Bound by Blood and Brimstone (33 page)

glaring, and expectant.

“Well,” I finally said. “I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about if we’re going to come up

with a survival plan.”

I understood too well the source of Lorrie Beth’s hysterical reaction to Sheriff Bates’

visit. Caleb Jacobs had the power to wrench our world out of its orbit and hurl it to the dust at

our feet, and the very thought of having to endure him under the same roof was enough to rocket

us both to the nearest asylum. Her bitterness toward Momma, however, puzzled me.

In the aftermath of her storm we lay sprawled in the grass, she with her head cradled in

her arms, me with my back to our boulder, feeling as though someone had used me for a salt

shaker until I was all emptied out.

“You can’t blame Momma for this, Sis. You have to remember - she knows next to

nothing about what we went through with Sue Lee and Caleb. That’s in our favor. And as for her

and Reese taking Caleb in, that’s not unusual around these parts. People take strays in all the

time, and I don’t just mean stray animals. Folks take in boarders for money, or relatives stop by

for a weekend visit and wind up staying for years. You said yourself the Gibsons have taken in

little Walter, so common sense tells you somebody will do the same with Caleb. Sheriff probably

figured, with Reese being a preacher and all, we’d be a good choice.”

Swiveling her head to peer at me through an errant curl, she grimaced before jerking

upright to face me.

“Can’t blame Momma? Why can’t I?” she demanded. “She’s our mother, isn’t she?

Seems to me the only thing she cares about these days is Reese and what he thinks. Who takes

care of Sam? Who bathes and feeds him? Who sits up with him when he's sick? You do! Who

looks after
us
these days, huh? Who protects us from the Sue Lees and Calebs of this world?
We

do, that’s who! Momma’s forgotten what it is to be a mother, and she’s forgotten about my

daddy, too. I doubt he’s entered her mind once since Reese Watkins showed up!”

The dam had broken at long last. The weight of bridled resentment snapped its tether and

hammered the clover-scented air. My timid, loyal-to-the-death sister, had finally given

passionate voice to what ailed her.

As rattled as I was by this drama, I couldn’t keep the grin out of my own voice.

“Welcome back, Sis.”

The corners of her mouth quirked briefly, but her eyes were still flashing when she

responded. “Thanks. But the question is, welcome back to what?”

Leaning over to lace my fingers in her own, I met her eyes calmly. “Whatever happens,

we’re in this together, you know. We’ve survived more than any kid I know already. We’ll just

keep on keeping on, like always. We accept what is, mind our own business, and stay out of

Caleb’s way. I’m thinking we may not have to deal with him much at all. I remember Reese

saying something a while back about hiring some local boys to help him, and he’s sure going to

need it, with him starting that logging business. He’ll probably let Caleb sleep in the barn and

keep him busy in the woods all day. Being the slave driver Reese is, Caleb won’t have the energy

to give us a second thought. It’ll be all right, Lorrie Beth.”

My attempts at placating my sister’s fears were roughly five percent sincerity and ninety-

five percent hogwash. While I didn’t believe for one second that Caleb Jacobs was no threat to

us, the boy left on our doorstep by Sheriff Bates certainly seemed different from the Caleb we

knew.

For one thing, he was thinner. His hair, cut short and newly washed, lay cleanly against

his skull like a gleaming yellow cap, and his jeans and shirt were crisp from recent laundering.

The insolent swagger was gone, replaced by a more humble stance.

The gray eyes, so arrogant and defiant before, stayed downcast much of the time, as

though he couldn’t bring himself to look the world squarely in the eye ever again. Gone was the

braying laughter and crude speech. Caleb rarely spoke at all, and when he did, it was only if he’d

been asked a question. The answer would be brief, scarcely above a murmur.

Such a blatant miracle, completely lost on the adults around us, left us feeling as though

we’d been bushwhacked in an alien land. “Do you think it’s an act?” Lorrie Beth queried one

night as we lay whispering in my bed.

“I don’t know,” I admitted after a long pause. “I never thought Caleb was smart enough

to put on an act that good.”

If indeed an act, Caleb Jacobs was destined for an Oscar. Besides discarding the filthy

clothes and the brooding slouch with which he wore them, he cast aside the easy laziness he’d

cultivated so well. No job was too menial, too dirty, or too backbreaking for him. From dawn to

dusk he split fence-rails, chopped wood, cleared new ground, and drove Reese’s mule-team like

a seasoned taskmaster, readying virgin timber for the sawmill.

One huge surprise was seeing the uncanny communion he had with animals on the place,

including Checkers. The raw memory of Max’s demise and his instinctive hatred of Caleb didn’t

mesh with this backwoods Dr. Doolittle sleeping in our barn.

Nothing, however, could've prepared me for Sam’s reaction to our latest resident. One

evening, after plating up a skillet of fried chicken, I slipped out the front door to catch a breath of

air. Snuggled against Caleb’s hulking frame in our peeling porch swing sat little Sam with a

book splayed across his fat legs.

I stifled the gasp locked in my throat, fighting the urge to dash him up and clutch him

close, away from the menace beside him. With the slap of the screen door, he jerked his black

eyes at me, annoyed at the intrusion.

“I teach Caleb to read,” he said gravely. “We’re reading words in the Bible. You be

quiet, now.”

While the new and improved Caleb had Momma and Reese eating out of his hand, Lorrie

Beth and I honored our pact and kept our distance. Always first to accept anyone at face value,

my sister would now tread her days with the stealth of a guerrilla warrior. Caleb’s simplest

gestures were suspect, any potential motive grounds for suspicion. Nothing he said or did was to

be trusted. I always marveled at how difficult it must’ve been for her to put up those walls, flying

in the face of her basic nature.

She became convinced beyond all doubt that Caleb suspected something and was hiding

it, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Maybe it had something to do with the necklace.

She knew Caleb and Sue Lee had argued about it the day Sue Lee followed us to the Gorge.

Maybe the very idea of Caleb Jacobs wielding power over her, transported her to the first

day in the schoolyard. Maybe his constant presence made her sweat and toss upon her sheets, her

nights broken by images of Sue Lee’s taunting face and how it would look after all this time. Or

maybe her point of give-a-crap was finally breached, and she went temporarily insane. Any of

those reasons could’ve explained the way she went after Caleb that day at Crystal Creek. To my

shame, I wouldn't understand the root of it all until it was too late.

It was Saturday, the first day of summer, the sort of day specifically hand-crafted for

swimming.

We could barely wait for the dust to settle in the wake of the jeep’s tires before we high-

tailed it out the door with old blankets and a bottle of Momma’s lemonade. Knowing the family

planned to spend the day in town after dropping Caleb off for a visit at the Gibson’s, we thrilled

to the notion of a day to ourselves.

We made it to Crystal Creek in minutes, praying we’d have Big Rock to ourselves.

Flopping on her behind to strip off shoes and socks, Lorrie Beth flipped her hair and grinned up

at me, eyes dancing with mischief.

“I got an idea. We got the whole place to ourselves. We’re all sweaty and hot. How ‘bout

we forget the clothes and go skinny dipping?”

I gawked at her, sensing a dare, something she knew I couldn’t resist. Such boldness from

my demure sister caught me off guard, but only for an instant.

“You sure?” It was a mere delay tactic, for I was already itching to feel all that wet

coolness sluicing over every inch of me.

She answered by standing and unzipping her cut-offs with one quick snap of her wrist.

“Last one in does dishes solo tonight.”

“So it’s like that, is it?” I parried, hauling my shirt over my head in one fluid motion.

The rest was a flurry of buttons and elastic, a squealing mad dash over the ledge. It didn’t

really matter who hit the water first. What mattered was exquisite sensation, the rush of liquid

crystal sliding through my toes, my fingers, my thighs.

I sliced the water with barely a ripple and dove to the bottom, letting the smooth pebbles

tickle the length of my body. I was a creature of the deep, dancing the dance of the mermaid, the

sea siren, the water sprite, bending the waves to my will. I broke the surface like a shot, unable to

suppress my laughter. Never had I felt such sheer abandon. I was drunk on freedom, giddy with

loss of inhibition.

Lorrie Beth felt it, too. She was treading water, her head back, eyes closed, dappled

sunlight speckling her fine features with gold. I’d assumed she was dozing when her eyelids

fluttered, and she lifted her head to dazzle me with an ear-splitting grin, the first one of its kind

I’d seen in over a year. “Delicious, isn’t it?”

I swallowed hard to get past the lump in my throat. “Yep. That’s the perfect word for it.

Delicious.”

Swathed in a couple of Momma’s old blankets, we lounged on Big Rock with our lunch

of lemonade and strips of deer jerky I’d stuffed in my pockets. Rambunctious and playful only a

few moments before, we lapsed into a comfortable silence, reluctant to break the spell cast by

Crystal Creek as it sang beneath the ledge. I was thinking of Janine Westerfield when I felt the

weight of Lorrie Beth’s gaze upon me.

“What?”

“I was just thinking how nice it would be to have legs like yours. They’re so long and...”

“And what?”

“Graceful. Coltish. I don’t know. Like some wild gazelle.”

I hooted. “Gazelles don’t have knobby knees.”

“Yeah, they don’t have thick heads, either. Can’t you take a compliment?”

Her tone was gruff and accusing, and it stung me. I didn’t know where this was going,

but I knew she would drag me along. I shifted on my fanny and reached for a swig of lemonade.

“I guess it just seems silly. You complimenting me, I mean.”

“Why’s that?” Her eyes narrowed and traveled the length of my body in frank appraisal.

“You’re tall and leggy.”

“Gangly, you mean.”

“Slim waist. Hair I’d kill for. I bet you’ve never noticed it in the sunlight. All coppery

and gold.”

“Lorrie Beth, what’s up with all this sweet talk?”

“Perky little breasts.”

“I do
not
have perky breasts!” I sputtered, yanking my blanket up under my chin. “I’ll

have you know, my breasts hardly perk at all!”

She giggled, slinging a damp tendril from her brow. “You’re funny, Em. I love how you

can always poke fun at yourself.”

I shrugged and jabbed the air in front of her with a string of jerky for emphasis. “Better to

laugh than cry. Words to live by.”

Her eyes were candid and warm on mine when she finally responded. “I meant what I

said before. About your body, I mean. You look like a wood nymph.”

Something painful and poignant tinged her warm tone and halted me in mid-chew. I shot

her a sharp glance, studying her, seeking her hidden thoughts. She lowered her eyes and fidgeted

with a corner of her blanket.

Weeks of outdoor chores and Momma’s cooking had restored radiance to her skin and

form to her figure. Though thinner than the year before, a lean suppleness now lent elegance to

her limbs and long waist. Other parts of her should’ve been declared illegal.

“Lorrie Beth, if I’m a wood nymph, then you’re a goddess.”

“Yeah, sure, some goddess,” she muttered, worrying a loose thread until it snapped. “I

never heard tell of a goddess who limped.”

I goggled at her, nearly sloshing lemonade on my bare leg. “Lorrie Beth, is that what this

is about? After all this time, you think that leg of yours takes away one iota from your looks?”

Only a mad flutter of wings in the treetops answered my raised voice.

“Lorrie Beth, look at me.” She tossed a string of uneaten jerky in the nearby weeds and

drew her knees to her chest where she hid her face.

“I thought if anybody in the world would understand, you would. But you don’t. Nobody

does.” Her words, muffled and thick from the cave of her bent knees, only bewildered me

further.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded. “Who on earth understands you better,

knows you better than I do? My bewilderment swiftly slid into anger when she refused to lift her

head. No response, save the singing of Crystal Creek.

“What in tarnation has gotten into you anyway? I was just trying to let you know that if

you ever feel insecure about that leg of yours, don't. You're so doggone beautiful, nobody even