by Amber Foxx
The Calling
Mae Martin Mysteries, Volume 1
Amber Foxx
Published by Amber Foxx, 2013.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE CALLING
First edition. December 2, 2013.
Copyright © 2013 Amber Foxx.
ISBN: 978-1497707191
Written by Amber Foxx.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Works referenced in The Calling
Author’s notes:
About the Author
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Prologue
June, 1997
That first night in their new home, the cat did what Mae wanted to do—it ran off, probably trying to go back to their old home, to the mountains. The new neighborhood was dismal, nothing but little square houses with little square yards. A car dealership and the local armory bordered it on one side, and a row of old tobacco barns on the other. The house, pale green to start with, smelled moldy in a way that made it seem greener. If this was home, it made sense to run from it.
As Mae carried the last of the luggage, what little there was, into the dank living room, the cat squirmed out of her mother’s arms. Her mother, Rhoda-Rae, doted on the cat, a lavender point Siamese with the ridiculous name of Adorabelle. Before Mae had even put down the bag, the cat dashed out the open door.
“Rhoda-Mae how could you?” Rhoda-Rae exclaimed with a whine. “You know she’s terrified.”
Mae resented the rhyming name for being so close to her mother’s, hated hearing it used, and it added to her aggravation. For years she’d insisted on being called just Mae, but her mother was the one person who ignored that. “Mama, I couldn’t close the door with both hands full. You should have left her in her cage.”
It was like talking to the TV. No one listened and the drama went on. With a wailing o—hhh, Rhoda-Rae Martin collapsed into one of the cracked fake leather chairs that came with the furnished rental and wept. “My baby.”
“I reckon you mean the cat,” Mae said under her breath. The possibility that her mother saw thirteen-year-old Mae as her baby was slim. “I’ll go look for her.”
Rhoda-Rae barely looked up from her crying to mumble, “Go. You do that.”
More than willing to get out of the house, Mae left, closing the door behind her. She walked down the chipped brick steps and stood in the yard. Crowds of insects battered the streetlamps as dusk turned to dark. Dogs barked in the yards of several houses left and right, so she couldn’t tell which direction might bring her to Adorabelle.
She was a smart, mean little cat, in spite of the silly name and the stupid lavender bow Rhoda-Rae had put around her neck, and Mae wanted to find her. The cat might be the only comfort she would have in this new place.
A creek bordered by a tangle of scrawny trees ran alongside the cross street behind the Ford dealership and the armory. If I were a cat, I’d go in those trees. Mae approached the creek. More dogs barked in houses or yards on either side. She didn’t like this neighborhood. So much barking. Must be scaring Belle half to death.
On a low branch of a thorny bush, Mae saw a ribbon—Adorabelle's purple bow. Good thing she hadn’t choked getting it snagged. It must have hurt to slide her big ears through it to get free. Must have felt good, though. A cat ought to be naked like an animal, not wear some human frills.
“Hey, kitty.” Mae could never bring herself to use the cat’s whole name any more than she cared for her own whole hyphenated double. Rhyming with her mother was an embarrassment almost as bad as Adorabelle. “Belle, come on.”
No movement. She took the ribbon off the bush and closed her eyes, trying to imagine what she would do if she were Belle.
Strangely, she could feel something through her hand and arm, as if she had touched Belle and could feel the cat’s fear. Even stranger, her vision traveled through a kind of tunnel, and then Mae could see Belle, hiding under a large brown and timber trimmed house’s back deck. It was like she could see in the dark the way Belle could. The effect was startling and inexplicable. Can Belle somehow tell me where she is? Amazed but hopeful, Mae memorized the details of the house and its yard and then opened her eyes.
Looking through the trees in front of her, she noticed the back yards of a better neighborhood, houses that fronted a main road through town. Straight ahead of the bush where the ribbon had hung, barely discernible though the black outlines of trees, was a shape that might be the house and deck Mae had seen. Even though seeing it didn’t seem possible.
She crossed the creek with a jump and jogged to the edge of the yard. It really was the house she’d seen. Every detail, exactly right. The recognition was exciting, and a little frightening somehow. “Belle, kitty. Come on, Belle.”
No barking. No lights in the house. Feeling safe to trespass, Mae crossed the yard and peered under the back deck. Her heart gave a thump of amazement. Belle’s pale fur and huge eyes caught a glint of streetlight. The cat uttered a long despairing yowl.
“I know, kitty. I get it.” Mae crawled into the dirt-smelling wooden cave under the deck and picked up Belle, holding the small, quivering animal against her heart. The future felt like that yowl. “It’s a nasty old house Mama’s put us in. I don’t blame you one bit.” Belle didn’t purr, but she stopped shaking.
Trying not to cry, not to be a sniveling weak mess like her mother, Mae swallowed her tears and carried Belle out from under the deck. “We’ll make it, kitty. I don’t know how. But we’ll live.”
Belle hissed and squiggled on coming out of her hiding place, but Mae held her, claws and all. Bringing her home hurt. Seemed like neither of them wanted to call this home, not the damp house, the ugly neighborhood, or the town of Cauwetska. No mountains. No Daddy. No beauty as far as Mae could see.
Opening the door of the green house with one hand, she let herself in and closed it firmly before letting the cat down. Belle ran around the room a few times and ducked under the sofa. Rhoda-Rae was on the phone in the kitchen. “Arnie, honey, I’ve got to go,” she said. “Rhoda-Mae brought the cat back, thank God. I’ll see you tomorrow ... Yes, I’m fine, sugar, I’m fine. I love you, too.”
Mae’s resentment hardened on hearing her mother talking lovey-dovey to a boyfriend, the inspiration for this move, only six months after evicting Daddy and everything that had to do with him.
“That was quick. How on earth did you find her so fast?” Rhoda-Rae stood in the doorway, smoothing he
r permed and proper auburn hair as if it had been mussed by the phone call.
“It was funny.” Mae slipped past her mother into the kitchen and opened a cardboard box to get a glass, unwrapping one from the dishtowel that had held it safe from breaking. She drew a drink from the tap, wondering if she could explain what had happened. It was so strange, she had to tell someone though, even if that someone was Mama. “I found her ribbon, and then ... I closed my eyes, and I could see her. I could see right where she was, every detail, like a movie.”
“Are you sure, sugar?” Rhoda-Rae turned to her daughter with narrowed eyes, one manicured hand going to the cross around her neck.
“I’m not lying. Yeah, I’m sure.”
Rhoda-Rae walked to the kitchen table and sank into one of the old wooden chairs. Its uneven legs made it rock as she sat. “Oh, that Outlaw blood will show.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mama. She was an Outlaw before she married your Grampa Jackson. She didn’t just do the old country doctoring, she had the sight. Like what you just did.” She sighed, folded her arms, and crossed her ankles. Even for moving day, she wore nylon hose and shoes with little heels. “Outlaw clan was known for that.”
“How come you never told me?”
“I don’t hold with any of it. It’s against God and it’s against good, modern medicine, all that nonsense. I wouldn’t let her talk to you about it.”
“Mama—against God? I found Belle.”
“Letting things into your mind like that, it’s like doing magic. It’s witchy, that’s what I think. My own mama.” Rhoda-Rae shuddered, with a look to heaven, as if she hoped God could see her performance. “She made potions and sold herbs and she laid her hands on people to get them well, and they’d skip going to a real doctor. She could have killed somebody.”
Rhoda-Rae was a nurse. Mae could see maybe her mother might not like the country doctoring. The other objections didn’t make sense, though. Before Mae could argue again, her mother continued.
“And as for seeing what isn’t your business to see, that’s just plain wrong. She could spy out what someone was doing miles away, or even ten years ago if she tried. All she needed was a little bit of your hair or your clothes, and she could see you. If that’s not the work of the devil I don’t know what is.”
This was silly, more superstitious than really religious. “Not if you use it to do good.”
“Are you arguing with me, Rhoda-Mae?”
“I am.” Mae finished her water, set the glass down, and began to unpack the rest of the box. The cabinets felt sticky inside as she arranged the glasses in them, and she wondered if it was the humidity or if the last tenant hadn't been clean. “I found Belle. That’s not witchy.”
“I don’t want you ever using the sight again, do you hear me?” Rhoda-Rae stood, started to leave the room, and paused by her daughter, waiting for an answer. “It spooks me, sugar. I didn’t raise you to be like that.”
Not even a thank you for finding Belle. Too annoyed to make a promise, Mae avoided her mother’s eyes. She took one of the dishcloths from the box she’d been unpacking and wet it to wipe out the next shelf before she put the dishes in it. It came away black. She should clean out the others.
With a snappish sigh, Rhoda-Rae left the room. Soon Mae could hear the radio playing country music in her mother’s bedroom and the sounds of drawers squeaking open and closed.
Bewildered but intrigued by her experience with the sight, Mae tried to remember her Granma Jackson. Rhoda-Sue Outlaw Jackson had been as country as they come, a mountain widow who grew a vegetable and herb garden, raised chickens, and lived by herself in a holler outside of Boone, a long way from other people. Mae had loved her kindness and humor, and enjoyed helping in the garden. Rhoda-Sue had shared a little of her herbal medicine, but had never shared the rest of her lore and skills, apparently honoring Rhoda-Rae’s wishes.
Placing bowls and plates in the cleaned cupboards, Mae felt sad that her Granma had died never teaching her, never even telling her, just because Rhoda-Rae thought this sight was spooky and devilish. It hadn’t felt that way. It was peculiar, sure, but finding Belle had felt, if anything, like something God might want you to do, not like letting the devil into your mind.
Of course, Mama was right that if you used this sight to spy out all sorts of things that were none of your business, then it would be bad. If Granma had done that, she’d been a little wicked. Mae unwrapped the last bowl, put it away, put the dishtowels in a drawer, and walked to her mother’s room. Rhoda-Rae, singing along with the radio, danced as she hung her dresses. She had a lot of dresses. Liked to go out dancing.
“Mama?”
“What is it?”
“I won’t do anything wicked with the sight. I promise.”
“I should hope not, sugar. I should hope you can promise me you won’t use it again at all.” The phone rang, and Rhoda-Rae scurried to the kitchen to answer. “Arnie? Oh, bless your heart, I’d love to ... Rhoda-Mae, sweetheart, Arnie wants to take me out to celebrate my moving here. You’re a big girl, you’ll be all right by yourself for a little bit, won’t you?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Belle followed Mae to her room and hid under the bed while Mae unpacked and Rhoda-Rae sang with the radio in the next room.
When Rhoda-Rae and Arnie left, calling goodbye, Mae didn’t bother to see them off. She didn’t care if they had a good time. She missed her father. And wished she could have unpacked her softball glove and bat he’d given her. But Rhoda-Rae had sent it all with him when she kicked him out. Every last trace of Jim Bob “Marty” Martin had gone with him. At the time, Rhoda-Rae had said it was because “men like your father should be erased from the face of the earth.”
But as Mae neatly folded her running shorts and T-shirts, filling a drawer with athletic clothes, then another with jeans and sweaters, she wished she had those gifts from her father. Belle crept out from under the bed, swatting at a trailing bathrobe belt as Mae tossed the robe onto the bed. The cat’s lavender-gray paw snagged Mae’s mind as well as the belt. Finding Belle. No wonder Mama got rid of his stuff. She thought I might have the sight like Granma and use it to find him, like I did with Belle’s ribbon.
Of course, six months gone and no calls, no letters, maybe Daddy was as bad as Mama said and there was no point in looking. After all, he knew where she’d been until this move.
As Mae sat on the bed, Belle crept out from under it. Mae scooped her up and lay back on the bare mattress. Belle squirmed before accepting the embrace, but her lavender-tipped tail continued to switch. Feisty thing. More her true nature not to wear that ribbon.
The mattress felt lumpy and had a dip in the middle like one big person had slept in it. This was someone else’s sleep, someone else’s life, in this bed. Mae closed her eyes and began to see something, the tunnel, the shape of a person in the bed. Shocked, she opened her eyes and sat up, still holding Belle. Shoot. The sight. She could see anything, anyone, if she wasn’t careful. What had woken up in her? Was this like puberty—you turned thirteen and it came on like your periods? She didn’t want to see whoever slept the dent into this old bed.
Didn’t want to see the father who left and never called or wrote. She’d probably see him doing something awful, some horrid thing Mama had kicked him out for, whatever it was, and ruin all her sweet memories of her daddy. Mama wouldn’t say, wouldn’t talk about him, it was so bad. Tears burned in Mae’s eyes and her chest tightened.
Maybe Mama was right. Don’t use this power. Turn it off. But it was good to have Belle back. Good to have some kind of company in this lonely, ugly place. Standing up before she broke down and cried, she tried to cut out feeling sorry for herself. She had to get the bed made up, get Belle’s things taken care of, set up her litter box, get her little dishes out and give her food and water.
It was nice to have someone to take care of. “Let’s get you fed, kitty.”
Mae let Belle ride on her shoulder as sh
e walked to the kitchen, then set her down to open the box that held Belle’s dishes. Mae opened another box and unpacked a few cans of cat food, as well as some soup and beans. She hadn’t eaten, and Rhoda-Rae had left without thinking about Mae’s supper. Typical. Belle wove herself around Mae’s ankles as she opened a can of food and dumped part of it into a bowl, filled another bowl with water, and set them on the floor.
Listening to the familiar snicking sounds of the cat eating, Mae thought how sad it would be right now if she hadn’t found Belle. She didn’t want to get rid of the sight. She’d never have seen her under that deck, and Belle never would have found them again. Belle would have tried to run back to Boone and got hit by a car or eaten by a hawk.
What if she’d found the ribbon, used the sight, and seen something like that? Seen the cat die? That could have been worse than never knowing, at least hoping she was all right.
As she opened a can of soup for supper, Mae heard the radio still playing in Rhoda-Rae’s room. It bothered her. She needed some peace and quiet when her mother wasn’t around.
She went down the hall and looked around her mother’s room to see where the radio was. Rhoda-Rae already had frilly pillows on the bed and standing on the dresser a picture of Jesus and a picture of Rhoda-Rae as a teenage cheerleader. There was so much Mae could know, if she held something and asked to see. And there was so much she didn’t want to know, about her parents, the old tenants, the whole miserable world of adults and their problems. Like the stuff in the country song that was playing.
Turning off the radio on the bedside table, Mae realized that was what she’d have to do with the sight. Turn it off, if she could, and keep it off unless she really needed it, like needing the radio on during a hurricane. And she’d get Belle a leash to walk her like a dog, so she wouldn’t have to find her again.
Chapter One
December 2009
The old red truck had sat by the edge of the field all day and the hunter still wasn’t back by sunset. Mae’s first thought was it served him right if he got lost. He was on her in-laws’ property, and they had plenty of signs posted saying No Hunting. Her second thought was since this truck belonged to her ex-husband, Mack Tyler, he’d probably gotten drunk and shot himself in the foot and might need help. Back when they were newlyweds and he’d taught her to shoot and hunt, she’d caught on fast. She had to. Not just because they needed the meat, but because Mack drank too much to be safe with a gun. Lacking a sober wife wouldn’t stop him now, though. Fool.