Quarrel with the Moon (13 page)

Josh smiled engagingly. "Yes. Cresta and I will both have one. It looks delicious."

Faye nudged Jewell; they filled two cups for the newcomers.

As Josh lifted his cup to his lips, he saw Reuben hovering in a corner and offered him a toast. Avarilla, who had witnessed the gesture, said, "Reuben donates a certain amount of his goods to each social. Goodness, a social isn't a social without a little bit of corn." With that she drained her cup.

The caller's voice cut through the hum of conversation:
"Choose your partners for the Georgia rang tang!"

A mob of young men clustered around Cresta, including the two whom she had met outside the Community House - Harvey and David. Nearly all of them were muscular young men who moved with a certain sensual grace. They touched themselves affectionately as they spoke to her, lovingly caressing their own muscular bodies. They looked directly at Cresta with no self-consciousness; they appraised her body without embarrassment or apology.

Harvey, appointing himself host, quickly introduced his companions.

"This here's Junius an' Jake an' Grover; Will, Cal, an' Jim-Bob over there; an' that's Clifford. Behind him is Sam an' Rolly an' Lester." Cresta favored each of them with her famous model's smile.

At first glance many of them appeared normal. Then she noticed their deep-set eyes. They were startling in coloration - amber, yellow, grey - so that they seemed to change continually with the lights. They sported thick manes of glossy hair, ranging from deepest black to auburn to ginger. Apparently there were no blonds in the Ridge. Except for herself and Avarilla's unfortunate daughter, Sissy, Cresta had yet to see one. The older youths sported beards and/or mustaches in every possible style. Perhaps they were trying to disguise their unusual hairiness. Without exception, they wore long-sleeved shirts.

Still, they were strapping youths - strong, sinewy, vital. Robust health streamed from their pores with an almost visible aura.

"Well," she exclaimed. "Which one of you wants to teach me the dance steps?" They closed in on Cresta, wedging her in the exact center of their combined bodies. Cresta felt young, resilient flesh press against her and knew she had to make the decision. "I elect - Harvey," she gasped and a chorus of disappointed groans erupted from the rest. Cresta told herself that she had picked Harvey because he was the most outgoing. But unconsciously she had chosen him because he was the most normal looking of the lot. He was very nearly handsome. Only his teeth were strange. The upper incisors were abnormally long and rather pointed. Perhaps that was why he held his top lip tightly drawn over his teeth when he smiled.

Harvey was smiling now as he escorted Cresta to the dance floor. "How old are you, Harvey?" she asked.

"Fifteen," he answered proudly. He looked at least twenty.

"You look much older."

As Harvey was demonstrating the dance steps, Cresta noticed Faye and Jewell staring at them. "Harvey, who are those women?"

"Oh, them," Harvey shrugged. "Just a couple of granny women. They help out Aunt Avvie."

"Are they married?"

"They were. Both their husbands died real funny."

"Funny? How do you mean?"

"Sam Runion was rabbit huntin' when he got caught in a snowstorm an' wandered off a cliff."

"How terrible."

"Then ol' Simon Brooks, drivin' home from a beer joint in Jericho Falls, got himself buried by a landslide."

"God, no wonder they seem so strange."

Harvey stepped in beside Cresta to demonstrate variations on the two-step. He lowered his voice and said, "The funny thing about it is that when they got the bodies back, they weren't whole."

"What do you mean?"

"Big chunks of their flesh was tore away an' their hearts was missin'."

Cresta stopped dancing, turned toward Harvey and stared at him. He gazed at her evenly and she knew that he was not lying.

"Everybody says it was a bunch of wild dogs, but...."

"But what?" exclaimed Cresta.

Harvey turned her to him and smiled enigmatically. "But I don't know."

***

Josh and Avarilla found space on one of the benches and sat down. The girls and young women waiting to be asked to dance began whispering among themselves. The object of their interest was, of course, Josh. Aware of the stir he was causing, Josh turned around and favored the buzzing group with one of his best smiles. As he did, he noticed that they were marked in much the same manner - deep hairlines, vitreous eyes, and misshapen extremities - as the young people he had already met. He also noted that a number of them were pregnant. He returned his attention to Avarilla.

"You feel comfortable here, Josh?"

"Yes, I do. It's much different from New York City."

Avarilla affectionately touched the young man's shoulder. "Then you should come back."

Josh laughed. "Leave my job? How would I live? What about security?"

"The only security you can have on this earth is what nature gives you. It doesn't come from anywhere else, Josh. We must all return to nature or forfeit our very souls."

"You're probably right, Aunt Avvie. The city's an exasperating place to live ... pollution ... violence ... rising costs."

"Then you must leave all that behind. There
are
more important things than a penthouse in the sky an' ..." she glanced toward Cresta, who was dancing, "an' owning beautiful things."

Josh did not notice her insinuation. "I think the mountains are far more beautiful than anything New York has to offer. I hope I can stay long enough to see the leaves turn. Autumn's my favorite time of the year."

Avarilla stood up. "Let me fetch you another cup of punch." Josh started to protest. "It will do you good to have a little more of our mountain dew."

***

Cresta saw that the caller was the previously taciturn Alex. Now his face was animated, his voice clear and the words smartly delivered:

"Chicken in the bread bowl peckin' out dough.
Granny, won't your dog bite? No, chile, no.
No, chile, no.
Chicken in the bread bowl peckin' out dough.
Granny, won't your dog bite? No, chile, no.
No, chile, no. No, chile, no."

She and Harvey danced closer to the platform, and Cresta got a closer look at the musicians. There were six in all. Three old men played banjo, fiddle and dulcimer; the younger trio played on duplicate instruments, intent on learning the fine art of "pickin'" from their elders. The old men, somewhere in their seventies, were completely expressionless despite the lively music they were producing. The faces of their teenaged disciples were split with ebullient grins. Cresta suddenly missed a step. The young fiddle player's thumbs were useless, shrunken like pieces of dried fruit.

She broke away from Harvey. Clutching her chest and feigning exhaustion, she led him to a bench where they sat down. They were quickly joined by some of the other young men. Harvey asked Cresta, "Would you like some punch?" As soon as she said yes, several hurried away to fetch her some.

She looked at her companions. "I understand that you have one of these socials every Saturday night?"

Clifford, who was sitting on the floor staring at her legs, replied without raising his head. "Every Saturday night."

"And what do you do the other six nights of the week?" asked Cresta.

The question hung in the air like a piece of laundry. Then two of the young men - Junius and Jake - covered their mouths and snickered. Cresta wondered what she had said that was so amusing. Harvey quickly answered, "There's lots of things to do, but mostly we like to hunt."

Five glasses of punch arrived. Cresta accepted the nearest one and began looking around the room. Across from her was a seated group of women, aged from late twenties to early forties, who did not seem to be part of the festivities. They were dressed in black. Several carried on conversations without actually looking at one another. Others seemed to stare blankly at the dance floor. One woman, thin to the point of emaciation, twitched her shoulders as she clenched and unclenched her fists. Their eyes looked stunned; there was a weariness in their faces, as if they had suffered. The line of slender figures could have served as a chorus in a Greek tragedy. She asked Harvey, "Who are they?"

"Why, they're our mothers," came the reply. His voice held no hint of warmth.

"Of course," Cresta muttered more to herself than to her informant. "The mine disaster." She absently sipped the punch and suddenly realized that the punch was alcoholic. "Why, this stuff is spiked!" The young men nudged one another and giggled.

***

Josh had been ignoring Avarilla for some time. He was staring at a young woman of the Ridge.

She was just sixteen, but her exotic face and lush body made her seem older. Her hair was black and glistening as if it had been kissed by moonlight. Her complexion was olive, and her jet-black eyes were streaked with green and gold and heavily fringed with thick black lashes. They were the eyes of a Byzantine mosaic.

Her nose was perfectly straight, and rather demure, except that her nostrils flared sharply. Lips full, moist and exquisitely sculpted had been painted carmine. As an accent, a small round mole was positioned just below the left corner of her mouth. Her hair was parted in the center and fell past her shoulders in thick, corrugated waves. It resembled an exotic headdress of a perverse religious order. She wore a plain dress, but the color was a deep, rich reddish-purple and was designed to show off her coloring and figure. It had a high neckline, long sleeves and a cinched waist above yards and yards of material which formed the skirt. The words "forbidden" "dangerous" flashed through Josh's mind. She was coming towards him.

Before Avarilla could introduce them, she extended her hand to Josh. He quickly stood up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"But I did," she replied.

"I suppose I more than resemble Orin."

"I think you look exactly alike, but I'll have to see you together."

"When will that be?"

"Soon. Very soon. I'm Roma Underwood. You're Aunt Avvie's nephew from New York City." She lowered her lashes. Her voice was dark, husky. "An' Orin's second cousin."

Josh suddenly became conscious that he was still holding Roma's hand. The back was covered with a fine down of hair, almost imperceptable unless felt.

Roma pulled her hand from his grasp. "Why are you here?" she asked with surprising bluntness.

"I'm investigating some Indian digs down on the Cheat River."

"An' your woman?"

Josh looked across the floor. Cresta was watching them. "She is also investigating. You'll meet her. Here she comes now."

Roma took Josh's empty cup. "I'll get us some punch," she replied smoothly and swept away.

Cresta's eyes were flashing. "Who's the hillbilly sorceress?"

"Don't be bitchy. You're not doing so bad, if only by sheer numbers."

Roma returned, carrying two cups. She handed one to Josh and kept one for herself. Josh made introductions. "Roma Underwood, this is Cresta Farraday."

"Roma?" queried Cresta.

"Like the city," replied Roma. "Cresta?"

"Top of the line," Cresta shot back.

Roma turned to Josh. "Josh, come, dance with me." She handed Cresta her empty cup and pulled Josh toward the dance floor. Cresta was smoldering as she watched them take center position. The other couples began to circle around them and the dance began.

He certainly can pick up fast, Cresta thought, not without admiration.

Josh swung Roma in an unending circle as the other dancers spun around them. Everything was a blur except for Roma's face, which remained fully in focus. Josh began laughing with high spirits and stopped spinning. Roma pressed her body against his. Josh savored the pressure of her warm flesh. He was intoxicated by the closeness of Roma's body and the hypnotic tune the musicians were playing ... or was it merely the punch?

***

Sophie Balock wended her way through the crowd with all the aplomb of an aging countess. In her bright, mail-order dress, a bit too young for her, she looked as out of place as a formal servant.

She cornered Avarilla and said, "Avarilla, I sold the Double Wedding Ring quilt. Uh huh, the young woman from New York bought it. And she paid eighty dollars for it! Here," she pressed the folded bills in Avarilla's hand. "That's minus my ten per cent commission, uh huh, ten percent. Oh, I think it's a good sign, Avarilla. It's going to be a good fall. The tourists will come again, uh huh, the ones with money. Not those hippie types. I'm sure the tragedies have been forgotten by now." She paused and licked her lips.

"The river is treacherous," responded Avarilla solemnly. "Why, in my lifetime alone, countless people, young an' old, have been drowned in its swift currents, an' they never came back to the surface."

Sophie shivered. "You know I don't like that depressing dead talk, Avarilla." Then she hurried toward the refreshment table to boost her spirits with whatever was in the punch.

***

Cresta, having refused all offers from her admirers to dance, stood leaning against the post, watching the festivities. The dancers formed a promenade; leading the couples were Josh and Roma. Cresta contemplated returning to the camper but didn't want to make a scene, not on the first night there. She feared that Josh was drinking too much of the potent punch and Roma looked like a very willing temptress; Cresta feared how the evening might end.

A sudden gust of wind caused her to turn toward the back entrance. Standing in the open doorway with the strong rays of the moon at his back was Josh. But Josh was dancing with Roma. Of course ... it was Orin. He had made his appearance at last.

His black hair was wild and tangled as if it had been blown by the wind, or perhaps stirred by an amorous hand. It was longer than Josh's, and thicker. Although his eyes were partly shaded by his errant hair, Cresta saw that his gaze was fixed upon Josh. He seemed incapable of blinking. Orin's skin was bronzed, making his large, white teeth appear even larger. He moved forward on the balls of his feet, his pelvis thrust forward. Sexual arrogance radiated from him like electricity.