  The crunching of gravel and the soft rumble of an engine startled her from behind.

  Delaney stepped sideways to see who was coming and tripped over her own feet. In a split second, her soft bottom hit the stony ground. She glanced up to find the front bumper of a tan half-ton pickup staring at her from about fifteen feet away.

  The roar of the motor cut to an abrupt silence. The driver’s door of the shiny truck swung open. A well-toned man in jeans and a flannel plaid shirt stepped down from the high running board. He looked to be in his thirties. “Ma’am, are you all right?” His boots crunched across the granite gravel as he approached Delaney.

  “Oh, I’m fine.” Delaney grinned. “Just a little klutzy since I am off balance these days.” She touched her tummy to clarify the meaning of her sentence, but she really wanted to rub her derriere. She was fairly certain she had torn a hole in the back end of her sweats. “I’m batting a thousand today when it comes to ripping my clothes,” she confided.

  “Let me help you up.” The sandy-haired gentleman extended his muscular hand.

  Delaney was grateful for his assistance. Despite the fall, she only had mud stains on her britches.

  “I’m afraid you won’t find anybody home here, ma’am. A good many of the homes along this road are vacation getaways. I’m the caretaker for a couple of them up the road.” He pointed up the empty thoroughfare and beyond Miss Beasom’s spread. “What are you doing out here walking by yourself?”

  “Oh, I’m just wondering if these folks have phone service.” Delaney struck a nonchalant stance and gestured toward the redwood cabin.