Scarecrow (13 page)

A whiff of wood smoke ruffled my hair, stirred the leaves restlessly around my feet. I raised my eyes skyward, saw the sun starting a weary descent behind the gray latticework of bare trees.

“And you know what I thought then?” Franny’s expression was puzzled. “I thought, it’s like Girlie already knows—like she already knows this lady who’s coming to our house that none of the rest of us know.”

I like you, Pam…I liked you even before you were real…
My own scarecrow image came back to me, and I shut my mind against it, forcing my eyes to the ground, my fingers spread stiffly at my sides.

“There must have been something,” I said stubbornly. “My purse. Identification. Something.”

“No.” Franny shook her head, leaning back against a tree trunk, cocking her head at me. “You didn’t have a thing when Seth found you. He said so.”

“Maybe he was lying.”

Franny weighed this possibility, then raised an eyebrow. “Even if you
had
a pocketbook with you, which you didn’t, or a suitcase, which you didn’t, or papers or letters or whatever, which you didn’t—how would Girlie know about your little boy and your husband being dead?”

I didn’t have an answer to that, and I knew what she was saying was true. No one would have known about Brad and Kerry—no one could have even known their names. I knew there had been photos of them in my wallet—but if my purse really
had
burned in the fire…
you just don’t want to believe…you just can’t believe…

“I know it’s hard to figure,” Franny said sympathetically, “but that’s just the way Girlie is. I don’t try to know about it. I just have to believe it’s so. Course, it’s easier for me ’cause I live with her. I see it happen over and over again.”

I scraped my hand deliberately across the bark of a tree, welcoming the pain of something tangible. “Doesn’t it ever frighten you?”

“Oh, sure.” Franny shrugged. “But I reckon I’m mostly used to it by now.” She gazed at me with open curiosity. “And you? You’re scared by it?”

“A little,” I admitted wearily. “So much has happened to me lately, I guess I’m a little shaky about life in general.” I lowered myself onto a cushion of leaves and shut my eyes against the sharp, cold sting of the wind.

After a long while Franny said, “Wanna talk about it?”

And I opened my eyes again, staring off into the past, steeling myself against the pictures I didn’t want to see. “It was a car accident. A drunk driver crossed the center line and hit us. My husband”—I drew a deep breath, plunged on—“was killed. And my son. He was two years old.”

The silence stretched on, deep and hopeless as pain, and after what seemed an eternity, Franny sighed and reached out to cover my hand with her own. “I’m so sorry, Pam. It’s not right what happened to you. But you’re lucky, not like me. You can find you another man. Have more babies!’

So simple. Everything so tidy and practical. If the balance is upset, you make it right again. Two gains for two losses. Mustn’t have anything out of order.

“I don’t think so, Franny,” I said shortly.

“Well, maybe not now, but someday,” she predicted. “I had this old dog who died, but later on I had me another one. Later on it wasn’t so hard to love a dog again.”

I couldn’t help but smile. The pain in my heart had eased a little and I inhaled deeply, waves of frost and ash and damp earth and wet leaves.

“Micah, too.” Franny stretched her legs out in front of her, frowned, unlaced a boot and shook it upside-down till a pebble fell out. “He had him a possum once—fed him by hand and everything. That thing was tame as a lamb—but only to Micah—nobody else could get near it. He was plumb torn up when it got killed.”

“What happened to it?”

“Seth shot it.”

“Oh, God,
why?”

“Well…” Franny gave her boot a final shake and yanked her sock high up over her knee. “He thought maybe it had rabies. It bit Rachel and he just shot it.”

“What happened to Rachel?”

“Oh, she was fine. Girlie healed her right up.”

“So what you’re saying is, you really weren’t sure if the possum was rabid or not.”

She shook her head. “Seth was afraid it’d get after the chickens. Rachel was mighty upset.”

“Well, why didn’t they just let Girlie heal the possum so Micah could keep it?”

Franny shook her head. “I don’t know. Rachel was just upset about it, that’s all.”

“And did it ever get after the chickens?”

“No, he was just
thinking
it might, I reckon.”

“But that’s horrible.” I couldn’t believe it. “How could he have
done
that?”

“That’s Seth.” Franny crammed her shoe back on. “Micah, he didn’t get over that for a long, long time.”

I picked up a twig and scratched angrily in the dirt, thinking of the unfairness of it all. After several seconds I said, “Tell me about Micah.”

Her hands froze, shoelaces curled limply between her fingers. She cast me a quick look, then lowered her eyes, hands moving again, slowly. “Like…
what
about Micah?”

“Well, just anything.” I was watching her curiously, wondering at the hesitation. “I hardly ever see him. I just wondered about him.”

“He’s shy,” Franny reminded me.

“But I never see him around the house. Only occasionally at meals, and then I never hear him talk. It’s almost as if he were a ghost—something you always hear about but never see.” I meant it as a joke, but Franny looked strained.

“I…I can’t talk about Micah.”

Funny…the very thing Rachel said to me before…
“Why not?” I didn’t mean to be rude, but Franny was looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

“I just can’t, that’s why. Seth wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh.” I looked at her quizzically, wondering at the shadow that seemed to pass over her face.

“So…will you take me with you?” Her eyes were so desperate again, so beseeching, that my heart twisted within me.

“Franny…” I didn’t know what to say. Franny could help me find the way to Cranston—but I couldn’t sneak her away from her family. That would be no thanks for all the kindness they’d shown me. No—no, it was out of the question.

“If you don’t,” she said softly, “I’ll just grow old and die here. I’ll never be like you. I’ll never know what it’s like to have a boy love me…or have a sweet little baby…or…see anything besides this house and these hills and Seth…”

Seth.
My heart clutched. I couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Franny…I…I just can’t. It would be wrong.”

“Wrong?” Her eyes darkened, a derisive laugh escaping before her eyes clouded with tears. “Wrong?” Her voice trembled with disappointment. “You just don’t know how wrong everything is already.”

“Franny, wait—”

But she raced off through the woods, ignoring my calls. For a moment I stared after her, uncertain what to do, and then, as my eyes swept the hollow, I saw her scarecrow, sprawled and hidden there with all her beautiful dreams, his eerie familiarity compelling me to look back in a kind of helpless fascination.

I felt like a traitor.

And the scarecrow mocked me with Seth’s eyes.

“I
T’S JUST NOT LIKE
Dewey…” Rachel sighed and pushed back a stray wisp of hair with the back of her hand. “He should have been here by now.”

My fingers tightened around my fork, and I stabbed at the chunk of ham on my plate. I looked over at Girlie, but her head was bowed over her milk, and if she even heard she gave no sign.

“He’ll be along,” Seth said, reaching for the skillet of corn bread in the middle of the table. “Eat up, Franny.”

“I’m not hungry.”

I couldn’t bear looking at her. She hadn’t spoken a word to me all day, not since our talk at her secret place.

“You’ve got to eat, honey.” Rachel patted her hand encouragingly. “That’s not enough to keep a bird alive.”

“Where’s Micah?” I asked. I really was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined him all this time.

“He’ll be along.” Seth leaned forward, resting his dusty elbows on the clean tablecloth. “He says that damn fence is out again. I just fixed it last month.”

“The bottom acre?” Rachel glanced at him. “Will you go tomorrow?”

“Have to wait and see what the weather’s like.”

Rachel smiled. “That surely is pretty country down along there.” She put her coffee cup down, her face brightening as a thought occurred to her. “Seth, if you go down there tomorrow, why don’t you take Pamela along with you?”

A look of shock surfaced before I could stop it, and I struggled to compose myself. Girlie glanced up, at Seth…at me…

“I’m not sure I’m really up to it—” I began, but Rachel interrupted, clearly disappointed.

“Course, I wouldn’t want to tire you out…it’s just so pretty down there. You’ll never see land like this back in your California, I reckon.”

Seth was ignoring us, yet I sensed irritation just beneath his cool exterior.

“You’ll come, too?” I asked Rachel quickly.

“Mercy, no. Tomorrow’s wash day. I’ll be stuck here by that old stove for hours,” she said, as if she didn’t really mind at all.

“Well, then, I’ll stay and help—”

“Why, the fresh air and a walk will do you a world of good, and Franny’s all the help I’ll need. Might be your last chance to see our place before Dewey comes.”

“She’ll just be in the way,” Seth spoke up, and for once I welcomed the insult.

“Seth!” Rachel regarded him with embarrassment. “Pamela’s our company—”

He pushed back from the table and stood up. “I
know
what she is—trouble. Just like any outsider. I’ll be glad when Dewey
does
get here.”

Rachel flushed as Seth left the room. Franny stood up silently and began gathering up the plates, scraping them fiercely into a tin pan on the stove. Girlie took another long swallow of her milk, licking slowly at the thin white mustache it left on her upper lip.

“I’m…I’m really sorry,” Rachel said, her eyes soft and unhappy. “He doesn’t mean anything by it—”

“Yes, he does,” Franny said flatly. “I don’t know why you keep sticking up for him…or why you keep trying to protect everybody—”

“Franny—” Rachel’s lips tightened and she clasped her hands together on the table.

“I don’t care.” Franny spun and her face was hard. “You hear me, Rachel? I just don’t
care
!”

The screen door banged and we all jumped. Micah stood there growing red in the face as we all stared at him. Franny dropped the spoon she was holding and flounced from the room while Rachel stood up hurriedly and pulled out Micah’s chair.

“Here, you look starved to death.”

“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled, but she only patted his shoulder in an absentminded way.

“Doesn’t matter. Go on now, and eat.”

“It’s my fault,” I said miserably, then wished I hadn’t. If anyone found out what Franny had proposed to me, she might be in serious trouble, and even worse, I’d be implicated along with her. But now Rachel was watching me, waiting for some explanation, and so I rushed on. “I’m afraid we had rather a bad disagreement today. She’s not very happy with me at the moment.”

“Oh,” Rachel dismissed it sweetly, “she’ll get over it. She’s just touchy. I think it’s the age. I remember days like that—one up, one down. Oh, I’d hate to be that young again. It’s such a scary time.” Her eyes clouded a moment then regarded me with forced cheerfulness. “By tomorrow she won’t even remember it.”

“I hope you’re right.” I was relieved not to have been pressed further, and as I got up from the table I caught Micah stealing a look at me. He blushed and quickly looked away. We had the kitchen clean in no time, even without Franny’s help. As I dried the dishes I listened to Rachel and Girlie singing silly, senseless songs that made Girlie double over with glee. Even Rachel looked younger as they sang, and I couldn’t help wondering as I watched her softly animated face if there had ever been a time when she hadn’t had cares and responsibilities. Somehow I felt she had been born old and wise with that inner serenity I envied. And I knew I could never be like her, playing her role in this strange, secretive family. I frowned, remembering what Franny had said only moments before, “…
you keep trying to protect everybody.
”

Girlie’s shriek of laughter brought me back to the present, and I glanced over at Micah who was poking his fork disinterestedly into a wedge of apple pie. He avoided my eyes, and I wished there was some way I could talk to him alone. What had happened since his frantic warning to me? Why hadn’t he approached me further about leaving? Even Rachel was beginning to think Dewey’s lateness unusual, and Girlie’s grim prediction kept going round and round in my head—that Dewey was never coming at all.

As the songfest ended and Rachel rolled down her sleeves again, I thought I’d finally have my chance to confront Micah, but much to my frustration, Rachel shepherded all of us into the parlor where Seth was moodily smoking his pipe and staring out the window. He pointedly ignored me and gave no response to any kind when Rachel sat down at the organ and asked me if I could play.

“No,” I told her, trying to catch Micah’s eye. “But I’d love it if
you
would.”

“Oh, I’m not really that good,” Rachel said modestly, “and this old thing’s so out of tune you can’t hardly tell what the song’s supposed to be. But…” her fingers danced lovingly over the keys, “still,” she smiled softly, “it does soothe me to play it now and then….”

She glanced at Seth who continued staring out into the darkness, and I thought I detected a sigh of disappointment. It was Micah who looked up from his spot on the floor in front of the fire, where he and Girlie were trying to spin a top across the braided rug.

“Play, Mama. Please.”

The look she threw him was shy, grateful. “Well…” She began nervously at first, her hands poised over the keys, feet pumping, humming a little under her breath, and then, like ripples in water, the notes rose and spread, swelling into a hollow discord that was sweet to hear. For the next hour we stayed just as we were—me snuggled beneath a quilt, Micah and Girlie lost in their tedious game, Seth staring and smoking, and Rachel, dear Rachel, going from one song to another without hardly a break in between, her fingers flying, her voice carrying the music beyond the off-key confines of the organ. The fire was so warm…the music so restful…after a while my eyes drooped and I felt myself floating on a safe cloud…