The Possession

by Spikes J. D.

  “I never thought I’d ever have to ask you this, young lady, but I am responsible for you while you’re here.”

  I barely lifted my gaze, choosing instead to stuff more omelet into my mouth. “What?”

  “Are you taking drugs?”

  “No.” I snorted it around my eggs.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  The eggs spewed from my mouth, at least the portion not choking me. “W—” cough, cough, “You aren’t—” cough, cough.

  Aunt banged a water glass to the table in front of me then vigorously rubbed my back. The coughing subsided and I sipped the water before snatching my napkin up to swipe my eyes.

  I am positively, absolutely certain my face ran through every color of red any crayon company ever thought of in their entire existence.

  “How could you, Aunt Dwill!” I demanded. “Don’t you trust me? I can’t believe you asked that!”

  Aunt returned to her seat across from me, her angry glare somehow conveying her concern. “It’s not normal, Daphne, for a seventeen year old to be fainting all the time.”

  Fainting? She surely didn’t know about last night at that hunter’s shed. “It happened once, Aunt. I was stressed. It’s no big deal.”

  Her head tilted, eyes widened under tented brows. They smoothed and she pushed her plate aside. She folded her hands on the tabletop.

  “You don’t even know, do you?”

  “Kn-know what?” It felt like a setup. A very worrisome setup.

  “Where did you go last night, Daphne?”

  “I told you—”

  “No.” Aunt’s hand came up, a stop sign to my oncoming traffic of words. “After we talked at the lighthouse.”

  I lowered my face, keeping my eyes on my plate.

  “Don’t make it worse by lying, Daphne. I know you went out.”

  “You can’t possibly know. I was so careful.”

  Aunt’s arm crossed the space between us, her hand resting on mine. I looked into her face.

  “I heard someone on the porch, Daphne, rattling at the door. When I opened the door, I found my niece, done up in her period costume for the anniversary celebration, asking for her maman.”

  I tried to look away, but she squeezed my hand so hard, I couldn’t.

  “You didn’t know me, Daphne. You shoved past me and ran up the stairs to your room. By the time I got there, you had passed out, half hanging off the bed.”

  It was difficult to breathe. I searched every nook in my brain and couldn’t bring forth anything, not even a moment, from the time I left the cemetery.

  “I think maybe you and Zach should take some time off from each other.”

  “No!” I sprang from my chair. “You can’t make me. And you can’t blame Zach for this. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, Aunt!” I grabbed the edge of the table, leaning across, in her face. “Last night . . . I did that on my own. I won’t do it again. I swear.”

  Her back stiffened. I actually saw her resolve.

  “I’ve got to go. I have to finish the cemetery, so I can move on to the next project.”

  To make sure she had no time to argue, I ran from the room.

  After a quick brush of my teeth, I slipped out the front door. Coming down off the porch, I spotted Zach sitting on the rail fence near the shed. The wind was off-land today, and lifted his hair from his shoulders, billowing it away from his face.

  I tried to keep my pace steady, so he wouldn’t suspect anything was amiss. He jumped lightly to the ground as I reached him.

  “Morning.” His smile held a knowing warmth. The certainty our shared confidence had bonded us. Happy that we would get to share the day. A glance past him toward the house revealed Aunt Dwill watching us from the center arch of the porch.

  I smiled back, “Morning, Zach,” and gently took his face in my hands. He leaned forward to meet me and I kissed him soundly as his arms encircled me, hands pressing me near. We parted and I pulled my baseball cap from my back pocket. Before I could clamp it on my head, he stopped me.

  “Wait.” He pulled something from his shirtfront and I noticed for the first time that he wore two beaded necklaces. The pattern of beads matched, and a small leather pouch hung from the center of each. One pouch had a fringe, the other did not. He lifted the fringed one over his head and held it between us.

  “This is for you. It’s a medicine pouch. Like an amulet. My grandmother put an offering of tobacco in, and something she said she knew you would need. The rest will be up to you. As you find objects that are good, strong medicine, you add them to your pouch.”

  He placed it over my head, and I saw the pouch would nestle just inside the vee of my t-shirt. I stroked the beads and lifted my eyes to him.

  “To keep you safe,” he whispered.

  “Thank you,” I whispered back, and he kissed me again.

  Without looking back to the house, I followed him across the yard and climbed onto the tractor. Once my arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, we drove off.

  Chapter 11

  Chantal must have left her bike farther back along the path. She stood beside the tractor, one eye on Zach and one eye combing the area. Looking for me? I slipped farther back behind the tree but not enough to lose sight of her.

  Zach continued to rake the third row, his back to the tractor, oblivious; not knowing I had returned or that she waited.

  The gate bell sounded. I reminded myself to kiss Zach for reinstalling it.

  She posed at the gate then stalked towards him. Okay, stalk isn’t really accurate. I may have known that’s what she was doing, but to anyone else she simply sauntered forward, hips swaying. Her shorts were short, her sleeveless blouse tight. The sun through the trees picked platinum strands from her dirty-blond hair and she seemed almost radiant.

  I couldn’t see Zach’s face, but he gripped the rake in front of him, his arms straightening enough to create a personal space.

  “Why aren’t you off playing basketball, Zach, on such a beautiful day?”

  He said nothing.

  “Your dad making you work?” Her gaze went face to toes and back again. I wanted to smack her, even though I understood.

  “I work because I want to.” The smoky tone of his voice carried to me.

  “Oh. That why you go off to Canada every year, too?”

  She knew about that? For someone who couldn’t stand him, she kept pretty good tabs.

  He tilted his head. “What do you want, Chantal?”

  Her eyes fastened on him, the gleam unmistakable . . . at least to another woman. She lowered her gaze. “Hmmmm. What do I want?”

  Chantal strolled forward, moved to his left as if to pass, and suddenly kicked out with her foot. The rake almost sailed from his hand.

  She was good.

  But not good enough.

  “You’re wasting my time, Chantal.”

  “And you’re wasting yourself on that vacationer!” she spit out between gritted teeth. He straightened, his shoulders squaring. She narrowed her eyes. “If you think you’re keeping it quiet, think again. Nothing escapes notice here. Nothing escapes me.” She planted her palm against his chest. “I can do more for you than she ever could.”

  He stepped back, away from her touch, and she pursued. Her foot caught on the rake, actually dislodging it from his grasp this time. I watched in horror as poor Zach tried to catch the rake and stay out of her way. He scrambled to keep his balance. I sprang forward, afraid he might fall and hit his head on a stone.

  The second Chantal saw me, she threw herself at Zach.

  “Let go, you animal!” she cried.

  I did not note a struggle on her part, except to prevent him from peeling her off.

  “Is everything okay, Zach?” I called.

  “Yeah.” He stepped away from the leech, retrieving his rake, then crossing to the stone fence where he leaned the rake against it and helped me over. We turned together toward Chantal.

  “Better watch yourself, Daphne,” she mut
tered, her gaze sharp but not quite as sharp as her tongue. “He’s . . . wild.”

  She brushed a hand across her blouse, as though he had touched her there, and I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. My smile slow, I widened my eyes slightly and, with a subtle quirk of my brows, sent a message of my own. I know.

  Chantal did not appreciate my response. She actually stamped her foot. “You think you’re so smart,” she hissed. “Well, you aren’t.” She turned her venom on Zach. “I’m not the only one who knows what you did.”

  I darted a look at Zach. What was she talking about? He stepped toward her.

  “You don’t know anything, Chantal.”

  “Oh, really?” She stomped away, turning back only after she had exited the cemetery. “We’ll see.”

  She stormed off and I lifted my eyes to his. “What is she talking about, Zach?”

  He didn’t look at me. For a full minute, he didn’t respond at all, just watched her walk away. Once she was out of view, his gaze found mine and he ran a hand down my arm.

  “Nothing. Trust me.”

  His touch lingered, but his gaze returned to the path. When he moved away, he retrieved his rake and continued his work, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

  We worked in silence. I struggled to find something to say, to get him to talk to me and turn his mind from Chantal’s nasty visit, when Zach slammed the rake to the ground and strode across the three gravesites that separated us. He loomed over me.

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  His face shifted from anger to hurt then back to something in between. He crossed his arms, his hands balled into fists. “Is that what you think? What this has been all about?”

  I sat back on my heels, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

  “That I’m wild.” His expression turned to stone, “. . . some kind of savage?” He read my reaction correctly. “Oh, you didn’t know some still use that phrase? Still believe it? Well, they do. They try to camouflage it, cushion it in politeness, but it still cuts deep.”

  “Are you crazy? Why would you think such a thing?” I rose to my feet to stand tall before him.

  His arms dropped to his sides, but his hands remained fisted. His eyes flashed to the path and I understood.

  “Damn that Chantal. Don’t you see what she’s done? She wants to turn us against each other, Zach. Don’t let her do it.”

  I reached for his arm, but he stepped away from me. “You agreed with her, Daphne. Like you believed—”

  “What? Believed that she’d know? That she’d been with you? Please.” I pulled my work gloves off and stuffed them into my back pocket, turning away from him.

  He followed me. I stopped short and spun, taking him by surprise. “It had nothing to do with your race. She knew exactly what message I’d get. But if she knew you at all, Zach Philbrook, she wouldn’t even discuss it. She’d keep it private.”

  I blushed and lowered my face. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I just wanted to make her taste green.”

  “Green?”

  I lifted my eyes to his. “Jealousy.”

  Understanding dawned in his eyes. His hands relaxed and he jammed them into his pockets. “Chantal doesn’t care about anyone. She doesn’t like people; she collects them.”

  It was my turn to gaze down the path in the direction she’d disappeared. “Oh, she wants to collect you, all right,” I mumbled under my breath.

  Zach had moved away, to the back of the cemetery. I followed him there, to the place we first spoke. Dorothea’s and Sarah’s resting place. I kept to myself, unsure of his mood. I didn’t want to disturb his contemplation.

  With a glance back at me, he crossed to the stone fence and hopped over it. As soon as I reached the wall, he stopped me. I leaned my elbows there. He dropped to the ground and tore at the vines and leaves at his knees.

  A short flat stone appeared, some type of cryptic word chiseled into its surface. Zach brushed the dirt away with care then rose to his feet.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Vincent’s grave.

  Zach stared at the stone. “Even though he was her husband, they wouldn’t bury him with his family.”

  “Because he wasn’t Christian,” I responded, remembering our first conversation.

  “Because her people refused to recognize the marriage. It took place in his village. The reverend allowed the Micmac ceremony in addition to the Christian vows. Not acceptable.”

  My gaze roamed over him. He was different, his tone, his stance, his choice of words. Though he continued to study the marker, my eyes remained riveted on him. His gaze lifted to the sky, glancing over rock and tree to settle on the heavens.

  “My grandfather told me the town could never let them be. The town fathers were afraid that if they let one of us in, they would open a floodgate. They decided to make Vincent an example,” he lowered his head and locked his eyes on mine, “because he tried to fit in.”

  I straightened, a flash of my last encounter with Vincent sparking sorrow in my breast.

  “I will never try to fit in, Daphne. I am who I am. Like my father, my grandfather, and his father before him, I know my place is among my people. I will not relinquish that. I will never turn my back on it.”

  Lifting myself up onto the wall, I swung my legs over and dangled them but did not jump down. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

  Zach shuffled the debris back over the stone marker, but his movements were reverent, keeping Vincent’s resting place safe. When he finished, he crossed to where I sat on the wall. “Society may claim to embrace all, the new and the different, but believe me it will slap you down if you don’t conform. Yes,” he cut off the question forming on my lips with the answer, “even ‘different’ must follow the rules.”

  He moved closer and rested his hands on my knees. “The slap may make you stronger, Daphne, but it will hurt just the same.”

  I did not break eye contact. “Then we’ll be each other’s band-aid, to cushion the blow.”

  “What if . . . ?”

  I closed my eyes with a shake of my head. There were a number of mixed couples in town. I knew they existed, but I didn’t know how they were treated, a fact I was certain Zach would correct if given the opportunity. “Don’t, Zach. Don’t go there. Not now.”

  He straddled the wall beside me. One hand returned to my knee, the other rested on his thigh near the small of my back. “We have to go there, can’t you see? We’re beyond different.”

  My eyes flew open.

  He motioned to both sides of the wall. “Because of them.”

  Oh, my God. Why hadn’t I realized it sooner? Sarah W.P. “Sarah Wentworth Philbrook. Vincent was a Philbrook. That’s really why my aunt and your dad had so much trouble, isn’t it?”

  Zach’s eyes penetrated, a wound already forming there at the tremble in my voice. “Yes.”

  “Is that why you know where his grave is?”

  His gaze averted mine to rest on the covered marker. “That is another story.”

  I tapped his chest. “So the other night, at the hunter’s shed, you didn’t tell me everything, did you?”

  He pressed his lips together and gave a slight shake of his head.

  “But you will.”

  Another shake of his head as he slanted a look my way. The pain had receded from his eyes. I wagged a finger no.

  A small grin tried to turn up the corner of his mouth. “Maybe. In time.”

  Satisfied, I tucked a wayward lock of hair behind his ear, enjoying the feel as it ran through my fingers and thumb. The wind gusted, dislodging the piece and blowing my cap off my head to sail it in the direction of the gate.

  Zach scrambled from the wall then scooped me up to drop me back into the cemetery.

  He lowered my legs to the ground but did not let me go.

  “I’ve never had a date with Chantal. Or anything else.”

  I put my finger to his lips. “Shush.”

&nb
sp; He kissed it. I snatched it back and pushed him away. “Just keep it that way, okay? C’mon!”

  I took off after my cap.

  He chased me instead.

  Chapter 12

  I wouldn’t let Zach bring me back to the lighthouse. He had a doctor’s appointment and the skies had turned. There was no way he’d get me to the lighthouse then get home on time, or even before the storm. Not on that old tractor.

  Aunt was working on some sewing, so I asked if I could borrow the car to go to the library after I showered and changed.

  “Why don’t you pick up some pizza for supper on your way back?”

  “Sure! Chicken, tomato, and red peppers okay?”

  “Fine with me. Get some of those cinnamon breadsticks, too.” Aunt wrinkled her nose at my stern look. “I know. It’s not on the cholesterol diet, but I won’t tell Doc Warner if you don’t!”

  “Only because you’ve been so good lately, Aunt.”

  She handed me some cash and I kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back before five.”

  “Mmmhmm,” she murmured, already back to her project.

  Our library, a renovated gabled mini Victorian, held more books than it would appear from the outside. A man and a woman were visible in the periodical room, the small alcove that was probably once a walk-in pantry. Mrs. Codman, one of Aunt’s friends and the first grade teacher, was in the front parlor—or Children’s Reading Room—with her twin boys. She waved as I passed on my way to the Research Room, second floor in the back.

  The whole upper floor seemed deserted. I fought the urge to tiptoe as I wandered down between the rows to the local history books along a back wall.

  I scanned the shelves, not sure what I was looking for but certain some title would catch my eye.

  An hour later I was ready to give up. Each book had looked promising, but all had been disappointing. I knew all I wanted to know about the coastline, the development of the boating industry, and the geological peculiarities of the region.

  The few regarding the local Native population quickly veered into the Penobscot, the Passamaquoddy, and seemed to contain more information on the entire Wabanaki Confederacy than on the Micmac tribe.

  I sighed in frustration and began to walk away when a title on the top shelf caught my eye.