My fingers curl into fists. I wanted to make Henry angry, but his voice is calm and I’m so enraged I can’t speak.
“It’s a good thing you have me to think about your future and help establish you so you won’t be completely on your own. After we’re married, Dora will live in the house with you and Father while I’m away. She’ll be better able than I have been to help you form connections—”
“What about Stonefield?” My voice cracks. The dam cracks, too.
Henry’s nostrils flare like a bull’s. “That’s not important,” he says under his breath. He glances nervously toward Reverend Preston, but the preacher’s nodding at Lu and her friends, who keep squealing and bouncing like they’ve got briars in their bloomers.
Henry slides the feather from my button and tries to make his voice sound gentle. “Stonefield doesn’t belong here, Cat.”
I reach for the feather, but Henry’s already snapped it between his fingers, breaking it in two.
I slap his hand, and the pieces fall to the floor. “Where is he?” My words come out louder than the voices around us. “Why didn’t you bring him here with you—he’s our guest!”
Henry pulls me to the corner, farther away from people. His brow wrinkles like a row of homespun poorly woven. His breath smells of ale and something stronger—moonshine. “At supper, I told him he should stay at the house so he wouldn’t embarrass you.”
My heart sinks.
“He wouldn’t even speak back to me. Your play actor just glared and pulled out Father’s watch, pretending to check the time, taunting me, the little Devil. It was all I could do to keep from smacking his arrogant face.”
No, I don’t believe him anymore. I turn to the pieces of the feather on the floor and drop to my knees to pick them up and stick them back in my buttonhole.
Henry’s voice is low. “But you’re doing a fine job embarrassing yourself without his help.” He glances over his shoulder. “People are looking at you.”
“I don’t care.”
His face hardens. I can tell he’s picking out his next words like arrows that he’ll shoot straight into my heart.
“Mother would be disappointed in you, Cat.”
I shove him as hard as I can. My darkness is a flood now, pouring over me, swallowing me up. I’m drowning like one of the heathens God wouldn’t let on the ark. If I don’t get out of here, I’ll sink to the bottom of the sea.
“Catrina.” All at once, Effie’s by my side. “It’s me. I’ve been looking for you. Catrina, come with me.” The lines of her face are drawn tight. “Jane has some cider for us. Let’s listen to the music. Dance with me.”
Effie never dances with anyone but Henry.
She puts her hand on my arm. “Please.”
“I can’t.”
“Stay with me, Catrina.”
If I stay, I know I’ll pull her down with me when I go under, and I love her too much to do that. I push away and stumble through my darkness to the door. I step outside. The world’s quiet out here. The fresh night air fills my lungs and pulls me out and away. I don’t look back because I can’t bear to see the disappointment in Effie’s eyes.
I run. The wind kisses my face and tosses my hair. It moves its fingers over my skin, reminding me I’m alive. I can finally breathe. I run to the ridge behind the Hoss place and gaze down into our valley. I pull the seeing stone out from where it hangs over my heart and peer through it. Even in the falling dark, what’s left of Stonefield’s circles in the cane are easy to see. Just looking at them calms me. I squint into the distance, looking for the lit-up windows of our house, but I don’t see a thing. Stonefield’s gone.
Behind me, someone opens the front door and loud noises pour out.
“Cat!”
Henry. Let him try to stop me.
I bolt down the road under the trees. I know where Stonefield is. He’s at Hudgens Hollow, waiting for me like he said. I can feel it.
11
I’m out of breath when I reach Hudgens Cemetery. It’s darker now and harder to see, but the swollen moon keeps the night from swallowing me up. As I walk, I catch glimpses in the woods of tiny fairy lights that disappear just as I turn to look at them. The closer I get, the surer I am that I’m not imagining them. By the time I reach the creek, I see them—little lamps made from small tins of grease with a lit rag in each, perched on stones in the water. The flickering lights cast a golden glow on the rushing current.
My heart races as I run along the bank, following the path of lamp stones down the stream. Soon the trail of lights is on dry land and the lamps burn from the tops of my high stone pillars. I weave between them, feeling the rush of cool valley air flowing through me like new blood. My footsteps, breath, and heartbeat all chant Stone-field, Stone-field as I run.
Catrina.
His silent voice reaches me before I even see him. It makes my heart beat faster. I walk slow toward the entrance of our round stone house and stand five paces from it, watching him through the ivy curtain hanging over the doorway. He’s lighting the last of the lamps along the top of the wall, making a ring of light around him. His body is taut and muscular like a wild colt’s, moving with the kind of ease and sureness that animals own. And just like them, he’s not aware of the beauty and power it gives him.
The mix of gold and shadow dancing across his features gives him an otherworldly look, as if he’s part god and part human—like those giants in the Bible whose fathers were sons of God and mothers were daughters of men. The sight of him steals all my words away.
“Catrina.” His voice is like a strong hand curving around the nape of my neck. He gazes steady at me through the vines as he blows out the flame from the end of his stick. A slender gray ribbon of smoke unfurls into the darkness. “You didn’t forget.”
I shake my head.
He takes a step toward the doorway. “I started to think that I’d only dreamed you up and you weren’t real after all.” His serious features soften into a grin.
Lordy—his smile.
I step up to the entrance, where only the ivy curtain hangs between us and watch him through the gaps. Silence hangs like a spell, and we don’t break it by speaking. When he looks into my eyes, I know he sees the wanting I have for him there. But I’m not ashamed, because when I look at him, I see the wanting in his eyes, too.
Maybe inside every person’s head there’s a little world of their own in a secret stone house where their true self lives, and if a person’s brave enough, they can open someone else’s door and walk inside. Stonefield’s already crossed my threshold. No one else has tried—not even Effie, and certainly not Henry. But Stonefield did it so easy. When I’m with him, I don’t care that God left out the part of me connected to everyone else, and I pray a thank you to Him for connecting me to Stonefield.
Come in with me. Stonefield’s eyes pull me closer.
I push past the ivy vines. They part and slide away from me as I walk through the doorway. I stand in the center of our circle house and look up at the feathers dangling from the branches above us. The light glints off each one as it sways and turns, flashing its colors.
Stonefield reaches toward me and takes the broken feather pieces from my button. He strokes them with his thumb as if by touching them, he can find out what happened. He presses them deep into his pocket and reaches up to pick a new yellow feather from a dangling vine and slides it into its place.
I smile and sit down on the carpet of posies beside a flat rock with a small grease light and a pile of books on it. “These are Papa’s.” I run my finger over the spines.
Stonefield sits down next to me. “He gave them to me. And this, too.” He pulls Papa’s watch out of his other pocket. “I think he wants me to have things to call my own.”
I squint at the titles of the books and see Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet; a brand-new book by a Mr. Walt Whitman; and Papa’s old weathered copy of the Holy Bible.
“Which one have you been reading?”
&
nbsp; Stonefield lifts a book off the top of the stack. “This one’s full of beautiful things. Have you read it?”
I laugh. “The Bible? Parts of it. I never thought of it as beautiful.”
“Ah, but it is.” He opens it to the middle. “Sometimes the words come alive, and I mark them so I can hunt them down later and read them again.” He turns the pages until he finds the ones he’s looking for. “I marked a lot of words in this part—a song by a man named Solomon. Have you read it?”
I shake my head. “Hunt them down and read them to me.”
Stonefield lies down near the grease lamp and props himself up with his elbow. He draws his finger over the verse as he reads it in his rumbly voice. “‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.’”
Lord. I grab the book from his hands and peer at the words. “Are you sure this is the Bible?”
He nods.
“I didn’t know God could write this way.”
“Read it.”
I find the next place he marked and read the words out slow to make sure I get them right. “‘A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.’” Lord, Lord. My heart starts pounding between my own breasts. I glance up at Stonefield.
He takes the Bible from my hands and continues reading. “‘Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes.’” He keeps reading, but looks at me, like he’s stored the words up in his memory. “‘O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice.’”
Stonefield. You saw me in the cleft of the rock, in my secret place. You’re the only one who really sees me. I lie back on the soft bed of petals and stare up at the dancing feathers as I listen to him read the beautiful words.
“‘For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.’”
Stonefield, you hear my voice even when I’m not speaking. No one’s ever been this close to me, been a part of me, like you are. The warm scent of roses mixes with the cool smell of mint leaves and fills me up, making me light-headed.
He puts down the Bible and reaches out to cradle my cheek in his hand. His skin smells of soap and coffee and sweat and earth. I bring his hand to my lips and kiss his palm and the tips of his fingers.
Catrina. “‘Set me as a seal upon thine heart.’”
I slide his hand down my neck, between my breasts, and press it to my chest.
He leans toward me. “‘For love is strong as death.’” His gravelly voice is deep and low, sending shivers up my back. When he kisses me, my body dies and comes to life as something new, like snow melting into a rushing river. I didn’t know his lips touching mine had the power to draw my soul to the surface. I feel it quivering just beneath my skin. When he lifts his head, I reach for him and pull him back to me. Will my spirit escape my body when I kiss him this time?
But the shot from a distant gun rings out through the hollow, making us jump and pull away. It comes from the direction of home.
Papa.
A second shot rings out.
We stare at each other for a moment without moving. My heart feels like it’s being ripped in half.
“I know you have to go.” Stonefield strokes my cheek. “But we’ll always have this secret place.” His words are like fingers—their caress sends rippling waves spreading out inside me. He closes his eyes and lowers his forehead gently onto mine. And we also have this place right here inside us that’s all our own.
I can hear his unspoken words more clearly than I ever have before.
I’ll be as close as your own thoughts, Catrina. Just come to me and I’ll be here. Stonefield kisses my forehead and stands up, reaching out his hand to take me home. We run all the way. Henry’s wagon’s in the yard and lights burn in the windows. Henry’s pacing the front porch with Papa’s gun.
“What’s wrong?” I call as we get near. “Is it Papa?”
As soon as Henry sees us, he lifts the gun like he’s going to shoot, then he sets it against the porch railing and walks toward us so fast and steady, it looks like he’s going to barrel us over. “Father’s asleep.” His face is hard and wild and fixed in one expression like Mr. Lenox’s masks from the Congo that hang in his study.
I stop walking and step backward as he comes closer. “What’s happened?”
But he doesn’t answer and comes straight at Stonefield like a locomotive on a track. Henry’s fist slams into Stonefield’s face, knocking him backward and spinning him to the side.
“I knew it. How dare you take her into the woods alone?”
He hauls back to strike him again, but I grab his fist and twist his arm down. “Stop it, Henry!”
“Somebody has to mind your reputation if you won’t, Cat.”
The smell of liquor on his breath is stronger than earlier. He pushes me away and stands glaring at Stonefield, who stares back at him, his chest rising and falling. Stonefield’s hands become fists and I know he’s thinking how good it would feel to hit Henry back. A dark red mark covers his face and his eye’s already started to swell. If he and Henry were dogs, they’d have their teeth bared, growling, and their fur on end.
Henry raises his finger inches from Stonefield and points right into his face. “If it weren’t for my father, I’d send you off tonight the same way you came to us—with nothing.”
I think Stonefield will push Henry’s hand away, or shove him backward, but he stands firm, with a steady look in his eyes like a copperhead staring into the barrel of a rifle.
It unnerves Henry. I can tell by the way his mouth twitches. He takes his hand away and wipes his chin.
“Get to the house, Cat.”
I don’t move.
“From now on, he’ll sleep in the barn. And you’re to stay indoors after supper each night.” He turns to me. “I said get!”
“No!” I shout. “You’re not Papa. You can’t tell us what to do.”
Henry’s laugh is sad and makes the hair on my arms rise.
“You’re right—I’m not Father.” His features twist into a painful grin. “But I appear to be the only one in the world who gives a damn about what becomes of you, Cat. And I say”—he points his gun to the sky—“get to the house!” The shot cracks the night.
I open my mouth to shout something back to him, but Stonefield speaks. His voice is low and calm. Almost icy.
“Catrina, your brother’s right.”
“What?” Henry and I both turn to him.
I shake my head. But, Stonefield, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be together. It’s wrong of him to keep us apart.
“You should go with him, Catrina.” Stonefield’s cold eyes are still on Henry, but I can hear him add in a warm voice to me, I’ll help your father with the farmwork and if you appease Henry, he’ll shut up and leave us alone. Don’t worry—we’ll find a way to be together. He can’t keep us apart. Nothing can.
I stare at him.
“Your brother loves you—he’s just doing his duty.” But “forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.”
Hamlet said that about Ophelia. I turn my face away so Henry can’t see me smile at Stonefield’s words. I nod. “All right. I’ll go.” I imagine Henry’s mouth hanging open as he watches me obey him and walk toward the house.
As I open the door, I say, “Good night, Henry. Good night, Stonefield.”
Henry says nothing, but Stonefield says, quiet, “Good night, Catrina,” my dove. He walks away, toward the barn. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
12
I thought the hard part would be figuring out how to skip Reverend Preston’s all-day tent meetings so Stonefield and I could be together while everyone’s away, but Henry sent Stonefield out to the field at dawn to repair the stalks, and Papa woke up with one of his throat sicknesses that keeps him in bed all day. So I pretend to have one, too. Pap
a and I have got them almost every year of our lives. They hurt like the Devil and leave our throats feeling like they’ve been rubbed inside with sanding paper.
Henry doesn’t like that I’m staying home, but he can’t make me go to the tent meeting or to the Hosses’ for supper afterward with him if I’m sick, so he flips through Papa’s Bible until he finds the passage he wants and walks over to my bed, setting the Bible in front of me on the blanket. He squints at me like he’s trying to see through my throat to find out if it’s really sore or not. He taps the page.
“I want you to read and ponder on that this morning, Cat. And don’t forget to pray.”
“I will.” I whisper it in a crackly voice so it sounds like it hurts to talk, and pull the book up close as Henry leaves to go pick up Dora and take her to the tent meeting.
Hebrews 10:25: “Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching.” I read the verse over and over again until Henry’s wagon finally disappears around the bend, then I close the book and run all the way to the field.
It’s like Stonefield and I are wooden jigsaw puzzles and we’re the only ones who know how to assemble ourselves together. When I’m with him, it’s easier to find my missing pieces—the pieces that prove I can be known and understood by someone. The pieces that prove I’m not a mistake God made. If God wants me to be exhorted, then He should preach at me to not forsake Stonefield.
Napoleon and the other dogs follow me to the field, racing along beside me with their big dog grins as if they can tell how happy I am. But I don’t go find Stonefield right away. I want him to make good progress on his task first, so Henry won’t be suspicious. Besides, I have a surprise in mind for Stonefield. While he works in the northeast corner of the field, I begin my wild work.
I use wet red and yellow leaves—sassafras, sumac, and Virginia creeper—to outline the giant black rock in Stone Field. The colors seem to melt into each other as I form a ring of bright rays around it. If we could see the rock from the sky, I bet it would look like it’s on fire. By the time I’m done, I hear Stonefield moving through the stalks, nearing the center of the field. The flaming stone gives me an idea.
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