In a Dark Season

by Vicki Lane

  And there was plenty of work to be done that spring and summer, what with Mabry leavin and Belle takin herself off in a stagecoach to Warm Springs to get cured of barrenness. Belle was past thirty and hadn’t never been in the family way, though her and Daddy’d been wed since she was fourteen. Time and again, whenever they was a big job of work to be done, she’d act all puny-like and whisper to my daddy that she thought she might be breedin. But it never come to nothin. Daddy was a fool for Belle and that’s the truth. Some said, back then, that she had witched him. There was a time I held such talk to be foolish but now…

  Howsomever, when Lydy begun to talk to me and to help me with the washin on that first day, all the bitter cold and hatefulness that I’d carried in my breast seemed to melt away with his sweet talk and pretty ways. I could tell he hadn’t never been far from that farm he told me of, way back up there at the head of Bear Tree, for he stared up at the stand house like he’d never seen so fine a place.

  Ay law, says he, the size of hit! And two great chimbleys!

  They’s fireplaces in the four main rooms, says I. They burn a sight of wood in the cold times. If you can get wood in, my daddy’ll take you on, for certain sure.

  This is your daddy’s place? He asked it, slow and considerinlike, never takin his eyes from off the house and the barns and the lots and the pastures. The house was lookin back at him, its windows winkin at him in the morning sun.

  Why, yes, hit is, I told him. They call this place Gudger’s Stand and my daddy is Lucius Gudger. He built the stand back when they first begun to make the Buncombe Turnpike from Flat Rock to Warm Springs. Daddy heired this land from his granny and, soon as he seed the wagons and stagecoaches begin to travel the new road, he set in to build the house, knowin hit would make a good stoppin place. And then, oncet the drives commenced, he fixed all them big lots and contracted with farmers up and down the near branches to grow corn fer him. Folks all round say he’s the richest man in this part of Marshall County.

  I felt a little shamed to be braggin so, but I had made up my mind I wanted Lydy Goforth to look at me the way he was lookin at the house. I’m all Daddy has, since my brother run off, said I, and led him up the slope to the deep-rutted road that curved around the hill. He followed me like a dog and when I took him to Daddy it was just as I’d thought.

  Iffen you can handle an axe and a go-devil, young feller, and ain’t afraid of hard work, there’ll be a seat at the table for you with me and my family, a place to lay your head, and cash money once a month.

  When Daddy named the amount he’d pay, I almost spoke out for hit was most double to what he had give Mabry. But Daddy was sizin Lydy up, like he might do some horse he was thinking of tradin for, and hit was plain he was likin what he saw.

  My daddy was right old. He had been born in eighteen and ought five, makin him fifty-four years of age when Lydy come to us. And though he was still a good hand to work, he had slowed up some since that young mule he was breakin had caught him a awful blow to his hip. Ever since that day he had walked kindly bent over though he scorned to use a stick to help him along. I believe that Daddy, even at that first meetin, had the same hopes of Lydy as I did. For he had to know that even was Belle to return, cured of her barren womb, and bear him a boy child the very next year, hit would be a long spell afore that boy, if hit lived, could take on the work of a man.

  In the days that followed, I took care that I was in the way, with a clean apron and hair brushed shinin smooth, whenever Lydy come to the house, and I carried him cold buttermilk and gingerbread every morning when he was bustin wood.

  Afore long Lydy begun to look at me with that same hungerin look he had give the house and land. All that summer we courted and hit was the sweetest time I ever knowed. He brung me flowers, picked from the wood’s edge, and oncet a hatful of the first wild strawberries. Hit was with the taste of those strawberries in our mouths that we first kissed and the taste was there yet when we lay down together.

  Time run on like the river, jostlin and endless. Belle was still gone and Daddy begun to treat Lydy more and more like he was a son and not just a hired man. One evening, when I had finished servin supper to the travelers in the public room, Daddy called me to his storeroom where he kept the cherry brandy and applejack locked away. He set there on a keg, smug as a cat what had got at the cream.

  Well, girl, says he, when are you and young Goforth goin to come to an understandin? I’ll not have my only daughter bearin a bastard, says he and he leaned close with his eyes hard on me. Lydy’s a good hand to work and I’d be happy to welcome him into the family—you best be careful he don’t slip away like t’ other one.

  I didn’t answer, for Lydy hadn’t spoke yet. I believed that he would, sooner or later, but ain’t nothing sure in this world.

  Good thing you didn’t waste no time grieving atter that Ramsey boy. He weren’t much account nohow. Daddy stood up slow, as if his hip was painin him. He hitched up his britches the way he always done and I could see he was counting the kegs of brandy and applejack.

  Tell you what, Lulie, he said at last. You and Lydy fix it up for December when the last drive is done. We’ll have a weddin feast to beat all—roast a couple of pigs and a beef. And I’ll undertake that no man there need go home sober.

  I still didn’t say nothing, just looked down at the floor. Daddy stood there watchin me and at last he said, Lulie, you tell that boy that you’ll heir half of everything I own. He took a limpin step toward the door. Or all of it, iffen that stepmother of yourn don’t come home soon.

  Chapter 13

  The Dark Angel

  Friday, December 15

  Nola sweetie, time to get you ready-freddy for beddy-bye.”

  Twisting away from the paper cup of water and the outstretched palm holding the sleeping pills, Nola Barrett growled her displeasure through clenched teeth, willing the proper words to float somehow to the surface of the inky pool that was her dwindling reservoir of speech. Intolerable! Yet another whey-faced minion in childish, pajama-like garb was here to torment her, to address her as if she were an infant, to handle her as if she were a large, insensate rag doll. But without speech, she was powerless. Oh, for the words that had once flowed trippingly from her tongue! The words, the words, where were the words?

  “Ooh, look what you got!” Busy fingers prying open the tin of cookies, investigating the contents of the basket, pillaging the items heaped on the vacant bed. “Did Miz Holcombe bring you this nice afghan? Or was it one of the others? My goodness, you’re a popular girl with all these important visitors.”

  Cookie crumbs fell moistly on her arm as moon-faced Michelle, for that was the name on the little plastic plaque pinned to the loose pink-and-green printed top, loomed over her. “Here, I’ll just lay it like this where you can see how pretty it is—all them soft blue and purple colors and that fancy fluffy yarn. My sister knits things like this.”

  The new aide jumped back as, with a heroic effort, Nola worried at the woolly covering till it slid off the bed.

  “Now why’d you want to push it on the floor? Too hot? That’s all righty; I’ll fold it over the back of your chair. We can leave the nice goodie basket right here on this bed. Did you know Miz Holcombe has fixed it where you get to have the room all to yourself? You’re a lucky girl to have a nice lady like that for your friend. Now let’s just tidy up a smidge.”

  Nola watched in impotent fury as the horrible helper clattered and clanked and pawed through the two drawers and one closet that contained the sum total of her meager possessions. At last a string of suitable words presented themselves, the title of a children’s book—Dr. Seuss, was it? She had read and reread the cheerful, jingling rhymes, hoping to delight Little Ricky with them on that longed-for, and now never-to-be, second visit.

  “‘Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go NOW!’”

  The words were perfectly formed and spoken louder than she had believed herself capable of, but Michelle ignored her and went on flipping thr
ough the pile of cards from well-wishers, paying careful attention to each return address and message.

  Nola gathered all her strength and slapped at the mattress. “Anoint thee, witch!”

  The woman put down the card she’d been reading and gave Nola a sideways look from under her dark bangs.

  “Nola sweetie, you’re hurtin’ my feelin’s. Didn’t Miz Holcombe tell you? She’s hired you a team of Angel Aides. There’s going to be one of us with you all the time, seeing you get taken care of just right.”

  The Dark Angel moved to the door and pushed it shut, then turned and smiled cheerily at Nola’s helpless moan. “We’re goin’ to get along fine, Nola, if you’ll just be a good girl and help us help you.”

  Nola watched as Michelle plucked a little satin-cased pillow from the accumulation of objects brought by various visitors, supposedly to add to the invalid’s comfort. “Let’s tuck this under your head all comfy and then we’ll swallow our pills like a brave girl.”

  As the Dark Angel approached, holding the pillow out like an offering, Nola began to scream.

  Phillip Hawkins pulled his old gray car into its accustomed parking spot alongside the corncrib. As expected, Elizabeth was there in her jeep, waiting to ferry him up the steep road to the house. She always insisted that she didn’t mind this little extra trip, but increasingly he was beginning to find that he did.

  Cracking the door so that the overhead light would allow him to collect his possessions, he noticed the faded upholstery and the familiar Texas-shaped coffee stain on the seat beside him. Then there was the odd tilt the driver’s seat had assumed. The shabbiness of the car seemed to have increased exponentially since last he’d paid any attention to it.

  Well, what the hell, it got him where he wanted to go, didn’t it? Aging but serviceable, kinda like me. The thought pleased him for a moment, but then a teasing inner voice whispered, But does it get you where you want to go…really?

  Phillip took his hand off the door handle. He’d been considering the purchase of a four-wheel-drive vehicle—not to avoid being met and driven up the hill to Elizabeth’s house, he told himself; no, it was for increased safety in the occasional icy driving conditions of the mountains. And if—he would not let himself say when, not yet—if I take Mac’s offer and go to work for him full-time, I’ll really need four-wheel drive. But if I buy one now it might seem to her that…I don’t know, sometimes I get the feeling she really likes living where not just anyone can come calling. A little like there’s a moat…and she’s the one in charge of the drawbridge.

  “Shit.” He tried to shake off the brooding thoughts. It had been his intention to come out for the weekend in a cheerful mood, ready to join in the holiday preparations—which were evidently a big deal in this family—and to have a reasonable, rational discussion about marriage with the drawbridge keeper over there. Instead, he was feeling pissed. Pissed and ill-used. Probably do himself more harm than good, the way he felt right now, but it was too late to invent a reason for staying at his own place this weekend.

  The door of the jeep opened. In the frosty air, Elizabeth’s breath haloed her head, and in spite of the fading twilight, he could see her worried expression. Quickly he grabbed up the little overnight bag from the seat beside him and was out of the car just as she reached him. Trying to let go of the anger and frustration that had been building all week, he dropped the bag to the ground and opened his arms to embrace her.

  “Phillip, I’m glad you’re here.” She flowed into his arms and they stood silently for a moment: two middle-aged people, much encumbered by heavy winter outerwear and vintage emotional baggage, but, for the moment, in perfect harmony.

  “I missed talking to you last night. Your message said you’d be unavailable for the next twenty-four hours, so I didn’t try to call you today. I started to worry that maybe you weren’t coming out.”

  She grabbed at his hand as they walked toward the house, and he felt a stab of compunction as he remembered the brusque tone of the message he’d left for her.

  “I’m sorry, Lizabeth—something came up with Mac. I’ll tell you about it later; right now I’d just like to have a beer and find out what you’ve got planned for the weekend. When’re the girls coming?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon—tonight, it’s just us.” As she pulled open the front door, she favored him with a suggestive wink. Then the dogs swirled around them, each one demanding Phillip’s full attention.

  In the kitchen, a bowl of salted almonds, a wedge of Brie with French bread rounds, and two wineglasses were waiting.

  “Let’s sit in front of the fire—supper’s in the oven and needs another half hour anyway.” She ducked into the pantry, opened the refrigerator, and stood pondering its crowded interior. “How do you feel about having some champagne instead of a beer? The last big Christmas order went out today and I feel like celebrating.”

  “Champagne works—as long as you’re not trying to make me weak and silly and then take advantage of me.” He moved behind her and, wrapping her long braid around his hand, gently tugged till she turned to him.

  “Lizabeth, listen—” Her blue eyes were full on him now, a little wary, perhaps, but she seemed ready to hear what he had to say. “Let’s not get into any discussions this weekend about our living arrangements. I’d like to postpone that till”—he made a show of looking at the ceiling and calculating—“till the twenty-first, when AB Tech goes on break. Then I’ll feel like celebrating. Let’s make a date for that day—go somewhere. If the weather’s decent, maybe take a picnic and go for a hike. Or just ride around the county. There’s still a lot I haven’t seen.”

  She agreed, maybe a little too eagerly, he thought. Anything to avoid that discussion for a few more days. The sour suspicion bubbled up, but as they settled onto the sofa, he resolved again to enjoy the weekend without thinking about the unknown future.

  Live in the Now, like Janie’s always saying.

  Putting his arm around Elizabeth, he pulled her to him and began to practice his daughter’s precept.

  “You looked so tired and so…I don’t know…so thoroughly bummed when you got out of the car I just didn’t want to even mention it till later and then the champagne and the…the….”

  Phillip looked up from the pile of homework papers he had promised himself he would finish tonight. A golden pool of light from the lamp at her elbow fell on the hoop in Elizabeth’s hands, illuminating a square of randomly pieced jewel-tone fabrics. A block for a crazy quilt, she had said. Whatever that was.

  He was amused to see a flush spreading across her face as she put down the embroidery. “…the…ah…fooling around put it right out of my mind,” she continued, ignoring his knowing leer and Groucho-esque eyebrow waggle.

  “See what happens when you give me champagne, Lizabeth? I knew you were trying to have your way with me, you unprincipled wench.” And quite a contradictory wench—the prim and proper widow with her embroidery now but an hour and a half ago—not so very proper and not prim at all.

  “What did my manly attentions make you forget, sweetheart?”

  Her face remained serious, unmoved by his teasing. She picked up the embroidery hoop again and resumed the delicate dance of needle and silk floss that she had told him was called a feather stitch.

  He rephrased the question, this time matching her mood. “What’s wrong, Lizabeth?”

  “Your business with Mac last night, was it something to do with Payne Morton?”

  He stared. “Lizabeth…what do—”

  “Miss Birdie told me that he’d killed himself.”

  “Miss Birdie?” He blinked, trying to make sense of what she’d just said. It didn’t work; there was no way…“I don’t get it. Mac said he was keeping it quiet till he’d had time to break the news to the family. And when I talked to him right before coming over here, he still hadn’t been able to get hold of the brother. How in the name of—”

  “Bernice called Birdie and told her. It seems Bernice’s bo
y—”

  “Don’t tell me. Bernice’s boy heard it on the scanner.” The wildfire speed with which news spread through remote and straggling mountain communities was a constant amazement to Phillip. Modern technology had been a boon to these isolated folk. Though they chose not to live too close to one another, they were still keenly interested in all that befell their friends and acquaintances. With a sigh, he set aside the papers and quizzes.

  “I might as well tell you all about it. No doubt Miss Birdie can fill in any missing details for you tomorrow.”

  He stretched and, spreading his arms comfortably across the back of the sofa, launched into his story.

  “You know Mac had already sworn me in as a deputy back when you and I first met. Well, I never got unsworn, you might say. And Mac is in a kind of a bind right now; he needs someone outside the department to look into a…well, an ongoing situation. I can’t say anything more about that right now. But anyway, when the call about the pastor came in yesterday afternoon, Mac got hold of me and asked if I could come along.

  “I rode with him out to the scene. He was pretty ticked when we got there and found four, count them four, of his other deputies, contaminating the scene and blatantly ignoring chain-of-evidence procedure.”

  Once more she had laid the embroidery aside and was giving him her whole attention, eyes fixed on him.

  “Anyhow, just about then another call came through—some domestic dispute up on Spillcorn—and Mac sent two of the deputies off to deal with that. So there we are, securing the scene the best we can, and one of the old boys who’s still there sings out that there’s a note jobbed onto a nail in the wall. Before Mac can stop him, he’s pulled the note down, dropped it on the dirt floor, and managed to step on it, all in the space of about ten seconds. Mackenzie’s foaming at the mouth, trying to stop this fool from contaminating the evidence any further but the damage is done.”