"Don’t be afraid. They are far away on the point across the lake,” she said to the child as if he could understand her. She’d only ever called him boy, not bothering to name the child who was the spawn of Satan and her curse to bear. He couldn’t hear her and had never spoken a word.
“Don’t worry, boy,” she said listening to the sounds of the men who hunted in the vast acreage nearby or maybe it was a group of boys who she’d often heard laughing on the point across the lake. The old woman reached out and touched her hand to a bare shoulder watching as a clear string of drool dripped from the corner of the child’s mouth.
Under her breath she cursed the sheriff and the townspeople. "You will all pay” she said quietly. “I will curse you with my last breath and then you will know the revenge of killing God’s children. You will know the pain and suffering of the loss of your own children and then your very life".
“Come child, let’s gather some vegetables from the garden,” she said opening the door. The boy hung back, then darted through the door in front of her. She looked at a darkening sky. Tall fir trees were turning their shadows into creatures that could only be found in a child’s nightmare. As huge drops of rain began to fall, She ran a few steps after the boy and then stopped. Gripping her chest, she fell heavily against the porch railing the cold hard rain now pelting relentlessly against her back. She turned her face skyward and let the water run across her cheeks. It felt good against her warm skin plastering her thin gray hair against her forehead.
The pain was relentless. The old woman’s long brown skirt brushed the ground, its hem becoming dark and wet. Her collar squeezed against her throat restricting the air to her lungs. She pulled at her neck frantically gasping for air. The broach at her throat fell to the porch bouncing against the hard wood and ricocheting off into the bushes. Her knees gave way and she fell to the ground, sitting heavily, stretching her arms to break her fall.
Somehow, she pulled herself up on to the back porch out of the rain to a low wooden bench. The world began to move in slow motion. The end was near. She reached out for the form that had come back to her and curled on the cold wood floor at her feet. She leaned over and stroked the long white hair that fell across the boy’s neck. He turned and starred at her still mute.
Looking away in horror at the boy’s appearance tears ran down her cheeks. She felt so sorry for the babe. It wasn’t fair. A child was supposed to be a gift from God while her grandson was like something from Satan’s lair. She loved him more than life itself feeling ashamed when she pulled away from him in disgust. His birth had been a surprise. When her daughter had run off soon after the baby was born, she had hidden the child from the world. He was different and had never made even a sound all of his tender years. Her husband had died of shame at the bastard child. God had punished them all now; it was time for her own final judgment.
Listening to the pounding of the rain she leaned over to hold her babe close to her trembling. She’d loved the child with all her heart despite the pain he had caused to her and her family. But, she couldn’t show him; it wasn’t her nature. A knife-like pain traveled up her arm toward her chest and she gritted her teeth.
"I promise to watch over you from heaven, my sweet babe,” she said. "I love you." The increasing pain brought tears to the corners of her eyes. He watched as her white nostrils flared with each breath and then she slowly closed her eyes. The boy’s fair hand with long yellowed fingernails reached out instinctively to pull her warmth closer. Nuzzling the familiar smell, he slept soundly. He rocked her gently in his thin arms, encircling her, protecting her from the night; guarding her; taking comfort in holding her close.
Unheard, a vehicle wound its way up the hill through the dark landscape. To one side, it passed a series of caves. Near a waterfall, here tall black walnut trees were wrapped in leaves that once colorful were now lay on the ground turning yellow and brown. The summer season was dying leaving the skeleton branches of the trees clinging to remaining leaves, as bare as the slate on the nearby cave walls. Soon to be a canvas on which to paint a harsh winter. Icicle from the waterfall and lacy frost covered bushes hid the caves in winter months. Black walnut grow fast and tall. Already this particular grove was dense.
From the top of the hill, the flowing river was apparent below. The surface shone like dark crystal as the moonlight played long waves across its surface, but the caves were well hidden. The dank stench of wet leaves and moss wafted up out of the dark soil warm as it touched the chilled air, but the caves added a particular green glowing dampness to the glen.
Later that evening, the sheriff heaved a great but silent sigh. He didn’t relish what lay ahead tonight. Tarlington’s bulk filled the passenger seat of the sheriff’s late model bronco, county sheriff symbols contrasted harshly white against the black doors. The truck rumbled loudly up the hill with only a slight protest of age.
“Boy, just to let you know I ain’t fooling around here all night.” Tarlington said gruffly breaking the silence which they had ridden in since the sheriff met him at the town hall. “I need this land and you will do well helping me make sure that I get it peacefully.”
“Yes, sir”
“TVA and Congressman Whitley are going to help me develop this portion of the lake which will mean tourism and prosperity. Lakefront property this close to Knoxville means more money for all concerned,” Tarlington continued talking as if an audience rather than a single captive listener. The sheriff didn’t respond but thought to himself that the only person who was going to get richer in this deal was Tarlington and his son.
At the end of the drive his bright white headlights stabbed through the darkness searching for the brush covered drive to the old woman’s house. Turning, the sheriff slowly pulled up the drive followed by a large panel truck.
"You didn’t have to come with me Mr. Tarlington," Kane finally spoke as they reached their destination.
"As I said, I didn’t want any more time wasted on this problem, sheriff. I have construction crews standing by waiting for this deal to be final. Once it is they are going to start building one of the grandest hunting lodges in the east. With all the wild game and the great fishing in this area I’ll have one of the most sought after spots around. That is if you’ll get rid of this old woman and let me get started.” He rolled his large frame around to face Sheriff Kane. “Hell, I’d have begun in the summer if you hadn’t been so slack,” Mr. Tarlington said with an edge of anger in his voice.
"Well, after tonight, it will be all yours, Mr. Tarlington. You certainly picked a wet one to move her though."
"For someone who depends on my goodwill to keep our local hardware store profitable, you sure don’t have your heart in this business. I hope you don’t continue this thread of thinking. It would be personally disadvantageous, "Tarlington paused "for both of us."
They rode the rest of the way in a stiff silence. The sheriff pulled his bronco up under a huge maple tree which stood about forty feet from the house’s front porch. The second truck pulled around the bronco toward the house and then turned to position its tailgate near the front door. The sheriff grabbed his flashlight as he climbed from his car the tree shielding him from the rain. Tugging the collar of his jacket closer around his neck the sheriff climbed the steps to the front door and rapped sharply. Tarlington waited in the truck watching.
He awoke with a start. There was something wrong. A pounding came from the front of the house accompanied by unfamiliar smells. He could feel the pounding through the wooden floor boards. It was muffled. Next to him lay his mother, her hand over his. Confusion clouded his mind. He leaned over and nudged her shoulder. It was stiff and cold. Pressing his nose to her side, he felt for her hand picked it up and pressed it into his hair. There was no response. He knew the front door had opened, though he could not hear and the smells grew heavier moving towards him. Nuzzling the still form, he took a deep breath imprinting her in his memory. He didn’t know what drove him but within his mind he could see t
here were men approaching. He sensed that they were here to harm both his mother and him, but didn’t really know what that meant. As they came closer, he held her hand briefly then moved silently off the porch and into the rainy night.
"Sheriff, she’s back here,” one of the men called from the back porch. "I think she’s dead." The man held gas lantern over the old woman’s body for a moment. He heard a noise in the bushes at the edge of the porch. Turning he held the lamp high searching for its source. Tarlington and the sheriff walked down a narrow hall to the back porch. Stooping over the body, the sheriff felt for a pulse and then with a sigh, he looked at Tarlington and shook his head. With one hand he pulled her eyes closed and said a prayer under his breath.
"Well, the land’s all yours. She’s obviously not going to put up a fight,” Sheriff Kane said as he stood and pushed past Tarlington towards the front of the house.
"What do you want me to do with her, Mr. Tarlington?" a youth barely out of his teens asked. Tarlington directed his answer to the sheriff.
"Arrange for a paupers funeral, sheriff. Send the bill to me. It’s the least I can do and it will get her out of my hair once and for all, ”Tarlington said as he followed the sheriff up the hall.
“Brandon, go get a blanket to wrap her in and we’ll take her with us. You other boys, start loading things from those front rooms into the truck.” The sheriff instructed.
“Yes, sir,” Brandon mumbled and stooped down next to the old woman trying to decide what to do next.
From the bushes, the boy watched the young man crouch next to his mother’s body. With a motion as swift as a cat, he leapt from the bushes onto the man’s back. The man tried to turn as he felt the weight upon him, with a strangled moan he cried out and fell sideways off the porch. His eyes stared at the boy in fear; watching in horror as the crazed face and demon eyes, came closer to his own. The gas lantern he’d been carrying rolled to a stop just inside the back door smashing the glass against the linoleum floor. The flame grasped the edge of the curtains and burst into flames climbing its way to the ceiling and across the porch.
The boy grabbed the old woman’s arm and dragged her down the steps, her head thumping against each step. The woman’s body was frail and the adrenaline from his fear fueled his strength and determination. He turned and looked at the house as the flames climbed up the walls to lap against the tin roof. The rain sizzled on the flames but the fire was too well fueled by the aged timbers to stop its spread. Dragging the body by one arm, alone for the first time in his life, he crawled beneath the branches of the evergreens.
Water dripped down through the branches of the evergreens as the rain drops steadily fell from the pine needles like tears. He grasped the woman’s small bony wrist and redoubled his efforts dragging her towards the rock circle where she and he had spent many an evening staring up at the stars. At the edge of the circle, he stopped. The river lay just beyond the edge circle with the caverns close by.
At the far edge of the clearing he knelt on all fours at a ditch and dug furiously with both hands. Sweat rolled down his forehead anointing the ground with his honest toil of love. Within a few minutes he had cleared the ditch of leaves and loose soil. Pulling her body into the depression, he looked at her face and knelt at her side. He pulled her hands one by one crossing them over her heart. Stiffness had begun to set in making it difficult.
Looking at her face he whimpered with loneliness. She was the only person he had ever known. There was no real love between them but there was caring at times and she was all he’d had. He lay across her chest and closed his eyes, wishing her to come alive and yell at him to return to the safety of his basement, but she didn’t move. She didn’t yell. He just stared for a moment and then crawled to his feet.
Moving towards the cliffs, he started gathering rocks, stacking them neatly on her body. Within an hour or so, he had completed his task. Her fragile body was completely covered with rocks. Exhausted from his night’s escapades, he lay across the stones and in moments was deeply asleep, despite the cold and rain.
The sun climbed across the horizon. A new day dawned painting the blue sky with sparse white clouds. He rolled to his right holding himself with his own arms, but imagining that it was another holding him tightly and whispering quiet words of comfort on his unresponsive ears. His back ached with stiffness from his long night lying across a mound of rocks. With an effort, he sat up and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. Pushing himself to his feet, he started towards the house, then remembered that his home was gone, swallowed in flames the night before. Confused, he started walking. The forest fell away ending in a copse of trees.
He walked away from the lake and the newly piled stones. He had never been this direction, heeding the warning of his mother never to walk toward the rising sun for it led to the place where the others lived. In the last few months as he approached his twelfth year, he had become curious about the others. Often hiding behind the rocks at the edge of the water near the caves, he watched far off figures move about. At night he could see the glow of fires on the point at the edge of the cliffs and shadowy forms swaying to and fro around the fire performing a ceremony of their own.
He walked along his dirty bare feet feeling the soft warm earth breathing beneath him, his toes crunching on a layer of fallen leaves. The great magnolia bushes buzzed with life reaching down to run their fingers through his tresses, grabbing pieces of his long white shirt and slapping against his tattered black trousers. His white hair glinted like silver in the bright sunlight.
He could feel the cars as they passed on the nearby road; the rumbling of their motors pulsing through the ground. As he stepped on to the blacktop, another car approached. He stood for a minute, trapped like a deer in headlights and then darted across the road into the brush. He cocked his head as sensed the car stop along the road. The engine coughed, sputtered and then quit. A movement in the bushes caught his attention and he crouched behind a nearby blackberry bush.
He stood stock still, frozen in place. Seconds later, a large gray-brown rabbit hopped from the bush along the trail he had just previously walked. It’s pink and brown ears twitched as it listened to every sound, the crickets, the birds, the mumbled sounds of the crickets and katydids. In a flash, the rabbit had passed from sight into to a nearby patch of brambles covered with tiny pink roses.
With his attention concentrated on the rabbit, he had failed to notice that two men had gotten out of the black and white bronco. One man clad in a brown uniform started walking quietly through the woods trying carefully to keep his feet from giving away from his presence. The other man clad in a red and blue plaid flannel shirt and jeans, climbed from the passenger seat and he too walked into the woods, as if looking for something or someone.
The young boy still intent on the rabbit walked towards the blackberry bushes his stomach grumbling with hunger. One-by-one he picked the black berries from the bush popping them in this mouth. Their tart sweet juices exploding against thin ripe skins, felt good against his tongue. He reached up to the highest branches to pick the berries that had been longest warmed by the sun. He knew they were the largest and the sweetest. As he filled his mouth, he didn’t notice the two men gesturing to one another on either side of the clearing.
The boy pushed the thorny braches apart to reach for more berries when the two men appeared and moved steadily forward. The boy’s eyebrows puckered as he cocked his head and he stood still. Finally feeling the men’s footsteps, he turned his head abruptly, saw them closing on him and dove into the heart of the brambles. Scrambling in fear, he tried to dig his way into the thicket under the tangle of logs and weeds.
"Get him George. Don’t let him get away," the sheriff yelled as he saw the boy disappear behind a clump of blackberry bushes.
"If he’s crazy enough to go into those thorns we’ll lose him for sure. There’s no way we can follow him in there." George ran through the tall hedges after the white haired child. The tall grass was filled wi
th small green burrs; grasping teeth which stuck to his socks and worked their way into down into his shoes. The grass slashed at his bare ankles where his socks had fallen. “Damn. Damn. Damn. These prickers are sharp”. George yelled.
The small form took to its knees and started to wriggle through an indistinguishable gap in the thicket. George lunged and reached into the thorns after the boy. On his knees, he winced as the barbs slashed his palms and he reached into the green darkness with eyes closed. His fingers searched for and found a thin ankle. Grasping it firmly, he pulled backward with a mighty heave.
"I’ve got him, sheriff. I’ve got him," George bellowed. With his other hand, he grabbed the back of the boy’s pants wrestling him into the open. The sheriff ran up behind George, pushing his way through the brush. He stopped in mid-stride and put his hands on his thighs bending over to catch his breath. He coughed and hacked a few time, the payment for too many years of smoking.
"Do you have a good grip on him?" the sheriff wheezed between breaths.
"Yeah, I’ve got him, even though he is twisting around like a wild badger. I think...Yeeouch!!!" George screamed in agony. He yanked one of his hands back staring at the blood dribbling from his forearm. He looked down and saw the imprint of small teeth marks starting to glow red and swell with each passing second.
"He bit me, the little heathen bit me. Can you believe it? This is worse than picking up a full growed snapping turtle with your bare hands, ” George said through teeth clenched with pain. The boy wriggled one arm free.
"Don’t let him go!" the sheriff yelled rushing to grab the boy’s arms pulling his wrists behind his back and trying to stay away from the snapping teeth. George reached to re-capture his hold on the boy’s ankles. Together they carried him face-up between them to the squad car. The boy thrashed from side-to-side though not a single sound escaped.
Coming Home (Norris Lake Series) Page 3