In a Dark Season

by Vicki Lane

  And then they were on the highway, heading for the sheriff’s department. Her rescuer—“Buddy Mace, ma’am”—looked at her curiously. “You sleep all right last night?”

  When she assured him that she had, Buddy raised his eyebrows. “Reason I asked, my daddy always swears that place is haunted.” He paused, considering. “No, that ain’t the way of it. Not to say haunted, but more, he says, like there’s spirits there—good ones.”

  Buddy’s eyes stayed on the road. “Now I don’t put no credit in such but I’ll tell you a quare thing. My daddy used to be a real rip-roarer and he give my mommy a bad time ever since I can remember. But atter he heired this place and started spending time at the fish camp, seemed like he was more at peace with hisself. He’d come home from here with a string of fish and, iffen it was summer, he’d have picked some flowers for our mommy—they’s a world of flowers grows around that place. Hit was oncet a part of one of them old stands, and they say, back before the War Between the States, hit was owned by some quare dark people. But they pulled up stakes and left, is what I heard.”

  The Drovers’ Road XIX

  The Widow Barrett

  All these years of waitin and the house at Gudger’s Stand is still held by Belle and Lydy’s line, whilst I scratch out a livin at Dewell Hill. At least Belle ain’t here no more to queen it over folks, for she died giving birth. Hit was a boy and she let on my daddy had fathered him, so it’s that boy now holds title to Gudger’s Stand, though he carries his stepdaddy’s name of Revis. His birthin was hard with a long dry labor and Belle’s death in a welter of blood at the end. They say she called down curses on many a one and that she bowed up like a cat and spat in the preacher’s eye when he come to offer comfort.

  And I have a new name, for Luellen Gudger is the poor girl betrayed and murdered by the wicked drover boy. They even have a song about it. I fear Luellen must remain dead lest the true events of that awful night come out. But my girl and her girl know the right of hit. They are sworn to keep the memory of our claim to that land alive.

  It might have been better, I sometimes think, to have cut loose from here and go west with Mariah and her Ish. When the war started, folks begun to turn against the Flores and such-like dark folk. Some set about the story that they was escaped slaves. There was mutterin against them, livin on their own land and runnin an inn like as if they was white.

  Then come a day when a traveler offered a terrible insult to Mariah and Ish struck him down, never to rise again. No one saw, for the man had accosted Mariah in her house. But we feared it would come to light and we knowed what would be the outcome. That night, we gave his body to the river and we all slipped away, me and my baby Lyda and Ish and Mariah with all the household plunder they could load on their old wagon. Mariah wept bitter tears, to leave her tidy stone house and her flowers and her bees, and vowed that someday she would surely return.

  By morning we was in Tennessee where no one knowed of any of us. That’s when I became the Widow Barrett, a dead soldier’s wife travelin with her babe and her two faithful slaves, goin to her daddy’s home in Kentucky. We kept movin along, always west and north for it was our purpose to get to Illinois where there wasn’t no slaves.

  A long and hateful journey but the best deed I have done. When we parted at the great river, our tears flowed together and they begged me to come with them for they purposed to travel on, through the Free States, to the Far West.

  But hit seemed to me then, as hit seems to me now, that a fine cord binds me and, was I to roam, hit would always be there, pullin at me, haulin me back. Hit’s a slender cord, spun of black hate, red blood, and bitter betrayal, and it binds me and mine to the house at Gudger’s Stand for all time.

  Chapter 54

  The Scene in the Library

  Saturday, December 30

  If I live to be a hundred, I don’t think I’ll ever have a happier moment than when I saw you getting out of that big red truck.”

  Phillip pulled Elizabeth closer to him on the sofa. “And the second happiest might just be the memory of the look on Noonan and Holcombe’s faces when they saw you. Holcombe had been blubbering about his darling mama and how would he survive without her and what a saint she was, boo hoo. And then there’s Noonan: the strong, take-charge guy, on his cell phone or his—what are those things called—Boysenberries? Flipping that damn hair out of his face every few minutes and calling me sir all the damn time—and here you come. Goddamn but those two saw their future take a radical change the minute you showed up! And then you start talking, and you show Mac that hair you had in your pocket, and they’re falling over themselves to incriminate each other. I tell you, Lizabeth, it’s going to be a pleasure seeing those two go to jail.”

  He looked at her and she nodded and smiled sleepily, then snuggled closer, laid her head on his shoulder, and drifted off to sleep.

  And what would it have done to my life if you hadn’t made it? With one careful finger he traced her eyebrows, dark and decided with a sprinkling of silver hairs beginning to show, her small, neat ears, the line of her chin, the sweet curve of her parted lips. I’m lucky to have her back…and, by god, I’ll quit making conditions. If she decides marriage isn’t what she wants, then I’ll take whatever I can have. But I don’t want to lose this woman, ever.

  “Hey, Phillip, is Mum asleep again?”

  Laurel and Rosemary had finished the dinner dishes and were taking their places on the little love seat. They both looked at him expectantly.

  “She’s plumb wore out, as my aunt Omie would say. After everything that happened to her, she had to spend a good part of yesterday explaining to Mac exactly what went down. And losing her friend like that—there’s an emotional tiredness too.”

  Laurel winked. “Pretty sensitive for a cop—ex-cop—whatever you are.”

  Phillip nodded, then slid Elizabeth’s braid free and laid it gently over her shoulder. “Soon to be a cop again—I start next month working for Mackenzie.”

  The sisters looked at each other and an unspoken communication passed between them. Then Rosemary asked softly, “Mum said she thought someone was overmedicating Nola—did that come out in all this incriminating I heard you say those two murderers were doing?”

  “Matter of fact, it did. They dragged in Pritchard Morton’s name—the doctor whose brother supposedly shot himself. They said Pritchard was the one supplying Big Lavinia with the pills and Big Lavinia was paying an aide to give Nola a lot more than she should have. Guaranteed to keep Nola confused and physically uncoordinated.”

  “Why? Why were they drugging her?”

  “Once Lavinia knew that Tracy, Nola’s supposed niece, wanted to press charges about the rape, I think she was scared Nola would start talking too and then her precious Little Vance would be in danger. I think Lavinia figured if they could keep Nola confused and crazy, they could eventually get rid of her with no suspicion—crazy old lady in a nursing home dies—friendly doctor around to sign the death certificate…”

  “But why did Nola jump in the first place?” Rosemary wanted to know. “Why try to kill herself?”

  “What Tracy told us, when we finally got her in and heard the whole story, was that Nola blamed herself for two deaths—Randall Revis—”

  “I thought those guys killed Revis, so as not to have to pay any more blackmail.”

  Phillip nodded. “Yeah, Revis knew about the rape and was bleeding the Bad Boyz. But according to Little Vance, it was Noonan did all the killing: Noonan killed Revis because he didn’t want to pay blackmail the rest of his life; Noonan killed Spinner because Spinner was going to finger all of them in the rape; and Noonan killed Pastor Morton because Morton at a rather late date developed a conscience and wanted to confess his sins to the authorities. Unfortunately, Pastor Morton’s sins were so linked to Noonan’s that Noonan couldn’t let him talk.”

  “What about the other girl?” Laurel asked. “The one with the weird name.”

  “Bam-Bam? According to Littl
e Vance, her death was an accident. Noonan got a little rough during sex and when she couldn’t be revived, he dumped the body in the old outhouse and torched it. Evidently the other Bad Boyz knew about it—”

  “But why did Nola feel guilty about Revis?”

  “I can answer that.” Elizabeth’s eyes opened and she yawned. “I’ve always wanted to be part of one of those scenes where they sit around in a library at the end of a mystery and tie up loose ends. And here I’m sleeping through it….” She yawned again and sat up straight. “I think, from something Nola said, back when she was in the nursing home and mostly talking cryptic stuff, that she must have come in on the old man shortly after Noonan had beat his head in. Maybe Revis was still alive or maybe she believed he was still alive. In any event, she put a pillow over his face and waited.” Elizabeth shuddered. “I thought of Nola as the sanest of women. But she was obsessed with the ownership of that property. There was a genealogy on her laptop—it all ties in with that ballad about Lydy Goforth….”

  “Mum, did Nola actually have a claim to Gudger’s Stand? Was the old man really her uncle?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No. That was another thing that was in the genealogy. Evidently Nola’s mother decided on a really practical approach to get the property back to their side of the family.” A yawn overwhelmed her. “It’s complicated—I’ll print out the family tree later—but that horrible old man was Nola’s father.”

  She yawned again and put her head back on Phillip’s shoulder. As her eyes closed, she mumbled, “And the other reason…Little Ricky…tell them about…spinach…” A deep sigh escaped her and Elizabeth was asleep again.

  “Spinach?” Rosemary’s eyebrows were raised. “What is she talking about?”

  Phillip settled Elizabeth more comfortably against his arm. Then he said, “That’s the heartbreaker. The catalyst for all of this, the thing that sent Miss Barrett mad, was the death of her great-grandson—”

  “Nephew.” An academic precision was evident in Rosemary’s polite correction but Phillip shook his head firmly.

  “Nope, Lizabeth found all this in that genealogy she was talking about. Tracy’s mother was Lenore—Miss Nola’s illegitimate child, born when Nola was in college. Nola and her mother managed to pass the child off as Nola’s mother’s and Lenore grew up believing she was Nola’s sister. That makes Tracy Nola’s granddaughter—and Tracy was another illegitimate child, for what it’s worth.”

  His face grew somber as he told the story. “So here’s Tracy, victim of a violent gang rape in ’95. She’s sent away to boarding school and then to nursing school, all with the proceeds of the money Lavinia’s paying Nola to keep quiet about the rape. Somewhere in this time, Lenore, Nola’s daughter and Tracy’s mom, dies and Nola’s all alone, with plenty of time to think about what a rotten deal life has handed her.

  “Now, fast-forward to 2002. Seven years after that night in the bus, Tracy has let herself trust a man. She and Stone move in together. He’s the first and the only man she’s been with since the rape. Things are going good and when she gets pregnant they’re both ecstatic. And back home, Nola’s thrilled—buying toys and clothes and books it’ll take years for this baby, her great-grandson, to be old enough for.

  “And when the little boy’s born, it’s all so wonderful, but then after about a year and a half, the baby stops growing and stops gaining weight. The doctors run a million tests and no one can figure out what’s wrong till some bright intern thinks of testing for HIV.

  “And that’s it—Little Ricky has HIV. They test Tracy and so does she. She just hasn’t had any symptoms yet. They test Stone and he’s clean. That’s when Tracy finally tells about the rape. Well, if only they’d known, there would have been prenatal testing but…

  “So Tracy, who’s carrying a real load of guilt now, decides to be the best mother in the world to this sick little boy. He’s prone to colds, which can easily lead to potentially fatal pneumonia, so she’s a demon with the vitamin C. He’s severely immune-compromised, so she’s Mrs. Clean incarnate; and he’s generally puny, so she gets into health food, organic food, whole foods, natural foods, raw foods—”

  Rosemary lifted a stunned face. “I see where this is going. When did Little Ricky die?”

  “Back in September. He had just learned to enjoy the green smoothies his mother concocted to build his strength—pineapple, papaya, apples, and—”

  “And raw spinach,” Rosemary said softly. “The E. coli outbreak. Little Ricky was one of the victims. It was the knowledge that her insistence on silence had probably caused her great-grandson’s death that turned Miss Barrett into a madwoman.”

  “We brought in those two fellas who used to work for Big Lavinia this mornin’. Asked about a few things and among others, they admitted setting the fire at the stand. They said they’d been sent to find some little green-backed books and when they couldn’t find them and saw what a mess they’d made, they decided to burn the stand down to cover up what they’d done.” The sheriff looked at some papers on his desk and pulled one out. “Not the brightest matches in the box, ol’ Arval and Marval. I told you that wasn’t a professional job.”

  “How about the Hummer? They did a better job there.”

  “Nope, not them.” Blaine passed a paper over to Phillip. “Manifesto of an ecoterrorist group committed to destruction of outsize SUVs. They’re claiming responsibility.”

  The sheriff leaned back in his chair and swung his feet up on his desk. A smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “By the way, Hawk, I’ve done a little early spring-cleaning at the department. A few of the holdovers from the previous sheriff are on their way out—I finally caught them in some questionable dealings—and praise god, Miss Orinda and her gut are retiring!”

  “I thought you said she’d never retire.”

  “Well, she changed her mind.” The smile widened. “I set a little trap for her—left some confidential paperwork about Arval and Marval, the blunder boys, on my desk and locked my office door. Told Miss Orinda I’d be gone for a couple of hours and left. I gave it a few minutes, then slipped back in and caught her in my office, sitting at my desk and going through those papers. When I confronted her she broke down—said she just wanted to protect Big Lavinia’s memory, that she’s always done her best for the Holcombes.

  “And that’s why she stole Tracy’s letter about the rape—she’s the mole I was worrying about, Hawk. With Miss Orinda gone, we can all breathe easy.” A delighted grin split Mackenzie’s face. “I couldn’t ask for a better way to start the New Year.”

  Chapter 55

  Breaking Up Christmas

  Sunday, December 31

  Breaking up Christmas” was what Elizabeth had always called it, after a fiddle tune of the same name, and from the first years of her marriage she had inevitably honored her grandmother’s tradition of taking down the tree on New Year’s Eve. “Bad luck to have it up in the New Year,” Gramma had said as the tree went out the door and she turned to the preparation of collard greens, “to put greenbacks in your pocket,” and black-eyed peas and hog jowl—all said to bring good luck.

  Well, Gramma, the black-eyed peas are simmering and we’re taking the tree down. Elizabeth circled the tall fir, carefully removing the few glass ornaments that had been her mother’s, wrapping them in tissue, and restoring them to their compartmented boxes. Laurel, high on a ladder, was divesting the upper branches of their decorations and passing them down to Rosemary.

  “It’s like running a movie backwards,” Laurel exclaimed. “A few weeks ago we pulled all this stuff out and”—she stretched to unmoor the rag doll angel from the topmost branch—“and now we’re putting it back. And we do the same thing every year, but somehow it’s not boring. It’s more…more…” She paused, looking at the rag doll, whose prim mouth and lowered eyes seemed to suggest a secret. “…more affirming, if that’s the word I want.”

  “The wheel of the year,” Rosemary offered. “Always turning, the same
thing coming around at the same time.”

  “And we always have the collards and the stuff for New Year’s—it’s like continuity with the past—with your Gramma, Mum. I never even knew her, but she’s real to me because we keep her traditions.”

  Elizabeth looked around her shabby, beloved living room: inherited furniture perhaps “passed-down” would be more accurate, decorated with inherited scratches and nicks to which were added the wear and tear of her own family. The gnawed ends of the rockers on Gramma’s sewing chair, Dinah did that almost twenty years ago, the burn on the dining table where Laurel had set down a hot skillet—everything told the story of their family.

  And suddenly she thought of Amanda, beautiful, distant Amanda, alienated from her parents for their treatment of her beloved brother. She has no family—unless she chooses to be part of ours. But she may be too deeply wounded. All she had was the memory of Spinner and now that memory is badly tarnished.

  “Have you girls talked to Amanda about her brother? It’s bad enough that it seems almost certain those were his bones in the silo. But Tracy’s accusation—that Spinner knowingly infected her with AIDS as well as setting her up for the rape—I know it must have hit Amanda hard. She’s idolized her brother her whole life.”

  Laurel’s face was serious. “Amanda’s gone all quiet and withdrawn; even Ben isn’t having much luck getting her to talk.”

  Finally all the decorations were in their boxes and the boxes were returned to the trunk. The tree had been dragged from the house to await use in a bonfire, and most never all of the fallen needles had been swept or vacuumed up. And the girls had taken the dogs on a hike to the top of the mountain.

  The corner where the tree had been looked woefully bare, and Elizabeth pondered it thoughtfully. Maybe I could find something to put there on the end of the table.

  She went to rummage in the closet where she kept seasonal odds and ends. A tall white vase caught her eye. That would work, filled with evergreens and she stretched to catch hold of it. As she pulled the vase down from the shelf, it dislodged a gourd she had decorated years ago. The big gourd fell, making a sharp crack as it struck the floor.