Harmon liked to tell jokes, and every story had some-thing to do with farting, or people who had problems with their bowels. The girls laughed with delight at these efforts, and never complained when Harmon reached past them for a slice of fresh melon and happened to brush a young breast.
“You just got one eye,” Harmon said, apparently just noticing that Howie was there.
“You’re right about that,” Howie said. He thought about young Garvey on the ship, and decided to pay no attention to Harmon.
“Cory was in the war,” Lorene explained. “He was hurt, Harmon, like a lot of soldiers were.”
“Sure looks dumb,” Harmon said. He peered curiously at Howie, stuffing a whole roll in his mouth. “Anybody fights in a war is real stupid, I’d say. God doesn’t like us to fight.”
Howie stared, forgetting his decision of the moment before. He wondered if it was worth getting up and throwing Harmon over the patio wall.
“Well now, Harmon,” Camille said quickly, “that’s as true as it can be. And I’m sure Cory didn’t want to go to war. Isn’t that so, Cory?”
“Why you wearing that black thing over it?” Harmon asked, paying no attention to Camille. He chewed as he talked, and crumbs flew out of his mouth.
“Cause it covers up the hole,” Howie said. “I got a hole under there. You lose an eye you got a hole.”
Harmon seemed interested in that. “Let me see it. Does it look real awful or what?”
“Listen, friend …” Howie braced his hands on the table.
Camille looked alarmed. Lorene shot Howie a warning look. Howie swallowed his irritation.
“I can’t do that, Harmon,” Howie said. “I’d sure like to, but I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because God said I couldn’t. He said, ‘Listen, you keep that hole of yours covered up good. Don’t show it to no one at all.’ ”
Harmon looked bewildered. Then a frown began to grow between his eyes. “God didn’t say nothing to you. You better take that back.”
“Well, now maybe Cory thought that’s what the Lord said,” Lorene said sweetly, glancing sharply at Howie.
“I’ll just bet that’s it,” Camille said. She laid a hand on Harmon’s arm. Harmon shook her roughly off.
“He’s makin’ fun of me.”
“Oh, no he’s not, Harmon,” Lorene said.
“I sure wouldn’t do that,” Howie said, wondering what the hell this conversation was all about.
“I don’t like him.” Harmon pouted. “He isn’t even in the Church. So he doesn’t talk to God, that’s for sure. He’s a liar and a blasphemer too.”
“I got a lot of things to do,” Howie said. He stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “It was sure nice talkin’ and all. Hope we get to do it again.”
Without looking at Harmon again, he stalked down the patio steps to the yard and the garden below. Behind him, he heard Harmon muttering how he’d like to get a look beneath that patch—there was a demon hidden there, you could bet on that.
Howie walked off through the garden and into the trees that shaded the west side of the house from the sun. He couldn’t see the ocean, but he thought he could smell salt air in the strong onshore breeze.
He couldn’t figure Harmon at all, or the way the two girls acted in his presence. The man was such a fool, Howie wasn’t even mad anymore, just disgusted that he’d had to sit and listen, and watch the bastard eat. How could Lorene and Camille put up with all that? It didn’t make a lick of sense—but not a whole lot else in the world did either.
There were paths winding all around the house, past flowering bushes and under different kinds of trees. Everything looked as natural as it could be, though Howie sensed someone had planned it that way, putting trees and rocks and pools just right, so every few feet you wandered into something new.
Past a bright stand of spiky yellow plants he couldn’t name, Howie came upon a small clearing shaded by feathery trees. There was a wooden bench there, and he sat and wiped sweat from under his patch, and tried to recall how things looked with two eyes. Everything was flatter now, he knew that—not because he noticed it anymore but he recalled how different it was when he first lost his eye. Nothing seemed far or near. Things didn’t have an edge like they should It was better when you or the thing you were looking at moved; you could see past it then, and it looked more real.
He heard the sound of running water somewhere, and guessed there was a pool close by. There were all kinds of ponds and small streams around the house, dripping over rocks. In some of the pools, there were bright orange fish. You could toss crumbs or any kind of food on the water and the fish would dart in and suck it up with their fat little mouths. Just like Harmon, Howie thought. Only the fish were real pretty, and didn’t tell jokes about farts.
He heard someone on the path and looked up, and saw Lorene brushing through the yellow flowers. She stopped when she saw him and stuck her hands on her hips.
“Well, there you are,” she said, blowing a strand of hair off her cheek. “I didn’t know where you’d got off to.”
“I got off to anywhere 1 could,” Howie said. “I couldn’t take no more of that.”
“I didn’t have any way to tell you.” Lorene sighed. “I didn’t know he was going to be there, Cory.
“Tell me what?
“About Harmon.”
“I don’t think you got to tell me ’bout Harmon. I think I already saw near all there is to know.”
“He’s Lawrence’s son, Cory.”
Howie looked up at that. Lorene’s face was screwed up so tight he had to laugh.
“It’s not funny.” Lorene flushed. “It’s not funny at all.”
“I guess not.” Howie shook his head. “So Brother Harmon gets to do ’bout anything he wants. Tell awful jokes and feel the girls. And everybody smiles.”
“He doesn’t belong down here. He stays up at High Sequoia. He’s just down here for—something special.”
“Like what?”
“A ceremony. Something to do with the Church.” Lorene waved the question aside.
“You and Camille, Lorene. Ol’ Harmon wants to slip a fat hand under your robe, what then? You smile and say, ‘Oh, Harmon, that’s so sweet’!”
Lorene colored again, and glared at Howie’s high- pitched imitation of a girl.
“Cory, how’d you like to—” She caught herself and lowered her voice. “How’d you like to sleep by yourself for a while? How’d that be? Just lie there an’ think about the awful things you’re saying to me?”
Howie wasn’t sure if she meant it or not, but the threat in her eyes was enough to cause alarm.
“I was just joking, Lorene. Hell, I saw how he was pawing you two. I know it ain’t your fault.”
“It certainly is not,” Lorene said. She looked away and sniffed the air. “Still, it might not be a bad idea. What I said. Stayin’ away from you awhile. I mean, I’m there all the time. Whenever you want to do things to me.”
“Oh. Me doin’ things to you.”
Lorene bit her lip. “Well, we both do things. I didn’t mean it exactly like that. Let’s not talk about it. All right?”
“Wasn’t me that brought it up.”
Lorene grew silent a moment. She seemed to be searching for words. “Cory,” she said finally, “this afternoon before supper, you might want to stay around your room. I mean, I think that’s what you ought to do. Get you a book to read or something. You know?”
Howie looked at her. “I ain’t much on reading, Lorene.”
“Well, just sit there, then,” Lorene said impatiently. “Think about something.” She let out a breath. “What I’m saying, Cory, is that ceremony I was talking about.
It’s this afternoon late in the chapel, and it’s just for members and all.”
Howie studied her a moment, wondering why she was making such a fuss. “Ritcher Jones ask you to tell me all this?”
“No. I mean, yes, he did. In a way. It’s privat
e, that’s the thing. Everybody’ll be there, All the Brothers and Sisters. I’m just saying you shouldn’t wander around or anything. Not that you would, I don’t mean that.”
Lorene was making an effort to be as casual as she could; Howie could see it was a strain, and again, he couldn’t imagine why.
“Well, you don’t have to worry,” he said. “All you got to do is tell me, Lorene. I’m not about to go and bust into church or anything.”
“Most of the time you’d be as welcome as could be.”
“Fine. I sure appreciate that.”
Lorene looked relieved. “Well, then … I got things I have to do. I’ll see you later on, Cory.”
“Tonight?”
“You are just trying to get me mad, now aren’t you?” Howie gave her a one-eyed grin. “You ought to know what I’m trying to get.”
“Honestly, Cory!” Lorene turned away and pranced off through the trees, but not before Howie caught the ghost of a grin on her lips.
He didn’t mean it to happen, and didn’t plan on doing it at all. He told himself all he meant to do was walk around some on the grounds instead of staying stuck up in his room. Lorene didn’t actually say he had to stay there, just that it might be a good idea. There wasn’t anything wrong with taking a walk.
Around the far side of the house, a wing of rough granite jutted out into a thick stand of tall, red-barked pines; the trees were so thick it was hard to even see the stone wall unless you came right up on it. Howie stood among the trees and looked up at the narrow, peaked windows of colored glass. He could hear the singing clearly; it wasn’t really singing but more like people talking in one solemn note.
Well, they could do whatever they liked. It wasn’t any of his concern what religious folk did with their time. If they wanted to stand around and do church ceremonies, why they could.
He stood and listened for a while, just standing in the trees, seeing how one or two pines grew nearly flat against the wall, right next to a colored glass window that was open just a little to let in the fresh air from outside. The window was ten feet off the ground, and though the pines didn’t have any branches that low, they wouldn’t take much effort to climb.
If that’s what a person wanted to do. Which he didn’t. It’d be a real fool thing to even think about. If Ritcher Jones caught him doing that … And hell, what was there in there to see? A bunch of people in robes who couldn’t sing.
Pressing close to the narrow opening in the glass, he could see the whole chapel. looking from the back to the front. There were rows of wooden seats, filled with Brothers and Sisters in robes. Howie was surprised to see so many, a lot more than lived in the house. Apparently they had begun drifting in during the day.
Up front, there were two or three steps and an altar. The altar was covered with a light green cloth, the emblem of High Sequoia sewn on in gold. On the high back wall, the heart-and-tree design was repeated in an immense, finely carved sculpture of polished redwood. The chapel was lit by hundreds of candles. They lined the stone walls and sat in stands behind the altar.
Ritcher Jones stood just before the altar, a gold heart and tree on a chain about his neck. Three others stood beside him, and they wore gold chains as well. One of the men was Harmon; Howie shook his head, but he wasn’t real surprised. Ritcher Jones was high up in the church, but Harmon was Lawrence’s son, and Jones likely had to be nice to him, too.
As Howie watched, the dull drone of voices seemed to change. Five robed figures walked slowly down the aisle. Howie knew who they were from the yellow robes—the young people who weren’t full-fledged Brothers and Sisters.
The five stopped before the altar and knelt on the steps.
Ritcher Jones took a thin green taper from a holder by the altar; pausing before each of the five, he waved the candle past their heads and muttered something Howie couldn’t hear. Then, spreading his arms, he raised his hands, a signal for the figures to stand.
Howie’s legs were starting to ache. The coarse bark of the tree cut through his trousers to his skin. He tried to spot Lorene but couldn’t find her in the crowd.
Again, the chanting below changed. Ritcher Jones nodded; one of the men beside him moved up behind the first of the novices and slipped the yellow robe over her head.
Howie’s throat went dry. Lord A’mighty, the girl wasn’t wearing a thing beneath her robe! He stared at the slim, naked figure. She couldn’t be more than fifteen, but she looked real fine.
The Brother moved solemnly down the line. When he was through, all five of the novices were bare—two boys and three girls. They bowed to Ritcher Jones, turned as one, and bowed to the others in the chapel, then turned to the altar again. Jones walked down the line and gave each one a fatherly embrace. The other men at the altar followed Jones. Harmon was last. While the others had welcomed the five with a simple ceremonial greeting, Harmon took his time. He squeezed the girls and young boys alike close to his chest, putting his whole body into the act. Even from the distance of Howie’s perch, it was hard to miss the sly, silly grin on Harmon’s face.
The Brothers and Sisters in the chapel broke into song. Ritcher Jones handed each new initiate a neatly folded white robe. A gray-haired Brother slipped the robes over each young person’s head. Harmon looked disappointed as each naked form disappeared.
Hell, that’s what it was all about, Howie thought. The little son of a bitch had come down from High Sequoia for this, the chance to fondle some naked young kids. It was likely the biggest thrill the poor fool could imagine. And Ritcher Jones was probably fuming inside, because he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Lawrence’s boy could do whatever he—
“I suggest you come down from that tree at once …” Howie nearly lost his grip. Looking down, he saw the grim features of Brother James peering back. Howie let out a breath and backed awkwardly down the trunk to the ground.
“Well now.” Brother James didn’t smile, but his eyes told Howie the man was delighted with his find. “I suppose you have some explanation for this, young man.”
“What kind of explanation you figure that’d be?” Howie said. “You can see what I was doing.”
“Yes. Oh, yes, I most certainly can.” James shook his head. “This is a grave thing you have done. A most serious offense against the Church.”
“I don’t need no sermon,” Howie said. “I didn’t have any business being up there where I was. I did it. I got caught.”
“And what did you think of what you saw?”
Howie decided he couldn’t get in any more trouble than he was. “I saw what looked like a real nice occasion, those boys and girls getting their robes and all. I also saw that fat little bastard feelin’ up some naked kids. That didn’t look real religious to me. ’Course I ain’t a member or nothing, so there’s likely a lot of things I don’t understand.”
Brother James’ expression didn’t change, but a shadow crossed his face. “You know that I will have to report this matter to Brother Jones.”
“I’m not surprised to hear that.”
“And this, ah—causes you no concern?”
“I don’t reckon I can do a hell of a lot about it.”
James glanced at the chapel wall and back to Howie. “And what if I did not, young Cory? What if I decided to—keep this deplorable business to myself?”
Howie looked right at James. “I guess I’d be grateful for that.”
“Yes. I’m certain that you would. How grateful do you think you would be?”
Howie let out a breath. “What are you gettin’ at, mister? You want to just say it?”
The hard lines of the man’s face nearly edged into a smile. “I was thinking, Cory, that a favor such as that— quite a generous favor, I would say—might well be returned in kind. Not now, of course. Perhaps at a later time.”
“What kind of favor you got in mind?”
James actually grinned. Howie was certain the man’s face would crack like a shattered stone and fall in small pieces to the ground.<
br />
“We shall simply have to wait and see,” James said. “We shall simply have to see.”
With that, James turned and vanished quickly through the trees.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Brother James’s promise did little to ease Howie’s mind. If anything, it had just the opposite effect. The big house was filled with Brothers and Sisters, celebrating the initiates in their midst. Howie could hear their laughter from his room. Sitting on his bed, watching the growing dark, he imagined the gaiety coming to a halt, Ritcher Jones leading an angry horde of Churchers up the stairs.
It didn’t happen, of course, but Howie’s nerves were rubbed raw all the same. He cursed himself for pulling such a damn fool stunt—and worse than that, getting caught like a kid peeking in a bedroom window. His stomach was growling, but he knew he couldn’t go down-stairs. Not with everybody there. If they didn’t already know what he’d done, they’d sure see it on his face.
Howie paced the room from end to end, stopping now and then to stare out the open balcony door. It was dark enough now to see the lights of the town through the trees. He imagined the streets and the stores; and beyond, the harbor full of ships.
The answer came to him at once. Hell, he didn’t have to mope around in his room. No one could make him do that.
He flushed with sudden anger at the thought that touched his mind. He was so damn used to doing everything Ritcher Jones said, he’d near forgotten how to think for himself.
“California’s a delight,” the preacher had told him more than once. “But it offers quite subtle temptations to the stranger not used to our ways.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Howie had asked.
“It means the presence of plenty can blind a man to the true needs of his immortal soul, Cory. For neither all the fine goods in the marketplace nor all the pleasures of the flesh can fill the emptiness that comes with mortal sin.”
Jones always answered questions with a sermon, Howie thought irritably. If a person had any sense at all, he’d quit bothering to ask.
It was a simple matter to drop from the balcony to the dark lawn below. The gate by the road was always closed, and a Brother or two were on duty night and day—but all the gate did was keep carriages and riders from going in or out.
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