Quarrel with the Moon (15 page)

Sophie leaned around the wall of sacks as far as she dared. Their voices rose and fell in crackling tones, like an old-time radio program. At first Sophie eavesdropped out of sheer curiosity; then, as their words began to take on darker meanings, she listened in earnest.

After a time Sophie fled from the Community House, more afraid of what she was hearing than the night.

***

Arm in arm, Jewell and Faye approached the covered bridge. Faye's house lay off to their right, down a narrow path by the cornfields. Jewell lived further down the road, opposite the Thicket.

"After all, Jewell," Faye was saying, "Rev'rend Hooper tol' us hisself that the deformed baby died. Praise be to God! He swore that him an' Aunt Avvie buried it somewheres on the grounds."

Jewell was still worried. "Maybe so, Faye. But ever since night, so much has changed. Everythin' is different."

"The times have changed, Jewell. The young people think different than us, just as we grew up to think different from our folks."

"Not that different," muttered Jewell.

"It sometimes happens. You remember the Jutes from over Cheat Holler? All of 'em looked exactly alike - snub noses, pig eyes, big fat butts. Why I could tell a Jute if I ran into one in Hawaii."

"You've never been to Hawaii," giggled Jewell.

"Well, if I was an' ran into someone with a snub nose, pig eyes an' a big, fat butt I sure as shootin' would know they was a Jute."

"Remember that oldest Jute girl? I don't remember her name, but everyone called her Petunia - Petunia Pig." Jewell laughed. "Don't know what ever happened to the Jutes. We used to see 'em every year at the Spring Picnic. 'Member, it was at one of them Spring Picnics that Sissy got that wasp in her ear."

"I remember," replied Faye, "and she never was right after that. Aunt Avvie's sure got her cross to bear - an idiot for a daughter, and that Reuben. His brain is plum pickled from alcohol - just never know how she manages to stay the same sweet angel from God."

"She certainly is. Remember how she attended us in our grief when our husbands was killed?"

"I do," replied Faye. She looked at her friend. "Who do you suppose fathered those twins of Sissy's?"

"I always thought it was Sophie Balock's husband."

"I did, too. He always had a hot eye on Sissy."

"Well, here's your path," said Jewell. "Now, you sure you don't want me to walk you, Faye?"

"'Course not. Why I know this old path so well that if I was struck blind I could find my way home." The two women kissed one another on the cheek.

Faye hiccupped. "I started to say, I'll see you at church in the morning. I wish things hadn't changed so. I miss it."

"I do, too," Jewell replied. Then she began to sing, "I'm gonna see my Jesus, when I get home."

Faye, getting into the spirit of the moment, joined her, and the two women began harmonizing. "I'm gonna see my Jesus, when I get home. I'm gonna see my Jesus, I'm gonna see my Jesus, I'm gonna see my Jesus, when I get home."

Still singing, the two women parted and eventually Faye could hear only her own high, thin voice in the night. "... Gonna see my Jesus...."

The kerosene lantern divided the dark as Faye made her way. She sang to the heavens. The sky had become frosted with stars, and a sudden falling star caused her to gasp with delight. She made a quick secret wish and hurried on, anxious to put her weary body to bed.

"... See my Jesus, when I get home. I'm gonna...."

Suddenly Faye's pudgy feet flew out from under her and she went sprawling. The lantern fell on its side and went out. She lay on the ground for a full minute before recovering her breath. Then she felt for her lantern, found it, but couldn't relight it because she hadn't brought matches with her. Exploring with her hands, Faye examined the pathway to find out what had caused her fall. She grasped a small, hard, round object and then found several more. What were they? Marbles? She held them close to her face and sniffed. The round objects smelled of citrus. "Sourballs," she muttered with surprise. "One of the youngsters must have dropped them." Groaning, Faye got back on her feet. Her heavy body ached from the fall, and she feared she'd have to stay in bed the following morning nursing the bruises. Still, nothing was broken.

With only starlight to guide her, Faye hobbled carefully down the path. A sudden wind rushed past her like a questing animal. Faye wished that she had let Jewell walk her home. "Now, now, Faye," she told herself, "you're becomin' another Sophie Balock." She forced herself to pick up the song again.

"I'm gonna see my Jesus, when I get home. I'm...."

As she passed a clumb of blackberry bushes, Faye saw that the leaves were shivering. But the wind had passed. She drew in her breath and increased her pace. She had to walk through a brief patch of forest before reaching home. The woods, like a tiny peninsula, jutted into the Hogans' cornfield. For years Ol' Man Hogan, who was as lazy as a hound, had talked about cutting it down so that he would have more space for corn. But like so many other things, Hogan didn't get around to doing it before he died. And the Hogan boys were just as shiftless. They had no interest in felling the trees. Of course Faye could take the long way around, through the cornfield, but that would mean climbing through a barbed wire fence in the near-dark. Also, the corn stalks when they brushed against her skin made her itch. She was too tired to bother bathing again that night and, if she would admit it, too drunk.

As Faye entered the forest, the treetops blotted out the stars and she was plunged into blackness. She stopped and considered backtracking, detouring through the cornfield after all, but it would take much longer, and she was so anxious to get home. As she pushed onward, a low-hanging tree limb slapped her in the face. She must have taken a wrong turn. She backed up and expelled her breath sharply. Something was pressing against her. Faye turned; it was nothing more than the stump of another limb. She was trying to get her bearings when a rhododendron bush to her left moved for no apparent reason. She rushed away from it, but became entangled in grapevines, which encircled her like serpents. Gasping, she pulled herself free. Where in the devil had the pathway gone? Another step, and her feet found smooth ground once again. Nearly smiling, Faye knew where she was. She'd be through the trees in no time.

As she stumbled on, she heard movement on either side of her. She strained her eyes to see, but the darkness of the forest was so ominous, so heavy, that it made her feel like she had been struck blind. Then she heard it again - the distinct sound of shuffling and breathing.

"Who's there?" she asked in a strangled voice. Her nerves quivering, Faye stopped. For a moment there was utter silence. She was oddly aware of the scent of summer - the ripened corn, the wildflowers, the loamy earth ... then something else, a smell that had a sickish sweet undertone. It was the smell of her own fear.

She moved forward again, cursing the burned-out lantern with each painful step. She increased her stumbling pace, but did not dare to run in the cover of darkness. Sobbing with relief, Faye reached the edge of the trees at last.

The clouds which had earlier obliterated the moon now blotted out the stars. Faye made her way to the cornfield on the right of the path. Its fence would lead her home. She stretched out her arm, cried out in pain and quickly drew back. Her palm had caught on one of the many barbs. She pressed her hand to her mouth and sucked the salty blood.

Something was moving between the corn-rows, rustling the sword-shaped leaves. They've followed me from the forest, Faye thought wildly. Pitching the useless lantern aside, she ran along the fence. Suddenly she crashed into the post and was seized by metal talons. She cried out in surprise and pain, and then realized what held her. The Hogan boys had not finished wiring the posts, and three great curls of barbed wire, each about the size of a tumbleweed, had been left carelessly lying on the ground.

The loosely wrapped wire caught Faye's dress and its barbs dug into her legs. Shrieking with pain, she tried to disengage herself, but she fell to the ground. The more she struggled, the more the deadly wire coiled around her body. The horror of the moment was worse than any nightmare she could imagine.

Those who had been pursuing Faye emerged from the cornfield and surrounded her. Faye felt her stomach turn and her bowels rumble uncomfortably. Abruptly, the wind rose; the clouds were blown away and the moon came out. Faye's screams were transformed into thin, birdlike shrieks by the night winds.

A low, deep growl came from the leader.

Faye began to cry in terror, tears mercifully blurring her vision.

The leader, loping cautiously around the wire, seized Faye's ankle between strong teeth. They cut through her flesh and scraped against the bone. Another one crept forward and reached toward her face, ripping her cheeks away. The others grunted and drew closer. At last Faye knew what had profaned her husband's body and what had happened to his heart. As they drew nearer she could feel their hot, fetid breath burn her flesh. Faye closed her eyes and forced herself to sing. "I'm gonna see my Jesus, when I get...." Her words ended as her throat filled with blood.

***

Avarilla hurried through the Thicket towards home. She shouldn't have stayed so long at the Community House. As community leader she was expected to attend the socials, and she did so willingly; still, she didn't like to leave Sissy alone for too long a time. Alex had offered to sit with Sissy, but he was, after all, the caller at the dances and an energetic young man, to boot. It was right for him to be out enjoying his youth while it lasted. It was natural.

She entered the kitchen, set the lantern on the table and glanced at the Big Ben alarm clock. It was past eleven; Sissy would be asleep by now. After taking off her shoes, Avarilla crept quietly into Sissy's room to kiss her goodnight.

The bed was empty. Sissy was sitting in a chair by the window, bathed in moonlight. Her hair was wet; it hung about her face and shoulders like the tendrils of an underwater vine. Her face was pale, her eyes glazed and shining, and a proud smile curled the corners of her mouth.

"Why, Sissy, what are you doin' up so late?"

"They came, Mama," said Sissy. "They finally came."

Apprehensive, Avarilla went to her daughter. As she neared, she saw that Sissy cradled something in each arm. "What have you got there. Sissy?"

"My boys," Sissy giggled. "My baby boys."

Avarilla stared at the offerings. In one arm Sissy held the corn husk doll, in the other a shapeless mass of fur. The old woman touched it and drew back. It was a dead squirrel, crawling with maggots.

"And I already named them, Mama." She held up one. "Josh." And then the other. "Orin."

Avarilla heard a piercing scream and realized that it had come from her own lips.

ECCLESIASTES, 10:11

The sun exploded in a shower of golden needles through the treetops. The dusty path resembled a strip of beaten bronze until it was disturbed by Avarilla's footsteps. Carrying a huge basket, she hurried toward the camper, through the spangled sunlight.

The old woman tapped lightly on the door.

Josh answered it. "Aunt Avvie! You're up early." He was wearing cutoffs, a tank top and sandals.

"You'll forgive me, Josh," she said kissing him warmly on the cheek. "I brought you breakfast." She held up the basket. "Fresh eggs, country bacon, homemade bread, red raspberry jam, an' a tub of butter. I hope that's to your likin'."

"Sounds wonderful. But you shouldn't -"

"Of course I should have," interrupted Avarilla. "This is quite an event for me. Your comin' back to the Ridge." She set down her basket and rolled up the sleeves of her plain, homespun dress. "Now, if you'll just show me where everythin' is, I'll get breakfast on. Looks like your coffee's finished perkin'."

"But Cresta and I -"

Avarilla smiled. "I always say there's nothin' so nice as wakin' up to the smell of bacon. She's still asleep, is she?"

"She was tired out - the trip and all."

"And the dancin'. Goodness, she had a lively time last night."

Josh poured coffee for himself and Avarilla. "Did the social last much longer?"

"It was still goin' when I left."

"How did Orin react to meeting me?"

"He took it in stride, just like you. I guess I never stopped to think that nobody really likes to look like anybody else."

Josh started to answer her, thought better of it, and began taking down dishes, frying pans and forks and spoons.

Even though Cresta was groggy from the Valium, the seductive aroma of bacon brought her to her feet. She quickly pinned up her hair and put on a robe of Chinese silk. Then she opened the sliding door and stuck her head out. "Did I oversleep? I was supposed to cook."

"No, love," said Josh. "Aunt Avvie brought all sorts of good things for breakfast. We thought we'd just go ahead with it."

"It smells wonderful. I'll be with you as soon as I take a quick shower."

After Cresta had disappeared into the bathroom, Avarilla remarked, "I must say, she's one of the few women I've ever seen who looks just as beautiful in the morning."

"That was her main selling point," grinned Josh.

Avarilla insisted on serving the young couple first, before sitting down herself. Josh ate with gusto, and Cresta was surprised to see that he ate half a dozen strips of bacon. Well, it
was
delicious. The old woman ate lightly herself, explaining, "Better to eat less as you grow older. It sustains one's health." Then she turned serious. "Josh, I want you an' Cresta to be real careful climbin' down that mountainside to the river. You'll be takin' the old mining trail, but don't go explorin' any of those boarded-up mine shafts. They're dangerous. I guess the mountain took offense at gettin' all cut up like that. An' dress in somethin' sturdy. You'll need high boots. You got to watch out for the brambles an' the snakes." Cresta shivered, and Avarilla added, "They won't bother you if you don't bother them. They're just creatures of nature. How long are you plannin' to stay down on the river?"