Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (19 page)

The rest of them groaned at the delay. A simple job was evolving into a major project.

“Well, both of you keep in touch in case we discover any other damage or equipment we need,” he told Famosa and LeDeux as they prepared to leave the library where they’d all been working. “We can at least start laying the cables tomorrow. And LeDeux, do not take any woman along with you. I need your focus to be on the project.”

“Hey, I’m great at multitasking.” The Cajun fool actually appeared offended that he would think otherwise. “By the way, is it okay if I leave my aunt here?”

Do you have to?
“Yeah, I guess so. Are you sure she isn’t going to be bored with you gone?”

“Are you kidding? Tante Lulu finds fun no matter where she is. Besides, today she and Abbie went to Amos and Andy’s farm, remember, and after that to a flea market.”

They all grinned, not just at the prospect of the two old ladies having gentleman friends, but because a mother would actually name her twin sons Amos and Andy.

After Famosa and LeDeux left, Caleb asked Mark, “Are you okay with your grandmother having a boyfriend? I feel kinda responsible since I allowed Tante Lulu to stay here.”

“Hey, anything that keeps my grandmother busy is fine with me. At least she’s not bugging me about hooking up with Lily if she’s gallivanting around with Tante Lulu.”

“I thought you and Lily were back together.” After the way he’d seen them dancing at the tavern last night—
Was it really only last night? Seems like a lifetime ago
—he would have bet that the two of them were reconciled, back to being engaged.

Mark’s face flushed, and he turned to avoid eye contact with Caleb. “That was last night. Now things are no different than before. Lily and I don’t have a future.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but why the hell not?”

“I’ll say it once. Then I’d rather not discuss it again. Lily and I had a dream, for as long as I can remember, of starting a home-renovation business. We would buy these fixer-uppers. She would do design work. I would do the carpentry work and fine wood detailing. We’d both paint the walls and refinish the woodwork. We’d renovate, then resell, then buy another. All Lily’s letters to me in Afghanistan were filled with ideas for our business. We even knew which places we wanted to target first. There’s an abandoned church over in Franklinville that would make a spectacular home, stained-glass windows and all.” He glanced pointedly at the space where his missing limb would be. “Not gonna happen.”

“Can’t you have more than one dream? Can’t you and Lily open some other business? Maybe operate the cavern together?”

He shook his head. “Lily has spent four years of college studying architecture, and has three more to go, just so she can do this. I’ve got to let her find someone else to do it with. Or else she can do it herself. If I stuck with her, she’d give it up. I just know she would.”

“Architecture, huh? When she’s not stripping?”

“She is not going to strip.”

Caleb noticed that Mark used future tense, not past, but he figured he’d butted in enough. “Let’s go see if we can clear some of the debris out of the cavern. And shove the pity-party business. You can carry a rope or a helmet with one arm.”

The house was quiet as they passed through, Tante Lulu and Abbie being gone. Lizzie was still at Jonas’s place, though he’d promised to pick her up tonight after his meeting with Dat. He would let her stay with him at the B & B for a few days, with Tante Lulu and Abbie as chaperones. He checked his watch. Claire had gone back to her cabin to meet with her buyer at noon. It was two o’clock now. She should be back soon.

But no, his timing was off. Crossing the back yard, he saw that Claire’s station wagon had been driven across the grass and parked near the wooden bridge. On top were strapped a dozen or so skins of some kind. And Claire was on the other side of the creek, seated Indian style on the ground in the clearing in front of the cavern, using a small ax to cut the side branches off some long, thin striplings.

Boner was in the creek yipping and yapping at something, probably a trout. Then, giving up, he began a grand pursuit of butterflies . . . running, skidding to a stop, doing a quick about-face on his tiny feet, then running and yipping in the other direction. Dog heaven, he supposed.

It wasn’t Boner that got Mark’s attention, though. “
What
is she doing?” Mark was practically bug-eyed with disbelief.

“Call me crazy, but I think she’s building a wigwam. No, I take that back. Call
her
crazy.”

“Hi!” she yelled, standing and waving at them. Her hair, which appeared more red than auburn in the sunlight, was piled on top of her head. Her face had a nice summer-suntanny glow . . . or was it afterglow from their lovemaking?
I can only hope.
She wore another jogger-type bra, this time black, with a pair of black nylon shorts and white athletic shoes. She looked good enough to eat, and he meant that in the best possible way.

“Uh . . . what are you doing?” he asked.

“I figure security will be an issue till a new door is put on. Actually, even after, probably till the project is completed. So I’m putting up a wigwam. We can take turns sleeping out here, to keep watch.”

“Couldn’t we have put up a tent?” Mark asked.

She gave him a look that put him in the category of imbeciles and clueless men. “Why would we do that when all the natural resources are right here?” She waved at the forest behind her.

“Oh. Okay. Sure. Thanks,” Mark said, but when Claire glanced away, he made a twirling motion near his head for Caleb’s benefit.

Caleb moved closer to Claire, so close he could smell the shampoo in her hair . . . the same shampoo he’d used this morning in her shower. Pretending to examine the striplings she was working on, he whispered, “Dare I hope you and I have the first watch tonight?”

She smiled at him. A big ol’ come-hither, big-boy, sex-on-the-rocks-comin’-up kind of smile. Words were unnecessary.

For the first time today, since they’d discovered the vandalism, since the pathetic meeting with his mother and father, he was beginning to think his life was not so bad. Sex in a teepee—rather, wigwam—with a crazy woman. “Should I wear my loincloth?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Only if you bring your tomahawk.” She was staring at the area where his loincloth might be.

God, he loved a woman who knew her mind. Even if she was a little bit crazy.

His corn was tasty . . .

“You know, Caleb, the Native Americans got it right with their philosophy of life,” Claire told him two hours later as they stood on the bridge over the creek.

He barely stifled a moan and put his face in his hands. It had been about ninety degrees out today. He was sweaty and irritable after having spent the afternoon pulling all the debris out of the cave, with Mark’s help. He had a headache that felt like a machine gun going off in his skull.
Rat-tat-tat-rat-tat-tat-rat-tat-tat
. . . And now Claire wanted to give him a lecture on Indian philosophy crap.

She was watching him expectantly.

Okay, I can tell her to shove it, that I’m not interested. But do I want to risk not having sex with her at least one more time? No-brainer there!
“I give up. What did the Indians do right?”

“They had this philosophy of planting called the Three Sisters. It involved planting squash, corn, and beans on the same hillock. The corn would grow tall and support the tendrils of the beans, and the squash leaves would spread out and help the ground retain moisture to nourish them all.”

My brain feels like squash about now.
“And this should matter to me, why?”

“Tsk-tsk-tsk. Let me finish. There is great symbolism there. We, all people, cannot stand alone. We supplement and complement one another. We can grow only with the assistance of others.”

Uh-oh!
“I’m not going to like the point of this story, am I?”

“It occurred to me after being on your parents’ farm yesterday that the Amish in general do a good job of following the Three Sisters philosophy. To me, the corn is like the father and mother, the bean sprouts all the children, and the squash the community.”

She’s got a death wish. She’s got a freakin’ death wish, bringing up my family when I’m in this mood.
Mark had already escaped to the house. Caleb started to walk away, in the direction of the wigwam she’d put together all by herself. Ducking down, he crawled inside, but not before giving Boner a black look that said,
Come inside and you are hot-dog soup.
It was surprisingly spacious and, more important, cool inside. The air was sweetly scented from a smudge pot next to a large Indian blanket covering the dirt. And it was surprisingly light because of the smoke hole in the ceiling, not that he expected Claire to do any smoking. Except in the sexual sense.
God, what is this? Ghoul humor? No, horny man humor.

She crawled in after him. “What I was trying to say is that it was downright cruel of your parents and community to toss you out to grow on your own. It’s probably why you’ve been such a loner. It’s why you are generally so dour. I saw it the minute I met you, your drive to succeed, despite your loneliness. The Three Sisters have let you down in the past, so you can’t trust anyone to do it again.”

Dammit! Holy sonofabitch dammit to hell! God spare me from a man-analyzing woman. Why do they have to dissect every little thing?
“I’ve done just fine, Claire.”

“I know you have. More the credit to you.”

“Where’s the ‘but’ in there?”

“But I believe, to be really complete, you need to reconcile with your family and Amish community.”

If a guy said that to me, he’d probably be flattened by now.
“My mother already made it clear that the shunning would be resuming. So that horse has already left the barn, Dr. Phil.”

He could tell that disturbed her. Hah! It disturbed him, too. He had been in a crouch position, the ceiling of the wigwam not being high enough to accommodate his six-foot-four frame. Now he dropped down to his knees, then rolled over, flat on his back, arms folded under his neck, and stared at the smoke hole.
Could Sparky crawl up the side of the wigwam and drop down on me from that hole?
he wondered.

“You didn’t let me finish.” She knelt beside him on the blanket. “I was going to say, barring a reconciliation with your family, you should plant new beans and squash to complement you in the future.”

This would be laughable if it weren’t so intrusive.
“Aha! I get it now. We’re back to the sperm bank business. If I had a wife and kids and a farm, everything would be just hunky-dory.”

“No, that’s not true. My mentioning a baby was only a slip of the tongue to begin with.”

He raised a brow in disbelief.

“I mean it, the baby business is off the table. Not an issue.”

He reached for her wrist and pulled her down beside him, putting an arm around her and resting her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her head, then said, “So where do we go from here?”

“Can we pretend I never said those words?”

If only!
“I can’t give you the things you want, Claire. I have no idea what I’m doing today, let alone tomorrow. I’m all screwed up inside. I can’t fulfill my own expectations, let alone someone else’s. Not yours. Not Lizzie’s.”

“Now, see, that’s where you’re wrong. I really don’t have expectations of you. Hopes, maybe, but not expectations.”

He doubted that.

“Let’s just enjoy each other while you’re here, and let it go at that. That should work for both of us.”

He doubted that even more.

Somehow, in the course of their conversation, Caleb had removed her bra, rearranged her on top of him, and slid his hands under the back of her shorts, cupping her bare ass. It was probably some subconscious effort to put her on top so that if Sparky dropped in, he would hit her first.
Hah! Nice try, cowboy! My putting Claire there in the saddle has nothing to do with snakes. Well, not the reptile kind anyway.
Trying for a change of subject, he asked, “So, I’m a stalk of corn, huh? What does that make you?”

She smiled, though the smile didn’t reach her sad eyes. Then she slipped her hand between their bodies, taking his cock in her hand.

He about went cross-eyed at the sheer mind-blowing pleasure. At least his headache was gone.

“Hmmm. I could be the tassel on your stalk.” She loosened her hair with her free hand and brushed it across his chest. “Or I could be the bee who comes to prick your corn. Is your corn sweet?”

A choked laugh escaped his lips. “The only one doing any pricking is gonna be me. And I’m damn sweet when I want to be.”

“Promises, promises.”

When he did in fact “prick her” and was embedded in her tight clasp up to the hilt, he confessed, “For what it’s worth, baby, I liked hearing
those
words from you.”

Her response was a long, muscle-fisted, spasming orgasm that said without words, from the inside out, clear as a sailor’s grody chant, “I love you.”

God help me!

Chapter 12

The lady had plans . . . big plans . . .

“We’re plannin’ a party, a real
fais do-do
here on the Spruce Creek bayou,” Tante Lulu told Claire the minute she entered the B & B kitchen.

Claire had gone home to shower and gather her laptop and Park Service files. She and Mark were going to work together for a few hours, piecing together data gathered in the cavern with historical data, including the journal entries. After that, she was going out on a dinner date surprisingly offered by Caleb this afternoon. Caleb was out at his father’s place, for a rescheduled meeting with the Amish church leaders. She’d offered to go with him, but he’d declined the offer, telling her Jonas would “cover his six.”

At Abbie’s motion offering a glass of lemonade, Claire sat down at the table with them. Just for a moment. “A party, huh? What’s the occasion? There’s not a lot to celebrate.”

“Bite yer tongue, girl.” Tante Lulu wagged a forefinger at her. Her hair was gray and curly today. And she wore a pretty floral print dress with short sleeves. On her feet were white orthopedic shoes, a concession, Claire supposed, for the trek around the flea market. Abbie also looked good in a black-and-white polka-dot sundress with white sandals. “St. Jude’s been workin’ overtime on you. You best be grateful.”

“Me? I meant the bad luck with the cavern. What makes you think St. Jude’s doing something for me?”

“Ya felt any thunderbolts lately?” The Cajun lady narrowed her eyes at Claire, as if she could read her mind. “Ya know what they say down on the bayou. Ya cain’t make the gumbo with an instant soup mix.”

“Huh?”

“It takes time, sweetie. Give ol’ Jude some workin’ room.”

Claire took a sip from the icy glass. The lemonade was delicious, just the right mix of tart and sweet. “Well, to tell the truth, I do feel a bit like I’ve been hit with a Mack truck.”

“The thunderbolt’ll do that to ya.”

Abbie just smiled, going with the flow where her new best friend was concerned. Actually, Abbie was so grateful for the change in Mark that nothing else seemed to bother her.

“I have to tell you, though, that the feeling’s not mutual,” Claire was quick to add. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Tante Lulu waved a hand dismissively. “He’ll come around. St. Jude never fails. Why ya all dolled up, honey?”

Claire blushed, something she was doing a lot lately. “Caleb and I are going out to dinner, to Mimi’s in Huntingdon.”

“Oh, they have wonderful food there,” Abbie said.

“And atmosphere?” Tante Lulu asked Abbie.

“I’d describe it as upscale casual. There’s a side room with low lighting. And a small band plays some nights.”

Tante Lulu clapped her hands together. “St. Jude at work already. I best get ta work on Caleb’s hope chest.”

Tante Lulu was serious. Claire boggled at the prospect.

“Now, why dontcha help us with the guest list?” Tante Lulu asked. “Read the list back fer us, Abbie.”

“The Jinx staff . . . Caleb, Adam, John—”

“And me,” Tante Lulu interjected.

Good Lord, she considers herself a member of the Pearl Project team.

“Claire, myself, Mark, Lily, even though Mark will have a fit,” Abbie continued. “Lily’s parents, Amos and Andy, Jonas and his kids, Mr. and Mrs. Peachey and all their children’s families, though I suspect Lizzie is the only one who’ll come, except for Jonas.”

“Kin ya think of anyone else?” Tante Lulu inquired of Claire. “Oooh, oooh, oooh! I betcha if I invited Luc and Remy and Charmaine and their broods, they might come.”

Claire shook her head in wonder. “Tell me again what we’re celebrating.”

“Oh, lotsa things. Mark bein’ a hero and comin’ back alive from the war.”

Abbie cringed at that topic, knowing Mark would not be pleased.

“If Mark thinks he’s got a war injury, wait till he sees Remy. Whooee, that boy’s got more burn marks than a barbecued gator. Not that he ain’t still handsome.”

Remy was the pilot who’d brought Tante Lulu here, Claire recalled.

“Also, the reunion between Caleb and Jonas,” Tante Lulu went on. “Tee-John’s birthday. Moving the boulder. Family—we gotta celebrate family in hopes those stiff-necked Amish’ll drop that stupid shunning business.”

“Amos and Andy’s birthdays are coming up next week,” Abbie pointed out.

“Right. Thanks fer remindin’ me. I think I’ll buy me a pair of those underpants with the padding in the rear. I noticed Amos oglin’ my behind today. Mebbe I should give him sumpin ta drool over.”

Claire and Abbie gawked at Tante Lulu.

“What? A lady’s gotta keep herself up, even if she is up in years. I saw a T-shirt at the flea market today that said it all: ‘Over the Hill? What Hill?’”

Some music started then, coming from the front of the house. It sounded like someone singing to a karaoke machine. She cocked her head in question.

“Thass Tee-John and Lizzie. He’s helpin’ her put an act together fer
American Idol.
I wish René would come. He plays in a band sometimes, an’ he could give her tips on moves and such.”

Claire and Abbie rolled their eyes at each other.

“Maybe we could have some music at this event,” Abbie offered, getting into the spirit. “Lizzie could perform.”

“An’ if my nephews come, they kin do their Village People act. They could teach y’all a bit about
joie de vivre.
That means ‘joy of life.’ Come ta think on it, they’d prob’ly come if they knew we was celebratin’ Tee-John’s birthday.”

Claire would love to see Tante Lulu’s nephews and niece perform that kind of act. If they were anything like John, it would be a great show.

“Back to you and Caleb,” Tante Lulu said. “I think ya should get a knock-his-eyeballs-out kinda dress fer the party. Make Caleb so hot he cain’t resist ya. Not that I’m recommendin’ hanky-panky, but sometimes St. Jude doesn’t mind a little help.” Then she went off on another tangent, something about the red dress and red high heels that Charmaine wore at her wedding. “Her
last
weddin’. Well, her first and her last, since she hitched up with Raoul twice. Lordy, Lordy, that gal’s been married so many times it’s a wonder she don’t get veil rash.”

You had to love the Cajun lady, meddling and all. She had a finger in every pie and a heart as big as . . . well, the bayou. They could all take lessons in her zest for life.

The end of the road . . .

Caleb sat in the front room of Dat and Mam’s house, surrounded by his father and five other Amishmen. The meeting had been moved to late this afternoon, rather than the evening, so the farmers could get home to milk their cows.

He felt as if he were twelve years old being called on the carpet for some mischief or other. And he wasn’t even the guilty party here.

The room hadn’t changed in all that time. In fact, it probably hadn’t changed in the fifty years the Peacheys had occupied the property. It was spotlessly clean and contained only essential furniture, with no curtains on the windows or pictures on the walls, in compliance with Old Order Amish rules, as spelled out in the
Ordnung.
How many times had he had those rules recited to him? A lifetime ago.

The Amish church was divided into districts, each of which had a bishop and a set number of deacons and preachers. There were Old Order Amish or Swartzentruber Amish, depending on how strict the rules.

Because Jonas had a last-minute emergency with his business, Caleb sat alone on the stiff-backed sofa with a half circle of men facing him in folding chairs. Dat was closest to him. The elderly Bishop Lapp, better known as asshole—to him, at least—frowned a greeting. Deacon Abram Zook, the guy who wanted to hook up with Lizzie, nodded at him. “Abe,” he said. They used to go to Sunday-night singings together, not that their former friendship would count for anything. The other deacon, who introduced himself as Adam Hostetler, was new to this community; he was from “up Ohio way.” Preachers Ezra Troyer and Hosiah Knepp, fortysomethings, stern men he vaguely remembered, completed the group.

He noticed that Knepp’s right hand was red and swollen.

He narrowed his eyes to see better, and yep, there were two little dots on his hand. Fang marks.

“I see you met Sparky,” he said to Knepp, smiling.

“Huh?”

“Sparky is the guard snake at the Spruce Creek Cavern. I’ll have to get him a special snakey treat for doing such a good job. Hmmm. I wonder if there’s such a thing as snake kibble.”

Knepp bared his teeth at him in a sneer.

“Let us pray,” Bishop Lapp began, ignoring the exchange between him and Knepp, and he droned on for at least ten minutes in German. Caleb had no idea if anyone understood what he was saying. He certainly didn’t.

Bishop Lapp then flipped to a certain page in his dog-eared Bible and turned to him. Quoting from Romans, he said in English, “Be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind that ye may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.”

Caleb was confused. He didn’t mind showing deference for the prayer or for the Bible reading, but something else was going on here. He studied his father, who was stony-faced and obviously bowing to the will of the bishop. What else was new?

“Caleb Peachey, we urge you to drop down and make your kneeling confession. It is not too late to repent and come back to the People, despite all your sins.”

He glared at his father, then turned back to the bishop. “I came here to discuss the damages at the Spruce Creek Cavern, not to confess or beg for forgiveness. So let’s cut to the chase, boys.”

They all flinched at use of the term “boys.”

So be it! He stood and handed his father a sheet of paper detailing the damages at the cavern.

His father gasped. “So much?” Then he passed the sheet around the half circle, ending with the bishop, who exclaimed, “This is outrageous. There vas not that much damitch done.”

Caleb raised his eyebrows at the bishop’s inadvertent admission of involvement in the vandalism. “If anything, that’s a conservative estimate of damages. The police are aware of the crime, but not the perpetrators. However, in about one hour, they
will
know and you
will
find them on your doorstep, that I guarantee. Unless we come to some agreement, and soon.”

“You alveese ver a vild one,” Bishop Lapp said. “Alveese grexing ’bout one thing or ’nother. Alveese pushing, pushing, pushing.”

“It wonders me how ya could stay away so long, Caleb. Dontcha care ’bout yer heritich?” Abe asked, not unkindly.

He tried to answer as politely as the question was asked. “I cherish memories of many good things about being Amish and being raised on this farm. But I can’t forget or accept the harsh manner in which me and Jonas were forced to leave without a dime in our pockets.”

Bishop Lapp shook his head vehemently. “Youse were never forced to leave. You and Jonas chose ta go. Ya refused ta kneel before God and confess yer wrongdoings.”

Caleb threw his hands up in disgust. “This is a wasted discussion. We’re never going to agree. Most of all, Dat, I’m disappointed in you. I came here expecting apologies and reparations. Instead, it’s the same old, same old.” He stood, about to leave.

“That’s not the vay it is, son.” His father cast pleading eyes at him, begging for . . . what? “I am too old to change. I hafta follow the
Ordnung
. I hoped . . . I hoped you would find yer vay back.”

“Impossible! And I’ll tell you something else, old man. You’re about to lose your daughter, too, unless you lighten up.”

Any softening on his father’s part went out the window then. Dat exchanged a look with the bishop, then stared at him as if he was a stranger. Caleb pitied him. To be so much under the thumb of a misguided man of God . . . well, it was sad, really.

“Ve vill settle,” Bishop Lapp said, “but I cannot apologize for what vas done. There is evil there in that cavern and in you, Caleb Peachey. I don’t know if you alveese were thataway, but fer sure and fer certain you are now.”

His Dat at least had the grace to reproach the bishop for painting his son in such a drastic manner. “Bishop, you go too far. Caleb is not evil, and I cannot allow you ta say so.”

“Hmpfh!” the bishop said. “Wait here till I get the money.”

While he went out to his buggy, there was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Caleb’s heart ached, because truly this had to be good-bye to his father. His father’s tear-filled eyes indicated that he knew that, too. The bishop came back with a strongbox and began to count out twenty-two thousand dollars in hundreds, fifties, and twenties. A ridiculous pile of money, but he had expected as much, since most Amish didn’t believe in banks.

When he went out to his Jeep, with a paper grocery bag filled with the money, he saw his mother and father standing on the back porch, just watching him. And that was that. So much for Claire’s Three Sisters theory. His vine had definitely left the building . . . uh, stalk.

Something amazing occurred to him then. He was letting these criminals get away with their crime by not having them arrested. In a way, for a man who had adopted punishment and retaliation as a way of life in the military, this amounted to turning the other cheek. The anger that had fueled him for so many years seemed to have disappeared. What would he do now without that splinter up his butt to spur him on? He felt light as a feather and, at the same time, heavy as Atlas carrying the world. In other words, a mess.

The only saving grace for him and his shattered nerves was the fact that he and Claire were going out to dinner tonight. He needed to be with her.

It was a sign of how distressed he really was that, at that moment, he savored the idea that at least one person loved him.

You want to spread my body with . . . what? . . .

Claire loved him more and more by the minute.

It was exhilarating and scary to know that she could care so deeply about a man she barely knew. Never in her twenty years of dating had she experienced such powerful emotions for another person, even those few that she’d immaturely thought she loved.

Caleb would probably say it was just lust, but that’s because he feared she would expect something in return. She didn’t. Not yet. Maybe never.