Scarecrow (4 page)

From the location of the sun, I gathered that my room faced west, and from the outbuildings scattered below me, I surmised that I must be at the back of the house. There was no lawn to speak of—just patches of bare brown earth as dull as the split rail fence that wove along the tangled tree lines. Off to my left the barn was overhung by low-sweeping maples, and several yards behind that sat a dilapidated and very noisy chicken house. There were pigs grunting somewhere, the soft plodding of hoofs, an occasional bleating that could have been sheep or goats. A broad, flat tree stump squatted in one corner of the clearing, an axe imbedded firmly in its stained surface.

I turned away with a sinking feeling. The first thing I had to do was try to find a way out of here. If I could only find out where
here
was,

The house lay quiet around me, a pleasant, friendly calm. All the rooms stood open off the hallway, and daylight shone through windows on both sides of the house, illuminating what hadn’t been visible to me last night. Now I could see a room directly across the hall from my own, and I wondered who it belonged to. Taking a cautious peek inside, I guessed at once that it must be Franny’s, for there were several dresses and a nightgown tossed in a tangle across the carelessly made-up bed. The room next to mine was obviously Girlie’s, but the last bedroom across the hall from hers was so neat and yet so empty of belongings that it had no personality of any kind. I stared at it for several moments and wondered if it belonged to Seth and Rachel. All the rooms were furnished like mine: bed, night table, trunk, straight chair. There were no closets, only wooden pegs on the walls. In Girlie’s room an old sock doll and some wooden pull-toys littered the floor; other than that I saw no other toys or decorations or pictures of any kind. Remembering Kerry’s room at home made me sad—all his stuffed animals and building sets, the games and books and miniature cars and trucks—all the faithful playthings still sitting just as he’d left them. Forcing back the memories, I went downstairs.

I was surprised at how good I actually felt this morning. The more I moved about, the steadier I seemed to get, and the dull, persistent aching that had plagued my whole body yesterday was nearly gone. I even felt hungry. I pushed at the bandage drooping above my eye and called to Rachel as I made a quick search of the lower hall. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, and as I hunted, I soon discovered two more rooms which I hadn’t noticed last night. The first, in the front of the house and directly across the hall from the parlor, appeared to be a larger, more formal kind of sitting room. Inching open the door, I was at once struck by its coldness—not only its temperature, but also its stiff, somber furnishings. A fine patina of dust told me the room had been shut up for some time.

Rubbing the chill from my arms, I left the room as before and made my way to the back of the house. I could see now that it was constructed on pretty much of a square plan—four rooms above, four below, each level divided east to west by a central hall. Opposite the kitchen and next to the small parlor, I found the last room, its door slightly ajar. Tapping softly, I waited for a response, then peeked inside to discover a tiny, cluttered storeroom. Barrels and boxes were stacked about—huge bags of sugar and flour, shelves of empty mason jars, piles of old boots and coats, a treadle sewing machine, several broken chairs, a rolltop desk. In one corner a pile of blankets served as a makeshift pallet. There were also several shirts and a pair of jeans hanging from wall pegs—definitely male clothes, but not so tall or large as Seth might wear. I guessed right away that this must be where Micah was staying. Backing out quickly, I started into the kitchen, then paused, smiling, as I looked around the room.

Sunlight streamed through the open windows, checkering the worn wooden floor. There were no built-in countertops; a pie safe and a small table stood against one wall. Near the back door there was a washstand with two full buckets of water beneath it. A huge planked table took up the very center of the room, chairs placed neatly around. A tin coffeepot simmered fragrantly at the back of a black, wood-burning stove, and dirty dishes stacked to one side told me I’d missed an early breakfast.

Going out to the porch I peered across the yard. The place seemed deserted, but from somewhere in the distance I could hear a woman singing and tools clattering. I crossed the yard to my left, bypassing the path to the privy, and followed the sounds through a well-trampled barnyard. The air was autumn-crisp, pungent with straw and manure, mud and animal sweat. As I entered the barn there was a soft whirring of wings and dust as birds fluttered high into the rafters.

It was so dim that at first I didn’t see the boy bending over the corncrib at the back of the barn. He looked younger than Franny, and the way the light filtered down hazily over his blond hair made it seem as if a halo rested there. I moved forward slowly with a smile.

“Hello,” I said. “You must be Micah.”

I wasn’t prepared for his reaction.

He glanced up, startled, and went instantly pale, his mouth dropping open as he stumbled backwards into the corner.

“Girlie…no—” he said, and thrust out one hand to steady himself against the wall. That’s when I saw that his other hand was missing.

I stood there helplessly, not understanding what I’d done to upset him so, only knowing that the poor boy wanted so desperately to escape that I thought he might bolt for the rear door behind him.

“I’m…sorry….” I stammered. “I shouldn’t have come up on you like that—I’m really so sorry.”

“Micah!”

To my relief I recognized Franny’s voice right outside, and a second later she joined us.

“There you are! I’ve been wanting you to meet Pam here. She’s a lot more fun, now she’s talking and moving around.” Franny’s burst of laughter stirred up the birds and the dust and a chicken in the hay that I hadn’t even noticed. “Micah? You hear me?” She stepped forward with a frown, and Micah, as if pulled slowly from a trance, looked at her in bewilderment. “Oh, I swear! This boy here!” Franny gave him a playful shove. “Always daydreaming, never hears a thing you say half the time.”

Micah still seemed disoriented. He wiped his hand on one grimy thigh and flashed me a glance before looking away. “Pleasure,” he mumbled.

“He’s shy,” Franny sighed. “That’s probably the only thing he’ll say to you the whole time you’re here. Him and Girlie, two of a kind. Well, those clothes sure do look good on you, don’t they? Rachel said the ones you came in were such a mess, they couldn’t even be mended. And you’re looking better, too.”

“Yes, I feel better.” I stole another look at Micah, but he was backing away into the shadows.

“That’s real good. Come on with me. We’ll go out to the field while Rachel’s getting your breakfast.”

“But I really don’t want her to go to any trouble. I saw you’d already eaten, and I can certainly wait—”

“Don’t be silly. Rachel, she loves to cook, it’s no bother. Come on.”

I smiled at Micah who gave a nod in my direction and went distractedly back to his work. Franny was chuckling as we went out into the sunshine.

“He’s impossible, won’t even look you in the eye. Course, he’s never seen many girls way up here. Guess you can’t blame him for being bashful.”

“But there’s you and Rachel—”

“Why, we’re not girls, we’re just family!” Franny laughed. “And if you don’t think there’s a
big
difference, just ask him.”

“So Micah’s your brother?” I asked and wondered why Franny looked so amused.

“No, no.” Franny giggled at my look of dismay. “You got it all messed up now, see?” She began to count on her fingers. “Micah—he’s my nephew.”

“Nephew!”

“I know, it’s real mixed up, being that we’re only five years apart. But no, he’s Rachel and Seth’s. I’m Rachel’s sister.”

My mind was racing to catch up. “And Micah’s five years younger than you?”

“Yep. But we were raised like brother and sister. He doesn’t act like my nephew, and I sure don’t feel like any old aunt.”

“Then, Girlie—”

“Is Rachel and Seth’s. She’s six.”

I knew I looked surprised. “There’s quite an age difference between Girlie and Micah, then.”

“I don’t know why they never had more kids,” Franny shrugged. “Rachel and me, we came from a big family—twelve kids. When she got married, she didn’t want to leave me, so I came with her. Course, this is all stuff she’s told me—I was pretty little, so I can’t remember everything.”

I tried to picture Franny as a little girl. “Your mother must have missed you terribly.”

“No, she died when I was born. So I was the youngest and a girl and not much use to anybody. Rachel, she was ten years older, and she was always like my
real
mama. If I’d been a boy, I reckon they wouldn’t have let me go with her, I’d been needed to help out on the farm. But this way, it just made sense for Rachel to take me off their hands.”

“And do you see them now? Your family?”

Franny gave a skip, plucked a dead weed and tossed it carelessly into the air. “Never seen any of them since. Never heard from them. Reckon they didn’t remember us once we left. Not that it matters. They’re all dead now anyhow.”

My glance showed my shock. “Oh, Franny, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It happened a long time ago.” She looked away, walking a little faster. “I think there was a fire or something in the night. We never talked about them. Seth never wanted us to.”

“But still…it’s such a tragedy.”

“I never really knew them, though, so I never thought much about having a daddy. I just turned eighteen this year, but you’d think I was still like Girlie, the way Rachel and Seth try to boss me. Oh, Rachel, she’s not so bad—Lord, you never hear Rachel raise her voice—but Seth!” She linked her arm through mine, starting to say something more, then waved instead as Rachel came out the back door. “Hey! We’re gonna see the scarecrows—wanna come?”

“Pamela should eat something!” Rachel called back.

“Oh, don’t do that now!” I insisted. “Please come!”

Rachel hesitated a moment, nodded, then hurried across the yard to join us.

Together we started up the first rise behind the house, threading our way over a narrow path through the trees. I couldn’t help being relieved as we broke through the woods at last—the memory of that figure I’d seen below my window was still unpleasantly fresh in my mind. Rachel and Franny each took one of my hands, and we chatted as we walked, lazily swinging arms and laughing as the grazing cows stared at us with mild annoyance.

“Not too far,” Rachel cautioned as I slipped unexpectedly on some loose stones. “Don’t overdo your first day.”

“Oh, now, she’s okay,” Franny muttered. “Mother hen—I swear! Watching everything a body does every single minute—”

“She’s still weak,” Rachel said firmly.

“Really, I’m fine,” I insisted.

“See? She’s fine.” Franny made a face which Rachel ignored. “I told you so.”

“Is that your garden over there? I’ve never seen one so big.”

“No, I reckon you wouldn’t,” Rachel said, almost sympathetically, I thought. “We grow just about all we need here.”

“And if you don’t think forty or so quarts of green beans—
and
tomatoes—
and
pickles—
and
a million other things don’t get boring to put up!” Franny rolled her eyes, and I chuckled.

“But where do you get your other food? Things you can’t grow yourselves?”

“We butcher some cows and hogs,” Rachel said. “And we got plenty chickens.”

“But you don’t have electricity. How do you keep it all from spoiling?”

Rachel and Franny looked amused at my ignorance. “Well, there’s the cellar,” Rachel nodded. “And things always keep better once the weather turns cold—”

“We smoke the meat,” Franny broke in. “We bury cabbages and stuff in straw. Don’t you city folks know
anything?”

“Franny!” Rachel scolded, hiding a smile. “It’s a real good feeling knowing you’ve done all this yourself, Pamela.”

“It’s hard,” Franny said flatly, her eyes going dark. “Back-breaking hard. And you can never be sure the land’ll come through for you.”

Rachel looked displeased. “You know that’s not true. Seth always says if you’re true to the land—”

“I know, I know,” Franny waved her hand as if she’d heard it all before. “If you’re true to the land, then it’ll be true to you. But we
do
take care of it, and there’s still rainy spells and droughts and windstorms—”

“Now, Franny,” Rachel teased, “you haven’t starved yet, have you?”

“No, not yet, but I reckon I could most anytime. Next year maybe.” Franny was stubborn. “I don’t think the land gives two hoots about what we want. Why should it? It’ll always be here. We won’t.”

“Is that the scarecrow?” I tried to distract them, and Franny cheered up at once.

“Oh, yes, but you can’t really see it good from here—wait till you’re close up!”

As she broke free and bounded ahead of us, Rachel shook her head apologetically. “She’s restless. High-headed. All she talks about is what she can’t have.”

“Which is?”

“A new life somewhere else. Something she doesn’t know anything about at all.”

“And you…don’t approve,” I guessed.

“It’s not me. I had dreams once….” Rachel looked almost sad, then added, “It’s Seth. He’ll never let her go.”

“But surely he can’t stop her.” I looked at her, surprised. “She
is
eighteen, and—”

“You don’t know Seth,” Rachel said simply. “What’s right where you come from doesn’t mean a whole lot here. Even if she
could
get away, how would she live? We got no money. Nobody out there to look after her. She’s not smart—never had any proper schooling. She can’t do anything.”

“Well, there’s lots of ways she could get help if she’s really serious about—”

“Oh, Seth, he means well,” she went on as if I’d never spoken. “He thinks he’s protecting her from the big, bad world…they argue all the time.”

I nodded slowly, glancing up as Rachel gave a soft laugh. She was so pretty when she laughed…that slash of puckered flesh on her cheek not quite so horrible somehow…and yet her lips tightened, steeled against old, old pain. “Franny’s so silly sometimes—so high-strung—I do love her, but it’s nice to have another woman to talk to.”