In a Dark Season (23 page)

The Drover’s Road IX

The Dark Enchantress

So you returned at last to Gudger’s Stand. The Professor laid aside the month-old newssheet that had wrapped a handful of sugar cakes in Nettie Mae’s basket. And there you found…?

Lydy looked up from a dispirited examination of his filthy, broken fingernails. Looks like that jury’d git done before now. What was that you said?

My young friend, be heartened by the delay, not downcast. It is, I believe, a propitious sign. Tell me of your return to Gudger’s Stand.

Well, hit was a quare thing. When we was nearin the stand, I was of two minds. I weren’t yet ready to leave off travelin round and seein new places but I was as eager as a billy goat in rut to lay down with Luellen again. But somehow, when I finally did see her, she weren’t to my taste no more.

Oh, she was still soft and pink and that yaller hair was shining but I seen right off that she was breedin. And when she run to me and grabbed at my arm, why, I begun to think of one of them basket fish-traps the Indians used to make. We had one, back to the home place. Them traps is wide at one end and the fish, he swims in, thinkin all along that he kin turn and swim back out everwhen he wants to. So he keeps on a-swimmin, farther and farther in, and the trap keeps gittin narrower and narrower till that fish is stuck, not able to turn, not hardly able to move.

It’s been said by some, the Professor hesitated as if reluctant to commit an indelicacy, that is, the
hoi polloi
are of the opinion that you fell in love with Belle at first sight and that was your reason for spurning the fair Luellen, the young woman who was carrying your babe beneath her heart.

The Professor laid his hand on his chest, frowned, and moved it lower. A vile phrase: mawkishly sentimental and anatomically inaccurate, he muttered to himself.

Lydy spat in the direction of the noxious waste bucket. Now here’s a thing to consider, Professor. How’s a man to know
whose
babe a woman’s carrying, unless he’s kept her locked away and solitary for nine months and more afore the child is born? Luellen vowed hit was mine but I knowed she hadn’t been a maid when first we lay down together. And then I come to find out that her and that Ramsey feller, the one who’d went away right afore I come to Gudger’s Stand, the same one what those fellers had said was found drownded in the river, they’d been layin up together for some little while. And from things Belle told, that baby could have been got by several fellers.

No, Lydy hardened his face and leaned back against the bricks of the wall behind his bunk, Luellen wanted to give her baby a name and she flat tolled me in with the promise of a share in Gudger’s Stand iffen we wed—tolled me in like tolling a hog with a handful of corn, tolling him right to the butcher.

Of course, one is sensible of a man’s distaste at finding himself on such a lee shore. Indeed, I am keenly in sympathy with your aversation to such perceived trammels, but after all, my young friend, did not the inducement of the eventual proprietorship of Gudger’s Stand outweigh so small an impediment as a child not of your getting? Many a man would gladly raise a whole brood of cuckoos for such a prize.

Reckon that man hadn’t held Belle Caulwell in his arms nor had her lay her white hand upon him, claimin him fer her own.

Lydy spoke without heat or rancor, merely a bald statement of fact, fact as immutable as the sunrise in the east.

Ah, the pulchritudinous Belle, the dark enchantress. The Professor straightened, his eyes alight. At last we come to Belle. Of course, I saw her during the early stages of your trial. Until my father-in-law-to-be had me incarcerated, I, like many others of this benighted county, followed the proceedings assiduously. Belle Caulwell was, of course, the cynosure of our interest: the beautiful, bereft widow, sitting there in the courtroom, her dark head bent to her needlework during the doleful proceedings, her classic features like marble as she gave her evidence. And of course I heard the whispers…pray, Lydy, tell me more of this enchantress.

The young man looked toward the heavy cell door beyond which the sound of heavy boots could be heard. Ye hear that? Could be the jury’s done decided and the bailiff’s come fer me.

He sat up, tense and expectant, then slumped back as the sound of footsteps died away.

Maybe they done decided to let me rot.

The Professor waited silently for a moment, then spoke in a confiding tone. Nettie Mae told me it was said that Belle could charm wild creatures with the sound of her voice, that men and beasts alike were ensorcelled by the sinuous melodies she wove.

Lydy stared at the other man, his eyes dull. Women-folk says a lot of things, don’t they? Now Belle could sing and that’s a fact; she’d sit weavin at that loom of hern and the lonesome sound of her songs would twist all around and amongst above the clack of the loom. As fer charming wild critters, she did have her a tame bird, one of them great black and white peckerwoods that has a call like a crazy woman’s laugh. She didn’t keep hit in no cage neither; alls she had to do was to step out the door and call fer hit and here hit come, flapping out of the trees to light on her shoulder and whisper in her ear with hits cruel white beak.

But I reckon what you’re wantin to know is about me and Belle. I might as well tell you the way of it. That first night I was back at the stand, I had made me down a pallet in the hay barn, where I had slept before. But Luellen’s daddy looked at me hard and said, Son, you’d best sleep in the common room afore the fire where you kin stay warm. I figured Luellen would likely find a way to slip out durin the night and though, like I done said, she weren’t so much to my taste no more, still I weren’t agin layin with her. So, think I, I’ll make fer the hay barn atter a time and see if she’s a-waitin fer me.

But I done what her daddy said. I took my place afore the fire with the other drivers. I was some fuddled for Ol’ Luce had been mighty free with the applejack. Afore long I had gone off into a deep sleep filled with troublesome dreams of men turning into hogs and a great fish monster swallowin them whole. And then I was one of them hogs and the monster had me in his cave and there was blood rainin down the walls.

I was thrashin about, tryin to get free of the fish-trap I’d run into, when there was a hand on my shoulder and the feller who’d been sleepin next me was shakin me awake.

Goldarnit, Lydy, you’re like to wake the house. You got yourself all snarled up in that blanket and you’re kickin like a young mule.

I come awake and at first hit was like I was back in that dream where the walls was runnin blood. Then I seen hit was only the light from the fire makin them so red.

Thankee, friend, I whispered. I’ll step outside and get my head clear.

I crept out as quiet as I could, pickin my way between the sleepin men all around the fire. Outside, there was bright moonlight and I decided to lay me down in a little grassy hollow near the barn, where I could watch fer Luellen. I flung my blanket down and stretched out, the cool air washin over my face, takin away the feelin left by that worrisome dream. I was layin there, watchin the moon ridin high above the world, when all to oncet a dark shape comes betwixt me and the moon. I see from the skirts that hit’s a woman and I feel myself getting hard.

Luellen? I says, and the woman kneels down before me. And then her hair is a dark cloud, blotting out the moonlight and her honey breath is in my mouth and in my nose and the hummin sound of her words is filling my ears and her white hands are moving on me and I am Belle Caulwell’s creature forever more.

Chapter 28

Let Nothing You Dismay

Monday, December 25, and Tuesday, December 26

E
lizabeth sat at the dining table watching the reflected pinks of the dying day fade on the snowy peaks along the eastern horizon. A new gardening book, filled with glossy photo layouts of heartbreakingly beautiful English gardens, lay open before her.

“You always write your thank-you notes on Christmas Day?” Phillip took the chair at the other end of the table, motioning to the little stack of sealed and stamped envelopes at her elbow.

“Not always—but within a few days. I’d rather get it over with than have to keep reminding myself.”

“And it’s something to keep your mind off all the other things you’re worried about, am I right?” His tone was light but his expression was serious. “Lizabeth, are you going to ask Amanda about this Spencer Greer connection?”

She shut her eyes. “I want to. I really, really want to. But for one thing, I don’t think I should mess up Christmas Day for everyone by getting into something that may lead god knows where. And for another, I think I ought to wait till I can hear the rest of whatever it was my sister was starting to tell me. It’ll be midday tomorrow before Glory’ll answer her phone, so I’ll just have to contain myself.”

The sound of boots stamping on the front porch roused James, and he responded with a high-pitched peal of barks but did not leave his snug corner of the love seat.

“You guys should’ve come. We got some amazing shots of the sunset!” Laurel burst through the door, followed by the two dogs and Ben and Rosemary. The girls headed for the fireplace, shedding coats, gloves, and hats as they went. Ben, however, left his outerwear on.

“What’ve you done with Amanda?” Phillip asked when it became obvious she was not out on the porch.

“She was feeling pretty zonked and went to the cabin to take a nap—said to tell you thank you for everything, Aunt E.” Ben came to the table. “She really enjoyed herself—said she wished she’d grown up in a family like this. I was going to give my mom a quick call and get some leftovers to take to the cabin, if that’s okay.”

“Take what you want, Ben. But your mom called while you were up the mountain. She said she was going to a party—you’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

Ben’s eyes rolled. “I expect she was pissed too—in both senses of the word.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “Well, she—”

“Don’t bother, Aunt E. I know how she is. That’s another thing Manda and I have in common—parents that suck.”

Elizabeth awakened to feel a hand on her shoulder. Sleepily she rolled over and reached for Phillip, only to find his side of the bed empty.

“Lizabeth, I’ve got to go. Mac just called. The old house at Gudger’s Stand is on fire. I need to go give him a hand.”

She forced her eyes open. In the partial light from the hall, she saw Phillip zipping his jeans. She tried to focus on the bedside clock and its luminous dial: 1:34. She sat up.

“Just go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Phillip was settling his handgun into its holster. “I’ll give you a call as soon—”

“I’m coming with you.” Elizabeth jumped out of bed, yanked open her closet door, and began pulling on warm clothes. “Please?”

“My guess is arson. Once they get the fire out, I’ll be real surprised if we don’t see evidence of a propellant.”

They had found Mackenzie Blaine by his cruiser, watching as hoses from an assortment of fire engines pumped water through the broken windows along the front and back of the house. When they had first turned onto the bridge, Elizabeth had winced at the sight of the historic building, its lower windows alight with bright flames and heavy smoke spiraling from it into the night sky. But that had evidently been the peak of the fire’s activity, for by the time they were across the bridge and climbing out of their car, the flames had winked out and only the smoke remained.

“Not what you’d call a professional job though,” the sheriff explained. “A real arsonist would have gone for something that would smolder away unnoticed long enough to take hold. Likely whoever it was broke a window to get in, dumped some kerosene on the floor downstairs, then got out and tossed a match through the window. Made a big flare-up inside, mainly down at the far end, where Revis’s bedroom was, but those thick floors and walls just laughed it off. Anyhow, Blake called 911 when he saw the first flames. The fire departments were here in record time.”

In the glare of the lights from the various emergency vehicles, the old building squatted—an apocalyptic vision of an inn for demons and lost souls. Smoke poured from its shattered windows and hacked-open doors, taking form briefly in the wavering beams of light, then obliterating itself against the moonless sky. The firemen, vivid in their yellow turn-out gear, moved back and forth before the house, crisscrossing in and out of the beams, like figures in a silent movie.

With a sick feeling of déjà-vu, Elizabeth saw a dark shape clutching something in its arms emerge from the door on the upper gallery, stagger to the railing, sway, and drop to the floor as smoke, like a vengeful ghost, roiled and billowed after it.

“Phillip! Mackenzie! There’s someone up there!”

The two men had been watching the road as yet another fire engine arrived from yet another volunteer fire department. Instantly they swung around to follow her horrified gaze and pointing finger.

“I don’t see anything.” Blaine’s voice was skeptical. “All the smoke and these lights moving around probably made it look like—”

But a hoarse cry had gone up from the firemen on the ground as two yellow-clad figures, both protected by breathing apparatus, burst through the door that gave onto the upper gallery. The two figures swiftly picked up the crumpled body by its shoulders and feet and disappeared back into the smoke-filled interior.

“Who the hell was that?” The sheriff was already jogging toward the house.

Phillip hesitated, looked at her and started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He turned away and followed Mackenzie Blaine up the drive.

Elizabeth waited for a moment, shivering in the cold air. Then, reasoning that she would only go a little closer, not near enough to get in the way, she followed Phillip.

She stopped, however, at a barrier that had been set up to keep onlookers at a safe distance. On the frozen ground, she saw a little huddle of firefighters, Phillip and the sheriff among them. They were clustered around the recumbent form of the rescued person, and the sheriff was squatting down, evidently speaking to whoever it was. A discussion of some sort was taking place, and the figure on the ground appeared to be attempting to struggle upright.

All around her were first responders and a few other individuals who didn’t seem to have any function, milling about on the edge of the scene. “Fire junkies,” she had heard Phillip call them, men—it was almost always men—who would drop anything at the report of a fire on the scanner and come to watch.

“They get some kind of thrill, watching stuff burn. Some of ’em end up being arsonists—if there aren’t enough fires to satisfy them, they’ll set some. Lots of forest fires probably start that way.”

The skinny, slack-jawed young man in the faded brown heavy coveralls who was staring intently at the busy scene around the house, could he be responsible for this? As she watched, he elbowed the bulky form beside him.

“Well, I was the one told them about that feller in there. They was so busy gittin’ the hoses in place after they busted in the doors and winders that they didn’t see that light moving around upstairs. Finally got one of them old boys to listen to me and quick as they got the flames dousted, they went in after him. What the hell he thunk that he was doin’…”

“Musta had a reason; something in there he didn’t want burned up.” The big man in the camouflage jacket spoke slowly, as if weighing each word.

He sounds familiar.
Elizabeth sidled closer, but the big man had turned away to beckon to someone behind him. “You come tell him we was the first ones here—he don’t want to believe me.”

What was it Phillip said, back when Dessie’s house burned? The obvious suspect in any fire is the first person on the scene.

She watched as a second camouflage-suited hulk hove into view. The skinny young man reached out to slap the newcomer on the shoulder.

“Shee-it, son! Y’uns must sleep in your car with the scanner on. I be damned if you and Marval ain’t beat me again.”

A roar of raucous laughter went up from a cluster of firefighters. Elizabeth strained to see what was happening and was rewarded with the sight of Phillip and Thomas Blake. Blake was clutching a sturdy cardboard box to his chest and walking, somewhat unsteadily, toward her, oblivious to Phillip’s supporting hand under his arm. As they reached Elizabeth, the Troll halted abruptly and peered into her face. The unmistakable alcoholic fumes of his breath assaulted her and she drew back, but not before seeing the contents of the box—a pile of old clothes, freshly stained with birth fluids, and a scrawny black cat, curled protectively around three tiny black kittens.

“Miz Goo’weather, your servant. ’S a bitter cold evening for a gen’lewoman to be out. I beg that you will join me and my kin’ frien’ here in my abode for a li’l groggin of nog—’scuse me, the smoke has befuddled my tongue—a noggin of grog.”

He swayed and his attempt at a courtly bow almost dislodged cat and kittens from their nest. Hastily Elizabeth made a grab for the box.

“Let me take her for you, Mr. Blake. Of course, Phillip and I would love to join you for a groggin of—a noggin of grog.”