The Devil Made Me

by Lorena May

  Scarlett didn’t show up for work today. Em has checked. That’s no surprise. It’s not even the first time. It’s a miracle they keep her, but Em suspects she’s good for business. Em’s been in Hunter’s. Scarlett adds sparkle to the place, certainly. Outgoing, friendly, flirtatious, fun . . . She and Scarlett could not possibly be more different. Everyone loves Scarlett. She creates an ambience in the otherwise dingy restaurant – within their home – everywhere she goes – that is as warm and rich as chocolate fudge.

  Em stifles a sob. Scarlett, where are you? Why don’t you answer my texts? Em has no one to confide in; nowhere to vent. She has no friends in town, and she won’t distress Abigail. Sweet, fragile Abi.

  Her truck, as if on its own accord, pulls into the Hogshead. She’ll stop there for lunch. Maybe Luka has seen or heard something.

  He is bent over the bar, his thick, unruly hair falling onto his forehead, reading what looks to be a very large text-book. When she enters he looks up. A big grin suffuses his face. “Ah, it’s the green-eyed girl! A nice surprise. A beer for you?”

  Em strolls to the bar, perching herself on a stool in front of him. “No, I’m working. Can I get a hamburger and fries?”

  “Coming right up!” He pages the cook through the kitchen door. “Antonio, we need you to make your very best burger and fries. Special! For the beautiful lady! On second thought – make it two, my friend.” Em likes the way his voice lilts.

  She suppresses a grin, but she can feel the heat creeping across her face. He’s a goof, for sure. But a nice goof. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any sign of my sister, have you?”

  He stops dead still a moment. Concern suffuses his face. “She hasn’t come home?”

  Em feels tears spring to her eyes. She shakes her head.

  He leans toward her across the counter. “Have you heard from her?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “She texted saying she’d be gone for a bit. But she didn’t say where or why or when she was coming home.’

  “It’s eating you up, isn’t it?” He stands back, looking at her through troubled eyes. “You and your sister are close.”

  Em takes a deep breath and blows out her lips. “In a way. We’ve always had each other. I love her.” I can’t believe I’m saying these things. To a virtual stranger yet!

  THE AFTERNOON DELIVERIES go quickly. Somehow, having unburdened herself to a sympathetic listener has relieved some of Em’s anxiety. Scarlett is unpredictable. She has been sneaking off at night lately. And it was obvious she went to the pub Thursday night to find someone. Maybe she’s just holed up somewhere with the love of her life.

  As promised, Em arrives home early. Sheba runs from where she’s been lying on the porch to greet her, and when they enter the kitchen Abi is already chopping lettuce, dressed in a soft blue dress that accentuates her beautiful eyes, and molds her slim body prettily

  “Oh, Em! You’re home. Thank you.” She’s bubbling with excitement. “I’ve bought steak to grill last minute, and potatoes ready to pop in the oven. Would you finish the salad while I run over the carpet with the sweeper?”

  They hustle and bustle, and just in time, dinner is ready, except to put the steaks on the grill. The house is ship-shape right down to the fake flower arrangement in the middle of the dining-room table– a large bouquet of red cloth poppies that was once their mother’s. It’s stunning; brilliant red and black in its pearly white vase set in the middle of a newly-ironed, white table cloth. The dishes are red, napkins white. Abigail stands back and looks, taking in the effect. She nods appreciatively. It’s just right.

  The door-bell rings. Abi casts Em a panicked look. “Will you get it? Please?” Resigned, Em shuffles to the door, opening it slowly. Matthew is exactly what she expected. Strapping, handsome and slightly clumsy, he is fresh-faced with light blue eyes and blondish hair; clean-cut. He’s perfect for Abi. Em already knows this. They are both devout Christians, and religion plays a big part in their lives. Neither drinks, smokes or swears, and they both have a kind of sweet naiveté about them.

  “I’m glad to meet you. Abi speaks of you so often,” he says shyly as he shakes Em’s hand.

  “Same.” Em mumbles. She is not a waster of words. “Come in.”

  Abigail is nervously flitting around, not really doing anything. Em calls from the porch, “Abi, Matthew is here.” As if she didn’t know!

  Abigail comes to greet him, flushed and animated, taking his hand to pull him into the kitchen. “I hope you like steak?” she says, her voice betraying nerves.

  His expression is earnest. “It’s my favorite food. Meat and potatoes man.” He chuckles a little. “I’m a good ole farm boy at heart.”

  “Going to Bible College to become a minister,” Abi tells Em, who is at the stove now, busy heating a large cast-iron pan.

  Em watches the two love-birds stare into each other’s eyes, both clearly captivated. The pan starts to smoke, and she plops the steaks in to sear them.

  Abigail tears herself away to pull out a chair for Matthew. “Would you like something to drink?” she asks.

  “Just water,” he says, looking her up and down approvingly, his face becoming beet-red. He casts his eyes to the floor.

  Abigail fills a pitcher with ice and water, setting it on the table. He pours himself a glass, and sips. Abi flutters back and forth from the kitchen counter to the dining room, carrying salad, baked potatoes and carrots smothered in butter and dill. She looks anxiously at Em, who is spooning olive oil and herbs onto the steak cooking in the pan. “Almost ready?” she whispers.

  Before long all three are sitting at the table, dishing themselves. Awkwardness makes them formal. Matthew bows his head and says grace. “Father, we are gathered to share a meal in Your honor. Thank You for bringing us together, and thank You for this food. Bless it to our bodies, Lord. We thank you for all of the gifts you’ve given to us. Help each of us to use these gifts to your glory. Guide us and steer our hearts to Your purpose for our lives. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

  “Thank you, Matthew. That was beautiful. Was it busy at the church after I left?” Abigail asks.

  “No, only me and God.” He chuckles a little at what, Em assumes, he means to be a joke.

  “So what did you do, then?” Abigail asks.

  “I studied mostly. And thought about coming to see you.” He smiles at the two women. “This is delicious, by the way.”

  And so the evening goes. There is no gossip, no shenanigans– just loving looks between Abigail and Matthew. They are perfect; polite and beautifully behaved. No one mentions the elephant in the room. That three sisters live in this house, but one is missing and no one knows where she’s gone.

  Chapter 6

  ~ Abigail~

  Abigail lies in bed reliving the evening. The way Matthew managed to carry conversation despite Em’s reticence. Em’s one-word answers and sullen expression. Thankfully, Abigail had warned him about her sister. ‘She’s always grumpy. Don’t take it personally.’

  True to character, he included Em in the conversation. He talked about a faux pas he’d made during a practice sermon at the college. He read the words from the bible, “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever. (John 2:15)”

  Twisting its meaning, he’d gone on to preach about the God within us; our desires having merit. “I was tired, obviously,” he said. “Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.” He laughed, winking at Em who merely looked confused and continued chewing her steak.

  She’s so embarrassing sometimes! Abigail shudders. I so hoped to impress Matthew. But he understands.

  She thinks back to the first time she saw him. She’d only been working in the church office a week or so then.
His father, Reverend Goodall stood behind Abigail peering down his long, refined nose as she nervously typed a letter to the parish.

  Matthew burst into the office, slinging his back-pack onto the counter, his young face open and friendly So different than his father! From his books he pulled a paper with a big A+ scribbled in red at the top. He held it toward them. “Hello, Dad,” he said, turning his wide blue eyes to take in Abigail, “And you must be Abigail. Our new church secretary.”

  Reverend Goodall cleared his throat. “We will be finished shortly, Son.”

  Matthew looked aptly abashed, and ducked out of the room. But later, when he crept back in to retrieve his back-pack, his father was gone, so he marched over to Abigail’s desk, stuck out his hand, and shook with strength and vigor, her small hand lost in his large one. “Hi. I’m Matthew – Reverend Goodall’s son, as you’ve probably already guessed.”

  She smiled up at him, careful to remain neutral on the subject of his father. “Nice to meet you, Matthew. Congratulations on your A+.”

  He flushed. “It’s the first one for me so I was excited. I didn’t mean to throw it at you, though.” Shuffling his feet, he looked down at them. “I thought it would please my father.”

  “I’m sure it did,” Abigail said.

  “Hmph! Maybe.” Matthew took a deep breath. “How do you like working here?” He looked around the small, cheerless office; faded walls, scuffed linoleum tiles, brown and green. Piles of old church bulletins and binders covered the yellowing laminate counter-top, and a scruffy black file cabinet stood in the corner. Abigail’s desk held a basket with incoming correspondence, a tin can with pens and pencils sticking out of it and a paper bag, presumably containing her lunch.

  “I love it,” she chirped. “I love Jesus, so it’s perfect for me.” She hesitated. “And your father is brilliant; a genius, really.

  He digested that for a moment. “I suppose he is. He’s a hard task-master, I know, but he is very passionate.”

  She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Speaking of – I’d better get to work,” she said, spying Reverend Goodall through the window, approaching the office in his typical no-nonsense manner. An intimidating man. But when he preached Abigail was transported to a place of rapture, deeply moved.

  Matthew slipped out the back door that day, but he returned often, despite working part-time in a veterinarian’s office and attending Bible College full-time. How she admired him! They found a camaraderie that was special. Soon they were eating lunches together, side-by-side. Once or twice, his knee touched hers, sending a thrill throughout her body. They prayed together and, after work some days when Reverend Goodall was away, they went for walks, their hands barely touching. But the connection sent her heart skittering.

  And then, just the other day, he’d come into her office, his face filled with passion. He stood beside her watching her work. Placing his hands on the arms of her chair, he swiveled her around to face him, his broad shoulders and brawny arms hovering over her. He lifted her chin with his right hand – gently, reverently, and he bent to kiss her. His lips were tender and pliant, and she returned the kiss with all the pent-up love and craving that had been slowly burning inside her. He pulled away, his breathing shallow, and looked intensely into her eyes. Then he drew her to him, wrenching her body up from the chair to press against his chest, and he kissed her again. Hot and fiery and demanding, his tongue rampaged across hers, mingling with it, exploring. He made little moaning sounds as he kissed her, sending her heart fluttering. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life. Her body became limp. It was a delicious, warm feeling.

  When finally, he set her down in her chair, he looked deeply into her eyes. His were wet with tears. “Abigail, I love you. When I finish school I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, her heart doing flip-flops in her chest. “Oh, Matthew. Yes.”

  Chapter 7

  ~Em~

  It’s become an obsession. At every house, before delivering, Em grabs her phone, staring at the green text-box, willing a reply. She’s texted, ‘Just tell me ur ok’ and ‘Please, Scarlett I’m dying here.’ and ‘where r u?’ But there’s been nothing.

  Suddenly it hits her. It has to be something to do with Jed. It can’t be just a coincidence that he suddenly showed up the same night Scarlett disappeared. A shiver crawls up her spine. Scarlett did come close to threatening him. Has he done something to her? Something to shut her up? Em’s heart is racing. She feels herself trembling. She must find out. She has one more delivery.

  Abigail has texted to say she’s going to a church dinner with friends and won’t be home until late. Em has time to find Jed and get to the bottom of this. Sheba will be okay for a while. She has a warm bed in the shed, and Abi will have gone home before going out.

  Em’s truck’s motor hums as she bounces along a twisting, gravelled driveway. Tall, dark evergreens guard the road in front of her. The muggy warmth, damp mittens on her lap, the feeling of heading into the unknown . . . take her back twenty years to the night that tore her childhood away.

  THEY BUMPED ALONG THE country road in Jed’s old crew-cab truck, their father and Jed in the front, smoking cigarettes, cussing, spitting on the floor. The two men were clearly agitated. “That son-of-a bitch has had way too much time already,” Jed groused, staring straight ahead, his steely eyes piercing the darkness. Em, who sat in the seat behind her dad, could see Jed’s jawline gnashing.

  Their father nodded, looking like a kid who’d just gotten himself into a hole he couldn’t climb out of. And he had.

  Em looked at Scarlett, sitting beside her, rigid, holding the sleeping baby, Abigail, in her arms. Her head was pressed back, her eyes closed, as if she was pretending to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Good idea. Em lay down, nestling, as best she could, in her big sister’s lap, feeling Abigail’s soft, warm body, against her forehead. The bouncing of the truck, murky air, low rumble of voices in the front seat, absorbed her and she let her eyes close, willing herself to fade into the stained cloth seat.

  DON’T GO THERE. The last house on today’s route is dark and empty. Em sits in the yard scrolling through names and addresses on her phone. How in the hell do I find where someone lives? Not only can she not see any listing for a J Anderson – she thinks his last name was Anderson – Anders – An-something. All the names she does find have only box numbers by them. And what happens if I do find him?

  Turning the truck around, she heads to the Hogshead. It is dinner-time anyway.

  Luka greets her at the door with a little bow. He waves her into the room with a towel he holds in his hand. “Entrée!” His eyes twinkle. “It’s the dinner hour? May I join you to eat?” he asks.

  Em manages a tight smile. “Sure,” she says, walking to a booth at the back.

  He follows. “And what are we having tonight?”

  She sits. “How about a pint of your pale ale, and some ribs?”

  The pub is busy for a Monday. Canned country music blares through the speakers on the other side of the room, and the chatter throughout is lively. The winter sun has set, and the lights are dim, giving the pub a dreamy quality. Em stares at the table Jed and Rose sat at just three nights ago. Did Jed seek Scarlett out? After all these years? Or did she go after him?

  Luka carries two pints of beer, a plate of ribs and two plates of what looks like big meaty cabbage rolls.

  “What’s this?” Em asks as he places one in front of her.

  “Taste my mother’s famous sarma! Her recipe, my cooking.” He laughs, a warm, hearty laugh. “So it does not taste like my mother’s sarma at all.”

  She picks apart the cabbage with her fork to find minced meat. He sits down. “But is still good. Just not as good as Mama makes it.”

  She takes a bite. It is delicious. Sour cabbage, onions, ground beef and spices. “It’s good,” she says. “You made it?”

  He puffs out his chest, comically. “Yes! I can cook. Will you
have me?” and he chuckles. Then he looks at her through narrowed eyes. “But something is wrong. You have not found your sister?”

  She shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. Quickly she wipes at them with the cuff of her shirt. “No.”

  He leans toward her, his voice gentle now. “No reply to your text?”

  Em shakes her head. “You don’t remember an older couple that were in here last Thursday night, do you?” She points. “They sat at a table right over there.”

  He thinks a moment. “I don’t remember. Did I wait on them, do you know?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t think so. Anyway, the guy was a business partner of my dad’s.” She stares at the table where now two young women sit, involved in conversation. “Shady business.” Her mouth clamps shut.

  He looks puzzled. “You think he had something to do with your sister’s disappearance?”

  She rubs her cheeks with her fingers, agitated. “I don’t know. I can’t help but think that it’s too much a coincidence that he was here the night she disappeared.”

  He tilts his head, looking baffled, saying nothing.

  She speaks slowly, hesitantly. “We saw something he did. He threatened us.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Scarlett did. I can’t tell you – but – I think he’s connected. I don’t know how to find him or how to find out.” She is crying now, softly, her head in her hands, trying hard to hide the tears. But her shoulders shake.”

  He bends forward, his forearms on the table. “Eat. Drink. Tonight we be merry. Tomorrow we find your sister. We’ll go to the police.”

  Em blanches. “The police?”

  Luka nods, his eyes serious for once. “I can pick you up? I don’t work tomorrow. You don’t work Tuesdays?”

  Em nods slowly, assenting. “I’ll drive myself. Meet me there at 9:00?”