Black Widows

by Cate Quinn

  I don’t know how long it takes for the canner to go beyond maximum pressure. The solid steel container doesn’t look like it would give under any circumstances.

  “If you’re up there,” I tell Blake, “you’d better hope you were right with all those warnings. Else I’m coming to get you, and it’s not gonna be pretty.”

  Heat is melting things now, thickening the air, making it hard to think. It feels as though my eyes are burning. My sleeve has dried out. I stagger, coughing, to a stack of gallon pickle jars and start hurling them into the flames. It’s heartbreaking, destroying my own preserves. Neatly cut rounds of carrots and zucchini splatter into the fire. But it isn’t enough. I turn to the canning machine. It’s wailing loudly now like a screaming child.

  The floor has caught. I see flames roll under the floorboards, smoke coming up between them. Too late for the canning machine, I decide, casting one last look. Best just make for the door.

  I’m hoping the flames have caused enough damage to weaken it. I’m down to the last of the pickles as I douse myself in vinegar brine from the sugar beets. Now or never. I run to the door, using my wet sleeve to cover my face.

  The heat hits me like a wall as I thud uselessly against the door. I’m flung back into the center of the barn, skin burning, choking.

  Flames have risen between me and the pressure canner, cutting off that route. It was a bad idea anyway, I think. Blake always was dramatic. Boiling water is never gonna explode the quarter inch of steel wall of a pressure canner. I feel wisps of hair begin to burn. Then I hear a shrieking noise, like fingers down a chalkboard.

  I’m hit by a cloud of steam. It sears the left half of my head, and I feel my cheek and neck puff in blisters. As I twist away in pain, a deafening roar erupts on the far side of the barn. Something hits my face. I put a hand up and feel a nickel-sized piece of metal lodged in my cheek. Blood is running down.

  I turn to see the Survive Well has blown a hole in the far side of the barn, soaking it with boiling water.

  Chapter One Hundred Four

  Tina, Sister-Wife

  I try not to focus on the gun Mrs. Nelson has trained on my chest.

  “You killed Blake,” I say, and I can’t keep the sadness from my voice. “You killed your own son, ’cause you thought blood atonement was the only way to get him into heaven.”

  “Blake wouldn’t let up on the idea of buying that land,” says Adelaide. “Bishop Young was going to excommunicate him. But Blake went right ahead, doing deals with that shady realty firm. Borrowing the down payment from them. I had to make Blake see,” continues Adelaide. “He was risking his place at my side in heaven. I only came to talk to him. Just to talk. I knew he’d be out fishing on a Friday. I thought I could make him see reason,” she says again, shaking her head. “But God had other plans. God showed me the ax, just lying on the ground, like it was waiting for me.”

  I’m struck with a sudden picture. Blake, his last moments alive, staring out onto that lake, fishing rod in his hand. Was he thinking how much he loved us? How to fix our money problems? Was he imagining our new life on the Homestead land?

  Adelaide parking up a little distance. Taking the path down to the river while Rachel’s canning machine whirred loudly. The gardening ax left in one of the vegetable beds.

  Tears fill my eyes. “How could you?” I whisper.

  “‘Ye shall defend your families even unto bloodshed,’” says Mrs. Nelson. “That’s what the book says.”

  This is bad. Mrs. Nelson thinks she’s some warrior angel or something. Defending her family from temptation.

  “Let’s talk about this,” I say. “I’m sure it was…just an accident, right?”

  “I told myself,” says Mrs. Nelson, “all I need is for Blake to listen to me. I’ll walk away.” A black look fills her face. “He told me our way of life was joyless. That he’d found a better path and we couldn’t stand it. He turned his back on me, after everything I’d done for him.”

  Her face sorta falters. Like a computer crashing and reloading. I get the impression she’s remembering something she’d rather forget.

  I imagine Blake dismissing her, like he used to us if we disagreed with him. Turning back to the river, with that surety Blake had that he would be obeyed. His mother raising the ax while he faced the water.

  Mrs. Nelson nods to herself. “We’ll all be there,” she says. “Side by side. In heaven.”

  It was an accident, I tell myself. A fit of anger.

  Then I remember the other wounds on Blake’s body. Hacked-away fingers. Damage to the groin. The cops said it was a frenzied attack. Perhaps all her awful life came boiling up outta her. Or perhaps she had a plan all along to frame us wives. The Bible the police found comes to mind. All those passages justifying violence. Like she’d been exonerating herself for Blake’s murder days before it happened.

  I step forward and make a grab for the gun. She’s too fast for me, snaking back, feet planted firmly apart.

  “Um. No sense in killin’ me though, right?” I point out. “I mean to say, you put your boy in heaven. Good for you an’ all. No sense risking your own immortal soul. Murder is an unforgivable sin, too, right? Along with adultery.”

  “Only the murder of innocents is unpardonable,” she says. “You’re all adulterers.”

  Mrs. Nelson raises the gun again. I back toward the top of the ladder.

  “If you shoot me, my blood will atone for my sins.” I’m kinda babbling, trying to convince her. “I’ll be right up there in heaven with you.”

  She takes a step closer. I look at her finger on the trigger.

  Time to move, I decide. Best to risk it all and make a grab for the gun. Mrs. Nelson is in her fifties. Likely strong from dragging around boxes for the store. Physically, I might have the edge. I might not. What I can bring is the element of surprise, which in a fight is often all you need.

  “Blake had to bleed,” she says in a strange faraway voice. “There had to be blood on the ground.” Her eyes flick to me. She lowers the gun. “That’s why I can’t kill you,” Adelaide says.

  Relief washes over me. My muscles relax a little, my plan to grab the weapon suspended.

  “I can only let you die,” she concludes. Before I realize what’s happening, she jerks the gun toward me. It catches me straight in the stomach, the narrow barrel driving up under my ribs. I double over in pain, and that’s when I feel her give me one almighty shove.

  I go tumbling right over the edge of the loft.

  As I land at the base of the eight-foot ladder, my left leg hits the ground first, taking all my weight and folding painfully under me.

  “Fuck!” I writhe on the floor in agony, clutching at it.

  Mrs. Nelson descends the ladder calmly and stops, taking a good look.

  I breathe out hard. She walks nearer and prods my twisted leg with her gun.

  I scream. It has absolutely zero effect on her expression. “Please…” I gasp. “Please. I think it’s broken.”

  “No blood,” she says with satisfaction. “Out here, I guess you’ve got three days or so.”

  I close my eyes, tears spilling out against the pain. All I can do is sorta moan and blow out breath like a woman in labor.

  “Tell me where Rachel hid the ax,” she adds, “and I’ll leave you a bottle of water.”

  For some reason, my mouth is suddenly dry, as though I’m already dying of thirst. I lick my lips.

  “What… I don’t know what you mean,” I manage, huffing out the words through gritted teeth.

  “I left Rachel’s gardening ax as evidence,” says Mrs. Nelson patiently. “The police didn’t find it, so she must have hidden it. The officers are going to be needing the ax to come to the right decision.”

  I’m totally confused. Because Rachel couldn’t have hidden that ax, unless she was lying about her whereabouts. Whi
ch Rachel doesn’t do.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her. “Rachel…Rachel is innocent. You set her up, and you’ll go straight to hell.” I sorta shout this last part.

  Mrs. Nelson shakes her head.

  “You gals sure have given me one heck of a problem,” she says. “But it’s nearly over now.” There’s a madness in her eyes that I realize I’ve seen all along. Before, it was shielded behind a buttoned-down rage. Now it’s up front. Wavin’ its arms around.

  I lie back, gritting my teeth against the pain.

  Take it easy, Tina, I tell myself. Someone will come. Rachel. The cops. Just keep your mouth shut until she leaves.

  “I put my boy in heaven where he belongs,” says Mrs. Nelson. “We’ll all be up there together.” She closes her eyes like she’s dreaming. “One happy family.”

  “Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?” I can’t help myself. “Talkin’ about heaven like it’s a first-class lounge at an airport?”

  Shut up, Tina. Shut up.

  Mrs. Nelson walks to the door. Then she stops, like something has occurred to her. She goes to the little stove and turns on the kerosene gas.

  Oh God, no.

  “Stop!” I shout. “Please!” I’m so afraid, I’m crying, and I hate myself for it.

  She’s going to goddamn burn me alive.

  “God speaks to me,” she says in a strange, distant voice. “I wasn’t listening. I know what he wants me to do.” She looks at me, collapsed on the floor, then she lights a match.

  “No blood,” she says, nodding to herself. “Better to be sure.” Then she drops the flame.

  Chapter One Hundred Five

  Rachel, First Wife

  I crawl out of the smoldering side of the barn, cheek stinging from the shrapnel wound. The first thing I do is take a lungful of clean air. I’m alive. I can hardly believe it. The pressure canner really did go off like a bomb. Guess Blake’s enthusiasm for dangerous machinery finally paid off.

  I get to my feet, wiping soot from my mouth, trying to come to terms with what just happened. Tina must have relapsed, I decide. Gotten hold of some drugs and taken them. Maybe she’s out of her mind, crazy high. Or paranoid, thinking I’m trying to kill her. I remember from my missionary days, that happens to addicts sometimes. I feel calmer now. This is all making sense. Truth is, I can’t bear to think of another reason Tina might do that to me.

  She needs help, I tell myself. Please God, let us both get out of this unharmed.

  I notice Mr. Nelson’s car is here, parked a little farther out from the ranch.

  “Mr. Nelson?” I’m a little wary, though I should be relieved. Old instinct, I guess. Never be alone with a man. He’s nowhere to be seen. My next thought is if Tina has gone crazy, then Mr. Nelson is in danger.

  I remember Blake’s gun in the Chevy. I take a slow walk toward where I parked it.

  Smoke is curling from the wreckage of two burned-out cars. Our Chevy has been torched, along with another vehicle I don’t recognize. I move closer. The trunk looks intact. A powerful heat is still throwing out from the chassis. In movies, the gas tank explodes.

  I’ve just nearly burned to death, I decide. No matter what it takes, I’m gonna get that gun. Licking my fingers to guard against heat, I tap the trunk latch, then press to open. It pops, gray smoke spilling lazily out. The gun is inside, warm but not scorched.

  I lift it free, heart beating. I check it’s loaded, click the barrel back. Gun slung over my shoulder, I make for Mr. Nelson’s car. The storehouse is blazing, reducing our food supply to ash. I feel as though someone has torn part of me away.

  Then the door of the house opens, and to my surprise, Adelaide Nelson steps out, smoke billowing from behind her.

  For a moment, I’m in complete shock. Like, how in the heck did she get here? Mrs. Nelson has never been to the ranch, and it isn’t easy to find. Did the police bring her? But there are no other cars.

  She looks surprised to see me, and then her face reconfigures.

  “Rachel!” she says. “You need to get back. There’s a fire in the house.”

  I’m trying to take it all in.

  “Are you okay?” I manage. “What happened? Where’s Tina?”

  Mrs. Nelson half runs toward me, and her face crumples. It’s such an unexpected expression that I almost take a step backward. Loud crackling has started up now. The wooden walls of the ranch are catching alight.

  “Thank the Lord I made it out in time.” She raises her eyes to the heavens and staggers toward me. Her hard eyes fill with tears.

  “Tina had me drive her out here,” she says, her eyes darting around in terror. “She needed a ride, and I couldn’t refuse, even if I never wanted to see…” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t want to come here,” she concludes. “The place where my boy was murdered.”

  She takes a juddering breath, collecting herself. I look over her shoulder at the burning ranch.

  “Where is Tina now?”

  Panic seizes her features. “Tina attacked me, tried to trap me and burn me in there.” She swallows, fear rippling her face. “She must be nearby still. We need to get away from here, go to the police.”

  I let her pull me away from the burning ranch. A horrible uncertainty is coursing through me. Like someone’s pulled the rug out from under my feet. It feels exactly like when I first left home. When I stepped onto that asphalt road, waiting for lightning to strike me down.

  Discovering everything you once knew is a lie. There’s nothing quite like it. It never quite leaves you.

  “I think Tina may be on drugs,” I explain. “She needs help.”

  Adelaide’s voice is thick and tear-choked. “She told me she meant to burn you in the barn too. We need to get away from here, now.”

  Her features jerk around with emotion, but there’s something not quite convincing about it. Like a puppet show.

  “There’s two of us,” I say, “Tina is unarmed. We need to be certain she hasn’t overdosed or tried to hurt herself. It’s the desert. She could dehydrate or get cold pretty quick without shelter.”

  Mrs. Nelson’s face reworks itself from panic into a warm smile. She puts out a hand.

  “Sometimes things like this bring families together,” she says. “Make you realize who the important people are. I know we haven’t always gotten along. I know I blamed you for Blake’s death. I was wrong. If it took his passing to make us true friends, then that’s God’s work. We’re family. For eternity.” Her hand closes on mine, warm, assuring.

  I’ve waited six years to hear Mrs. Nelson confirm this fact. Now that she’s saying it, the words sound somehow hollow. I should feel elated.

  “You know, Rachel, there’s a polygamous community out toward Texas,” she adds. “Good people by all accounts. I’ve got some relatives there. I’m sure you’d be a welcome wife to some nice family. So long as you worked hard and did what your husband told you, this whole business would be forgotten in a few years. And you’d have children to care for.”

  The ranch blazes and spits behind us. Smoke rolls out in great waves.

  “I already have a family, Adelaide,” I say. “It just looks a little different from what other folk might imagine.”

  I catch a flash of it then. The Mrs. Nelson I remember. Icy steel under the lacy glove.

  “Rachel, Tina is a killer. I can’t let you put your life at risk.” Her grip tightens. “Drive with me to town. We’ll call the police.”

  “No.” I wrench my arm away. “I can’t leave Tina. I don’t think she would hurt me intentionally.”

  Suddenly, the door of the house busts open. Tina rolls free into the sandy earth. She’s crawling, dragging her leg behind her.

  “Rachel!” She looks up at me.

  I meet her eyes, swallowing. Doubt coils sudden fingers around me. There’s a
desperate look on Tina’s face as she inches closer to us.

  “She seduced Braxton,” says Mrs. Nelson, “at the funeral. She put all our immortal souls in danger.”

  I don’t want to believe it. But I remember Tina went into that back room with Braxton. They were both missing when I was arrested.

  I look in Tina’s face and know instantly it’s true. My heart goes into free fall.

  Everyone you trust will let you down. Outsiders. Gentiles.

  Tina drags herself nearer. I let my rifle fall, pointing it in her direction.

  “Stop,” I say. “Tina…stop.”

  “She is an evil person,” says Mrs. Nelson. “Come with me, Rachel. Come back to God’s light.”

  “Rayne,” says Tina, “do you love me?” It comes out as a rasp.

  “What?” It’s such a strange question, I don’t know how to react. My gun is pointed at Tina. Something about Mrs. Nelson’s proximity is making it hard to think straight.

  “You can’t trust her,” says Mrs. Nelson.

  “How can I trust you?” I ask Tina, tears in my eyes. “You tell lies.”

  Tina coughs. “I didn’t ask if you trusted me,” she manages. “I asked if you loved me. If you do, Rayne, if you do. Pull the trigger.”

  Her eyes are on mine, a determined steady gaze.

  “Pull the trigger,” she says.

  I look into her face, a sob shaking me. I don’t know what to do. Mrs. Nelson lurches at me.

  “Do it!” shouts Tina. “Now!”

  All I can do is have faith. I squeeze my finger tight.

  Chapter One Hundred Six

  Rachel Nelson

  The gun blast echoes around the mountains, causing birds to take flight. Tina is thrown back toward the ranch. I drop the gun, my hands flying to my mouth, horrified.

  What did I do?

  “What have you done?” demands Mrs. Nelson.