Scarecrow (8 page)

Yet even as those thoughts hammered at me, I felt guilty. These people had saved my life—no matter
how
it had come about—and as for being stuck here, I really wasn’t, was I? There was a wagon. A road that led somewhere. They just didn’t want me to travel yet. Not until they were sure I was really better. And hadn’t my reaction to the scarecrow today
proved
how unnerved I still was?
You’ll never get home.

With mounting uneasiness I walked to the window, opening it wide, leaning out into the cold air until I felt chilled to the bone. No one knew I was here. I hadn’t told anyone about this trip. No one knew where I was supposed to be traveling or how long I should be away…When would anyone even realize I was gone? How long until someone got worried about me? How distant and unreal the world seemed now…how strangely remote…like a world I’d never known except in some crazy mixed-up dream.

I froze.

And even as I gripped the windowsill and felt the gooseflesh up my spine, even as I told myself it wasn’t so, I saw the figure down below pull itself slowly into the woods.

Fear made me numb. I couldn’t tear my eyes from those terrible swaying trees. The minutes crawled by…nothing…no sound…no movement…no one…
nothing.
Only the pale moon dribbling over the hillsides and the scraggly outlines of bare branches and the silhouettes of rooftops hunched against the sky.

I ran my tongue over my lips, pried my fingers from the sill, began to shiver uncontrollably. I didn’t want to be in this room by myself.

I fumbled for the doorknob and let myself out into the hall. The floor was so cold—as cold as the fear coursing through my veins—and I felt my way blindly across the passageway.
If I can just get to Franny’s room, I know I’ll be all right—just to hear her voice, her laugh
—
we’ll joke about it—what I thought I saw—and then of course it’ll be all right, it won’t really have happened at all…

I knew Franny’s room was right across the hall. I could see the doorway in my mind, but not in the nighttime shadows. My hands slid along the wall, and I sighed in relief, moving swiftly now, feeling for the handle. This
had
to be Franny’s room—here—for surely I hadn’t walked so many steps, only it was so very dark tonight, darker than I remembered it being before, and as I felt the knob turn at last, I scarcely managed a quick knock before I thrust the door forward and fell inside.

“Franny! Wake up! I just—”

The words died in my throat as I saw them there in bed together.

Rachel hadn’t heard me come in, but Seth was starting up, one arm outstretched for the unlit lamp on the night table. As I froze in disbelief, he, too, held his position, and for one endless moment neither of us moved—I saw my hands out in front of me, the moonlight gleaming across his bare chest, and Rachel’s hair in a dark, tangled stain across the pillows. And Seth’s eyes, like an animal’s eyes, glistening and watchful in the dark, the thick shadow of his beard, the lean, sinewy curve of his upper arm extended—and then finally, as he lowered himself back into the covers, only then was I able to fully realize what I’d done.

“Oh…oh, my, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Seth? What is it?” Rachel roused herself groggily, looking first at her husband, then at me. “Pamela, what is it?” And still, even in sleep, the kindness, the sweetness, never left her voice.

“Oh, Rachel, I’ve made a terrible mistake. I thought this was Franny’s room. I—”

“You look scared to death, Pamela, what’s wrong?” And Rachel sat up now, pushing back her hair with one hand, pushing back the covers with the other.

“It’s nothing—”

“It must be
something
—you’re shaking like a leaf!” And Rachel was beside me, arms around me, comforting, while Seth sat there in the moonlight and watched and said nothing.

“I…I thought I saw someone—”

“Saw someone! Why, bless your heart, where?” Rachel hugged me, and I could smell her hair, the soap still there, and Seth, his nearness still there.

I looked away. “Out my window. I know you said it was probably nothing, but I did—I really did—see something moving in the trees—”

Seth groaned, and Rachel turned on him.

“Seth, you go right now and see what it is!”

“It’s nothing,” he said flatly. “You and I both know it’s nothing.”

“I don’t know that. Can’t you see she’s scared to death? If she’s this scared, it must be something. You go look. Right now.” Rachel tucked me under her arm, and I heard blankets being thrown back, a body uncoiling. I turned back toward the door.

“I am so sorry, Rachel. I—”

“Don’t be silly. I’m glad you woke us up. It’s awful to be alone when you’re scared.” Rachel gave me another hug and added, “Why don’t you stay here with me till Seth gets back?”

“No, really, I’ve bothered you enough. Please go back to sleep—I’d feel better about it if you would.”

“There’s not a thing to feel bad about,” Rachel assured me, and I heard Seth sliding on his pants, pulling his shirt from the chair. “You try to get some sleep now. And don’t worry, Pamela—we’re here. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

I closed the door behind me, my heart pounding against my ribs, and for several seconds I just stood there, trembling, before I started across the hall again to my room.

I kept seeing that one single shadow disappearing into the trees…

And Seth’s eyes watching me from his bed…

But it wasn’t until I passed the door next to mine that I heard the sound.

A high-pitched, haunting sound…

Like an old, warped record…

Or the unnatural realness of a talking doll…

Girlie laughing.

“I
T WASN’T ANYTHING,”
Rachel said for the third time and passed me a pitcher of syrup. I was glad I’d missed the family breakfast this morning. I didn’t think I could have faced Seth after last night. “Seth looked all around and never saw a soul,” Rachel added consolingly.

“Probably the wind you heard,” Franny spoke up, obviously informed about the situation. “It kicked up something fierce in the night. Woke me, too, with all that howling and moaning.”

“Yes, probably.” I felt listless and anything but hungry, and last night’s fears still played at the edges of my mind.

Rachel pushed my plate closer, reminding me to eat. “There’s frost this morning—Seth says he wouldn’t be surprised if we have an early snow.” She paused by the back door and wiped her hands absently on her apron. “My, it seems like summer surely went by fast—”

“Before I even knew!” Franny interjected. “And all we did was work, work, work. I get sick of all this work around here.”

Rachel gave her an indulgent smile. “Things’ll be calmer now, come cold weather.”

“Is it that much different in winter? I asked. I was trying to pay attention to the conversation, wondering when I could tactfully mention going home.

“Well,
we
still do the same old stuff,” Franny spoke up, “but Seth and Micah have more time to be inside. No crops to mess with.”

“Mercy, you make it sound like they’re shiftless all these cold months,” Rachel chuckled. “There’s the animals to take care of, and things needed fixing around here—all the things they don’t have time to do when they’re out in the fields.”

“Well,” Franny grinned and popped another bite of leftover biscuit into her mouth. “The Lord should’ve made six days of rest and one for chores. Rachel, your dishrag’s on the floor!”

I looked on, bewildered, as Rachel threw a pinch of salt over her left shoulder.

“Why, Pam,” Franny giggled at my dismay, “don’t you know it’s bad luck to drop a dishrag?” As she and Rachel exchanged amused glances, I couldn’t tell if they were teasing me or not. “And if you rub sow’s milk in your eyes, you can see the wind,” Franny added seriously.

Rachel shook her head. “I reckon that’s going a little too far. But lots of those sayings are really true and—”

“If you put a knife under your pillow, it keeps nightmares away,” Franny broke in.

At the mention of nightmares, I clenched my hands together, but Rachel was still shaking her head.

“Franny,” she sighed, “how you do go on.”

“And you really believe they’re true?” I asked.

“Some of them.” Rachel thought a moment. “I just don’t figure it’s smart to take chances. Like…when you start off on a real important trip, you shouldn’t ever look back as you’re leaving.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated. “’Cause…something terrible might happen.” She frowned at some inner thought and Franny laughed.

“Yeah…like somebody might call you back to do some chores!”

“And speaking of chores,” Rachel turned back to her with a tolerant smile, “Seth’s burning the last cornfield today—says you might as well tear down the scarecrows and he’ll take them along.”

“But I don’t want to tear mine down—he’s the best one I ever made!” Franny slammed down her fist with a look of despair.

“Now you know what Seth says,” Rachel began, but Franny interrupted.

“Just tell him I’ll bring mine along myself. He can tear down the others if he wants.”

“Why are you taking them all down?” I wrapped my fingers around my coffee cup to warm them and took a deep breath of rich steam. “I thought the whole idea was to put them up.”

“Harvest’s all in,” Franny explained, “so we burn them afterward. Put them up every spring, take them down every fall. It’s just something we always do.”

“Is there some special reason?” I asked, and noticed how Rachel promptly busied herself gathering up the dishes.

“It’s Seth,” she said quickly. “Seth makes us do it.”

“Oh, you know how he is,” Franny grunted. “If something’s not being useful around here, out it goes.”

Rachel’s voice was hesitant. “Well, there really isn’t any need for them, is there, once the crops are all in?”

Franny gave a derisive laugh. “If
you
couldn’t work around here anymore, he’d probably just get rid of you, too.”

“Franny!” For a split second Rachel looked shocked, but as Franny laughed again, her face relaxed uncertainly. “Well, after all, they
are
only scarecrows—”

“Girlie doesn’t think so,” Franny said bluntly. She helped herself to more cream, but Rachel’s shoulders had gone unusually stiff.

“Girlie’s just a child,” Rachel said, turning her back and running a rag over one end of the table.

“Look at you, you’ve already wiped that off.” Franny shook her head. “Lord, Rachel, this house is already so clean I can’t hardly stand to be in it—and look at you, going over everything twice!” She grinned and added, “And anyhow Girlie’s not
just
a child—”

Rachel whirled, her face set and pale. “She likes to play games. She does lots of make-believe things.” She looked at me, almost pleadingly. “All little girls do, you know.”

I nodded, for it seemed to be what Rachel wanted me to do. She turned again, slumping over the stove, staring out the window with an expression I couldn’t see. Uncomfortably I glanced at Franny, who now seemed eager to change the subject.

“Well, you haven’t seen
my
scarecrow yet!” she announced, though her cheeriness had taken on a rather forced note. “And mine’s better than all the others put together.”

“Girlie thinks everything is real,” Rachel said softly, and she looked back over her shoulder at us with a slow, sad smile. “Her doll…the flowers…rocks…it’s ’cause she’s special, is all. She’s a very special little girl.”

She met Franny’s eyes; they held for the briefest instant, then Franny jumped up, knocking over her chair with a clatter.

“Come on, Pam, you just see for yourself if what I say isn’t true. My scarecrow’s the best of all!”

“Wait, now, she’s not going anywhere till she eats a good breakfast,” Rachel drew up, her normal self once more, and surveyed my nearly full plate. “You
do
feel better this morning, don’t you, Pamela? You
look
better.”

“Well enough to go into town,” I tried hopefully, but Rachel was picking up the overturned chair and didn’t seem to hear. I tried again. “Do you think I could take a bath? I
know
I’d feel better then.”

“Well, that’s easy to fix,” Rachel nodded in the direction of the porch. “There’s a tub out there. We can bring it in later and put it by the stove. Unless maybe you’d rather use the pond?” She laughed at my expression, and Franny joined in.

“Okay, hurry up and eat, and then I’ll show you a
real
scarecrow,” Franny promised.

Twenty minutes later we were cutting through the yard, heading in a new direction away from the barn. Almost at once I spotted a thick grove of fruit trees cradled by sloping pastures to the east and south, but separated from the side yard of the house by only a narrowing strip of dirt road. My heart caught in my chest. This was the road that led around past the front of the house and eventually to Cranston. And there was the wagon in the tall, dead weeds.

Franny followed my gaze and snorted. “That old thing—about to fall apart! Held together with spit and a prayer.”

“Do you know how to hitch it up?”

“Sure I do, but it’s broken now.”

“Broken!”

“Yep, it busted an axle.”

I could feel my heart sinking. “Can’t it be fixed?”

“Oh, Seth’ll get around to it sometime, I reckon. Probably this winter, like we told you. I surely couldn’t fix it—could you?”

I shook my head glumly, hurrying after Franny to catch up.

A patina of frost still lingered on the ground, although the sun was full in a cloudless sky. As we entered the orchard, my breath hung in small puffs in the air and I clenched my shawl around me, but Franny hardly seemed to notice the cold at all. She plunged ahead between the trees, chattering incessantly, but I was winded and stopped abruptly on the path.

“It’s a lot prettier here in the summer when everything’s ripe—oh, and the peaches smell so nice—come on, it’s not much farther,” Franny grinned back at me. “Right on the other side of these apple trees here.”

I shook my head, unable yet to speak, cold slicing through my lungs. I knew I should be interested in what Franny was showing me, but there were too many other things on my mind right now—things besides the wagon and getting away—things I needed to know and talk about. Like that discussion I’d just heard about Girlie, how everything was “real to her.” In my mind I saw the child again, leading me out along the front of the house, her strange eyes so intent as she’d talked—“
I liked you…even before you were real.”
And that scarecrow
had
looked like me if I really stretched my imagination, if I really tried to believe that it did….
But now I’m being silly again, making something out of nothing…
It had been idle talk, these things about Girlie—idle talk, that’s all, nothing more. A mother anxious about her child’s overactive imagination. But those looks I’d seen Rachel and Franny exchange hadn’t been normal, and I’d intercepted them, pretending not to see. Their looks had been frightened.