Quarrel with the Moon (20 page)

"Where's Josh?"

"I told him to stay away. It's a bother havin' men underfoot when there's illness. Now, if I help, do you think you have enough strength to get in that shower contraption?"

Cresta nodded. "If you help me."

Avarilla put her arms under Cresta's and lifted her out of the bed. The young woman could hardly walk. "You're burnin' up with mountain fever. It's a caution, but trust me. I'll break it up. Just trust me."

"I do. Aunt Avvie."

Avarilla set a wooden stool in the shower stall and said, "You sit on that an' wash yourself. Make the water as hot as you can stand it. Meanwhile, I'll brew a special tea an' have your bed ready."

While Cresta was showering, Avarilla put a kettle on to boil. She had brought her own teapot to brew the tea from the leaves of boneset, ground ginger root and pine needles. To that she would add honey and whiskey. It should break Cresta's fever. If not, she would have to resort to more drastic measures. She spread the quilts on the bed. The teakettle whistled; Avarilla poured the hot water into the teapot and left it to steep. Cresta came out of the shower.

"Here, honey, I'll help you dry."

"I'm so c-c-c-cold," Cresta shuddered.

"I brought you an old flannel nightgown. It'll keep you warm."

"Did Josh tell you that they left camp?"

"They're not there?"

Cresta shook her head. "No they must have gone back to New York. We just missed them. I wish we'd missed the storm."

Avarilla helped Cresta on with the nightgown, then practically carried her to bed. "You'll be warmer in a minute, honey. The tea must be steeped now."

Avarilla brought a large mug of the steaming brew to Cresta. "Sip it if you have to, but drink it all."

"Hmmm, what's in it, Aunt Avvie? It has some bite."

"A lot of good things, darlin'."

"I can barely hold the cup. It's so heavy."

"I'll hold it for you." Avarilla sat next to Cresta.

Steam rose from the mug and caused beads of moisture to form on Cresta's forehead. With her free hand Avarilla dabbed them away with a clean handkerchief. When Cresta had nearly finished the tea, the old woman set the mug aside and made her scoot down into the bed. She tucked the quilts and blankets around her and switched off the overhead light.

"Don't go. Aunt Avvie. Stay with me."

"I'll stay as long as you want, Cresta." She sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, I hope I don't get real sick. It's been such a wonderful trip coming here. It's meant so much to Josh."

"You love him very much, don't you, my dear?"

Cresta smiled softly. "Yes, I do."

"How did you meet?"

In slow, dreamy phrases Cresta started to tell Avarilla of that morning in Central Park, but her words began to run together. Her eyes closed and she was asleep, her breathing sonorous and strained. Avarilla turned out the lamp and slipped out of the room.

In the kitchen Avarilla made herself a cup of regular tea. She was hungry. Even though she had cooked all day, she was not one to sample her own cooking, and she'd eaten nothing at the wake. She looked in the refrigerator and found a container of raspberry yogurt. She looked at it curiously, held it up to the light and read the label. "There's nothin' in there that could hurt me." She sat down on the couch and sampled it. It was tasty for store-bought food, she thought. Her hunger satiated, Avarilla curled up on the couch and, finally allowing her exhaustion to take over, she fell asleep.

***

Josh, Roma and Jewell sat around the table in Faye Brooks' kitchen drinking from the remaining jug of Reuben's whiskey. Round wet marks made by their glasses decorated the tabletop like interlocking prizes from a carousel.

Josh was worried about Cresta and felt that he should be at the camper, but his exhaustion, combined with the lure of the whiskey, kept him where he was. And he was beguiled anew by Roma's sensuality. He wanted her with more intensity than he had ever wanted any woman, and he knew that she wanted him. All the signals were there - half-lowered eyes, parted lips.

Roma regarded Josh through a fringe of heavy lashes. She had ceased to be impressed by his remarkable similarity to Orin. There were differences, and it was those differences which interested her. There was an evasive quality about Josh that made him irresistible. He seemed like an innocent ready to be corrupted. This thought alone excited Roma more than anything. He was also important. She liked that. And he lived in the fairytale city of New York. Could she make him fall in love with her?

She touched his hand, which was clutching an empty glass. "Josh, can I pour you some more whiskey?"

"I think I've had more than enough," he replied, but he was unconvincing.

Roma hoisted the gallon jug and filled the glass to the brim. Her tongue outlined her lips; she smiled at him. He returned the smile.

Jewell was completely oblivious to the interplay between Josh and Roma. She was immersed in the whiskey and in her memories of Faye Brooks. They covered the past fifty years of her life. Their relationship seemed to be a series of shared firsts ... the first dance, the first date, the first "crush." And then marriage - they had had the first and only double wedding ceremony to take place in Chestnut Ridge. The births and eventual loss of their firstborn, the deaths of their husbands, and finally the closeness between them which allowed them both to face an old age together with a kind of hope. They were bittersweet memories.

Jewell spoke more to herself than to the others. "I remember the first time Faye an' I went berry-pickin' together. We came across the biggest copperhead you'd ever seen...."

"You look tired," Roma murmured to Josh. "You need a bath."

"Well, sir, Faye picked up a rusty sickle which somebody had left stickin' in a fence post an'...."

"I'd better be getting back to the camper," Josh responded without conviction.

"... She whacked that sucker right in two!"

"Not yet. Come back to my house. I'll boil water an' give you a good bath."

"It was the biggest copperhead ever seen in these parts."

"You'll bathe me yourself?"

"Set some kind of record."

"Yes," whispered Roma. "I'll bathe you with my own hands."

"Pa was going to have it stuffed, but being that it was chopped in half...."

"How can I resist such a tempting offer?"

"It began to stink before nightfall an' he had to take it out in the yard an' bury it."

"An' I'll give you fresh clothes to wear."

"Just whacked it right in half, she did."

"Where did you get a closet full of men's clothes?"

"Faye was always braver than me. At least I think she was."

"Not a closet full, just a few things."

Josh smiled thinly. "What are we waiting for?" He drained his glass and turned it upside down on the table.

Jewell rambled on. "... Cut it right in half."

Roma stood up. "Jewell, we're going to go now. Will you be all right?"

"Surely, surely. I'm goin' to stay an' watch over Faye. I must do that. You understand, don't you, Roma?"

Roma kissed the old woman. "Yes, of course, you must."

Josh got to his feet unsteadily. The rigors of the afternoon combined badly with the alcohol, but his desire for Roma far surpassed his exhaustion. He nodded to Jewell, knowing that his words of goodbye might very well tumble out as words of lust.

Josh walked very close to Roma as they headed toward her house, but he did not dare to touch her. He would not have been able to restrain himself from completing the sexual act, once it was started. They crossed the covered bridge; Josh realized they were nearing the Community Center. Josh asked, "Where will Faye be buried?"

"Why, in the graveyard," replied Roma.

"You mean the one behind the church?" She nodded. "But it's in terrible condition."

"I know. There's underground erosion. We think it was brought about by the diggin' of the mine an' the explosion, but there's some plots which are still good."

"I don't understand about the church, Roma."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, doesn't anyone attend anymore? I thought mountain people were very religious."

"We have our own kind of religion," Roma replied sharply. "We don't need churches. Besides, the preacher went crazy an' closed it up. We couldn't go even if we wanted to."

"Is he still alive?"

"Oh yes. He lives in the church."

"Lives there!" exclaimed Josh. "But how does he exist?"

Roma did not answer. "Here's the pathway to my house." She turned and lightly brushed her breast against his arm. He forgot the church and the preacher.

***

Orin and Sophie stood on the porch of Sophie's General Merchandise Store. He spoke with a forced smile: "All safe, Sophie. No goblins, no haints."

"You must come in, Orin." She saw the hesitation in his eyes. "Please, just for a moment. Let me make you a bite to eat."

"I'm not hungry, Sophie."

"Some dandelion wine, then. I make it myself, and if I say so, it's the best I've ever tasted. Uh huh, the very best."

Orin sighed. "I'd enjoy a glass of your dandelion wine, Sophie. But just one. I got a lot to do before mornin'."

"Mornin'," Sophie repeated. "Oh, yes, the buryin'. I just don't think I'm up to goin'." She led him through the shop and into the back where she kept house. "Sit down, Orin, an' make yourself comfortable. Take off your boots if you like. I know how men like to take off their boots, uh huh. A little comfort never hurt nobody."

Orin scowled and looked away. "I'm fine as I am, Sophie. How about that wine?"

Sophie offered a coquettish smile to her guest and hurried to the pantry. A bottle of wine was handy, and so were jelly glasses, but Sophie took the time to open a dusty box labeled "Seneca Glassware." The box contained half-a-dozen goblets which a now-forgotten relative had sent her as a wedding present. They had been used once on her wedding night, and then had been packed away along with her expectations for a happy life with Kalem Balock. She returned to Orin. "I'll just be a moment. This glass wants rinsin'."

"Any glass will do, Sophie."

Taking his remark as politeness, Sophie elaborately washed and wiped the crystal goblet. She set it down on the table, then uncorked the wine and poured a taste into the glass. Orin looked at it questioningly. "You're supposed to taste it," she bubbled, "an' let me know if it's all right. Then I'll pour you a proper glass. That's how they do it in movies."

Orin tossed down the wine, smacked his lips and pronounced, "Ahhhh, right fine." Then he held out the empty glass to Sophie.

Sophie sat down opposite Orin and gazed at him appreciatively while he drank. "It's nice havin' a man in the house." She rattled on. "The sound of heavy boots, the smell of leather and tobacco."

Orin stood up. "I don't smoke, Sophie."

Looking for any excuse to delay him, Sophie held up a length of cloth she had just woven for Orin's approval.

"Now, that's a nice piece of work," he said politely.

"I was thinkin' maybe you'd like for me to make you somethin', Orin. Perhaps a poncho, uh huh, like they're wearin' now."

This time Orin did not conceal his irritation. "That was a long time ago, Sophie," he said. "Nobody wears ponchos anymore. I have to go now."

"Yes, you must go. You have things to do. Uh huh, things to do." There was a note of envy in her voice.

After Orin had gone, Sophie was suddenly consumed by an overwhelming loneliness. She told herself she had acted silly with Orin, but it wasn't that she had been trying to seduce him. Really she wasn't. It was only that Orin stirred something within her, something which had been dormant for so many years that Sophie could no longer identify it.

***

Orin walked through the village toward the Jericho Falls road, intending to check for more landslides. But then he turned around and walked in another direction, the length of his stride increasing with every footstep. Orin knew where he was headed, where he had been headed all along.

"You may now kiss the bride."

She lifted her wedding veil and pursed her lips. No one kissed her. The congregation stirred. Sibilant whispers rustled the pages of prayer books, a child giggled, a parent hissed a reprimand.

Cresta was standing alone at the altar, a bride without a groom. Puzzled, she looked around. She was beneath the wisteria arbor in Central Park. Slowly she turned. Middle-aged widows served as her bridesmaids, faces blank, eyes hollow. They were dressed in black and carried bouquets of dead flowers held by black, serpentine ribbons trailing to the ground. There was a rustle of material. The child Marinda, clutching Cresta's train with her hideous four-fingered hands, grinned at her. Cresta scanned the wedding guests. They were the deformed young people of the Ridge.

These aren't my friends.

A mountain tune began playing, slightly off-key. The musicians were the six who had performed at the Community House social - the three old men and their younger counterparts. That's the wrong music, she wanted to scream.
It isn't appropriate.

"You may
now
kiss the bride."

It was Alex's voice, speaking in a singsong manner like the caller at a square dance.

Where was Josh?
Cresta began to cry. She ran from the grape arbor and into the park. A sudden wind whipped around her, pressing the organdy and lace wedding gown against her body like the petals of an unopened flower. Completely alone now, she stood in the center of the running path and listened to the sound of approaching footfalls, running shoes slapping against hard earth. Josh!

But the sound of the running feet passed her by. Cresta wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shivered and exhaled. Her breath floated on the air like a puff of dandelion down. Underneath, the damp carpet of grass chilled her feet. Why hadn't she worn shoes?

She felt so alone. She began to tremble, bit down on the inside of her lower lip and was surprised by the taste of her own blood. Her heart was pounding, and she felt a sharp pain underneath her breast.