Stone Field

by Christy Lenzi

  I think I’m in a dark cave. Sometimes I hear people murmuring my name. They seem so far away.

  “How can a body sleep for so long? It’s been a whole night and almost another day!”

  “She’s had a concussion, Lu. I’m thankful her wound wasn’t too deep. My stitches are small, but I’m afraid there’ll still be a scar.”

  “Goodness gracious! And right across her forehead where everyone can see. It’s a shame—some folks have said she’d be the prettiest girl in Roubidoux if she weren’t so wild, but she’ll never be thought pretty now. Scars are so ugly. Don’t you agree, Reverend Preston?”

  “Miss Lu, our Savior’s scars are a thing of beauty, for by His stripes we are healed.”

  “Effie, my dear, you did an excellent job. We should thank the Lord for sparing her and for putting you there at the ready to mend her up so fast and able.”

  “But, Father, there would be no need for mending if people hadn’t treated her so roughly.”

  “Miss Effie, what happened that night was no accident. The Holy Ghost works in mysterious ways. I’ve been praying for Miss Catrina from the day I first met her. The Lord put her on my heart in a special way. I see her image in my dreams most every night. I am meant to help her. The Lord’s Spirit called out to her spirit and drew her to the house of the Lord. It was out of deep love for her that He allowed her to be bruised and broken. Not for her destruction, but that she might come to know spiritual healing.”

  “Heavens! I hope so. But I doubt she even wants to have her spirit healed. I think she likes being wicked.”

  “Hush, Lu. We can’t know the condition of a person’s heart, but what we can do is help heal the body. Now, take those linens out to wash like I asked. Excuse me, Reverend Preston, we need to tidy things up before I go let Mr. Dickinson know what’s happened. I’m not sure if Henry and Dora have returned yet.”

  “Yes, of course. Your father has given me leave to stand prayer vigil in a guest room down the hall through the night. I will be nearby if needed.”

  “You can help Lu care for Catrina.”

  The cave grows darker, and the voices trickle away like a stream. I drift back to sleep. When I wake again, things seem quieter. I open my eyes real slow against the painful throbbing in my temples and find I’m not in a cave after all. I’m lying on a soft feather bed, alone in one of the Lenoxes’ guest rooms. Thunder rumbles outside, and my hungry stomach echoes the noise. Rain pelts against the house.

  I struggle to sit up. So weak. Bandages are wrapped around my aching head. My throat is sore and swollen. I wait while the memories of what happened slide into place.

  The congregation pressing in. Reverend Preston preaching about wicked heathens and savages. Stonefield. He tried to save me from them. What happened to him? I remember his eyes, wide and fierce. Did the people bind him like a dangerous animal and drag him away, or is he back home with Henry? Henry and Dora, I remind myself. They will be back from their honeymoon and living in the house.

  I throw the covers off, but I still feel tangled up. Oh Hell. Somebody’s taken off my pants and shirt and put a damned nightdress on me, complete with damned underclothes. I pull off the twisty dress but leave on the camisole and bloomers. I stretch my leg and bend it. Good. My knee’s black and purple and powerful sore, but I think I can walk. I slide my feet to the floor and rise. The room tips to one side and my body turns to water. I fall backward against the bed for a moment, but push right back up. Holding on to the bedpost, I wait for my balance to return as I stare at one of Mr. Lenox’s wooden masks from the Congo, hanging on the opposite wall. It stares back at me, appalled, its eyes large, its mouth round.

  I hobble across the room, find my boots in the corner, and struggle to pull them on. It looks to be early morning—still a little dark. The house is quiet but for the low rumble of thunder and the drum of rain on the roof. I walk quiet as I can past the other guest room, where Reverend Preston must be praying, and limp down the stairs. The steps creak louder than the thunder, but it doesn’t take me long to get to the front door. The moment I step outside, I’m soaked through.

  An upstairs window creaks open.

  I run.

  Pain shoots down my leg.

  The gray sky brightens in a sudden burst of lightning, and every leaf on every tree stands out clear and sharp for just a moment.

  Run.

  Thunder crashes and rolls over the hills, echoing through the hollow. Feels like it’s booming inside my ribs and rolling through my heart.

  Run.

  The pain is almost unbearable. Rain slides down my face, into my eyes.

  “Catrina!”

  I stop, glancing through the trees. At first I think it’s Stonefield calling to me from a distance, but it’s coming from behind me, from the Lenox house.

  “Miss Catrina!”

  Reverend Preston.

  “You’re not well!”

  My head’s swimming, eyelids heavy like iron hinges.

  “It’s too far to be running to your house in this weather. Come back to the Lenoxes’—we’ll get you warm and dry. I’ll ride over to fetch your brother for you.”

  No, not Henry.

  “I’m fine!” I shout. I run, forcing my sore leg to move faster. The pain shoots up into my skull.

  So dizzy.

  I feel faint.

  And then the preacher is right behind me. “I only want to help you,” he says.

  He’s probably telling the truth, but his sort of help means taking away the things about me he thinks are wicked, and I don’t want any part of me to be taken away. The gray world spins. It’s a child’s top, spinning on the edge of a table. Spinning, spinning. It falls and hits my forehead, knocking me down into the wet grass. My darkness throbs against my eyes, my temples. The rain beats against my face.

  His hands take hold of me. I try pushing them away, but they’re the sort of hands that don’t argue or fight—they just hold firm.

  “Miss Catrina, you’re not in your right mind.”

  “Which mind am I in—I’ve only got the one.” I lunge away from him, but he’s still got ahold of me. I moan, twisting and writhing to get free. He won’t let go.

  “The Devil’s tricked your mind. He tells us wrong is right—he’s the great deceiver. He makes darkness look like light and evil look like goodness.” He slides his arms all the way around my waist and lifts me from the ground.

  I hate that he’s stronger than me.

  I slap him. He winces but doesn’t loosen his grip. I stare at the red mark in the shape of my hand on his face. I expect him to turn that cheek and give me the other one to slap, too, like Jesus says, but he only swallows hard and looks at me with those grave eyes.

  “The Lord sent me to help you, Miss Catrina, and I won’t disobey Him.” He pulls me closer and I can smell the lavender on his clothes, even though we’re both soaking wet. My darkness throbs so heavy in my head, I can hardly see. Fear coils and releases inside me. I kick my legs. His arms only tighten around me.

  “Let me go!” I bash my head into his chin. He walks faster, taking me back to the Lenox house, farther away from home. I scratch the skin of his arms. It bleeds under my nails. He walks on, every step putting more distance between me and the hollow, where Stonefield might be waiting for me.

  I shake my head, thrashing my wet hair like stinging whips across his eyes. His fingers are wrapped around my wrists like manacles. I bite them, hard. But he tastes like skin, not steel.

  “Damn you, damn you, damn you!” My voice turns scratchy and hoarse from screaming, till I sound like an old hag. A witch. I can’t tell if I’m crying or if it’s only the rain streaming down my face.

  He prays under his breath while I curse him all the way back to the house.

  18

  Things only turn worse when we get to the house.

  I must be having a nightmare. If I thrash and jerk my body hard enough, I’ll wake up. But no matter how hard I fight them, Reverend Preston still ho
lds me down on the bed in the Lenox guest room, his chest on mine, his knee over my thighs, while Lu attempts to tie my wrists and ankles to the bedposts with ropes of twisted linen.

  “Effie!” I cry. “Papa! Where are you?”

  Why aren’t they here?

  “Stonefield, speak to me!”

  “Goodness!” Lu cries. “I told you she hears the Indian’s voice in her head!”

  Maybe if I relax my muscles, the dream will change—I can dream that I’ll fall asleep on this bed and wake up in my own bed, or in the secret house with Stonefield.

  “Miss Lu, she’s quieted down. Hurry and tie the last bind. Gently, now—don’t bruise her. We don’t want to make things worse for her; we just need to keep her from hurting herself. Here’s the sleeping powder your sister left for her. Just mix it in the warm milk.”

  I turn my mind to the rhythmic sound of rain dripping from the roof and the distant barking of a dog until the voices in the room become nothing more than a low hum. I breathe in the fresh earthy smell of mud on the damp camisole I’m wearing and imagine I’m running through the rain again, toward Stonefield, with no one to stop me.

  * * *

  “Reverend Preston, I hardly think these binds are necessary!”

  It’s Effie’s strong, clear voice, the next morning.

  I struggle to wake, but sleep hangs on me like a thick mountain fog. “Effie?” The word sounds like the croaking of a bullfrog. My throat’s so sore, I must have finally caught the sickness from Papa like I pretended to Henry.

  “Listen to that horrible voice—I told you, Effie!”

  “Hush, Lu. Rest, Catrina.” Slender fingers tug at the knots tied near my wrists and then my ankles, releasing me. I can’t open my eyes.

  “Stonefield?” I moan as bullets shoot through my stiff limbs. My whole body’s turned numb—they must have left me to sleep in this position with my arms tied up. I cry out in pain and shake my limbs to force some feeling into them. The bed shudders and bangs against the wall.

  “See, Effie—she’s possessed!” Lu screeches. “Preacher Preston’s right—it’s a demon inside her!”

  I shake my head hard against the pillow.

  “No!” My voice is so hoarse and rough—it scares even me.

  Effie’s warm hand slides into mine. “Catrina’s had a concussion and been treated very roughly, Lu. She’s not feeling herself. It’s important that she relax—she needs rest. Henry, we’ll let you have some time with your sister. Come, Lu, Reverend Preston.”

  “Miss Effie, since you’ve taken the binds off, perhaps I should stay—”

  “I’m sure Henry can handle everything.”

  “Yes … yes, of course.”

  “Thank you both,” Henry says as he sits down beside my bed. “My sister and I will be fine.”

  When they’re gone, I use all my strength to push the sleep away. I drag my eyes open to look at him.

  “Catrina. Dora and I were so worried about you. Imagine coming home from St. Louis to such a mess. When we got back late last night we found Effie with Father, who’d taken a turn for the worse with his throat sickness. Dora’s with him now. When Effie told us about what happened at the church, I came here with her right away.”

  “Papa?” I force the word out.

  “It started out with the throat sickness you both had before we left, but Effie’s worried his is turning into rheumatic fever like he had when he was young. He’s very weak.”

  “I want to go see him.”

  “You’re not strong enough yet. We don’t want your own throat sicknesses to turn into rheumatic fever like Father’s. You need to stay put until you’re well, and Reverend Preston has expressed his hope that you will do so. He seems quite concerned for y—”

  “I want to see Stonefield.”

  Henry pushes the chair away as he stands up. It screeches across the floorboards. “That savage almost got you killed. I know you’re feeling poorly, Catrina, but I won’t stand for it.” He starts pacing in front of the bed. “Cat.” His voice turns softer, pleading. “Don’t trouble yourself about him. It will only make your illness worse.”

  “Being away from him is making me worse.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Henry’s voice takes a sharp turn upward, where his anger lies. “I don’t know how the fool’s managed to charm you and Father, but it’s clear to me he’s mad as a bat out in daylight. I found some more of his nonsense in the hollow—huge rock pillars all over the woods—almost as ridiculous as the circles he cut in the cane field. When I told him I’d tear them down, he almost went mad with shaking—he looked like he was going to bust. He cussed up and down for me to leave the art alone. Ha! Art, he called it!” Henry shakes his head. He pulls the chair back to the bed and sits down again.

  “He said that?” Warmth fills me at hearing Stonefield’s fierce protection of my wild work.

  “Yep, he called it art—I swear he did. He said if I knocked them down, I’d be knocking down ‘beauty and truth.’ He’s as batty as they come, Cat. He doesn’t belong here—it’s obvious to me now.”

  Henry clears his throat. “Lu told us he’s a Creek Indian. I think he’s one of those Indians where the effort of acting civilized makes him go insane. He spouts nothing but nonsense and he could turn violent again at the drop of a hat. For God’s sake, now listen, Cat. While we were in St. Louis, I met with Dr. Rueben from the St. Louis Asylum—”

  “Stonefield’s as sane as I am.”

  “Well.” Henry’s eyes shift away from me. “To tell the truth, it was your mental state Dora and I were concerned about. Dr. Rueben thinks this boy may have been a bad influence on you and made things worse than they already were for your fragile mental condition. You haven’t been yourself ever since Mother died. Now, Reverend Preston feels—”

  “Where is he?” I struggle to push myself up.

  “Reverend Preston? He just went downstairs so we could talk. Catrina, he practically saved your life! Effie can hardly get him to leave your side. He wants to help you, and Dora and I agree with the measures he’s proposed.”

  “Stonefield. Where is he?”

  “Damn it, Cat. Lie down. He’s gone.” Henry swipes his hand through the air as if he’s waving Stonefield out of existence. “After we came home last night, he left. I didn’t even have to tell him to—he did it on his own. He’s gone, Cat. It’s for your own good.”

  For my own good? “You don’t know what’s good for me!” The words tear out of my sore throat. “You never have.”

  Stonefield, gone? It’s not true. He would never leave me.

  A faint sound stirs inside me. A voice saying my name?

  “Stonefield!” My heart comes alive. I throw the covers to the floor and push myself from the bed. My legs forget how to stand. They tremble as I move toward the window.

  “Lie down, Cat!”

  The sky’s still a dull gray. Rain has soaked the bark of the trees, turning them black.

  Stonefield? My legs buckle and Henry catches me.

  Did I only imagine Stonefield’s faint voice?

  Through the window I see a yellow leaf separate from a nearby limb.

  People say if you catch a falling leaf before it hits the ground, it means you’ll get a long stretch of happiness. I watch it float, slow, all the way down to the grass. Coldness seeps through the panes.

  Oh God. Stonefield, where are you? I’ll meet you in Hudgens Hollow. “I’m coming.” The words are a painful growl from my raw throat.

  “Who are you talking to? Come back to the bed and lie down, Cat.”

  “I won’t!” My throat’s on fire. I shove him away from me.

  Henry’s eyes widen at my strange, terrible voice. He’s afraid of me, afraid of the demon that Reverend Preston thinks is inside me.

  I push past him.

  “Stop!” Henry moves between me and the door. “Stonefield’s gone, Cat.” The mixture of anger and fear on his face makes my breath tighten in my chest. “You’re unwell,
damn it! That heathen is the last thing you should be concerned about. If you try to run after him, I will contact authorities of the Union Army faster than you can blink and tell them to come get that traitor. I know exactly where he is. Birds of a feather flock together.”

  “He’s not a traitor! He’s nothing—not for the South or the North. He’s—”

  “Being neither one nor the other’s the same thing as being a traitor.”

  “No, it’s not!”

  “Tell that to the Federalist soldiers. Any one of them would be happy as a dog with two tails to catch a Confederate Creek Indian and find an interesting way to kill him.”

  Lord. I clench my fists so hard, my nails cut into my palms. “Henry, you can’t keep us apart. If you know where he’s gone you have to tell me.”

  Henry steps toward me and takes hold of my shoulders. “You need Reverend Preston’s help, Cat. At first I thought the doctor in St. Louis might help you, but Reverend Preston’s assured me you don’t need to go to that hospital. He says your wild ways and the voices you hear are a spiritual problem—the work of Satan. He’s experienced in these things, Cat. He’ll cast out the spirits that plague you, so you don’t have to hear their voices anymore telling you to dress like a man and do all these sorts of wild things that come into your head.”

  He draws me closer. “After the reverend casts the demon out of you, you won’t even want to spend your time with heathens anymore. You’ll finally find some peace. Don’t you want to change your ways, Cat?”

  “No!” The word is a howl. It rips my sore throat on its way out of my mouth.

  At my shouting, Reverend Preston opens the door and glances from me to Henry. Henry nods to him.

  I bolt past them, but my legs get tangled in the damned nightdress. Henry grabs hold of the ends of the skirt.

  The preacher calls. “Lu, bring the bindings!”

  I rip at the dress to tear myself free of Henry’s hold.

  “Oh my Heavens!” Lu cries. She clutches the locket holding her mother’s tintype as if it’s an amulet. “She’s taking her clothes off again.”

  As soon as I’ve torn the gown into pieces to get it off me and have on only the undergarments, I rush toward the open door, but Reverend Preston catches me and drags me back into my nightmare.