“Look what I found in the bedroom. The weird fucker mus’ be her pet.” Netty’s mind felt a chaotic aura.
“Sister, bad Brother, all bad Brothers.” Netty screamed.
The last thing she saw as the Sheriff slapped her horse with his hat, jerking her in the air to snap her neck, was Eli, putting a bullet in the kittens head on the stoop and tossing Baby to the ground as he jumped, landing on Baby’s head with a crunch, spilling his glorious iridescent blood in the dirt before lifting his boot to her stoop, wiping off the essence of the incredible creature that she and Wil loved so much.
###
Silence descended over the crowd. The men stared at Netty’s limp body as it twisted from the noose, her weight causing the wooden barn support to creak eerily. In the distance, wheels of the wagon rattled mournfully over loose stones as Netty’s horse nervously stamped, unattended.
“All right, the shows over. Someone cut her down, for Christ’s sake.” The sheriff grimaced as Netty’s body struck the ground in a heap, her skirt flipping up to reveal a cooling leg.
Eli sheathed the knife he had used to cut the rope, bending over to nudge the skirt higher.
“Anyone want to peek at the goods? I already had my share.” He looked around, sickness drooling from his rheumy eyes.
Mr. Simpson joined him to stare down at the body. Lifting the skirt with the toe of his boot, he stared.
“You better come take a look at this, boss.” Robert, the sheriff and the rest of the men gathered around the body. The sheriff slapped Simpson’s hand away as he held up her skirt.
“Have some respect, you moron. She hasn’t suffered enough?” His face registered the disgust and revulsion of their actions. Siding up to him, Robert shot him a deceptively casual glance.
“Sheriff, anytime working for me gets to be too much of a burden, you just let me know. I got five or six different men that might just kill for your job.” Roberts’s cold eyes and chilling tone spoke volumes. The sheriff’s expression shut down like a slammed door. Stepping back, he glad handed Robert forward.
“Now, what do we have here, Eli?” Robert bent over. Eli’s face drained of color as he booted the body on its back.
“What the fuck?” All heads swiveled together, leaning in to stare as Eli exposed Netty’s golden tail, her fur, soaked with urine.
“Holy Christ …”
“Devil’s work.”
“She’s a freak.”
“She was your wife, Robert, didn’t you know about this?” His men looked at him with suspicion. Robert looked from face to face seeing derision.
“Boss, there’s sumin’ fishy about that pet a hers.”
“Go get it Eli, and bring it over here.” Eli ran to the stoop of the cabin where Baby lay dead in the dirt. Grabbing the carcass by the tail, he returned to the men, tossing it on top of Netty’s body. Baby’s long leather arm landed on the side of Netty’s face as if in a caress. The men were dumbstruck. The tail on the creature matched the tail on the body. Slowly, the men edged back.
“That’s just not normal.” Robert’s face looked carved in stone. The rest of the men muttered to themselves, fear tinged voices threatening to bolt. The sheriff stepped up to Robert, placing his hand on his shoulder reassuringly, his voice shaky.
“Something happened here, for sure. We’ll never know what. Let’s just get them buried and get out of here before a neighbor wanders by. We can come back after the sale of the first acreage closes. I’ll send someone out here to bring the livestock into town. I know a guy down near Lafayette that will take them off your hands.” Robert didn’t respond, he just continued to stare at the bodies. The sheriff nodded his head, sending Robert’s men scurrying to the barn for picks and shovels.
“Make sure you dig away from the house. Go behind the barn. Don’t want anyone seeing a grave being dug.” The men returned with their equipment. Stealing furtive looks at Robert’s icy demeanor, they grabbed the two bodies, dragging them through the dirt, Netty’s head with its broken neck, bumping forlornly in the dust.
Locating a likely spot, the men hurriedly dug the grave, tossing the bodies unceremoniously on top of each other. As they all gathered around for a last look, the sheriff took the time to survey the wide range of emotions displayed at the lip of the grave; fear, disgust, wonderment, greed; and from Robert, finally hatred.
“Cover ‘em up, boys.” Robert’s voice grated with harshness and animus. Turning on his heels, he headed to the horses. Shouting back to the men, he instructed, “Simpson, hitch your horse to that wagon and bring it back to town with you.”
“Yeah, boss.” Turning back to the grave, Simpson spat, phlegm landing on the back of Netty’s now filthy and tangled golden hair. “Okay, let’s finish the job.” Bending to their task, the only sounds heard were the grunts of the men and the relentless drop of soil as it swiftly and efficiently covered all signs of the tragic pair that lay in the cold unyielding ground, one hand from each having landed as if reaching for the other.
###
She felt like she was floating, drifting, the void enfolding her in its oddness, giving her refuge. It felt good, a blessed warmth surrounded her. The silence felt unfamiliar. She felt unsettled as she could not determine if she was sleeping or awake. She paused. How could that be? Assessing her body parts, she realized she could not feel them. Wiggling her fingers did not help. She could not feel them, either. She gulped, swallowing. Wait. She could not feel herself swallow. This was a frightening thought, but she didn’t feel frightened. A sense of deliberate calm prevailed in her mind. Wow, she was never this calm. What was going on? Where was she? And why the heck was she so calm?
She tried to recall her last memory. Something told her not to go there. Alarmed, she tried to push through. She wanted to know. But she was clearly being blocked. Was she all alone? She absolutely knew she should not be alone. Her Baby; where was her Baby? Her agitation increased, the calming atmosphere losing its effect on her. She started to panic. The more she panicked, the more she started to remember fragments of her former life, flashing back to her in a nebulous gossamer drizzle. (Former life?)
Her Baby; her raw nerves shrieked soundlessly. Please, my Baby. Abruptly, she felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude. (Gratitude?) Holding on to that sensation for comfort; she greedily reached out to grasp Baby’s searching leather hand. She idly wondered why and to whom should she feel this gratitude. She momentously pulled Baby toward her, his golden rainbow eyes all she needed.
And the final reward. (Reward?) Where are these thoughts coming from? Oh, praise God! It could not be. She felt a strong familiar arm wrap itself around her waist. Tears rolled down her face, even though she oddly could not feel them. Her love was here, too. They were together. Everything would be fine. As she reached out in the dark to embrace him, an uncommon glow began to fill her eyes. Her senses returning, she detected the first scent of sulfur. Then a sound … softly, an omnipotent whisper.
“Yes, my dear, everything will be fine. But you have much to learn. I have much to teach you. We must prepare for our guests.” And on that note, Netty, Baby and Wil’s new strange and heroic life began.
Chapter 9
A month passed as Robert Doyle prepared to sell off some of the assets of the farm. He considered leasing the cabin with the barn and bakery. He knew the bakery might be a gold mine to the right buyer. He found himself begrudgingly admiring the success Netty and her lover made of the farm. Studying the plans for the bakery, he marveled at the expense they devoted to the construction. He puzzled over the source of their funding, sorely underestimating the profitability of their back breaking labors.
As he sat at his partners desk in his elaborate library, his eyes rested on his antique gold coin collection, reflecting on his frustration with the missing coin. He offered a pretty penny to anyone who located it. No luck, although by all reports, most of the men were reluctant to return to the farm to hunt for it, knowing the bodies rested there. He idly wondered if any of his me
n confiscated the coin for themselves.
No, he dismissed the thought. Any dealer or purchaser of such a coin would be known to him. Not much occurred in his part of the state without his knowledge and approval.
Glancing at his gold watch, he noted the time. Pressing a button, he rang for his housekeeper. She appeared quickly.
“Sit down please, Martha. I want you to call the carriage house. Have Eli bring the sedan to the front door. Tell him I want the boys to follow us in the truck. We have some work to do. I expect to be home shortly before cocktail hour. Miss Kathryn will be joining me this evening. We will be taking dinner in the solarium. Please have one of her favorite dishes prepared by Cook. We will take coffee and desert in here. Miss Kathryn’s father will join us after dinner. Please have fresh flowers in both rooms. This is a special occasion. If my plans bear out, you might get a new mistress sometime in the near future. I’ve had my eye on her for some time although I have been forced to pretend a platonic interest.” Laughingly, he added, “Well, that will not be necessary any longer, will it?”
“It sure will be my pleasure, sir.” Martha sat taking notes, her plump unlined black face impassive. Returning her pencil to her upswept gray knot on her head, she asked, “That be all for the day, sir?”
Without answering, Robert dismissed her with an irritated wave of his hand. Picking up the telephone, he listened for party voices. He still did not understand why he must share his telephone line with the neighbors. It hardly allowed for discretion. Hearing silence, he dialed the number for Sheriff Hudson. His secretary picked up the phone.
“Put him on.” Robert waited impatiently.
“What is it, Robert?” Sheriff Hudson’s booming voice filled the line making Robert hold the telephone away from his ear, wincing.
“Just a reminder about our little appointment, the boys and I will be leaving in ten minutes. I should make it to the farm in about an hour and one half. I still do not understand why you need me there. The boys are quite capable of cleaning out the store house and dirt cellars on their own.”
“Robert, I can’t go into it on the phone. Just humor me. You need to see this for yourself.”
“All right; don’t be late.” Hanging up the telephone, Robert wondered at the tone of Sheriff Hudson’s voice. An unfamiliar note put him on alert. It took a lot to rattle Hudson. The last time he heard that tone in his voice, they were at the farm to take care of a little unpleasantness that his mind refused to dwell on … An uncontrollable shiver coursed through him. His soft manicured fingers absently picked at the paperwork on his desk. Realizing his mind wanted to dwell on the incident despite his desire; he jumped to his feet and hurried to the front door to await his sedan.
###
Arriving at Lily Pond Road, Eli and Robert pulled into the dusty drive, followed by the well-used pickup truck they utilized for their illicit moonshine deliveries. Spotting Hudson’s black Ford, they pulled over and parked. Now that Netty’s disappearance no longer raised eyebrows, they no longer needed to sneak in on horses. Both Sheriff Hudson’s and Robert’s flashy vehicles were easily recognized.
Piling out of the vehicles, the men lumbered toward the barn, casting nervous glances around the grounds. Most of them grumbled under their breath, grousing about the need to return, awaking lurid and macabre memories they tried vigorously to forget.
“Glad you came. I can’t make any sense of what I found. Maybe you can. Follow me.” He led the group to the east side of the cabin. Fully protected from the hot summer sun as it disappeared under the western horizon, they spotted a stout and weathered wooden door built into the ground. Robert frowned in surprise, realizing they stupidly overlooked what probably contained the results of the late summer harvest. Hudson pulled up the door, letting sunlight expose row after row of Netty’s fantastic canned goods. The vibrant colors, red, yellow, green, purple, shining behind the glass of their protective jars as the sun sent glints of solar light back in their faces.
Descending into the cellar, Robert saw rows and rows of magnificent fruit standing neatly in huge rattan baskets. The smells were overwhelming. Organic loaminess mixed with apple, pear and peach. He picked up a firm yellow white peach, the cool fuzz soothing under his masculine hands. Yes, hands. He needed both of them to hold one peach.
“My God, this must weigh four pounds.” Robert held it to his nose, the scent overwhelming. Could it be any fresher if he just picked it from the tree? “I think my housekeeper could bake three pies from just this one peach. Have you tasted them?” Hudson nodded.
“Sweeter and fresher than anything I’ve tasted in my life.”
“Well, that is certainly curious.” Robert looked around, picking up a potato that must weigh a full three pounds. He walked the aisles, spotless and well organized. Hefting every new vegetable as he came to it, he estimated they all appeared to be five to six times their normal weight and size. Biting into an apple, he realized it would take three people to eat it; at least. How Netty produced results like these baffled them both.
“What about the orchard? Have you checked it out? The trees that support fruit this size must be gargantuan.” He looked at Hudson, incredulous. Amazingly, Hudson’s stoic stare confirmed his investigation of the orchard. The trees complemented the fruit.
“You’re not kidding me, are you?” Robert’s voice pensively accepted the unbelievable.
“I reckon Netty and her creature possessed some kind of power. What other explanation can you think of? The popularity of her pies and meat cakes, loved by almost everyone in the town, confirms the unusual qualities of the fruit. What other explanation can there be? Need I remind you how she looked?”
“I don’t know what this means, but she didn’t look anything like that before she swiped my coin and took off.”
“Well, what do you want me to tell the boys?” Hudson waited patiently as Robert paced. He detested mysteries. Staring at the cellar’s miraculous produce, he finally made up his mind.
“Have the boys load up the truck. Make sure they leave nothing behind. Take what you want for yourself; no sense letting it rot. Put some fruit in my vehicle. Sell the rest.” He started up the stairs. As an afterthought, he turned. “Yeah, you better drop off a load for Simpson. He’ll bitch like a woman if we leave him out.” He continued his rise out of the cellar, the treads of the stairs creaking under his weight. Blinking and squinting in the bright sun, he rudely ignored the men standing expectantly at the opening to the cellar. Turning on his brightly polished boot heels, he strolled to his vehicle.
Watching from the front seat of the sedan, his eyes absently followed the movements of his men, monotonously empting the root cellar. The truck filled rapidly, the men obviously in a hurry to leave. Something in the back of his mind bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It began to eat at him as he continued to watch the loading. Frustrated, he got out of the car, pacing frantically as he tried to pin down the source of his irritant.
His blood began a slow simmer, his attention focused on an easy target. Netty. She did this to him. She turned him into a laughing stock with his men. He often heard the whispers and crude jokes at the carriage house. He glanced up at them, catching a few sneaky peeks in his direction. The fact that Netty successfully turned this dump into a prosperous economic success burned him even more. He felt like spitting on her grave, the bitch. Shouting to Sheriff Hudson, he motioned for him to join his march to the back of the barn.
“Robert, you don’t want to go back there.” Hudson ran hard to catch up. “Please, leave it alone. We should get out of here.” Robert threw Hudson a scornful look as he approached the grave. Startled, he froze at the edge. The grave looked caved in. Son of a bitch, how could that happen? His face turned crimson, his fists balled in anger. He slowly breathed in and out, trying to keep a lid on his explosive temper.
“Go get the boys. And some shovels … now.” Hudson hurried away, shaking his head as Robert stared down at the impossible.
Moans
of reluctance announced the arrival of his men bearing the shovels. They gathered at the edge of the grave, snorts of dismay and shock professing their surprise. The silence grew restless, the baffled men unmistakably spooked.
“This better not be a joke.” Robert’s ice pick eyes drilled deeply into those of his men. Not a one uttered a sound, more intimidated by Robert than the meaning of the disturbed grave.
“You, you and you,” Robert directed in a glacial voice. “Get down there and start digging. I want all of this dirt removed. All of it.” His voice started to leak telltale drips of hysteria. Swallowing, he knelt at the side of the grave, desperately examining the dirt as it flew from the grave to land nearby. Grasping at straws, his face murderous, he turned to Hudson.
“I trust we do not have a case of grave robbery here. I suppose the freak value of the bodies would be worth a few coins.” Venom and suspicion leaked from his clenched teeth.
“Please, Robert, for the last time. Let’s go. This place might be cursed.”
“Now you sound like an asshole, Hudson. Just shut the fuck up.” Sheriff Hudson’s face blanched, looking as if he suddenly realized the snail he swallowed was still alive. Snickers could be heard from some of the men, hidden protectively behind strained coughs.
“Hey, Boss, can we come back up?” The voice from inside the grave convulsed with panic. Robert leaned over the grave as his men scrambled up, not bothering to wait for a response.
“Ain’t nothing down there no more; just a bunch of big holes tunneling to who the hell knows where. Looks like they were still alive.” The other men joined a chorus of agreement.
“Shut up, you idiots. They were dead. The likelihood they dug tunnels to escape is as likely as the possibility I’m going to sprout tits in the next two seconds.” Roberts’s educated mannerisms vanished. Under pressure and attempting to disguise his mounting fear, he sank to the verbal dirt with the rest of them.
“Give me that.” He yanked a shovel from a pair of hands, jumping into the grave to investigate himself. He immediately felt a change in temperature. Astonished at the quick chill, he rolled down the sleeves of his white linen shirt, surveying the tight space. As his men claimed, four holes carved darkness into the walls of the grave. Leaning down, he could feel a slight draft of frigid air, smelling a lot like sulfur. The holes were perfectly round, about two feet wide. The soil at the lip of the holes looked burnt and tightly compacted. As he reached down to dig at the compacted soil, his hand dipped into something soft and gooey. Springing back with a girlish scream, he frantically rubbed the substance on his pants. It dissipated, leaving no trace, not even a moist stain. He drew a hand to his heart, feeling it pummel his chest.
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