Scarecrow (22 page)

“Seth—” I gasped, but it was gone. As quickly as I’d seen it, it had disappeared, and I looked fearfully at the lantern to see if the change had been only in my mind or a trick of the lamplight. I felt my breath come out, and with it, the very dregs of fear as Seth turned slowly away, his features lost in shadow.

“I put that scar on her face,” he said softly. “I did that to her.”

“You?” For a moment I could only stare at the rigid lines of his back, at his head angled forward onto his chest. “But—
how
?”

The sigh came from deep, deep within him. He sank down onto the floor, his back against the wall, and stared at me, his eyes glittering like black, black stars.

“We were just kids. Our folks had been neighbors for years and years. Back then the homeplace was way at the other end of our property, and Rachel’s family lived where Dewey lives now.” He thought a moment, remembering. “We used to help out a lot on each other’s farms. Rachel was always tagging after me, trying to get my attention, getting in my way. I couldn’t be bothered with her. She was just a little pest, and I…”

His shoulders moved in resignation. He shut his eyes and turned his head toward the wall.

“One day she wouldn’t leave me alone, and I got mad at her. I warned her not to follow me. I had work to do, and my pa said he’d skin me alive if I wasn’t done by suppertime.”

My heart grew heavy, watching him. His voice sank low, strangely mechanical.

“She kept at me…and kept at me. I was clearing some brush on the side of a hill by our house. And I pushed her.”

For a long while there was silence. In the flickering light his face looked like stone.

“I pushed her,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to push her so hard, but she lost her balance and before I could catch her, she slid down in the gully.”

“Like…Micah,” I murmured.

“Yes. Like Micah.”

I closed my eyes, the scene all too horribly vivid. When I looked at him again, he was leaning forward, one long leg drawn up to his chest.

“She didn’t die. But the scar on her face never healed. And kids—they can be so cruel. They made fun of her after that. Called her names. Acted scared when they’d see her coming. After so much of that, I reckon a person starts believing she really
is
a freak.”

“And you…felt responsible.”

He let the remark go by and ran one hand tiredly through his hair. “It never got any better, even when she got older. They never stopped laughing at her. They made things hard for her family. And then one day some boys came in and caught her in the barn. Nobody was around to help her. And after they tormented her for a while,” he finished quietly, “they raped her.”

“Oh, my God.” Through my tears I saw him lift his head, eyes flicking to the ceiling.

“Her pa…well, he just couldn’t take the shame anymore.”

“So you married her.”

“Yes, I married her.” The sound in his throat was low and bitter. “And wasn’t that damn noble of me, saving her from something that was all my fault to begin with.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, a horrible accident. What happened to Rachel after that could have happened whether she was scarred or not. It could have happened to anyone.”

“But it didn’t.”

For a long, long time he said nothing. His eyes closed wearily, and his face wrestled with some old, invisible pain. The barn sighed and shifted around us, and Seth sighed and shifted in the shadows.

“So now you know,” he said simply. “Now you know how it is with Rachel and me.”

Our eyes met. And as I stared at him, as he came slowly toward me, something in his gaze smoldered and held me with a power that was almost pleading.

He leaned over me. His voice was low.

“Stand up,” he said. “I want to see you in the light.”

My body, my mind—every part of me cried out in fear, that he would hurt me, that this was wrong—that someone would walk in and find us together—that someone might be listening at the door.

But his arms were around me, lifting me, and as my body rose wetly into the full glow of the lantern, it seemed to shimmer golden, catching and reflecting Seth’s eyes. My arms went up to cover myself, but he pushed them gently down to my sides, stepping back a little, watching me, until suddenly, helplessly, I thought I would go mad with my own desperate need of him. He began to undress, boots and socks…jacket…shirt…pants…all tossed upon the floor, until he stood before me, his body a beautiful shadow, a beautiful light, hiding nothing…nothing…

I went into his arms and the world was all here, among the hay and the warmth and the night of rain washed autumn, and he was more passionate than he had been before, and more gentle.

“I want you,” I whispered, though I didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to ever admit it…never…never…it was wrong…so very, terribly wrong…to want it yet to know it could never, never be…

We lay exhausted in each other’s arms, and I could feel his body gauging the time, preparing to take its leave of me, and
no, it’s wrong, how could we have done this, how could we have done this horrible thing…

He rolled over, propping himself above me, looking at me a long time without speaking. His eyes for the first time seemed sad. “You’re thinking it’s just the whiskey. Why I’m here with you now. Whiskey and a house full of death.”

A guilty look escaped me before I could stop it. I lowered my eyes. “It’s all right to cry for Micah,” I said. “It’s all right to do what you have to do to get through it.”

“Micah…” The name seemed to jar something inside of him. He said it again, more slowly this time, and as his voice trailed to a whisper, I saw that his eyes glistened wetly. “I loved him,” he said softly.

I watched as he pulled on his clothes, as he shrugged into his jacket and paused at the edge of the lamplight. “You’re thinking I won’t remember this in the morning,” he said huskily. He strode to the door and put his hand to the latch, and when he finally spoke again he sounded drained and almost frightened. “I wish to hell I wouldn’t.”

I shuddered at his words. But I didn’t know why.

M
Y DREAMS WERE FULL
of Seth.

Seth’s hands, Seth’s voice, his body molded against mine, his lips whispering into my hair,
Pam…I need you…I need you…

“I need you, Pam! Please wake up!”

I sat up with a scream and immediately felt a hand clamp down over my mouth. As my heart exploded in terror, the figure beside my bed whispered again—

“Pam! Wake up! I need you!”

“Franny,” I said groggily, “is that you?”

“Yes! For heaven’s sake, be quiet. There’s something out there!”

My mind snapped back into focus, jolting me into a sitting position, and as Franny’s fingers dug into my arms, she made a sound like a sob.

“It’s out there, Pam—can’t you hear it?”

She pressed herself against me and I listened, straining my ears into the soft whine of wind, the muffled patter of rain beyond my open window. A distant growl of thunder faded slowly to the north, and from somewhere below us the house gave a restless creak.

“No, I don’t hear—”

“Ssh! Oh, God, there it is again.” Franny’s voice rose in terror and my arm tightened instinctively around her shoulders.

I
had
heard something just then—something I couldn’t quite identify—something almost too quiet, too stealthy, to be part of the other night sounds. Quickly I released her, and though she grabbed wildly for my arm, I scooted to the window, pressing myself to the wall on one side, so that if anything was looking up and could see in the dark, I couldn’t be spotted from below.

The yard was alive with shadows. It slithered and shifted like a pit full of black snakes, and where the moon should have been, the sky was draped with clouds. The wind flailed the trees, bending them nearly double, thrashing the ground and chafing the branches so that they rattled like old bones. I stood there, holding my breath, trying to pick out distinct shapes along the ground, but it was impossible to separate one shadow from another. I had a sudden eerie feeling that it was all an illusion—that if I had tried to go downstairs and step outside, I would have fallen off into black, swirling nothingness.

Behind me Franny was hissing from the bed, begging me to come back. I held up my hand to silence her, then squinted my eyes and peered hard in the direction of the woods. For just one second—one split second—I thought I’d seen something move, disentangle itself from the shadows then blend in again like black liquid soaked up by the night…

“I heard it, Pam! It was
awful.”

“Heard what?” I mumbled, keeping my eyes on that one spot below. But it was no use. The trees swayed as one; nothing broke free or moved out where I could see it. Nervously I moved away from the window, trying to face Franny with a calm I didn’t feel. “All right now. Tell me what happened.”

She was shaking so badly that I had to hold her arms to quiet her, and even then her voice trembled so that I could scarcely make out what she was saying.

“Franny, stay calm and start again.”

“You didn’t hear it? It was horrible—I’m scared—
scared
—”

“Scared of what? Calm down so I can understand you.” In desperation I handed her the glass of water on my night table. “Here. Drink this. Slowly.” I watched her take the glass, the way it shook at her lips, spilling liquid down the front of her nightgown.

“I was…in bed,” she stammered, but at least her voice sounded stronger now and I could make out most of her words. “I was…asleep, I think—don’t know how long—”

“That’s all right, it doesn’t matter. What happened?”

“I—” She took a deep breath and drank more water. After several sips her hands seemed less shaky. “I woke up ’cause I heard this noise—”

“What kind of noise?”

“I don’t know…a…sort of…
shuffling
noise.” Her voice began to rise again, edged with panic. “You know, the way people walk when they’re stumbling around…like…like it was sick maybe…or…” Even in the darkness I could see her face go deathly pale. I reached for her hands but they were clutching the glass so tightly that I couldn’t even get a fingerhold to pry them loose. “Sick…or…”

“Or what?” I asked her slowly, hating the way her eyes suddenly pinned mine, bright with uncontrollable fear.

“Or…you know…” her voice sank to a whisper that sounded like a shout in the black, black, room.” Or…
dead
.”

I watched her as in a dream, my mind recoiling from the utter terror on her face, the dark holes of her eyes in her too-white face. “Franny…” I whispered.

“You
know,
don’t you?” she said dully, her gaze fixed on mine. “But you don’t want to believe she brought him back.”

And then, to my horror, I watched her hand tighten around the glass, squeezing it so that the glass exploded into hundreds of tiny slivers that sliced into her skin and showered over my bed.

“Franny!”

I hadn’t meant to yell so loudly, but suddenly there were voices out in the hall and people running, and Seth burst through my door with Rachel right behind him. In the glow of the candle that Rachel held, Seth’s face was angry, but hers was frightened.

“What the hell’s going on?”

As I turned helplessly toward Franny, her eyes grew frantic, begging me not to tell.

“Why…I…we…” I stammered ridiculously, and Seth, on some instinct of his own, crossed to the window and peered out.

“Franny, my dear, what’s happened?” Rachel was there on the bed with us, patting her sister’s shoulder, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and wrapping it around Franny’s bloody hand. I jumped off the bed and took my shawl from the chair, slipping it on as I tried to concoct some plausible explanation.

“It was a nightmare—” I began.

“—sleepwalking,” Franny finished.

We both broke off and looked at each other. Seth turned back from the window and stared at us, folding his arms across his chest.

“I had a nightmare while I was sleepwalking, I reckon,” Franny said lamely.

“I was just trying to calm her down so she wouldn’t wake you,” I added.

“I got turned around. I thought I was in my own room, but—” Franny waved her bandaged hand vaguely.

“What happened to your hand?” Seth asked.

“I knocked my glass off the table,” I spoke up apologetically. “Franny cut herself trying to help me. I’m sorry, Rachel—”

“Mercy, it was just an old thing, don’t think more about it,” Rachel shushed me, then added in dismay. “Why, there’s glass on your bed!”

“I’ll shake it out,” I said hurriedly, not wanting to explain how it could have shattered so as to fall there. “Franny, why don’t you get back to bed if you’re—”

But Franny wasn’t listening to me. She was staring at my doorway as if she’d seen a ghost. In spite of myself I jumped at the shadow forming there, and immediately heard Rachel call out.

“Girlie, go back to bed now, honey. Franny just had a bad dream.”

For the flash of an instant it was a bizarre tableau—Rachel half rising from the bed, sickly yellow candlelight guttering across her misshapen face; Seth poised as if he would fight any new dangers with his bare hands; Franny staring in undisguised terror at the round, shining eyes that watched her from the hallway. It was I who broke the spell at last, going to Girlie, taking her by one chilly hand.

“Come on, I’ll tuck you in,” I said and led her off to her room.

As we went down the hall, a flash of lightning split the sky. Girlie’s room sputtered like a weak lightbulb as more lightning flashed; then went black. I pulled the covers up to her chin and rested my hand on her forehead.

“Girlie,” I said softly, hesitantly, for I wasn’t really sure I wanted to ask, wanted to know, even wanted to acknowledge the possibility of such a preposterous thing. “Girlie…when you told me…that Micah couldn’t sleep. What did you mean?”

A rumble of thunder trembled the walls around me, trembled my hand upon her large, wide forehead.

“Girlie…can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Then do you remember saying to me that Micah couldn’t sleep…can you tell me why you said that?”