Quarrel with the Moon (19 page)

Blackness yawned before him. It was so dark that the light would not penetrate it. Josh eased one foot in front of the other. Suddenly he felt nothing but space. He pitched himself backwards and fell on his buttocks. Then he examined the path with his hands. A sheer drop lay just ahead of him. It was impossible to ascertain its depth.

Shaking with relief, he backed up until he came to the main cavern. This time he chose the left tunnel, which veered sharply away from the center of the mountain and went steadily downward. He laid aside several planks which he would pick up on his way back. He wanted to make sure there was enough wood for the fire. Cresta must be kept warm.

The tunnel suddenly widened and opened into a cave which was about the size of a modest living room. Here Josh's nostrils were assailed by a scent which was excruciatingly vile. Josh held his breath and felt his confidence evaporate.

At first the floor appeared to be covered with snow. Then, as a faint wind stirred the billowy white drifts, he saw that it was not snow, but feathers - thousands of feathers, with occasional sharp flashes of polished bone. Some were broken, some were whole, and some remained strung together: a raccoon's skeleton here, a snake's there ... it was a hideous underground graveyard. He surmised that the cave was a den used by a pack of wild animals who returned here to eat their prey.

He forced himself to move forward. Feathers stirred around his feet, bones snapped beneath his weight. He felt as if he were wading through the surf of the River Styx, towards the land of Death. The stench was overpowering.

Suddenly Josh found its source. A stretch of bare earth was covered with excrement.

The feces did not look like any animal's. It appeared to be human waste.

One thought and one thought alone possessed him.

He must get himself and Cresta away from this virulent place as quickly as possible.

Reverend Hooper tugged on the thick rope. The bell in the steeple tolled loudly, but the somber sound was muted by the roar of the departing storm. Thirteen times the bell tolled, mourning for Faye Brooks.

It was just past six thirty when the preacher left the church. The rain had abated; the sky was white and glowing in its wake. The trees dripped as though it were still raining, and the preacher's boots made squishing sounds as he hurried through the evening, Sin-Eater to the dead.

There were about twenty people gathered on the porch of Faye Brooks' cabin. They moved aside to make room. No one spoke to him, and few looked at him. Reverend Hooper did not look at them, either. Their deformities appalled him. God had surely cursed the Ridge. He removed his flat, black hat and pressed it under his arm as he entered the kitchen.

The kitchen was permeated with the odor of home cooking. But a more formidable scent was evident, one with which the preacher was painfully familiar. It was the smell of death. He looked through the door leading to the parlor. The closed coffin was propped up on sawhorses and a cluster of figures in black knelt beside it. They were the four oldest women on the Ridge - Avarilla, Jewell, Sophie and Sissy. Avarilla looked up and smiled directly at him. The preacher nodded, grateful at being acknowledged.

In the kitchen two tables had been pushed together to hold the food brought by the mourners. From the ceiling above, strips of paper unfurled, speckled with limbs and wings and bodies of summer flies - flags of the vanquished. The preacher filled a plate with a sample of each food. He did not choose from personal taste. The amount of each sample was exactly the same. He mixed sweets and starches together, often eating them in the same bite. He took a bite out of one of Roma's caramel apples and followed it with a mouthful of cole slaw. The preacher did not sit, but rather stood in the middle of the floor while slowly, methodically, he ate everything on his plate. When he had finished, he placed the plate and fork in the sink, although he knew that they would not be washed and used again, but taken away and buried with the corpse.

Reverend Hooper bowed his head and offered a prayer. It was as much for himself as Faye Brooks. His lips moved in a silent litany: "Oh Lord, why won't You return to the Ridge an' drive out the beasts which have taken over the night? When will You return? What can we do to bring You back? What sacrifice must we make? Sweet Lord, what sacrifice do You want from us?"

He put his hat on, and once more eased his way through the silent crowd on the porch.

As soon as the figure in black had departed, the younger people began to file into the kitchen. They grabbed plates and began heaping food onto them. Reuben's jars of liquor were opened; substantial tots were poured into jelly glasses and quickly consumed. The middle-aged women, the mothers of the youngsters, followed their children inside. Solemn and drab in their mourning clothes, they ate little and spoke even less.

The four women at the casket finished their prayers. Sissy retreated to a rocking chair in the corner and watched the young people with placid interest. Alex brought her a plate of food and cajoled her into eating. Sophie, Avarilla and Jewell began clearing away the used dishes.

Jewell went to the sink, took off her garnet ring, placed it on the windowsill, and began stacking plates. She wished that she had given the ring to Faye while she still lived. As she washed the dishes, she eyed the young people reflected in the kitchen window. Not for the first time, Jewell resented them. True, they hadn't been brought up with the traditions and the beliefs which she and her peers had been given by their parents. But that wasn't what bothered her. They seemed completely bereft of normal feelings. They weren't there to mourn Faye, but rather to eat and to drink. She bit down on her lower lip, flung the dishrag aside and hurried through the house to Faye's bedroom, where she closed the door behind her.

Avarilla, collecting plates, saw Jewell's actions. She gave the stack of dirty dishes to Marinda, saying, "Would you put these in the sink, dear? Jewell needs some attending."

The young girl carried the dishes to the sink and began to scrub the plates. She hummed a sprightly tune to accompany her work.

Sophie, her face strained and anxious, brought a stack of dishes to the sink. She sucked in her breath as she saw Marinda.

"I sure enjoyed your apple pie, Mrs. Balock. Perhaps next time you'll add some raisins."

"The ... next time?" Sophie whispered.

"Yes, I'm just wild for raisins."

Avarilla shut Faye's bedroom door behind her and looked around the small, neat room. Jewell was sitting on the floor next to the window. Thin rays of late sunshine surrounded her like a cage. "Jewell," Avarilla began.

Jewell looked up, grief and misery in her face. "Nobody cares," she sobbed. "Faye's dead an' nobody cares."

Avarilla knelt beside Jewell and cradled her in her arms. "That's not so, Jewell," she said soothingly. "Everybody liked Faye. You an' I loved her."

"She was like a sister to me," Jewell sobbed.

"I know, I know," crooned Avarilla. "She was a sister to everyone."

"I should have give her my garnet ring, Avvie. She always admired it. But I can't now. The coffin lid's nailed shut. It's too late."

"I'm sure Faye understands, Jewell. She doesn't need it now."

"Where's Orin - Roma?" wailed Jewell. "They haven't come by. Where are they?"

"Shhh. They'll be here soon," said Avarilla. "I'm sure they just wanted to wait till the crowd had thinned out. They were very fond of Faye, you know."

"Yes, I know. I guess," Jewell sniffed, "everybody was."

"The young ones show their grief in a different way. Goodness, Jewell, you have to remember that they're so different from us. Havin' no fathers an' bein' marked has made them - well, a little strange. We got to be tolerant of them."

"I suppose," Jewell conceded.

"It's not like Faye was really gone from us, you know. She's in heaven now. She's with the Lord."

"Amen, sister. Amen."

"An' you'll be seein' her soon. You know that, don't you, Jewell?"

Jewell nodded. "You know, Avvie, I don't mind dyin'. Now that Faye's gone, the sooner I go, the sooner we'll be together."

"Not to be rushin' things," Avarilla said gently. "You'll go in your time. Here, take my handkerchief an' dry your eyes. We ought to be gettin' back to the wake."

"You think Orin an' Roma has come yet?"

"I'm sure they have," Avarilla tenderly stroked her friend's hair back into place. She stood up and helped Jewell to her feet.

Jewell kissed Avarilla on the cheek. "Avvie, you're a tonic for everythin'."

When they returned to the parlor, the last of the mourners were filing past Faye's coffin, paying their final respects, going home. Avarilla took her friend into the kitchen, sat her down and poured her a cup of coffee. While Jewell was drinking it, Roma and Orin entered.

Roma came to Jewell and hugged her. "Jewell, I'm so sorry." She glanced at Orin. "We both are."

Orin touched the old woman's narrow shoulder. "Faye was a good soul. We'll all miss her."

Once again Jewell broke into tears. Roma comforted her while Avarilla drew Orin aside. "You're both late comin'." It was a gentle chastisement.

"I'm sorry, Grandma. The storm washed out the road. Me an' some of the boys went to see if we could right it, but seems like the whole mountainside slid down. We'll have to wait till it dries up before we try to clear things away."

"Why was Roma so late?"

"A chunk blew off her roof, an' she spent most of the afternoon up in the attic movin' things about so they wouldn't get spoiled."

"Well, you're here now, an' I'm sure that makes Jewell feel a whole lot better." She lowered her voice. "She's really torn to pieces. They were so close, as close as sisters. Goodness, I've got to get you two young people somethin' to eat." She touched Orin on the arm. His clothes were damp.

"I didn't have time to change."

"You'll catch your death."

"A shot of old Reuben's juice'll fix me up." Orin looked over the table and grinned. "I see Roma made her caramel apples again."

Avarilla smiled indulgently. "Roma tries, but she's just out of place in the kitchen." Orin said nothing. "Your ma's inside. Why don't you go say hello to her? She gets upset when you don't come around."

Dutifully Orin went into the parlor. Sophie was sitting on one of the side chairs, staring at the casket; Sissy, still occupying the rocker, was toying with her hair. As Orin approached she looked up, and her usually dull face became bright and animated. Orin, who had always been somewhat repelled by his mother, gritted his teeth, then bent to kiss her forehead. "How you feelin', Ma?" Sissy smiled in reply. "Can I get you somethin' to eat?"

Sissy rubbed her stomach and smacked her lips. "I'm full, Orin. Good an' full." She ran her fingers through Orin's thick black hair. He stifled the impulse to draw back.

"I'll let you alone now. Ma," he said and returned to the kitchen.

Sophie got up and followed him.

"Is there anythin' I can do?" she asked Jewell. "I can stay all night with you, if you'd like. I don't mind at all. Uh uh, not at all."

Jewell looked up wearily. "No thanks, Sophie. I'm not goin' home for a while. I want to stay here with Faye."

No one else spoke. Reluctantly Sophie said, "Well then, I guess I'll go, uh huh, go." The assembly mumbled their goodbyes. Sophie started for the screen door, stopped, and uttered a nerve-shattering scream.

Framed in the doorway, looking like a specter of the night, was Josh. His hair was matted, his haggard face streaked with dried mud; mud and leaves clung to his clothes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Avarilla jumped up from the table. "Josh, what is it? What's happened?" She guided him to a chair. The others clustered around him. Josh was finally able to speak.

"Cresta and I, we got caught in the storm. Soaked to the skin. She caught a fever. I'm afraid she's very sick."

"Where is she?" asked Avarilla.

"I got her back to the camper. She's in bed. I came looking for you. I'm sorry about Faye. One of the children told me."

Avarilla took charge. "Roma, get Josh a glass of whiskey an' stay with him. Orin, you see Sophie home. I'll take Sissy by the house an' get what I need to tend to Cresta." Josh started to stand. "No, Josh, you stay here an' rest. I'll see to things."

"But I should drive down to Jericho Falls and find a doctor."

"You can't," said Orin. "There's been a landslide. The road's completely covered. Besides, there ain't no doctor as good as Grandma. She can take care of anythin'."

Avarilla turned to Jewell. "Jewell, you sure you want to stay here?"

Jewell nodded, "Yes, I'm goin' to spend the night. I don't want to leave Faye alone. I'll be fine. You all go do what you have to do an' Avvie, please don't worry about me. I'll be just fine."

Sophie interrupted, "Can't I do anythin' to help?"

"No," said Avarilla sharply. "Orin will take you home."

Sophie started to protest, but Avarilla's face stopped her. She turned to Orin with a small smile.

***

On his way back to the church, Reverend Hooper detoured to cut several branches from the huge willow tree which stood as the only marker to the secret grave he had dug many years before. Upon returning to the church the preacher stripped to his boots. He carried the branches to the center of the altar rail, sat down and, using a pen knife, began cutting away the leaves, leaving the resilient branches bare. As he worked he prayed. "I beseech you, brothers, by the mercy of God, present your bodies as a living sacrifice, which will be holy an' acceptable unto God." Then slowly, methodically, he began to flagellate himself.

Avarilla opened the door of the camper. "Cresta?" There was no answer. She stepped inside. She could hear the young woman's labored breathing coming from the bedroom. She set a worn carpetbag and a bundle of quilts on the kitchen table, then hurried towards the sound. "Cresta?"

"Who is it?" Cresta's voice was weak and rasping.

"It's Aunt Avvie." She went to sit on the bed. Cresta was wrapped in a blanket. Her face was mud-smeared, her eyes red and glistening. "I'm goin' to nip that fever in the bud."