Bound by Blood and Brimstone (37 page)

reached for his belt buckle. “I know of only one remedy for that, young lady.” With a vicious

yank, he dragged the belt through its loops and snapped it before letting it dangle to the floor.

“Spare the rod and spoil the child. To my thinking, the rod’s been spared far too long with you,

Ember Mae.”

“No! Don’t hit Ember Mae, please. She didn’t mean it!” Little Sam, my betrayer

moments before, now stood in my defense as he threw himself at Reese, sobbing. Before Reese

could react, Momma cut in.

“That won’t be necessary, Reese.” Though loud enough to be heard over Sam’s sobs, her

voice was smooth as silk and as cold as death. Her face was a mask of granite. “There’s no need

for any of that. Ember Mae can stay home tonight with Sam while we go to the festival. Lorrie

Beth is going as an Indian princess. She has her costume on now. Isn’t it nice?”

Momma won out in the end, though I’d have much preferred the belt to the heartbreak of

banishment. In the wake of my outburst, even Lorrie Beth had made an appeal for me, claiming

she didn’t really want to wear the dress anyway. She’d slunk in my room where I lay on my bed,

all cried out and staggered by the unfairness of my world.

“It’s my fault, Ember Mae. I should’ve never touched it without asking.”

My pain climaxed when I had to endure seeing everybody dressed and ready to leave for

the evening. Lorrie Beth’s new shoes, special ordered and fashioned to conceal her limp, weren’t

in character for a Cherokee maiden, but couldn’t detract from the jaw-dropping picture she made.

Her wild mane hung to the middle of her back, bound by a braided strip of rawhide

around her head. I took in the luminous skin and emerald fire of her eyes and recalled an

expression of Daddy’s from my childhood: “I’ve seen things so beautiful, it hurt to look at

them.” Bitter regret lodged in my throat, and I nearly choked on it. Lamely, I told her how pretty

she looked.

After they left, Sam curled up in my bed against me, and, wrapping his chubby arms

around my neck, he trained damp, black eyes on me. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble, Ember Mae.

Are you mad at me?”

“No, Baby, I’m not mad,” I whispered through a scrim of tears. “I’m not mad at all.” He

slept, and I cried myself to sleep.

Sometime in the wee hours I awoke alone and unfettered by Sam’s squirming body.

Struggling out of my brain fog, I lay there a moment, listening. There was no doubt. I’d heard

faint voices near my open window.

I wasted no time worrying with clothes or the threat of being caught sneaking out the

front door. Wearing only my cotton nightgown, I climbed over my windowsill and stepped

barefoot onto the grass. The balmy air, tinged by the slightest hint of a breeze, brushed my cheek

like a warm breath.

The moon was fat and bloated, bathing the nightscape in silver and infusing ghostly light

to every pebble and stalk. With the clarity of a black and white movie, I could make out even the

license plate numbers and rust spots on the jeep.

Acting on pure instinct, I sprinted behind the barn to the edge of the woods, where the

faintest echo of voices trailed the night air. I tracked the sound on sure feet, snaking my way

cautiously around rocks and trees. I knew whose voices I was hearing and was drawn to them as

surely as a moth to the flame.

I had no clue why they should be talking in the woods in the middle of the night, and the

very thought of it set my nerves to thrumming like new guitar strings.

Within less than a couple dozen paces, I found them in a small clearing, standing by the

smooth trunk of a massive oak tree. From the perfect hiding spot behind a car-sized ledge, I

could see them with crystal clarity, and while their words weren’t distinct, it was obvious Noah

was attempting to calm Lorrie Beth.

They were facing each other, gesturing wildly, their voices riddled with emotion.

Barefoot, Noah wore a pair of worn Levis, while Lorrie Beth was clad in her thin nightgown. I

had a fleeting image of Momma’s wrath at this scandalous scene.

Lorrie Beth began to cry. She cupped her hands over her face, and Noah reached to touch

her shoulder. Mesmerized, I watched him pull her against his bare chest and envelope her in his

arms. Muffled sobs continued, quieted, and finally abated. In the wash of moonlight, the two

merged into one statue of molten silver as Noah held my sister and stroked her hair.

She’s dead. That’s it, pure and simple. Momma will have the Mother of all hissy fits and

kill her stone dead. Out here in the middle of the night with a man, wearing nothing but a

nightgown! She’s dead, and I’ll probably be maimed just for letting it happen.

The moment spun out with my suspended breath on silken night threads, and creatures of

the dark quieted, as if to pay homage to the couple. At last, Lorrie Beth lifted her head, and he

tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. Time stilled, and the air thickened, slowing their

movements to an underwater dance of their own rhythm. Noah cupped both sides of her face,

tracing her lips with his thumbs.

The night held its breath with mine as one of his work-roughened hands found its way to

the small of her back, molding her body to his. In the next moment, the next hour, I’m not sure

which, his head bent to hers and covered her lips with his own. First, she was still as stone. Then,

her slender arms came up and slid across the broad shoulders and the back of his neck. In that

instant, I was given a profound insight.

Forever practical, never prone to belief in fantasy, somehow I knew there was magic in

that kiss. Even at thirteen, I sensed this was far beyond the fleeting passion of raging teenage

hormones. This was raw, primal, a force of nature wrought by God, intended to endure beyond

the grave.

It was forever and more. It was exactly what Daddy had felt for Momma, and it

diminished me to see it, rendering me little more than a voyeur to the sacred. I wanted to turn my

back on the enfolding scene. To my shame, I couldn’t.

The kiss deepened, and their motion gained suppleness and fluidity, as though they were

being poured together into the same container. Lips parted, eager mouths devouring, feeding on

each other. When the kiss ended, Lorrie Beth appeared to be in a swoon, held solely by Noah’s

strength. Her head had fallen back, exposing her smooth throat. Noah bent and planted a trail of

kisses along the hollow at the base of her throat down to the lace edging of her nightgown.

Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, and she gasped as his lips found the dip of her

nightgown and burrowed beneath the flimsy cloth, seeking flesh. She moaned and clung to him

like a drowning victim in some heavenly sea, while I capped both hands over my mouth to keep

from crying out.

My heart was galloping like a runaway stallion, and I felt inflamed with some internal

fever that made we want to run screaming into the woods. My legs, languid and heavy, wouldn’t

permit me one step, so I closed my eyes and began to count. I had to get away from this!

A strange, guttural purring issued from the clearing and shoved my eyelids open. It was

Noah. His trailing lips had uncovered the tip of one perfectly molded breast. Lorrie Beth arched

her back and shivered as a desperate groan escaped her. Suddenly, Noah’s roving hands grasped

her buttocks, and hoisting her upward in one smooth motion, he eased her against the smooth

tree trunk. Her legs entwined his back, gripping his waist, and she bent her head for another

open-mouthed kiss.

My paralysis broken by mortal terror, I ran for my life, not caring how much noise I

made.
Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Lorrie Beth, what have you done? What have you done? I

raced for the barn, past the jeep, and bolted over my windowsill, so winded I nearly fainted. To

make matters worse, I’d glimpsed a face peering at me from the cracked barn door in the midst

of my mad dash. It was Caleb Jacobs’ face.

A slew of unanswered questions shadowed my days after that sensuous night in the

woods. What exactly had Caleb seen? Why had Lorrie Beth been crying that night? Was it

because she’d told Noah about Sue Lee? Had he told her of his intentions or shown her the ring?

Most disturbing of all, like an incessant harpy born to nag, was the queen of all

questions. How could Momma and Reese not see what was going on? When Noah was within

arm’s length of my sister, the very air surrounding her fairly hummed, and he looked at her like

he could pour her in a bowl and eat her with a spoon.

The adult ignorance in our home defied logic, and my fear of their reaction when the

truth finally came to light left me tossing on sweaty sheets many a night. When Momma and

Reese were finally made to face the facts, the outcome was far worse than anything my restless

imaginings could conjure.

At the dinner table on a rain-spattered afternoon shortly before Thanksgiving, I decided a

little good-natured banter might ease some of the smoldering tensions in our household. My

brilliant plan involved a game of matching TV or movie characters with family members most

similar in personality.

Lorrie Beth generously selected Donna Reed as Momma’s best fit, but I said Lucy was

better.

“But she has red hair, and Momma’s blonde,” Lorrie Beth argued.

“This isn’t about looks,” I reminded her. “Besides, Momma can be pretty goofy when she

thinks she’s alone.” I winked and pointed at her with my chicken leg for emphasis.

When Noah selected Liz Taylor as Lorrie Beth’s best counterpart, I hooted and slapped

the table like a game show host with a buzzer. “What movie?”

He shrugged and cut his eyes to Lorrie Beth before grinning. “Take your pick.”

I stuck out my tongue at him and responded with mock disdain. “No way. You’re dead

wrong. She’s Debra Paget from
Love me Tender
. And since Momma’s Lucy, Reese must be Fred

Mertz!”

Momma nearly spewed a mouthful of milk before turning to ruffle Reese’s thinning hair.

“A much younger version, of course,” she said, laughing.

By unanimous vote, I was Scarlett O’Hara, Sam was Opie Taylor, and Noah was Rowdy

Yates. “What about Caleb?” Sam piped in from behind his gnawed corncob.

“Oh, I got this one,” Noah cut in, eyes dancing. “That’s easy. Ernest T. Bass!” Momma

had to cover her face as Lorrie Beth collapsed in a fit of giggles, and even Reese threw back his

head and guffawed. Caleb went bright red to his roots, but I don’t think anyone noticed but me.

Reacting to a nervous hunch, I hastened to his defense. “Oh, no,” I called out over the

ruckus. “I disagree. I think James Dean fits Caleb much better.”

To my relief, Lorrie Beth picked up my cue and jumped on the bandwagon. “Yeah, I

think you’re right, Ember Mae. He even looks like him a little.” Coming from her, I think the

blow was softened a bit, evidenced by Caleb’s weak smile.

Hearing the animated chatter, reveling in the easy mood, I was lulled into believing my

plan had been successful. Then, as Momma dished out bowls of apple cobbler, Noah dropped his

bomb.

“I’d like to talk with you about something, Mr. Watkins. Privately, if you don’t mind,” he

said.

“Don’t mind at all,” Reese said, burying his spoon into his pie. “I’d hate to miss such a

good dessert, though. We’re all family here. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

I was in the process of pouring myself a cup of coffee when I glanced over to see Noah

digging in his pocket.
The ring! Oh, Sweet Lord, he’s going to tell them now!
I nearly scalded

myself in my rush to get the pot back on the stove, since my legs had just turned to Jell-O.

“I was going to wait ‘till Christmas to do this, but well, here goes,” he announced, pulling

out the tiny box. I wanted to sit down, but found, to my dismay, my foot refused to budge.

Instead, I had to settle for folding my arms across my chest to hold myself up.

“What’ve you got there, Noah?” Momma said absently, spooning ice cream over Sam’s

pie and picking up her coffee cup.

He flipped the lid with a flourish, displaying the small stone jutting from its gold band. It

caught the kitchen light instantly, shooting sparks like a tiny green flame.

Lorrie Beth gasped, and Sam dropped his spoon with a clatter so he could clap his

approval. Lost in the rapture of spicy apples and tender breading, Reese barely clipped a glance

across the table.

Momma set her coffee cup down and leaned forward on her elbows, to take a closer look.

“Why, that’s beautiful Noah. Whose is it?”

He cleared his throat before answering, meeting her eyes squarely. “It was my mother’s

engagement ring. I’d planned on giving it to Lorrie Beth for Christmas.”

Reese stopped chewing long enough to exchange a curious look with Momma, whose

eyes had gone wide under her darting brows. It took a full minute for her to find her voice.