by Lori Roy
Turning on the cold water, Imogene splashes her face. A towel appears at her side. She grabs it, presses it to her eyes, and stands.
“We need to find Eddie,” Imogene says. “Right now.”
Jo Lynne gathers Mama again with an arm around her shoulders. “You need to stop this, Imogene. It isn’t good for Mama.”
“Eddie took Christopher, Mama,” Imogene says, talking slowly so she won’t frighten her. “We need to find Eddie right now.”
“Honey,” Mama says, the slightest tilt of a smile catching one corner of her mouth. “Eddie’s just outside. Been digging out that wire. Couldn’t bring myself to fuss at you for telling him about it. Christopher is probably with him.”
Pushing off the counter, Imogene runs out the door and onto the drive because she doesn’t believe Mama. It’s the necklace Christopher recognized as his mama’s and the picture of Daddy looking like Eddie does today. Christopher is in danger. His mama knew it and it’s why she broke into Tillie’s. She knew the necklace would make its way to Imogene, and she believed Imogene would save them. Rounding the side of the house, she runs up the hill, runs as if she’s following the wire, and when another strike of lightning cracks the sky, she sees Eddie’s silhouette at the top of the ridge. She calls out to him. A beam of light swings around and catches her in the face.
“Where is he, Eddie?” Imogene squints and holds up a hand to block the light. She continues up the ridge, her ankles buckling on the rough ground and her feet aching because she’s left the house with no shoes.
“Immy, darling, you been dipping into my whiskey again?” Eddie says, holding the light under his chin.
“What did you do with Christopher?” she says, reaching the top and staring into Eddie’s eyes, the light from beneath making his face glow. “And what of his mama?”
Eddie lowers the light, lets it dangle so it shines on the ground, and his face becomes a shadow. His shoulders and head drop and roll forward. “Immy.”
“Tell me.”
Eddie’s eyes slide to something beyond her shoulder. She turns. Jo Lynne is a few feet away, teetering on her high heels.
“Let’s all of us go back inside,” Jo Lynne hollers over the wind, and with both hands tries to stop the scarf tied over her head from blowing loose. She teeters a few more steps and reaches for Imogene’s hand as if to lead her back inside. “You’re getting all kinds of thoughts in your head that don’t belong. It’s no wonder. All the memories Daddy’s funeral must have conjured.”
The outermost edges of Eddie’s flashlight catch one side of Jo Lynne’s face. Long strands of her hair blow across her eyes. Imogene loved her once, wanted to be so like Jo Lynne. Her hair always smooth and shiny. Always smelling of lavender. Always knowing just what to say and how to say it. Jo Lynne saved Imogene, actually saved her from sinking to the bottom of that lake when Imogene wanted so badly to reach her father, even though she already knew the man was gone.
The day a twelve-year-old Imogene learned the truth about her real daddy, she’d heard Mama crying, sobbing really, in a way that made her curl up on her bed and scream into a pillow. It was painful to hear, and with her hands pressed tight over her ears, Imogene crouched in a dark corner of her room. The police came to the house, several cars with flashing blue and red lights. Daddy’s men came too. Granddaddy had died by then and Daddy had taken over. Cigar smoke swirled over the kitchen table, heavy boots tracked dirt across Mama’s heart pine floors, and fellows were yelling. Doors opened and slammed, radios crackled.
And when everyone finally left, Daddy told Imogene and Jo Lynne and Eddie too that a man had died. When Eddie asked who it was, Daddy said it didn’t matter. Ain’t nobody going to miss the man. And then he leaned in close and whispered in Imogene’s ear . . . Ain’t no one going to miss him beside you and your mama.
A woman only cries—curls up and sobs the way Mama did—for a man she loves, and she damn sure doesn’t cry like that for one who forced himself on her. That’s what Imogene has always been, the result of something nasty and tainted. It made her an easy target for men and women like Edison Coulter. They fed on the likes of her, the likes of anyone they thought was less. Mama had loved the man who Daddy said no one would miss, and that same man was Imogene’s real daddy. She had known for certain he was gone the day she trapped herself in the middle of the lake because Edison Coulter had whispered as much in her ear. She didn’t know how her real daddy died or why, but she knew he was gone. She lost something else that day too. She lost Jo Lynne.
Jo Lynne would go on to marry Garland and would begin learning to measure and cut and sew the robes and hoods, and while days and weeks and even months would pass when she lived what seemed a normal life and would be good at her job and helpful to Mama and even Imogene when she lost Russell and Vaughn, Jo Lynne’s loyalty to the Knights of the Southern Georgia Order would cast a deep shadow over it all. That day at the lake was the end of the sister Imogene had once hoped to be like. Imogene wasn’t trying to swim to the other side of the lake that day. She was trying her best to sink to the bottom.
“You never called Warren, did you?” Imogene says to Jo Lynne. “You didn’t call him. And he’s not coming.”
Grabbing Imogene’s hands, Jo Lynne bows her head and shakes it slowly side to side.
“I swear I don’t know where the boy is,” Jo Lynne says, and in not answering Imogene, she has given her answer. She never called Warren.
“How long have you been out here?” Imogene says to Eddie.
“Was here when you and Warren left. Hell, you two seen me at my truck.”
“Who else knew about him?” Imogene stares down on Jo Lynne still holding her hands.
“Better take a look,” Eddie says, shining his light toward the house. Down near the bottom of the rise, Mama is struggling to make her way up the hill.
“Go back home, Mama,” Imogene shouts as loudly as she can. “Go and call Warren. Tell him to come right away.” She hollers twice before Mama turns around.
“Who else knew Christopher was down in that basement?” Imogene asks once Mama is gone. “Is this why Tim Robithan was at the house this morning? All those other men?”
“You ain’t even told me what’s going on, Immy,” Eddie says.
“He’s gone. Christopher is gone. And one of you two knows where he is.”
“We never intended this,” Jo Lynne says, lifting her head. Her face is nothing but dark shadows now and a jumble of hair that’s pulled free of her scarf.
“Quiet yourself,” Eddie says.
“You made a mistake is all, Eddie,” Jo Lynne says, and grabs Imogene’s hands again, pulls them close and holds them under her chin. “Just a mistake. We never intended the girl stay down in that basement. I was going to see her to a good home, a better home.”
“The girl?” Imogene says. “You mean Christopher’s mama?”
“She was young,” Jo Lynne says. “We could have found her another home, and she’d have forgotten all about this town. She had a terrible mother. Terrible.”
“What do you know about the life she had?” Imogene says.
“I know,” Jo Lynne says. “That’s all that matters. Her own mother brewed oleander leaves. Was going to drink them. Hell, maybe even have that child drink them.”
“She was in your charge?” Imogene says. “She was one of the kids you see to? My God, how old was she? How long was she down there?”
“It was all Eddie’s doing,” Jo Lynne says.
“You shut your mouth, Jo Lynne,” Eddie says.
“I won’t. It was your fault. I looked after her some in the beginning. And we’d have cared for that girl just fine until you brought that baby and its mother into it.”
“What baby?” Imogene says. “Christopher?”
“Garland knew you couldn’t do nothing right,” Jo Lynne says. “Daddy knew it. I knew it too. Everyone knew. I should have never sent you to the house that night. Garland should have done it. He’d have never made suc
h a mess of things. You made Daddy ashamed.”
“That ain’t true,” Eddie says.
“What did you do, Jo Lynne?” Imogene asks. “What did you tell Eddie to do?”
Jo Lynne shakes her head and doesn’t answer.
“She told me the girl was there house-sitting,” Eddie says, spitting the words in Jo Lynne’s face. “It was a Puerto Rican. She was supposed to be alone. I didn’t know there was going to be no little girl there.”
Imogene remembers when it happened. A young woman was killed while babysitting, and the little girl in her care disappeared. The young woman who died had only been a few years younger than Imogene, and she’d been new to town. There had been brief talk right after the incident that the Knights had been involved because the young woman and her family had been from Puerto Rico. A few months earlier, Tim Robithan and the others had gathered on the courthouse steps and demanded the young woman’s father be removed from the college. But the police were quick to squelch that idea, claiming it wasn’t the Klan’s way, though Imogene had thought it was mostly an attempt to steer the headlines in a different direction. The only real suspect had been the estranged father of the missing little girl, and that’s the last Imogene heard of it or can remember.
“That little girl, the one who disappeared, is she Christopher’s mama?” Imogene shakes her head, not wanting to work out the ages and years that have passed. “That was eight or ten years ago. Jesus, she was a child.”
“Daddy was already talking about it being our time again,” Jo Lynne says, not answering Imogene’s question. Her eyes are wide and her hair is blowing free across her face. “We were already seeing things change. But it was Timmy Robithan that Daddy was leaning on and making plans with. Chasing that girl and her family out of town, that’s all Eddie was meant to do. And then Daddy would’ve picked Eddie instead of Tim.”
“And did Daddy know the two of them were there in the basement?” Imogene asks. “He had to have. How many years. Eight? Ten?”
“Seven,” Eddie says. “And he knew.”
Chapter 56
BETH
Before
This smell always worries me. I don’t like to use the kerosene lantern, not even when we lose electricity. Instead, I use the one flashlight Eddie gave me a long time ago, but because C batteries are expensive and he gets angry when I ask him to buy more, I only use the flashlight for emergencies like when the power goes off and I have to make us something to eat or help Christopher use the bathroom. Even if Christopher cries about being afraid in the dark, I won’t use the kerosene lantern because I worry about the fumes. Klan cologne, Eddie used to call it.
I won’t light candles either. They eat up oxygen, and after what Alison said, I’ve always been afraid of too little air. The only ventilation is between the bottom of the door at the top of the stairs and the floor. I check the half-inch gap every month and scrape it with a wire hanger to make sure it’s clear. Christopher knows how to light the kerosene lantern, and I’ve caught him doing it twice. It’s the only time I ever spanked him. Fire is a fear even greater than fumes. But that’s what I’m smelling now, kerosene. Klan cologne. I open my eyes just a sliver and call his name.
“Christopher,” I say as I stretch out a hand. Usually he’s lying next to me, tucked inside the curve I make for him when I roll on my side. We fit perfectly, even as he continues to grow. I inhale, thinking I’ll smell his warm head. Sweet like shampoo and salty like a little boy’s sweat. That salty smell reminds me of playing outside during summer break. Red-cheeked from too much sun. Skin slightly damp, salty if I licked my lips.
A crackling makes me open my eyes. Christopher is a busy sleeper. I ask him sometimes in the morning where he went during the night because his legs sure were busy. I pull out the atlas on those mornings as soon as we sit down for school time, and he points to a spot on the map. I went there, he’ll say. Wherever it is, we go to our shelves and look for a book that might tell us about that place. Tokyo is the capital of Japan and eight million people live there. Australia is a continent and a country. There are seven continents. Florida is south of Georgia, and Florida and Georgia are two of fifty United States. Christopher can recite all fifty. He’s busy again tonight. He’s rolled over onto a newspaper maybe. Eddie used to bring them, but now he says they’re full of lies and won’t let me read them anymore. Instead, he’ll tell me all I need to know. He says the world has taken a mighty fine turn of late. I pat the spot next to me. It calms Christopher to feel my hand on his back.
The smoky smell always gets stronger in the moments after we put out the lantern, but this time the stronger smell lingers. It burns my nose and then the back of my throat. It’s the burn that startles me. I sit straight up, reach for Christopher, call his name. But it isn’t our small bed beneath me, or the sofa. Christopher isn’t next to me. Dirt and grass scratch my calves and feet. I feel it then, something warm on my face. The house, our house, is burning. I squint, hold up a hand. On the second story, a window explodes, and orange and yellow flames shoot into the dark sky. I push off the ground, my knees buckling beneath me. Stumbling backward, halfcrawling, half walking, I scream for Christopher, but he’s not here with me. He’s in the basement, where he’s waiting for me to open the door for him so we can run. No, Imogene came. Imogene took him away. I had to let him go.
The field is burning too. The clumps of grass, tall blades that grow in thick tufts, are dry and brittle on the inside, like a haystack, Mama would say, because no one ever bothers to cut back the plants in winter. The fire is crawling toward me. Flames are shooting out of the bundles that grow nearest the house. The tops that were once pink, feathery blooms erupt into flames. Sparks flutter overhead, catch a dry, sharp tip, and the grass next to me begins to smolder. Staring at the orange sparks that float like stars, I continue to back away, and still I smell the kerosene. He’s doused the house in it, the field too. The smell is heavy enough to burn my eyes. Still stumbling backward, away from the sparks and ash raining all around, I lift the neckline of my cotton gown. It’s damp. I press it to my face but turn away when the fumes burn my throat and nose. My skin burns too. My hands and arms. I reach down to rub my legs. It’s all over me. He doused the field and the house, and he doused me. While I slept, dreaming I was lying next to Christopher, curled around his small body, him tucked up next to me, he found me and covered me in Klan cologne.
The fire is chasing me now. I spin around, trying to find a path that will lead me away. The smoke is turning everything gray. I have no horizon to guide me, only the thick flames that have taken over the house. But if I know the house is behind me, then a safer place is ahead. I run as best I can in my bare feet. The ground is cold, and sharp rocks cause me to trip and stumble. I need to put distance between me and the flames that are jumping across the field, and as I run, I pull at the white gown that’s too tight around my hips and through the shoulders. Yanking out my arms one at a time, I pull it over my head. The thin cotton is wet through and through. The air cools the farther I run, and it soothes my bare skin. I run faster, looking now for water. Someplace to wash my arms and legs and even my face because I taste the bitterness on my lips. Someplace to wring out my gown so I can put it on again.
Eddie is the one who told me about the lake. It’s like none other, he said. In the beginning, I believed him. I believed it was a special place, magical even because the fog hung there thicker and lower than any other place, and I hoped to one day see it. But as I grew up, reading books because I had nothing else before Christopher came, I learned the lake wasn’t so special. It’s all about warmer air meeting cooler air in a low-lying valley. That’s what makes fog. The clouds don’t hang lower here because this place is nearer to heaven, not like Eddie always said. I’m sorry now that I told Christopher the same story, because this is what he’ll think heaven is. But no matter, all Eddie’s talk of a lake does mean one is near. We never went there, though I asked more than once. Too close, is all Eddie would say. Too close
to the main house, I eventually realized. I need to run back, toward the flames and then across toward the main house. The lake will be there, and on beyond, I think I’ll find Christopher.
Chapter 57
IMOGENE
Today
Imogene squats to the ground so she can brace herself with both hands. Too much is coming at her too quickly.
“Both of you be quiet,” she says. “Who else knew Christopher and his mama were down there?” When Jo Lynne doesn’t answer, Imogene stands and shouts. “Who did you tell?”
“Garland knew,” Eddie says.
“Eddie,” Jo Lynne shouts.
Imogene looks up at Eddie. He’s a dark shadow, his hair catching in the wind, his heavy flannel billowing with each gust.
“And?” she says to Eddie.
“He saw to them on Wednesdays, Immy,” Eddie says, shaking his head, slowly at first and then faster. “I ain’t never did the things he did.”
Jo Lynne lunges for Eddie, catching hold of his forearm and dangling from it. “Don’t you say that.”
“I ain’t never done those things,” Eddie says again. “Ain’t never hurt the either one of them.”
“Shut your mouth,” Jo Lynne screams, dropping down onto her knees.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Knew full well what he was doing to that girl?”
Jo Lynne sits back. Her head and shoulders sag as if a weight has settled on her, making clear that, yes, she knew.
“That money,” Eddie says, turning from Jo Lynne to Imogene. “It wasn’t Daddy what stole it. Was Garland. He stole it, and then went crying to Daddy for help when he couldn’t pay it back. The Knights had a lot of cash coming in the last couple of years. God damn, Imogene, money from all over the country. People was finally seeing us for what we are. And then Garland, he took it all. Lost some on a few bad deals. Spent some on you too, didn’t he, Jo Lynne? That fancy car of yours, that big house with no kids to fill it. How do you think Garland was making that mortgage?”