Moonbog (10 page)

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D
avid and Allison took the afternoon to drive to Portland. For the first time since they had left New York, Allison perked up as they walked up and down the length of Exchange Street, peering into shop windows. After a satisfying supper at the Village Cafe, they took in a movie and then drove back to the motel. But even after a long, slow session of love-making, David found that sleep eluded him. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and when sleep did finally come, the nightmare came too; only now, the looming black shape had eyes Billy Wilson’s blank, coin-like eyes.

HOLLAND, MAINE, SUNDAY EXPRESS, JUNE 5, 1977

SUSPECT STILL SOUGHT IN MURDER CASE

HOLLAND—Local police, with the assistance of state police, are still looking for leads in the bizarre death of William Wilson. This small, quiet Maine town was stunned last Friday by the discovery of the boy’s mutilated body.

As yet there are no solid leads, but, according to Police Chief Virgil Shaw, authorities are questioning several possible witnesses.

“We haven’t really got too much to go on,” Chief Shaw told the
Express
. “This was a relatively isolated incident and, as far as we know, there aren’t many leads.”

The area where the boy was found has been roped off and is being patrolled by police while investigators from Augusta and Scarborough examine the ground for clues.

Funeral services for Billy Wilson will be held tomorrow at St. Mark’s at one o’clock. All schools have been cancelled for the day.

I

D
avid jumped, startled as the doors at the back of the church flew open, letting in a shaft of sunlight and a warm, wafting breeze of fresh air. The congregation sang the last verse of “Onward Christian Soldiers” with renewed vigor as the choir solemnly filed out to the center aisle and toward the door. David held the hymnal open with one hand, Allison’s hand in the other. He gave her hand a little squeeze and glanced at her. She smiled at him tightly and continued to mouth the words of the hymn. David was amused by her irritation, and his smile widened.

“Up yours,” Allison whispered harshly, barely audible above the singing. David looked nervously around to see if anyone had heard. Just as he cast an irritated glance at her, Pastor Clement followed the choir down the aisle and nodded his head at David. David made a bold attempt to twist his frown into a grin and failed miserably. He turned and watched the minister walk to the doorway and then stop in the warm sunlight.

The organ swelled louder, almost rattling the floor with a prolonged “AAAAAA-mennnnnn” and then cut off abruptly. David felt himself relax after the sustained finish of the hymn, then he snapped the hymnal shut and glanced again at Allison. “Not too bad, huh?” he asked, smiling.

Allison’s smile was tight, totally false, David knew; but it was probably good enough to fool
just
about anyone.

“It’ll do your soul some good, you know? Get in a few extra brownie points with the man up there.” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the ceiling, and Allison involuntarily looked up.

“Bullshit,” she whispered, bending close to David’s ear.

The center aisle had filled with the dispersing congregation. David stood there for a while, actually surprised by the number of faces he recognized—Mr. and Mrs. Jessup, Lilly Clayton, Joe and Edna Judkins. Many of the folks smiled and nodded at David as they passed by, but almost as many looked quizzically at him and, especially, the woman beside him wearing the dangerously low-cut, violet silk dress.

When he saw a break in the flow of people, David tugged on Allison’s hand, pulling her out into the aisle after him. They were carried toward the door with the departing throng, bumping shoulders as they went. Just before they reached Pastor Clement, David considered darting down the stairwell to the church basement; he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak with the minister, at least not yet. Before he had made up his mind, though, Clement darted forward, and David felt a warm, sweaty hand grasp his.

“Davie, Davie my boy. So good to see you again.” The minister pumped David’s hand rapidly. “It’s been too long, too long.”

David’s smile felt forced. “Nice to see you again, Pastor Clement.”

“And this must be your wife, Barbara,” Pastor Clement said, looking over David’s shoulder. “We’ve never met before.”

“No, uhh.” David shifted uneasily on his feet. “This is Allison, Allison Vickery, a friend of mine. Allison, this is Pastor Clement,” he added nervously.

Allison cocked her eyebrow, as though to say,
Really? You mean he’s not the Pope?
and held her hand out.

Pastor Clement was frowning slightly, so David hastened to add, “Barbara and I were divorced quite a while ago.”

“Allison.” The minister took Allison’s hand and shook it more gently, David noticed. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Allison seemed genuinely flustered. She looked down at her shoes and muttered, “Thank you.”

Most of the congregation had filed out by now. A few stragglers remained in the church, talking in small groups. David’s uneasiness was growing, and he was just starting to walk away, leading Allison toward the door when the pastor grasped him firmly on the shoulder.

“David,” he said, with a note of urgency in his voice, “I would like to speak with you for a moment—if I could.” He looked over at a departing group of people and waved his hand.

“Terrific sermon, Pastor,” one of them said, “I didn’t even doze.”

“That’s good to hear, Sterling,” Clement said good-naturedly, but still David could see a crease of worry on the minister’s brow. “How’s the missus?”

“She’s much better. The doctor says she might be able to come home the end of the week.”

“That’s nice. You tell her my prayers are with her,” he said, and then turned back to David, locking him with an intense stare. “It’s been so long since you’ve been in town, Davie. I’d like it very much if we could have a chance to talk—catch up on things.”

David shrugged. “Things are going pretty well for me.”

The church had emptied out by now, and David was aware of the imposing silence of the building. Faintly, he could hear the last car of worshippers leave the driveway. He was aware of Allison anxiously shifting from foot to foot behind him.

“The old town must have changed quite a bit since you were here last. Even in a small town like Holland, time doesn’t stop.”

David heard Allison sigh softly. He had the feeling that there was something beneath what Pastor Clement was saying, something he
wanted
to say but didn’t know how to.

“It’s nice to be back,” David finally said, merely for the sake of saying something.

“And how do you like living in New York City? I suppose you must get tired of the hustle ‘n bustle . . . and the crime.”

“Actually it’s not that bad, Pastor. I like where I live, I have a good job as a loan manager at a city bank. We don’t see
that
much crime, either, it’s just that the news blows it up out of proportion. I”—he stumbled, almost decided not to continue, but found he said it anyway—“I’ve seen more crime here, in Holland, than I have in New York.”

Pastor Clement seemed shocked by what he said, and he shook his head sadly. “I know, Davie, it’s such a terrible thing. To think that here . . . in a town like this, something like that could happen.” He exhaled sharply, squared his shoulders, and looked at David. “It really can put one’s faith to the test.”

Allison gave David’s hand an impatient squeeze.

“I understand that you’re here to settle the Will and sell the old place, is that right?”

David nodded.

“I was talking to Shaw this morning before church, and he said you weren’t at all interested in staying in Holland.”

David felt himself getting angry. He didn’t like the idea of Shaw making his business everyone’s business. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he knew; like any small town, Holland had a communications network that would put the CIA to shame.

“Like I said,” David said tensely, “I like where I live, and I like my job. I don’t see why I should hang onto a dead weight like that old house, pay taxes on it, and leave it empty when someone could buy it and fix it up.”

“True,” Pastor Clement said, “the place
does
need some work. It’d be nice if you could—”

“I’m really not interested in staying in Holland, Pastor,” David said sharply.

“But, Davie,” the minister’s eyes took on an earnest squint, “Holland is your home. It’s where your roots are. It’s true, you know, no matter how far or how long you’re away from your home, you can never pull all of your roots out of the soil.”

“I know what I want,” David said, feeling his anger rise. He didn’t want the pastor or the police chief or the lawyer or anyone telling him what he should do. “My life is outside of Holland now. I’ve had to come back because of some legal problems, but once they’re settled, I intend to leave.”

Pastor Clement stepped forward and grabbed both of David’s elbows. He squeezed tightly. “Many times, Davie, we
think
we know who we are, but we don’t. We try to leave, to run away from something, but that something will always—eventually—raise its head. It’s only by understanding our past, where we came from, that we can truly know ourselves.”

“I don’t—”

“That land, that house is your birthright. Your
father
, and his father, and his father worked hard for that land. It’s been in your family since before the Revolution. You and your—your uncle Marshall are the last two surviving Logans. Don’t you feel some sort of responsibility?”

“Obviously not as much as you think I should.”

“I just wish you’d consider it—deeply—before you go and sell the place.”

“I have,” David said simply, letting his anger pass.

“Well, I think that if you look deeply into yourself and into your family, I think you’ll find—” He seemed to catch the angry tone in his voice, and suddenly dropped it. He continued in a milder tone, “I think you’ll find that you’re more attached to Holland than you think.” He released David’s elbows and took a step back, smoothing out his vestments.

“I’ll think about what you said,” David said, moving toward the door. Of course, his mind was made up, but he had to say something to satisfy the minister.

“But anyway,” Clement said, smiling warmly again, “Margaret and I would like to invite you and Allison to the house for coffee this afternoon, if you’d like. There will be a few other folks around. Some you may remember. Nothing fancy.”

“Well, I—” Allison gave his hand a quick jerk, and he understood her message. “I’d like to but—”

“Around three o’clock would be fine,” Pastor Clement said.

David shrugged and started down the stairway, squinting his eyes in the bright sunlight.

“Davie,” Pastor Clement shouted from the top of the stairs. “You just remember what I said. There’s a lot about yourself that you just won’t find out anyplace else but Holland.”

David smiled and waved, then walked across the lawn to his car. The warm morning air washed over him with relief.

“Boy, that guy’s a barrel of fun,” Allison said, as she opened her door and sat down. “What the hell was he
into?
”

David slammed his door shut and started the car. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he said, “Like everyone else in this piss-water town, he tries like hell to make everything
his
business.” He jerked the car into gear and left the parking lot with a loud scuffing of tires.

II

“
N
o fucking way!
” Allison folded her arms across her chest and looked dead ahead out the motel window. David had finished shaving and was unbuttoning his shirt. He looked over at her, sitting on the edge of the bed wearing just her bra and panties.

“It won’t kill you, you know,” he said as if scolding a child.

“Like going to church this morning? Huh?”

David shrugged as he walked over to the suitcase and unfolded his neatly pressed blue jeans.

“Look, you dragged my ass to church this morning at just about the crack of dawn. I’m not about to waste the whole damn afternoon farting around at a church social!”

“But—”

“No, no ‘buts,’ no
nothing!
” Allison shouted angrily, shaking her fist at David, who took a nervous step backward and then rapidly pulled his pants on and snapped them shut, as if for protection.

“Just because you had to put up with that bullshit when you were a kid, doesn’t mean you—”

“It has nothing to do with when I was growing up.”

“Bullshit it doesn’t,” Allison snapped. “You told me how your father and grandmother dragged you off to church every Sunday, rain or shine. Look, David, that was a long time ago. You don’t have to pretend anymore. You can forget all about church and Pastor—who? Clement? Forget all about him. It’s all a bunch of crap anyway. At least that’s what you always said.”