by David Connor
The assault on the kitchen door continued as I considered whether to confess it.
“Miss Dupree! I need to speak with you at once. It concerns your deranged brother and my betrothed!” a voice shouted loud enough to be heard. It did not match the visage of the woman I saw attach herself to Ewan—Fiona—but it had to be hers. “Your brother and my fiancée have been up to things you should know about,” she said.
Georgia stiffened. Her voice took an edge. “You disappoint me so, Pennsylvania. Have you not learned your lesson from what became of Judah?” There was more pummeling against the wooden screen door, a disturbing musical accompaniment to the tension of the scene. “Have you been with that man? How is it possible? How have I let it slip my eye? I thought if I watched, I could have people here.”
I refused to cause trouble for Ewan, and so did not remind her it seemed she was rarely at home.
“I must go.” Georgia said. “Please wash. Please dress. Naked, wounded, and unshaven, you look like some sort of…” She took a pause, I assumed for thought, but then I came to figure it was more for effect. “Like a monster, Pennsylvania.”
The partition came down without my agreement or denial. The lock clicked. I was alone again, and my heart was broken. Georgia had never called me that before—or anything of such hurtful equivalence. Despite my anger, her words wounded me so. I fell upon my bed and I cried myself to sleep.
Chapter 6
Ewan
After having travelled the better part of a day, as the sun faded behind green hills, I arrived in the small Mississippi town in which the Mobley family allegedly resided. I stopped at a church in the center of Main Street, a hotspot of gossip, I figured, where the whereabouts of people like Celia Mobley might easily be revealed. A man there, all smiles, white teeth contrasting with pockmarked, chestnut skin, introduced himself as Horatio Pegram, the pastor.
“Ewan Parish.” I offered him my hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Pegram said, his handshake hearty, as if his words were true.
“I’m looking for a woman called Celia Mobley. Do you know of her?”
Pegram looked at my hand an extra-long time before he released it. His smile had fleeted and also, apparently, his voice.
“If not, perhaps you have a phone I could use, Mr. Pegram.”
“Horatio. For?” he asked.
“I know some people in New York who may be able to find out something about her son.”
“That news would be welcomed, if you’re being truthful.”
“Then you know her?”
“How do you, Mr. Parish?”
“It is a rather convoluted route to our acquaintance, through the son of the family for which she once worked,” I explained.
“You are not a policeman.” It was stated, not asked.
“What makes you so sure?” I inquired.
“You would have said so at once. You have money?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “A lot.” I took my wallet from my trousers and handed it over. “Take what you wish.”
“For the church,” Pegram said. “There is a woman in need of relocation.”
“Say no more.” I reclaimed my currency then. I kept one bill for myself, for travel, and then handed over the rest.
Pegram’s eyes grew wide as he counted the cash. “If she’ll accept it, this will help a great deal.”
“I really would like to speak with Celia Mobley.”
“I cannot help you there. Must I give back the money?”
“Of course not, Reverend.” I smiled at him, in hopes of loosening him up. “Do you know who hurt her son back several years?”
Pegram offered nothing.
“Does she? Perhaps you can ask her for me. I see there is a service tonight.”
“Perhaps.”
“And if I have news of Judah by then, you can maybe convince her to meet with me to hear it.”
“If she attends. It can be difficult with the girl.”
“Abee. Hardly a girl anymore. How is she?”
“As well as can be expected with her childlike mind. The spells have stopped. Outgrown, I suppose.” It seemed the money had loosened Pegram’s tongue. “You know of the tragic fall she took because of them—as a young woman—that contributed and caused the damage.”
“Yes. Of course.” A shiver played the entire length of my spine. I’d fibbed, of course. I had known only half of it. “Abel Mobley is not her father,” I thought aloud.
“I cannot discuss the personal lives of my parishioners. It wouldn’t be just to betray their confidence.” And just as quickly, Pegram clammed up again.
“No.” But I had a new lead, I figured, and left Pegram my card and my number at the rooming house in town. “This is where I am staying,” I told him. “Please…if I can do anything for Celia Mobley and her daughter, or for anyone else, call me here this evening or get in touch in the future.”
“Why the interest?” Pegram asked. “If I may be so ungrateful as to ask.”
“It may have started selfishly—to help my dear Pennsylvania. However, though I have been fortunate of late, I was regularly struck by my father as a lad for no other reason than I was standing nearest to him. I know the disposition of men like Abel Mobley. My mother did not have the resources to be on her own either.”
“Whoa! Mr. Parish! I have said nothing leading you to such conclusions regarding Abel Mobley.”
“Fine. Right. Of course not. Doing so would be unjust. Thank you for the phone. I would appreciate some privacy.”
Pegram opened his mouth, I am certain to speak, probably to raise an objection. He silenced himself rather quickly, however, and then left the room, leaving me to ponder the information just discovered.
* * * *
Celia Mobley had agreed to meet me at the end of the 7:30 service, once I’d informed Pastor Pegram I had gotten word of Judah. “What do you know of my son?” she asked breathlessly.
“As unfair as it may seem, I will tell you what I know once you tell me what you do. I’d like to know about Delaware Dupree. Your daughter, the one named for your husband, she belongs to Delaware, does she not?”
Celia Mobley refused to give me an answer.
“The spells, the one which caused Abee’s fall, Pennsylvania has them. Delaware did as well.” I spoke as if every word uttered was indisputable. “Was Judah Delaware’s also? Did your husband perhaps take his anger with his cheating spouse out on the innocent offspring?”
“I will walk away now,” Celia Mobley threatened.
“Without the news I have of your son?”
“You are cruel to hold it for barter.”
“I’m afraid it is not good.”
Celia Mobley closed her eyes then, perhaps to steel herself, perhaps hoping when she opened them it would all just be a nightmare. “Tell me.”
“It was recent. He’s gone. A mishap at his place of work. Unloading ships.”
“My boy.”
“I’m so sorry. For you and for Pennsylvania. There is a glimmer of light, however. Judah left a son.”
“Oh. I thought he was…How could that be?” A hint of joy returned to Celia’s face.
“Sometimes men find love in different ways and places.”
“Do they?”
“If not love, some substitute for it. I have known of some.” I pulled a folded paper from my pocket. “Here is the information.” I handed it over. “I told the mother you may be in touch.”
“Thank you.” Celia Mobley pressed it to her bosom, as if the name of her grandchild was the being himself.
“I am disappointed that neither you nor Judah ever put a name to his attacker,” I declared then. “Do you believe in Pennsylvania’s guilt?” I asked.
“No.”
“Because you know for certain he is innocent.” I made it a statement of fact. “Can I at least take that back to him?”
Celia Mobley turned once again.
“What if Judah loved Pennsylvania so much th
at he deposited him back through his window unconscious that night, and then traveled back through the woods to get home afterward? Pennsylvania said that was possible. Your boy would know about the spells, since his sister had them as well. Tell me, Mrs. Mobley, was Judah found closer to your home or Pennsylvania’s?”
Celia Mobley was grieving, I had not expected her to participate fully in the discussion. Still, I hoped for something.
“Their affair was clandestine, was it not?” I continued. “The gossip got around afterward, that I cannot deny. That night, however, if the attack was not random, the most likely suspects are family members who may have been suspicious—yours and Pennsylvania’s.”
Something in Celia Mobley’s face told me I was onto something.
“God help you if you stay with the man.”
“You are jumping to conclusions.” Her eyes closed again. She knew they had given her up.
“I was told that earlier. Set me right. The preacher would not.”
Celia Mobley stood. “Delaware Dupree had another son, one named for him, closer in age to the girls. Delaware took him hunting just before Pennsylvania was born. Neither of them returned. If he is still alive, you will find him in an old hunting cabin: the Dupree’s own, in the woods. Georgia cared for him there.”
“How is this related to Judah’s assault?”
“You asked of Delaware Dupree.”
“So I can offer Pennsylvania assurance that evil and insanity does not run in his bloodline,” I stated.
A humorless chuckle had preceded Celia’s response. “I’m afraid that it may. Though not in him, I feel.”
“Who will I find in the woods? The son or the father? Did one of them hurt Judah?”
“Perhaps.”
“You prove yourself a terrible liar, Mrs. Mobley.”
“I have to go. Abel will not like me speaking with you.” She picked up her coat and pocketbook and clung to them for dear life, as if they might protect her.
“Why safeguard someone so heinous? Your very own minister wants to whisk you away from the situation.”
“Not the situation you think.”
“You are frightened of something.”
“I just learned my son is lost to me forever, Mr. Parish. Respect that, can’t you?”
“Of course.” I bowed my head then, not just in reverence, but also with shame. “I am sorry.” I allowed her to go.
But Celia paused in the open doorway. “How easy was it for you to find me here?”
“Not terribly difficult.”
“Money speaks.”
I shrugged. “It does.”
“I hope, Mr. Parish, that Pennsylvania can find his peace someday, now that Judah has.”
“I do too,” I told Celia Mobley. “And I wish some for you…wherever you end up.”
Chapter 7
Pennsylvania
It was morning, another day, I believed, the next thing I knew. The sun played shadowy “catch me” through branches not yet with leaves and cast black shapes and bars upon my cream-colored clothing. I knew I was not in my bed. I lifted my head off the damp ground and inhaled the scent that I somehow remembered, implausibly, but absolute, as the aroma of leaves and woodsy debris after winter. I was back to the place I had not visited in years, and the clamminess below me was the forest floor, which also served as that for the gazebo. I had fallen asleep beside Ewan there, intertwined, safe, in love, and promised forever. At least that was what my damaged mind attempted to make me believe.
You did come to the brick wall, yes? I spoke with Ewan in my mind as if still molded to him, as if he knew me so well he could even read my thoughts, wherever he had gotten to. “You convinced me to come out, because you needed to comfort me in your embrace as you gave me the news of the great many things you learned on your mission, things concerning my family tree and Judah. That is how we ended up here. Here…where now I am alone.
Part of me remembered the preceding hours so vividly. I’d resisted strongly the suggestion of running, petrified of leaving what I’d suddenly sworn was my sanctuary. Ewan had gripped my trembling hand tightly, and convinced me more with each step we took that he was that—only him. I remembered touching every post down the walkway with my empty hand, all lined up like sentries keeping guard, one certain to stop me and report my escape. I pulled so hard upon one of the shorter ones, yes? One of several designed with a deadly spike atop, between the other kind, plain and twice my height. I yanked it so hard, out of fear, that I bent it, causing its point outward instead of upward toward the sky. If I went back, if I must, I will see this, will I not? You jested as to the lack of quality in your work, I recall, which brought a faint smile to my lips as they quivered with uncertainty, before you kissed and stilled them.
I remembered it all. I truly did, despite the spells—the seizures—one right after another. Yet the fact that I was once again conversing with myself seemed to suggest lunacy was just as likely, probably all along. Further evidence of such was a recollected promise from Ewan that he would never leave me again. The void where I’d once felt him against me so palpable, I suddenly wondered if I’d conjured the whole event—his arrival, the first meeting, our inaugural sexual encounter, and the bliss of the musky taste and aroma of the parts of him he swore no man had touched for many years coupled with the security and wellbeing of slumber in his strong, loving arms once both of us were satisfied.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I tried to focus despite my hazy mind. There was something in my hand—an object I brought closer to my sight. The razor. There was blood upon my palms and more on my chest. I checked myself anxiously, to see from where it flowed. Had I cut my wrists as means of an escape, in a fit of desperate insanity or grief when I’d realized my lover had been a specter of mental instability from the start? I rubbed my forearms and then checked my neck, where my jugular raced with the pulse of high adrenaline. I checked myself all over, twisting and turning. I was not cut. Whose blood was I wearing?
A pair of shadowed figures appeared before me then. “Who’s there?” I asked, voice coarse and painful.
“Pennsylvania? You’re awake.”
I got to my knees and I checked the gazebo door. A lock hung from the latch. I tugged upon it hard and made a noise hardly human. “What have I done?” I bellowed.
“The same as before. You took a lover and then his life.” Georgia’s tone was one of scolding, not of shock or of grief as she swiveled her head with her hands on her hips.
“No,” I muttered. “You tell nothing…but lies.”
“He returned to you, just as he’d promised. His fate was sealed then. All the poor man did was love you, Pennsylvania. He even rejected another to prove his devotion. But the evil inside you took over. Now he is gone—eviscerated—the same way you cut into Judah, with the same razor you now hold in your hand.”
“I do…not…believe you. I did not bring harm…to Judah. Ewan said…you speak false…for your own…gain.”
“You cannot trust your thoughts and memories, Pennsylvania. You’ve always known that. You also cannot love. You are incapable of doing so with your possessiveness and jealousy. It happened when Judah informed you he loved someone else and it happened now again, because he lied when he told you he had given up the French woman. You’re an irrational being, Brother. This is why even I had kept my distance at times. You tried to harm me once, during one of your spells. You attacked me, both violently and in ways perverse between siblings. I thought we had things handled, but now I do not know what to do with you.”
“Where is…Ewan?”
“The woman betrothed, she spoke with me. I told you she and Mr. Parish still planned to wed and you went raving mad. You struck me sadistically and then squeezed out via the dumbwaiter. You caught up to Mr. Parish, apparently. I wasn’t there to witness it, thank the high heavens. I can only imagine he confirmed his plans to marry and in doing so, brought out the beast inside you. When I came upon you both, it was much too late to inter
vene. I want to protect you, Pennsylvania. I do. But I fear there may be no solution left but to lock you up like the wicked fiend that you are. If only you had heeded my warnings. If only my love had been enough for you. I never cared that you are a monster, Pennsylvania. I loved you in spite of it.”
“Your actions…and words…betray you, Georgia. You appear…as Auntie Virginia would.”
“Foolishness, Brother. And if it is substantiation of your evil deeds you need, I shall offer it. I shall show you the irrefutable evidence of your crime.”
Georgia walked away, but hardly went far, just to a downed log off to one side. She returned with something in her hand. Something made of fabric, something white in one or two places, but mostly totally red. She held it up to the side of the cage. “Is this not proof positive?”
It was Ewan’s shirt, barely recognizable, but enough so that I knew. It was the last one I had seen him in, worn for more than a day, when he’d come to retrieve me without stopping at the inn to clean up or change after travel. Even as this supported my memories on the one hand, it refuted them on the other. I wanted to argue with Georgia about what it meant, but could not.
“Ewan!” I bellowed his name instead. It came out a hideous howl that echoed back at me accusingly.
“He cannot hear you, now,” Georgia said. “Only God can. Pray for yourself. Though Mr. Parish’s body has yet to be tended to, his soul is wherever it was destined to be.”
“No.”
“We can all go home again afterward, Pennsylvania. It is up to you. If you can yield to the realization that the way you were living before Ewan Parish arrived is the way it has got to be, I shall take you right back to your room. Vow you accept your fate, and we can end this foolishness and all be a family once more.”
I promised nothing. I just sat and I sobbed, with my bare back against the ironwork Ewan created from my drawings. I loved Ewan with all of my heart and could not imagine hurting him. I was convinced that I had, though, and even were I innocent, some harm to him had come because of me, so the perpetrator mattered not. I decided immediately I could not live without him, nor should I, I thought, if I were the reason he was gone. I held the blade in my hand. I opened it and considered running it down the length of my arm, bleeding out in the woods, where my first unforgivable deed had allegedly occurred. If this was real, and Georgia standing before me certainly was, my life was nothing anyway. On the off chance what I saw was nothing but a gruesome hallucination played through my irrational mind following my seizures, then I could cut to the bone, and yet not feel a thing and so I tried. The first line of red still did not convince me one way or the other, perhaps if I continued, until I awakened or else made it so I never would.