“What do you hear?” Evan asked her.
“Nothing. There’s nothing to listen to out here.”
“Right,” he said, nodding. When he looked at her, he saw she didn’t understand. “No noise,” he told her. “No sound of cars. No radio or television noise. No conversation leaking through open windows and around us. No one humming or talking or arguing or—”
“Evan,” Kay said, in that voice she used when she thought he was acting childish. “What are you talking about?”
“Listen!” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “Just be quiet and listen.”
She did. From the woodland came the quiet drone of crickets. A night bird chirped sharply from perhaps a street over. But that was all. That’s odd, she told her self. Really odd. No. I’m getting like Evan. it’s not odd at all. it’s simply a quiet village, with quiet people, at a quiet time of the night. She waited for a few more minutes without speaking, and then she thought of the frozen steaks they’d bought, now slowly thawing in the back of the car. “Let’s go, Evan,” she said.
“Can we go home now, Daddy?” Laurie asked.
Evan looked into his wife’s eyes. She was waiting for him to turn the key in the ignition. Beyond her shoulder something moved. Evan’s eyes focused on it. A shadow had moved slowly across that picture window, silhouetted against murky light, and paused for just an instant to draw the curtain back a fraction. Then it was gone. Evan blinked, not knowing what he’d seen.
“Hey!” Kay was tugging on his sleeve. “Remember me? Your long-suffering wife? We’ve got frozen meat and ice cream and milk in three bags back there, and we’d better be getting our tails home.”
He paused another moment. The shadow did not return. He said, “Okay. We’re going.” He turned the key in the ignition and the engine started; they, pulled away from the curb, and Evan threaded his way toward McClain.
Evan’s right, Kay thought as they got within sight of their house, dark in a row of lights. It is very silent tonight. Strangely silent. But…better silent than noisy as all hell. Isn’t that one of the reasons we moved to Bethany’s Sin?
As they pulled into their driveway, Evan was trying to conjure that shadow in his mind. Something funny about it. Something unsettling. Something…something not right.
“Here we are,” Kay said, getting out of the car. “Who’s going to be good and help with the groceries?”
“I will!” Laurie volunteered.
“Okay, there’s one Good Samaritan,” Kay said. “Evan, aren’t you going to get out?”
He sat motionless for another second. And then his head turned toward her. “Yes,” he said. He went around to the back of the car to get a bag, and suddenly shivered because he realized what had disturbed him about that shadow.
When it had turned toward the window, with the light streaming from behind, Evan had seen that the figure was missing its left arm.
He didn’t know why, but that made his nerves tingle as if an ice cube had been dropped down his back.
Kay, carrying a bag, walked on to the door. Laurie, with a smaller bag, followed. Kay turned her head to ward him. “Come on, slowpoke!” she called out.
And at that instant, if Evan had been listening to the faint sounds carried on the breezes of night, he would have heard a noise from three streets over, where Blair and Cowlington met.
The sound of hoofbeats.
9
* * *
Visiting
“…AND EVERY LABOR DAY there’s a village festival in the Circle,” Mrs. Demargeon was saying. “The merchants close up their shops and all but a few streets are blocked off; there are picnic tables and a bandstand and prizes for the best cake and cookies and relishes. Two years ago my tomatoes won first prize in their category, but last Labor Day, Darcy McCullough got the blue ribbon. Oh well, we’ve all got to have some competition, I suppose. Keeps us alert. But autumn is a fine time of year in Bethany’s Sin; by mid-September the winds are cooling, and the frosts come toward the first of October. All the trees are yellow and gold and deep red. it’s truly beautiful. You’ll see.” She took a sip from her coffee cup with its monogram of J and D and then glanced at Evan to make certain he was paying attention. He was. “And then there’s winter. The sky grays almost overnight, and the snows come around Christmas. But it’s a powdery, sugar white snow, not that wet, heavy mess they get up in New England. Bethany’s Sin goes all out for Christmas. The clubs compete with each other in raising funds for the children’s homes in Johnstown, and there’s a contest with a fifty-dollar prize for best lawn and house decoration. We won that”—she gave a quick glance at the man sitting on her left—“oh, four years ago. Yes, that’s right. Four years. We strung little blinking white lights through the trees, and it was really very pretty.”
“It sounds beautiful,” Kay said.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Demargeon nodded. “Christmas is always a nice time of year. But winter lasts a long time here, and there’s usually snow on the ground through the first of March. By early spring you’ll be ready for those flower buds to come popping out again. Evan, can I get you something else to drink?”
He’d been fingering the handle of his empty cup. “No, thank you,” he said. “I’ve had enough.”
“It’s the decaffeinated kind, so you don’t have to worry about staying up all hours of the night,” Mrs. Demargeon explained. She gave Kay a quick smile. “I know how it is not to be able to sleep after you’ve had too much coffee.” She turned her head to look at her husband. “Would you like something else, Harris?”
The man in the wheelchair pushed himself past her. “Only some fruit,” he said. He reached a small table where a green bowl of apples and grapes had been set, and, picking up an apple, he bit into it and then rolled back to join the others.
“One thing I’ve been wondering about,” Evan said, and Mrs. Demargeon looked at him and smiled in anticipation. “What churches do most of the people here attend? I’ve noticed a Presbyterian church to the south, just beyond Bethany’s Sin limits, and another off Highway Two-nineteen about a quarter-mile north. I didn’t notice what denomination that one was…”
“Methodist,” she said. “The Methodist church. That’s where Harris and I go. I suppose it’s split pretty much down the middle between Methodists and Presbyterians here. What church do you attend?”
“Actually,” Evan said, “we don’t—”
“Episcopal,” Kay said.
“Oh. Well, let’s see. there’s a nice Episcopal church in Spangler, I think. Just a few minutes’ drive.”
“I was wondering,” Evan said, “because I hadn’t seen any churches within the village itself, and I thought that was a little odd.”
“Odd?” Mrs. Demargeon gave a brief laugh. “No, no. The churches are nearby. Most people here are deeply religious.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Ten years ago, this village was nothing,” Mrs. Demargeon said, turning her head toward Kay. “Just a spot on the map, with only four or five families and a store or two. Now look at it. And it’s doubling every year. Think of what it’s going to be in another five years, or even in three. Of course I’d hate to see the basic character of the village change. It seems to me if we keep a rein on so-called progress and we’re not in such a hurry to invite any-old-body here, we’ll come out better in the long run. What do you think?”
And while they talked, Evan found himself watching Harris Demargeon.
The man was sitting across the cheerfully decorated living room, to the left of the floral-print-covered chair his wife occupied, and it seemed that his attention kept drifting during their conversation. He would be polite and interested for a few moments, then Evan could see his pale gray eyes slide over toward the picture window; the man’s gaze would darken perceptibly, as if he’d seen something beyond the closed curtains that no one else could discern. Mr. Demargeon had been a large man once, because he was big-boned, but now it looked to Evan as if he’d wasted away over a number of years
. His cheekbones jutted, and around the rather deep-set eyes were webs of wrinkles and cracks. His hair was still dark, but it was thinning rapidly, and there was a circular bald spot at the crown of his head. He was dressed well, in dark slacks, white short-sleeved shirt, and striped tie. The knot of the tie was awry, and a button on the shirt unfastened, leaving Evan with the impression that perhaps the man had allowed himself to be dressed like some sort of department store mannequin; a picture of Mrs. Demargeon dressing her husband dashed through Evan’s mind like the streak of a meteor. Struggling with the pants on his paralyzed legs, pulling them up and belting them around his paralyzed waist. God, how terrible that would be, Evan thought. For a brief instant he imagined Kay dressing him, and he in the place of Harris Demargeon. Unable to walk or run, unable to do a multitude of things that Evan took for granted. Unable to make love. Half a man.
Mr. Demargeon glanced at him, as if he could see through Evan’s skull to his brain. His eyes lingered only a second and then moved away.
Evan hadn’t known what to say to the man. Mr. Demargeon was very quiet, anyway, seemingly withdrawn in comparison to his wife’s personality. He was friendly in a reserved way though, and he’d answered Evan’s questions about the other people on the street readily, but Evan sensed something in the man that he couldn’t put his finger on. Hesitation? Aloofness? The man rarely smiled, but when he did, there were the clear indentations of laugh-lines around his mouth, the traces of earlier, happier years. For some reason, that disturbed Evan more than anything else.
They’d eaten dinner with the Demargeons, and Kay had provided a bowl of potato salad and a pretty cherry gelatin dessert with chunks of apples and orange sections suspended in it. Mrs. Demargeon was a charming hostess and a good conversationalist, and she’d been openly admiring of both Kay’s position at George Ross and the fact that Evan had sold several stories. With Laurie she’d been adoring, and Laurie had basked in the attention for a while before going back to the Demargeons’ den to watch television; Kay had looked in on her a few minutes earlier and found the child sleeping peacefully on the sofa, so she’d let her be. Kay had noticed that Mrs. Demargeon was a fastidious housekeeper: everything looked clean and fresh; the silverware, glasses, and dishes sparkled, and the expensive looking furniture in her house was tasteful and well maintained. The house made her feel very comfortable indeed, and it made her want to get her own home into shape even more.
Mrs. Demargeon had given a brief history of her life with her husband: they’d met and married in Philadelphia, where she was a legal secretary and he was a consultant with a financial firm called Merrill-O’Day. Her first marriage, his second. he’d branched off on his own a few years after they were married and had made quite a bit of money, but handling a large business was bothersome to him and he wanted to step back and play the market. They’d decided to leave the city and had seen the listing for their present house in a real-estate guide. After two visits to Bethany’s Sin they’d decided to buy in; Harris had thought it would be a good investment, and Mrs. Demargeon thought it would simply be a wonderful place to live. “Now,” she asked, “how did you two meet?”
“At Ohio Central University,” Kay explained. “Evan was there on a creative writing scholarship, and I was studying for my master’s in math. Ours was kind of a storybook romance, I guess. We had to share a table in a crowded cafeteria, and as we talked we found out we shared an elective course in early civilizations. And we were both from the New Concord area. So we started dating. I don’t really see what he saw in me then; I was pretty much of a bookworm, and I was very shy. But anyway, one thing led to another. After Evan’s graduation”—here her face darkened slightly, but only Evan saw it—“he…had to go overseas for a couple of years. To fight. We were married when he got back. And Laurie was born about four years afterward.” She touched Evan’s hand and squeezed it. “I guess you could say we’ve been through a lot together.”
Mrs. Demargeon smiled. “Who hasn’t? In this day and time its a miracle that young couples like you stay together at all. So many, many pressures. Money and all that.”
“Lack of money,” Evan put in good-naturedly. Every one laughed.
Then, watching Mr. Demargeon, that strange, cold, uneasy feeling began to creep over Evan again. Something lurking behind the man’s face. Behind those eyes. In that brain.
Something was said. Mrs. Demargeon and Kay were looking at him.
Evan said, “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“What are your plans?” Mrs. Demargeon asked. “Now that you’re in Bethany’s Sin?”
“I’m going to be putting together an office in our basement,” he told her. “And writing. Also I’m going to be looking for some sort of an outside job. Maybe with the newspaper in Johnstown. I don’t know; I haven’t looked into that yet.”
“There’s a community paper in Spangler,” she offered. “And in Barnesboro, too.”
He smiled. “Maybe I should start one here.”
“Quite an ambition,” Mrs. Demargeon said, glancing over at Kay and then back to him. “It’s never been done before.”
“Something I’ve been thinking about. Really.” He leaned toward her slightly, feeling her husband’s gaze on him. “I’d like to know more about Bethany’s Sin itself, and about the people here.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
Evan explained to her his idea of doing an article on the history of the village for Pennsylvania Progress. She listened as if intrigued, nodding her head at all the right places. “Interesting,” she said when he’d finished. “Have you begun your research yet?”
“No. I thought I’d talk the idea around a little first.”
“I don’t know that the village really has that much of a history,” she said. “It’s been incorporated for only—oh, about ten years. I don’t think we have any famous residents or landmarks or particularly historic buildings. If it’s history you’re looking for, you might drive up to Saint Lawrence, to the Seldom Seen Valley Mine. Now that’s something to—”
“Bethany’s Sin,” Evan said, trying to bring her back on track. “Where did that name come from?”
She screwed up her eyes, glanced at her husband. “I don’t really know. Harris, do you?”
He thought for a moment. “No, I’ve never heard,” he said finally.
“Weren’t you ever curious about it?” Evan asked the man.
“Oh, sure,” he replied. “I was when we first moved here. But no one seemed to know.” He gave a shrug. “I guess it’s one of those names that don’t mean anything; it just sticks and that’s that.”
Evan grunted, feeling a twinge of disappointment. he’d envisioned a tantalizing story behind the village’s name, something rooted in a mysterious past, but now, he thought, maybe there was nothing to it after all. His imagination had run away with him. Isn’t that what Kay always said? That he lived on the rim of his imagination and someday he’d fall totally into it and nothing would be real anymore? Yes. Yes, she was probably right.
“If you’d like,” Mrs. Demargeon offered, “I’ll ask around for you. You know, try to find out something you could use in your article. But on the whole, all I know is that Bethany’s Sin is a quiet, peaceful little village. Maybe there’s nothing more than that about it.” She smiled at Kay. “Actually, I prefer it that way. I don’t want history or notoriety or anything else. And I’m probably echoing the feelings of most of the villagers.”
“Do you think, then, that the others might be opposed to my doing anything on the village?”
“No, not opposed. Just…perhaps a bit reluctant. They value their privacy a great deal, and you’ve got to remember that most of them moved here, like Harris and I did, seeking a place to get away from the cities. A restful place, you see, certainly not one thrust into the public eye.”
Evan paused for a moment, thinking over what the woman had said. Mrs. Demargeon finished her coffee and put aside the empty cup. He shrugged. “I don’t think any article
I would write could ever disrupt the village as much as all that. I even thought that maybe the people here would enjoy seeing something on Bethany’s Sin in print.”
“Well,” the woman said, “I’m not so sure about that. But I’m not saying it isn’t a fine idea. On the contrary. I’m just telling you that you might run into some resistance.”
“I guess I’d better think it over some more, then,” Evan said.
“Please don’t listen to me,” Mrs. Demargeon told him. “Do what you feel is best.”
Evan looked at his wristwatch and saw it was after eleven. “Kay,” he said, “I think we’d better get Laurie and head back home. It’s getting late.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Demargeon said. “it’s early yet!”
“No, I’m afraid Evan’s right,” Kay said, rising from the sofa. “I’m a little tired from this morning; I never saw so many students in one building before in my life!”
They awakened Laurie, who sleepily followed them to the door as they said their good-byes to the Demargeons. Kay took Laurie’s hand and went out onto the porch; Mrs. Demargeon followed, telling Kay she could come over anytime for conversation or fresh vegetables from her garden.
And Evan was about to step across the threshold of the front door when he felt Harris Demargeon wheel up very close behind him, almost on his heels. Evan turned and looked down at the man. Harris was staring at him, his eyes pale pools that hid strange, freezing depths. Evan felt himself drawn into that stare, and inwardly he shivered. The man’s mouth twitched, started to come open.
“Harris?” Mrs. Demargeon, smiling, peered into the doorway. “We’d better not keep them if they’re tired.”
“I…I’m very glad you came,” he told Evan. “I enjoyed our conversation very much.”
“Thank you. So did I,” Evan said. “We’ll have to continue it sometime.”
Mrs. Demargeon took Evan’s hand; her flesh was cool, and there were calluses on her fingers. From gardening, Evan thought. He allowed her to pull him out onto the porch, and it was then, with an instant of pressure she applied to her grasp, that he realized how very strong she was. He felt as if he’d briefly put his hand into a vise, but there was no pain because it was over so fast.
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