Robins shook his head. “No. If it happened, it would be”—Robins hesitated, then shrugged—“there’s no use not saying it. It would be a miracle. And that’s clearly what my grandfather thought it was. Assuming Jamey was telling your son the truth.
“That’s what I figured,” Charlie said. He waited a moment, then asked Robins to go back into the living room with Larry. “I need to talk to Lou Anne a little bit.”
Charlie tapped on the door to his bedroom, then stepped inside. His wife was sitting on the bed. In front of her was her copy of The New English Bible. She was staring at it absently. “Honey? You okay?”
She nodded.
Charlie walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. He put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her to him. I’m scared, Charlie,” she whispered. “I’ve never been scared like this. I’m scared something’s going to happen that...not just to us. But to everybody.”
Charlie stared at his wife, then said, “What are you getting at, honey?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. She clutched her arms, as if she had just felt a chill. “It’s just something I used to be haunted by when I was a girl. Sometimes I’d lay awake and wonder about it. In church they talked all the time about Jesus coming back. And they always made it sound like everybody would know about it. As if there would be big headlines in all the newspapers. But that wasn’t how He came the first time. And so I started wondering, what would really happen to him if He came again, was born the way He was, to a young girl, a girl who lived in a little town someplace unimportant? And that’s when the idea started haunting me. The thought that maybe Jesus had already come back, had already been born again into the world. Imagine what would happen if they took him down to Milledgeville. And suppose he were as naive and trusting as Jamey and simply told the doctors what he heard inside his head. That’s why when I was a girl, I’d have these strange visions at night, of Jesus sitting somewhere, in a padded cell, whispering to himself, ‘Forgive them. Forgive them this time, too.’ But don’t you see, this time it would be worse. This time, if we kill him, it will be because we still haven’t learned to see with the heart, to see with the inward part of us, our soul.” Lou Anne stared at Charlie for a moment, then looked down. “Think of what he’s been through, Charlie, if everything is true. Think of the nightmare he lived through, being locked away. And still, despite everything that was done to him, he managed to keep hold of his goodness.”
“Still, honey, there’s a difference between being a real good person and being what you’re thinking he is.”
Lou Anne nodded. “I know that. But it’s just all the other things that happened. Simon. And Luther. And Catherine. Don’t you see, Charlie, if it is true, and we pretend it isn’t, we could be letting something terrible happen. And not just to him, but to all of us.”
Five minutes later, Charlie was in the backyard, standing under the tree house. It was dark.
“What do you make of it?” Charlie asked after a moment. “Could Jamey have one of those dual personalities? Is it possible he’s doing these things—what happened to Alvin and the others-—without even knowing it?”
“It’s happened before,” Robins said. “Sometimes the contrast between the two personalities can be just about as great as between Jamey and whatever it is that comes out. It’s something I’ve been thinking about, Charlie. There’s no way a boy like Jamey could have gone through what he has without, somewhere inside him, there being a lot of hate.”
Charlie said nothing for a moment, then looked back up at Robins. “It’s something I always wondered about. Remember when I told you about me and your grandfather, how we found Luther out by that well, right after he did those things to the Kline girl? Well, I can still see the way his eyes looked when we came across him. Dead. Empty. As if there were nothing behind them. They stayed the same way the whole time, the whole time he was going down in that quicksand. Dead and empty. But when I pulled him back up, his eyes opened. And what I saw in them wasn’t the same. I can’t express it, except they weren’t his eyes anymore.”
“What are you getting at, Charlie?”
“Could he have had one of those split personalities, too? One that whispered to him down at Milledgeville. One that told him to do those things to Catherine. And one that came out right at the last, that looked at me and took hold of my hand.”
“I suppose it’s possible. But I still don’t see what you’re leading up to.”
“Maybe nothing. Just what Jamey said to my son at the very last. About how he came from the well,” Charlie said. “I guess what I’m asking is, you think there might be a chance something like that could be passed on?”
“Passed on?” Robins asked, frowning. “How?”
Charlie stood there, thinking. “You stay here with them. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“Where you going to, Charlie?”
“There’s something I got to find out.”
Robins was about to ask him what, but Charlie was already out the door. He was running.
8
Charlie drove to the edge of the little town. He parked his car in front of the old parish house and got out. He stood there a moment, looking up at the place, his heart pounding. Then quickly he went to the front screen door and started knocking. He stopped when he heard the old preacher’s heavy footsteps as he made his painful way toward the door.
“Somebody there?” the preacher called out.
Charlie stood still. Then, nodding, he whispered, “It’s me, Charlie.”
“Oh?” the preacher said, obviously trying to sound pleased but only sounding very tired. Then, starting up toward the screen door again, he said, “What brings you by?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Oh?” Kline said. Then he stopped and readjusted his leg brace. He unlatched the screen door and pulled it back. “I’m afraid the house is in need of a little tidying. But we can go into the parlor, if that’s all right.”
Charlie nodded and stepped inside. Careful to keep pace with Kline, he went into the gloomy parlor with its stench of must and stale urine. There was only one little lamp on, at the far corner, so that Charlie had to look around to make sure Sadie wasn’t hidden in any of the shadows—there was no point in inflicting any more pain than he had to.
“Sit down, Charlie,” Kline said, again adjusting his brace and nodding to the sofa. “I was just dozing a little,” he added. “I do that now after supper. It’s such a peaceful time. After supper.”
Charlie nodded. Kline stared at him, and though he tried to manage a smile, his expression was a different one as he whispered, “Is there something wrong, Charlie?”
“I don’t know.” Charlie looked at the other man, his face registering his struggle. “I came by to ask you something.” Charlie stood quickly up, looking as if he might go running straight from the room. But instead he turned and walked to the window, keeping his back to the old preacher. “That night, the night of your accident. The night you went out to Jesse Millard’s farm.”
There was absolute silence in the room. Kline stared up at Charlie, his mouth slightly open. Then, looking down, he nodded, “I remember, Charlie.”
“It was the night Catherine died.”
Again, his eyes still on the floor, Kline nodded. “Yes.”
“Believe me, I know how painful this is to you. I wouldn’t even think about bringing it up unless I thought it was pretty important. I hope you realize that.”
“I do,” Kline said, his voice hoarse.
“There’s something I’ve got to know about that night,” Charlie said. “About what happened.” Charlie waited a moment, then went on. “I always took old Doc’s word for how Catherine died. Always thought it was a wonder she held on as long as she did, after what happened. I reckon I just thought it best to let the dead bury the dead. But now I’ve got to know.” Charlie kept his eyes f
ixed on the window. He moved his lips, as if rehearsing what he was going to say. Then, in a barely audible voice, he got it out: “Catherine died in childbirth, didn’t she?”
Charlie waited but heard nothing. He was about ready to repeat his question when Kline nodded. “Yes, she did.”
Then, still staring out the window, Charlie said, “It was Luther’s child, wasn’t it?”
At that moment Charlie heard another voice in the room. He turned around.
“Tell him.”
It was Sadie Kline. She was standing in the doorway, dressed in her tattered and splotched nightgown. “Tell him,” she repeated, looking at her husband.
Kline stared at her. “Sadie.” He fumbled with his leg brace in an effort to stand up. “Please, go back to your room.”
“Not until you tell him.”
Kline rose and, looking at Charlie, stuttered a helpless, “Please, excuse me. Sadie’s, she’s not been herself. She’s not—”
“Tell him. About the angel.”
“Sadie, please.”
“It wasn’t Luther,” she said, coming into the room, her white hair sticking up all over her pink scalp, her eyes on fire. “It wasn’t him at all. It was the angel. She told us so. She said the angel gave her the baby.”
“You know what she was like, honey. She was sick. She didn’t know what she was saying.”
“No, that’s not true. Don’t you remember? Before she died, she looked up at you and said we had to look after the baby because an angel had given it to her. And that we had to watch over it, to see that no one came to hurt it. Remember?”
Kline, his face ashen, nodded.
She shook her head, her eyes filled with tears. “We were wrong not to believe her. So wrong.”
“Yes,” Kline whispered. And then slowly he walked her into the hallway. He stood watching as she made her way back down into the darkness of the other part of the house. Then he turned back to Charlie.
“Did Catherine say those things to you?”
Kline nodded. “You remember how Catherine got to be, those last few months before the tragedy. Before Luther came back. Something had gotten hold of her mind, something so terrible. We couldn’t even let her leave the house. We couldn’t take the chance that she might talk to other people. She kept telling us how...how an angel had come to her and given her a baby. Only the Doc knew about the things she said. He saw her every day, back then. She even began to show signs of...of pregnancy. The Doc said it was just what’s called hysterical pregnancy. It had to be that. There was nothing else it could be, Charlie. She was so completely innocent. And even after the tragedy, after what Luther did to her, she went on talking about it. Even worse than before. Begging for us to let her child live, pleading with us to look after it for her. But there was a child inside of her. A real child. The child that Luther had made in her out at that God-forsaken spot. His child. We thought, of course, it would die. It was so premature, only the fourth month. But it didn’t die.” Kline said with a bitter rasp. “Somehow it lived.”
“I know how painful this is. But is it possible, I mean, could there have been a child all along? Even before Luther took her to the well?” Charlie asked, aware of the implications of his question, and yet desperate to avoid the truth that was dawning on him.
Kline stood there. And suddenly he whispered something Charlie had not expected to hear. “I’ve always wondered.”
“What d’you mean?”
“It was something she said to me. Five months before that awful night, the night Luther took her. She said there was something she had done, something that neither I nor her momma could ever forgive her for. Something so terrible, that if we knew about it, we could no longer love her.” Kline said softly. “Sometimes, looking back, I’ve thought perhaps that was what she meant. But knowing how Catherine was, so innocent, how could I believe such a thing, Charlie?” Charlie stood there, as if lost in thought. And suddenly he remembered something. The day that he and Doc had found Catherine out at the Randolph house, something happened that had always gnawed at him. Doc did not want him to see Catherine. Even before he knew what Luther had done to her body. “Is it possible that Doc might have lied to you?”
“What are you getting at, Charlie?”
“Maybe he knew she was really pregnant all along. Maybe he only told you that business about the hysterical pregnancy, just to keep you and Sadie from knowing what had really happened to Catherine.”
“But why would he do that?”
Charlie shook his head. “To protect you. To protect Catherine. Even, to protect the father.”
“But why would he have wanted to protect the father? And, besides, who could it have been, Charlie?”
As he stood there, Charlie’s mind reeled. The crazy phrase he had heard from Robins kept screaming in his brain, obscene and ridiculous: Love-child. Yet he had to ask it. He looked up at Kline. “Old Doc was with her so much back then. Is it...I mean...could it—”
Kline shook his head. “No, Charlie. That’s craziness,” he said sternly. “Not a man like Doc. You can’t ask me to believe that. Not for a moment. We know the truth already. The child was Luther’s child.”
Charlie nodded. Kline was right. “You said it lived,” Charlie whispered. “What happened to the child after Catherine died?”
“You must understand. We knew what it was. Whose it was. We had no choice. How could we be responsible for bringing something like that into the world? And yet I knew I couldn’t kill it myself. And I knew of only one man who could, whose strength of character was sufficient to do what had to be done.”
“Old Doc?” Charlie said. And Kline nodded.
“Is it possible that old Doc didn’t do it?”
He had no choice, Charlie. He knew what it was, too.”
“But do you know for sure? Do you really know whether he actually killed it?”
Kline shook his head. “He killed it the night Catherine died. You and Doc buried them both. Her and that creature.”
“Then it would still be out there, with her,” Charlie whispered to himself. He turned to leave. “I appreciate you talking to me like this.”
But Kline reached out and took hold of his arm. “What is it, Charlie? Why have you asked me this tonight?”
Charlie looked into the old man’s eyes. They were desperate, stricken. Kline’s lips moved, but no sound came out. The old man let go of Charlie and turned away. Charlie stared at him, wanting to say something, anything that would comfort him. But before he could get a word out, he heard Kline whisper, “I was wrong, wasn’t I? I was lacking in faith. I failed both God and my child.”
“No,” Charlie said. He walked over to Kline and put his hand on his shoulder. “You did your best. You did all you knew to do.”
“It wasn’t enough, though, was it?”
Suddenly Charlie felt a hand on his arm. He turned around and saw Sadie Kline. “I’ll tell him,” she said softly. “I’ll explain everything to him.”
Charlie looked into her face. Somehow it no longer seemed old or withered. Even her skin seemed radiant.
Charlie nodded, then looked back at Kline. At the door he glanced back at the old couple. Sadie had her arms around her husband. He was weeping softly.
9
When Charlie left the Kline house, he went straight back home. Tom Harlan was there now, along with the others. Charlie got Robins by himself and, explaining as little as possible, told Robins to come with him. Then, taking Tom Harlan aside, he said, “You got some shovels over at Becky’s, don’t you?”
Tom nodded and said, “Of course I do.”
“Give me the keys to the store.” Tom gave Charlie a puzzled look and said, “What d’you need shovels for?”
“I just got to check something. I’d appreciate it if you could stay here till we get back.”
As Tom pulled the keys
out of his pocket, he nodded. “Of course, Charlie, anything you want me to do.”
On the way out to the cemetery, Charlie told Robins what he had found out from Rev. Kline. “He thought your grandfather killed Luther’s child. If he did, then he would have buried it with Catherine.”
Fifteen minutes later, they had parked the car and had found the grave site. The marker read simply, “Our Beloved Daughter, Catherine.”
“I’ve never dug up a grave before,” Robins said.
“Neither have I,” Charlie echoed, staring down at it. Nearly an hour later, they cleared away the last bit of dirt. Charlie pried the lid of the coffin open and told Robins to hand him the flashlight. The two men stared into the coffin. “Jesus,” Charlie whispered. “Look.”
Stretched out in the coffin, wearing a white lace dress, was the body of a girl—a girl who looked as if she might have fallen asleep only moments before.
Robins took the flashlight and scanned the body. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Me neither,” Charlie said.
“What about those marks? The tattoos.”
“Gone. Everyone one of them, just gone,” Charlie said with amazement.
“Do you see anything else?”
Charlie kneeled down closer and shook his head. “She’s alone,” Charlie said softly.
“Then Jamey, he’s the child.”
“Yeah. Hers. And Luther’s.”
“Christ,” Robins whispered.
“That’s what he meant when he told my son he came from the well. He knows who he is.”
Suddenly Robins turned around. “Charlie, look.” Charlie pointed the flashlight right behind them.
There, less than a couple of yards away, a man was standing, his eyes fixed on the opened grave. He stepped forward slowly, awkwardly, seeming not even to be aware of the two men standing there.
He came to the edge of the grave and kneeled down. His hand trembling, he reached down toward the girl’s face. “Pretty,” he whispered softly. “Pretty.”
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