“Good to see young’uns with a healthy appetite.”
Across the table, Arly grabbed the last piece of cornbread on the plate and grinned, his mouth full of food.
“You need a trough,” I told him.
“I have to eat this way or you’ll grab all the vittles.” He grinned again, almost letting the food drop from his open mouth.
“If I see that mouth open one more time, except to insert food, I’m going to tape your hands to your chair and feed you myself. Maebelle has better manners,” Mama Betts said, giving Arly a look over the top of her glasses.
It seemed like the first time all summer that I’d really looked at Arly. He’d grown at least four inches, and his skin was a smooth golden brown from working in the sun. Mrs. Arnette let the boys in the nursery work without shirts. Effie had teased Arly a bit about it during the summer, saying Mrs. Arnette liked to watch the young boys flex their muscles and sweat. Instead of getting irritated, Arly had agreed with a grin.
Since he was saving up to buy a car, Arly had been working from seven in the morning until six at night. He wouldn’t tell anyone how much money he had, but he was spending some of it on Rosie Carpenter and the drive-in. They changed the feature once a week, but Arly and Rosie would go sometimes on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night, when Effie let him use the car that often. I thought they’d lost their minds, but Alice said they never watched the movie the whole way through. Eavesdropping on her older brothers and sisters had given Alice a wealth of knowledge I didn’t have.
When supper was over, Alice and I helped Mama Betts clear the table while Arly played with Maebelle. It was eight by the time we were done, and I asked Mama Betts if I could call The Judge in New Orleans.
“I expect they’re out having dinner, but you can call,” she said. She gave me the phone number, and I went into the hall. What was I going to tell The Judge? I hadn’t planned anything, and as I picked up the black receiver, the horror of the day threatened to overwhelm me. All I had to tell him was that I needed him. That he had to come home to me.
I dialed, and was shocked to hear a strange woman answer. “Monteleon, may I help you?”
I asked for Walt Rich’s room, and she put me through. The phone rang at least a dozen times before she came back on and said there was no answer. I didn’t leave a message. If they got in late and found I’d called, it would frighten the daylights out of them. I’d try again later. I’d stay up all night if I had to.
We all watched Dr. Kildare, and for a brief time I forgot Kali Oka and concentrated on the wonderful doctor. Alice and I both agreed he was dreamy, and Arly said he was going to barf. Mama Betts played with Maebelle V.
At nine I tried to call again. Still no answer. I placed the call again at ten. They weren’t back.
Arly and I walked Alice and Maebelle V. home. We left her at the edge of the woods and watched her sneak in the back door, careful not to let it slam. If she wasn’t caught going in, no one would ever recall where she’d gone or what she’d done. It seemed odd. Mama Betts and Effie knew just about every move Arly and I made.
“We need about ten brothers and sisters,” Arly said. “Then we could get by with doing whatever we wanted.”
“We might get to do it, but we’d still have to pay for it.” I started home, and to my surprise, Arly didn’t even try to scare me once.
Twenty-eight
I WORE my hair down and my bra for the first day of school. I’d never been so miserable. The heat in the school was compounded by nervous seventh graders crammed together in one study hall for registration while outside the double doors, high schoolers went about their business, going to lockers, talking, laughing, looking good no matter the heat.
There were hundreds of new faces. In Chickasaw County there were community schools for grades one through six. In the seventh, classes were consolidated. There were girls and boys from Two Forks, Shuntee, Brushy Creek, Pixley, Fairley’s Hollow and Crossroads. Alice and I were swept up in the milling crowd as friends sought each other above the hubbub.
Alice wore her aqua sundress and her eyes were wide beneath her bangs. She was ready for school, as was Jamey Louise. I saw her standing on a chair in a yellow dress that showed off her tan. She waved at me.
Even though we were mighty seventh graders, it didn’t keep the girls from squealing as they met friends they hadn’t seen all summer. The hot season of isolation was over. School was in, and there would be ballgames and dances and spend-the-night parties. The yellow school buses would bring us together and deliver us home everyday.
The boys ganged up at the end of the study hall, and I saw some I knew from the year before. Frank Taylor jerked my hair with a healthy tug.
“Where’s the ‘tails, Bekkah Rich?” he asked, grinning.
“Tomorrow,” I promised him, lifting my hair with my hand. Sweat was running down my back. Pigtails might be stupid, but they were cool. I was dying, and the bra was rubbing a raw spot in my rib cage.
“You look like you feel bad,” he said.
I hadn’t slept for three nights. Each time I closed my eyes and drifted into blackness, I heard the screams of a horse that became the cries of Greg. “I’m fine,” I lied. “It’s so hot in here.”
“I hear your folks are out in California.”
“Yeah, they’re headed that way. Hollywood.” I’d been trying to find The Judge and Effie each night, but they’d left New Orleans and headed toward the West Coast. Effie had called once and Walt once. I’d missed both calls because I wasn’t home. Mama Betts had assured them all was fine on Kali Oka. She didn’t know the torments I was suffering. Since my parents weren’t certain how far they’d make it each day in their travels west, they couldn’t say where they’d be until they got to Rita’s. By then it would be too late. Walt couldn’t just turn around and rush back. I’d lost my chance with him.
“Bekkah?” Frank was staring at me. “Maybe you want some water or something?”
I shook my head and forced a smile. “Thanks, Frank. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“You’re pretty close to your mother, aren’t you?” He shifted from foot to foot, and he kept his back turned to the other boys.
“Yeah.” It was easier to agree than to try to explain. There were so many things to worry about. Greg had disappeared completely from the barn. Jamey Louise had stayed in a vile mood for two days. Then she just said she’d had it with Greg and the barn, and she quit. She hadn’t given me a chance to consider telling her anything about the beating Greg had gotten. That was like a trust between me and Greg, and I hadn’t told anyone. Not even Nadine. And if I was worried about Jamey being mad, Nadine was a slow fuse burning. She was furious that both Jamey and Greg had quit without giving notice.
The other shoe I expected to drop was the Redeemers. For the first day or two after my ride to Cry Baby Creek, I had expected some repercussions. None had come. My relief was tinged with a bit of disappointment, and I realized I’d hoped in some crazy way to draw the Redeemers out, to make them come onto Kali Oka Road away from church property. If they’d called the sheriff on me, then I could have told Joe Wickham everything I knew. But they did nothing.
And I went to school. My work schedule at the barn had shifted to afternoons with the first day of school. After the packed, airless classrooms all day, the barn was an improvement. I did all of my chores first and took my time, so I could ride Cammie in the late afternoon.
Nadine did not come outside. I hadn’t seen much of her since Caesar’s death. My schedule became one of work and solitude. I rode Cammie and then put her away. The barn looked good, but it was a lot more work since Jamey Louise had quit. And Greg.
Since they’d gone, the barn took on a different atmosphere. Strange noises filtered from the loft, noises that piqued my curiosity and my horrid imagination. I climbed the ladder to the loft twice and poked my head up to look around, hoping for some sign of Greg, that he’d at least been by. But the lighting was poor and the loft spooky. I did
n’t linger long or look very hard. The hay was piled high, and the faint rustlings undoubtedly came from Nadine’s growing collection of rats.
Before I left for home on the third day, I took a quick survey around the barn. When Nadine came out to feed, I didn’t want her to find anything out of place. Outside the open barn door, the sky was turning shades of gold and pink and lavender. It was after seven—a good thing Effie was out of town or she’d be mad at me for being so late.
My shoulders ached, a good tiredness mixed with the stiffness that was a result of lack of sleep. Everyone at school seemed so excited to be there. All of the girls smiled, and all of the boys watched them. It seemed that everyone had left the summer behind but me. I was still trapped in my nightmares.
“Good night, Cammie.” I went to her stall and patted her muzzle. It was velvet, slightly warmed. Cammie was the one good thing about the summer. The best. I buried my face against her warm neck.
She stilled suddenly, and without looking, I knew her ears had pricked forward. She was listening to something. I thought I’d heard it too. A noise indistinguishable in the shuffling and snuffling of horses, the creak of old wood, the sigh of rusty hinges. Something that didn’t belong.
Cammie tensed beneath my touch, and I eased away from her, looking to see where she looked. In the fading light of the day, there was nothing unusual that I could see in the barn.
I thought of a weapon. The pitchforks were at the other end of the barn, near the tack room. At the thought of me standing guard with a pitchfork, I tried to smile, but it didn’t work. Someone had very recently been in that barn and killed a horse. Someone evil had visited. And left. Perhaps he had returned.
The noise came to me again, a whisper of a moan. It floated all around me, coming from nowhere in particular. It was the sound of something dying, something in pain. Or someone trying very hard to frighten me out of the barn.
“Get out of here!” I hissed the words through a jaw that didn’t want to unclench. “Whoever you are, just get away from these horses.”
Nadine was in the house. Maybe if I screamed she would come out. But she hadn’t heard Caesar’s death cries.
The sound came again, a low, throbbing moan.
My fears ricocheted from the real to the unreal. Selena had left her dress in the loft. Maybe she’d come back for it. I looked down to the end of the barn. The doorway was empty, but night was falling. Mama Betts would be worried sick about me. And where was Picket? She’d never go home without me.
I argued with myself that I was letting my imagination run away with me. There was nothing to prevent me from dashing home and getting Arly or Mama Betts to come back with me to search the barn.
But I could not leave the horses defenseless. Whatever, or whoever, was in the barn, I’d have to confront them. Greg had been right about me before. But this time I wasn’t going to run away.
I whistled softly for Picket as I unlatched the stall door. I’d be a better target in the open aisle, but I couldn’t cower in the stall forever. I had to get to a pitchfork. It was better than nothing.
There was no sign of my dog, and a burst of hatred unlocked some of the fear. If anything had happened to Picket … I shifted from stall to stall down the length of the barn toward the tack room. If anyone was watching me, I couldn’t see them.
The moan came again, clearer now. It vibrated against my body. I felt it, filled with so many black things.
I prayed. For protection, for courage. For my dog and the horses.
Then my hand found the pitchfork and I stepped into the center of the aisle.
The moan slithered around me, more distinct than before. More unearthly. Given a choice, I decided I’d rather face Selena than the man who’d killed Caesar. Ghosts were frightening, but I’d never heard of one killing anything.
“Selena,” I whispered.
The moan answered me.
It seemed to come from above me. Was she looking for her dress? She’d hidden it in the loft one time.
The moan came again, low and soft, almost a sigh. It sounded as if someone said my name!
“Jesus Christ, son of God, protect me. I swear I’ll be a better person. I’ll say my prayers every night.” I stopped. What prayer could save me from that whisper, that horrible claim on my very soul?
Hefting the pitchfork with one hand, I started up the ladder to the loft. Whatever was up there, it was happy I was coming. It had stopped making any noise at all.
The loft was very dark. The last glimmer of evening light came in through a few cracks and crevices, but for the most part I was sightless. I eased to my knees and began crawling, feeling in front of me with one hand so that I didn’t slip off the edge of the loft floor. Against all of Nadine’s rules, I dragged the pitchfork beside me. It wouldn’t do much good against a ghost, but it might if I found the person who’d killed Caesar. Maybe the horse had clipped him and hurt him worse than anyone knew. Maybe he’d been hiding around the barn for days, growing weaker and weaker, until he finally crawled into the loft to die. That gave me great satisfaction. Maybe I’d just leave him up there until he croaked!
When my fingers brushed against the shoe, I almost screamed. The only thing that stopped me was the terrible moan that came from whoever I’d touched.
My fingers closed on the leg, and I shook it.
“Help,” the voice answered softly.
The truth started to dawn on me, and with it came a terrible rush of guilt.
“Greg?” I inched closer, feeling the leg. My hand drifted up past his waist to the white cotton shirt. It was crusted on his back with something that I knew was infection and blood.
“Holy shit!”
I raced backward, crawling on my hands and knees in the hay. My foot slipped on the first rung of the ladder, but I managed to hang on and beat it down to the ground. In a moment the barn was illuminated. I hurried back up the ladder and stopped as soon as I saw him. He was sicker than I’d ever seen anyone. He lay on his side, curled into a ball. His body shook as if demon-possessed, and low moans slipped from between his slack lips.
“Greg?” I inched forward and touched his leg.
He moaned, but he didn’t wake up.
“Greg?” I shook his leg pretty hard. “Wake up.”
His body shook, starting at his head and moving down to his feet. I backed away from him, wondering if he was going to die in front of me. There was a terrible smell, as if maybe part of him had already died.
I was too frightened to cry. I stumbled backward to the ladder, afraid to take my eyes off Greg, afraid the shallow rise of his chest would stop if I looked away for even a second. For a long time I clung to the ladder, my feet on the second rung. Then I started down. Picket was waiting for me at the bottom. I hit the ground running toward the house and Nadine.
Darkness had finally settled in, and I thought of Mama Betts. She’d be worried sick about me. Maybe she’d come to look for me. She’d know how to make Greg well. She always knew how to make sick people better.
“Nadine!” I pounded the back door and screamed. “Nadine!”
When there was no answer, I banged the screen open and shut as hard as I could. “Nadine!”
If she didn’t come to the door, I’d go in and call Mama Betts. I’d tell her to bring the doctor and an ambulance.
“Nadine!”
“What in the hell is wrong with you?”
Nadine appeared at the kitchen door, her hair around her head in shaggy disarray. She’d been asleep.
“It’s Greg. He’s in the barn and he’s hurt bad.”
“That little bastard can’t come here to lick his wounds after he left me without help.”
Her voice was fuzzy, like each word slammed over the next. The screen door pulled back easily in my hand, and I stepped over a fresh sack of garbage near the door and entered. “He’s hurt bad.”
Nadine blinked three times. “Where is he?” She ran a hand through her hair. She was dressed in an old T-shirt, too bi
g and with holes, and her underwear.
“In the loft.” I had to choke back the tears. “I think he’s been there since Caesar was killed.”
“Three days?” Nadine said it like she was asking a question, but she wasn’t.
“They beat him at the church. They beat him bad. I tried to doctor him, but I guess it didn’t work.” I grabbed Nadine’s hand and pulled her with me to the steps. “I put that horse salve on his back.”
“Shit!” Nadine gathered momentum and started after me. As we hurried down her steps, she took the lead. Running barefoot in her T-shirt and panties, she raced across the yard in the dark.
She was halfway up the ladder by the time I started. At the top she halted. “Fuck.” The word was a simple statement. “What the fuck happened to him?” she asked down to me.
“The preacherman beat him. Greg confessed that he’d painted Jesus’ face black on the crucifix, but he didn’t. Someone else did, but they were going to beat Georgie and Greg confessed.”
“The stupid little fuck.” She went on up.
When I cleared the opening, she was crouched beside Greg, her hand on his head. “He’s burning up with fever. It’s a wonder he isn’t dead from infection. Get a flashlight from the house,” she ordered. “In the bedroom, beside the bed.”
With Nadine’s presence, a sense of calm touched me like a cooling hand. I ran as fast as I could, but I wasn’t panicked. I turned on the light in the kitchen and followed the hall toward the front rooms. It wasn’t a large house, and the door to the bathroom was open. Dirty towels covered the floor, and I went past. The next door was closed. When I opened it, I found what looked like a storage room. There was a terrible smell, so I closed it back. The next door gave access to Nadine’s bedroom.
There was a switch for an overhead light, so I hit it. Nothing happened and I stumbled over shoes and things on the floor until I made it to the bed and found the bedside lamp. The flashlight was beside it.
Summer of the Redeemers Page 28