Send me away! After I’ve come so far, after I’ve lived in the house, walked the grounds, touched my grandmother’s hand …
“I won’t say anything,” Olivia murmured.
“Olivia,” Jesse sighed, “why did you ever come here?”
She shook her head slowly. She glanced away and stared at one long wooden pew.
Because I’m a Devereaux … because I belong.
“Because I needed work,” she said. “Because I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“You should go.” Jesse sounded dismayed. “The world is a very big place, I hear. Especially for someone as … beautiful as you are.”
“I’m not beautiful,” Olivia replied, almost defensively.
“On the contrary, I’m very good at recognizing beautiful things.”
She could feel herself blushing in the darkness. She turned and lowered herself into one of the pews, staying near the aisle. Jesse moved away from her and leaned back against the wall. She could see his restless, shadowy movements and the dim profile of his face.
“How long have you worked here?” she asked quietly.
“A long time.”
Olivia peered hard into the darkness where he hid. She could sense him melting back deeper into the gloom.
“Did you ever live at the house?”
“I have lived there. At times.”
“So where do you live now?”
“Here.”
“In this place?”
He laughed softly. “Don’t sound so surprised. It happens to be a very nice place to live.”
“It is a church then.” She nodded to herself. “But—”
“There’s a room at the back,” he broke in, anticipating her next question. “And yes, it is a church. Most plantations had their own churches. This one’s not in such good shape anymore, but I still think it’s beautiful. It makes me feel safe somehow.” He hesitated. “It comforts me.”
“And you’re all alone back here,” Olivia said.
There was a soft rustling. She could see his shadow shifting along the wall.
“One learns to live with solitude. It’s not really so terrible as you might think.”
“Oh, but I don’t think it’s terrible. Not at all.” Hazy images drifted back to her … the attic … the long, blessed intervals of undisturbed peace …
“Then you’ve spent a lot of time alone,” Jesse said.
“I’ve always been alone.”
She leaned forward and rested her head on the top of the pew in front of her. The wood was rough and dusty, but it felt cool and strong against her skin.
“Mama used to lock me in the attic. For one reason or another. But I didn’t mind, really. Because of the way things were. I don’t even know how long I was up there last … I lost all track of time …”
She had been talking to herself more than to him, mumbling under her breath, getting it all straight in her mind, letting it all out in a rush of relief. As her last word trailed away, she heard the echo of her own voice in the quiet, and she stopped, confused at what she’d done.
“Olivia …” Jesse whispered, but she sat up again and started talking quickly before he could say anything more.
“And you’re never afraid? Way back here in the woods? With a bayou between you and everyone else? You’re never afraid being back here in the dark?”
She saw a slight movement in the shadows. She could imagine him shaking his head.
“What do I have to be afraid of?”
She thought he laughed. She couldn’t be sure.
Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking the walls of the little church, shivering straight through to the ground. The candles sputtered wildly. Jesse’s shadow slid along the wall and danced upon the altar.
“You’d better leave,” he said softly. “Before it starts raining again. It’s a long walk back to the house.”
“I don’t mind the rain. And I’m sorry I ran away last night.”
She hadn’t known she was going to say it. When the words came out, Olivia heard them as though they’d come from someone else, and her lips parted in surprise. She saw Jesse reach slowly for a candle … hold it against the flame of another … place it carefully in an empty spot.
“I’m sorry, too.” His voice was hushed. “I shouldn’t have asked so many questions. I just wanted to … know you better.”
Without warning tears misted Olivia’s eyes. She brushed them quickly away.
“I’ve never liked people knowing me. I’ve never let people know me.”
Stand up, Olivia, take off your dress now, let the nice man know you better …
“Because,” Jesse said slowly, “then they’d know how to hurt you.”
The tears swelled again. Shadows and candles and Jesse ran together in one shining blur. Jesse moved once more back into the darkness.
“I know about hurt, Olivia,” he said quietly. “Being hurt by others … and hurting others you love … however unintentionally.”
Olivia shook her head. “You don’t seem like you could ever hurt anyone. You seem so … kind.”
“Thank you for that.” A smile touched his voice. “I try to be. Even in the … worst … of circumstances.”
Another clap of thunder sounded. The building shook dangerously, as if it would collapse around them at any second.
“Really.” Jesse moved again and started toward her down the aisle. “You should leave now before it starts to storm. I’ll go back with you and take you across.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I can find my way.”
She looked up, strangely reluctant to go. He stood at her side and offered his hand to help her up. It felt cold when she touched it, and his skin seemed peculiarly clammy.
“Jesse, are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. Come now. The thunder’s getting worse.”
He took her elbow and steered her toward the door, but his grip felt weak. Olivia peered into his face, but his eyes stayed straight ahead, and he wouldn’t look back at her. She was almost certain she could feel him trembling, and as he reached for the door, she hesitated.
“Jesse, are you sure—”
“Please. We must hurry.” He seemed agitated somehow, and she shook her head at him firmly.
“No, I can find my way back perfectly all right. You stay here and keep dry.”
This time his eyes settled on her face. They were even bigger in the shadows, curiously devoid of light. He nodded and smiled at her, and Olivia reached up and laid her hand gently against his check.
“Thank you,” she said.
Her fingertips trailed over his lips. She felt the slight, soft pressure of his mouth as he kissed her hand. He turned away and started back up the darkened aisle.
“Jesse,” she began, and then, “Jesse—what’s wrong!”
Alarmed, she saw him come to an abrupt halt, his body rigid, one hand groping at his chest.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
Olivia reached his side at once, but he motioned her away.
“It’s nothing. Really.”
Her eyes made a quick sweep of his body. Near the middle of his chest, a small red stain was oozing through his shirt.
“You’re bleeding.” Her voice dropped, and she started to touch him. He caught her hand gently in his and held her at arm’s length.
“Just a scratch.” His lips moved in a faint smile. “I was working, and I had an accident. That’s all it is.”
“Are you sure?” She looked again at the stain on his shirtfront, and as Jesse gazed back at her, his smile grew reassuring.
“Positive. I fell. It’s just in an inconvenient spot, is all. It’ll be much better by tomorrow.”
Olivia nodded slowly, though she still felt troubled. She stared hard into his face. She couldn’t tell if he was really pale or if it was just an uncertain trick of the light. Jesse seemed almost embarrassed by her scrutiny. He lowered his head and turned away.
A sudden gu
st of wind sighed, filling the church with an empty moan.
Olivia let herself out into the clearing, and the first warm raindrops trickled down on her face.
23
IT WAS RAINING HARD again by the time she got back to the house.
Twilight had fallen, and as she approached the veranda, the glow of lamps shimmered out from wet, wavy windowpanes, casting sickly patterns on the submerged bricks of the walkway. Everything seemed curiously dreamlike. She could still hear the soft sound of Jesse’s voice, the faint touch of his lips. She could still feel his trembling, the dampness of his skin. The quiet spell of the church clung to her like something she had only imagined.
The warm gamy smell of food wafted out from the back of the house. Someone had left the door open, and as Olivia started to close it, she saw Mathilde coming across the muddy yard, balancing a heavy tray on one shoulder. Olivia didn’t feel like being with the others at supper right now, but she was suddenly starving. Figuring that Mathilde would be at least a little while in the dining room, Olivia hurried quickly to the kitchen behind the house.
The one-room cabin was small and filthy. A huge fireplace took up most of one wall, complete with a crane and iron pots, and there was also a brick oven stained with years of smoke. Rotting wooden shelves were built in at one end, and the floor showed gaping holes between its mixture of wood and stone. A long wooden table took up the center of the room. Crude benches stood at either side, and the tabletop was littered with vegetable peelings, flour, piles of raw fat, moldy crumbs, and swarms of flies. The surface was stained dark in several places. A huge cleaver lay on its side, the blade clotted with dried blood. Bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling and also from pegs on another wall. And from one heavy cauldron on the fire, something bubbled and simmered itself into a thick gray scum, giving off an incredibly noxious smell.
Holding her breath, Olivia came farther inside, her eyes going apprehensively around the room. At some time through the years, a black wood stove had been brought in, its top covered now with tarnished copper pots and pans. A gigantic mortar and pestle stood near the hearth, filled with some kind of white powdery substance. As Olivia knelt down to examine it, a roach crawled out, and with a cry of disgust she turned away.
Behind her the cauldron began to bubble over. Spying a long-handled wooden spoon on one of the shelves, Olivia plunged it down into the foul liquid and felt the soft spongy resistance of something near the bottom of the pot.
She paused, the spoon poised in her hand.
Slimy gray scum oozed out onto the coals, giving off a malevolent hiss.
Olivia worked the spoon in under the liquid and began to lift it up.
“Get away from that!”
The vicious whisper came without warning from the doorway. Olivia spun around with a gasp, and the spoon clattered down onto the floor, greasy liquid spraying everywhere.
Mathilde’s face was livid with fury. Just above her shoulder, Skyler’s green eyes gleamed inquisitively.
“If you’re so hungry”—Mathilde’s voice was deep and slow and dangerous—“then by all means … you should eat.”
She reached the cauldron in an instant and snatched the spoon from the floor. Before Olivia could even move, Mathilde had her tightly around the neck, scooping the spoon deep into the pot with her other hand, forcing it into Olivia’s face.
“No, Mathilde! Stop it!”
Olivia could hear Skyler shouting and the smug sound of Mathilde’s laughter. Fumes washed over her, making her gag, making her helplessly dizzy, and as she struck out at her captor, she felt scalding liquid dribble down the side of her neck and over her blouse, making her scream.
“Stop it!” Skyler shouted again.
The kitchen spun around her as Olivia struggled, as she felt the other two struggling against her. Her fingers tore uselessly at Mathilde’s hands, and in desperation she flung out her arms toward the table, groping along the edge.
Thick fluid ran into her mouth. She spat it at Mathilde’s face and felt her fingers close around the cleaver on the table.
Again the spoon came dangerously close; again it was all Olivia could do to keep from swooning. Mathilde was cursing furiously, and there was a resounding crash as Skyler finally yanked her away, falling with her into the shelves. Crockery and dishes scattered over the floor, and as Olivia slammed back against the table, gasping for breath, she saw Mathilde’s snake inching its way sluggishly along the hearth.
“Damn you!” Mathilde screeched. “Let me go!”
Through a dim haze, Olivia could see Mathilde pinned to the floor with Skyler astride her chest. The two of them wrestled for only a second—then Skyler twisted the spoon from her hand and threw it across the room. Mathilde’s eyes were wild and frenzied, and as she thrashed beneath him, Skyler looked up at Olivia with a slow grin.
“You owe me another one,” he said.
Olivia’s hand closed tightly around the meat cleaver. She moved purposefully across the room to the fireplace.
The snake began to coil, hissing warningly.
With all her strength, Olivia brought the blade of the cleaver down on its back, jumping away as it writhed and twisted in jagged loops across the floor.
From some remote corner of her brain she could hear Mathilde shrieking.
She saw the stunned disbelief on Skyler’s face.
“I don’t owe you anything,” Olivia said.
She scarcely remembered getting back to her room. As she shut herself in and leaned against the door, her body began to shake uncontrollably, though she felt strangely calm. She closed her eyes and pictured the snake dying on the kitchen floor and Mathilde screaming under Skyler, and she realized that her lips were drawn into a tight, smile and that they had been fixed that way for quite some time.
As she opened her eyes again, she was just in time to see something step out from behind the bed. She tensed to run but then she recognized Helen, motioning to a tray on the table, nodding at Olivia to eat.
“Oh, Helen …” Olivia’s breath came out in a rush. “Did I scare you as much as you just scared me?”
She made it to the bed and collapsed. Helen stood over her, watching. Then she took the cloth from the supper tray and gently began drying Olivia’s wet hair.
“Thank you, Helen,” Olivia murmured. “That’s so nice …”
She glanced around at the long, uncurtained windows. She felt wooden and numb. The darkness flickered eerily as lightning spurted through the night and rain drummed upon the gallery beyond. Helen patted her hair gently, massaging her head and neck, and Olivia reached up and squeezed the girl’s hand.
“You always bring something up for me, don’t you? So I don’t have to sit with the others.”
Helen nodded, but her eyes seemed worried. She laid one hand upon Olivia’s cheek.
“The scratches hardly hurt at all. I’m fine. Really.” Olivia patted Helen’s hand reassuringly. She started to tell her about Mathilde’s snake, then decided against it. Helen would probably get upset and worry about Mathilde’s retaliation.
Retaliation …
I told you, Mathilde. I warned you.
Helen put down the cloth and motioned again toward the tray of food. Olivia nodded and began to eat, staring down at the same greasy stew she was beginning to expect every day. Tonight she didn’t pick at her food. Tonight she ate every bite.
As she was standing up, she didn’t notice Helen starting to reach over her, and she accidentally knocked the girl’s arm against the table. Helen jumped away, wincing in pain.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”
It was the same arm Olivia had looked at once before, and as she took hold of Helen’s wrist, the girl cringed again.
“Helen, what is it?”
Olivia watched the confusion flitting across Helen’s face, and with it, something else—fear? pain? She began to unfasten the buttons of Helen’s cuff, and she could feel the tiny birdlike arm stiffening in h
er grasp, as if the girl would pull away at any second.
“It’s all right,” Olivia soothed her. “I won’t hurt you—I just want to see.”
Helen’s eyes were wide and worried, and as Olivia worked the sleeve up a little, she stared at the underside of Helen’s arm.
Helen’s wrist was swollen, the soft, pale flesh punctuated by tiny marks. Along the delicate ridge of vein that traced up her arm, the skin was flecked with purple and yellow bruises.
“My God, Helen,” Olivia gasped. “What on earth has been biting you?”
The girl did pull away then, almost violently, jerking her sleeve back into place, ducking her head so that Olivia couldn’t see her face. Without another look in Olivia’s direction, Helen grabbed up the tray and hurried toward the door.
“Helen, wait! I didn’t mean—” Olivia jumped up to stop her, but the door slammed, letting in a spray of wind and rain.
Olivia stood there, thoughts whirling. She could still see those horrible marks on Helen’s skin … the strange look on Helen’s face … the painful bruises. They were almost identical to the marks she’d noticed before on the inside of Helen’s elbow, only these were more pronounced, more distinct. Troubled, Olivia sank down in a chair, one thought pushing out all the rest.
What is going on in this house?
She stretched out across the bed and cradled her head on her arms. In her mind she kept seeing the bayou again … and the boat … and the little church with the shimmering altar. And she could see Jesse’s face again, the kindness in his eyes, the gentle movement of his body within the shadows, and she could hear Jesse’s voice again, the soft, sweet sound of it, “Please don’t go around inventing things to be afraid of …”
She saw his eyes, strange and lifeless by the door, the dark red stain on his white shirt, and his lips were against her fingers, whispering, kissing her almost shyly …
She must have drifted then—for a time she floated, suspended in darkness, no troubles, no fears, but from some great distance she sensed something pulling her back again, insistently, into consciousness …
Olivia opened her eyes and saw the figure beside the bed. As she started to scream, a hand clamped over her mouth and she saw Helen leaning over her, her face distorted in candlelight.
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