Scarecrow (25 page)

“What was it?” I asked again.

Girlie stopped chewing. Rachel looked down at her and gestured vaguely toward the door.

“Go tell Seth the coffee’s fresh, Girlie. I expect he’ll be ready for some more about now, him being up so early this morning.”

Girlie obediently rose and went to the door. The wind whipped the screen out of her hands; after a brief struggle she disappeared outside. Rachel sank down into the chair opposite me, her face strained as she leaned across the table.

“I’m not one to imagine things,” she said urgently, her voice low. She touched one hand to my wrist; her fingers felt cold. “But I heard something in the night I’ve never heard before. Something that isn’t right…that shouldn’t be here or anywhere on God’s green earth.”

I felt the hair rise chillingly along the back of my neck, but I forced my face to remain calm, expressionless. “Rachel…what is it?”

“I know you won’t believe me,” she said tersely, and her head bent so near to mine that I could see every ragged detail of her scar. “I know our ways are strange to you, and Franny’s not a bad girl, she’s just got a temper, and she never means to hurt anybody—”

Her words swirled around my head, overwhelming me, pushing my mind deeper and deeper into confusion and fearful knowing.

“She didn’t really mean it when she said it, but still…you know…those thoughts get put in Girlie’s head—”

She was looking at me beseechingly, begging me to understand, to believe…to forgive…

“And Girlie can’t help it ’cause she has the Gift—”

“No,” I mumbled, pulling slowly away. “No…I know what you’re trying to tell me, and…no.”

“But you heard her!” Rachel’s hand clamped over my own with a strength that shocked me. Her eyes swam with desperation. “You heard what Franny asked—”

“Yes, I heard her, but she was just upset, and it didn’t mean anything. I just don’t believe it—”

“I don’t want to,” Rachel whispered to me, and tears gathered, blurring her sweet, gentle eyes. “Don’t you understand, Pamela? Oh,
I don’t want to
—”

The door burst open and we jumped apart, looking up guiltily as Seth stood there, shaking rain from his shoulders.

“Girlie said there was coffee?”

“Yes, I’ve just made some.” Rachel hurried to the stove, and I stared down at my cup as Seth took a place at the table. I clenched the handle so hard that my fingers ached, but I couldn’t seem to stop their slight trembling. If Seth noticed, he gave no sign.

“One of the cows is missing,” he said irritably, taking the coffee that Rachel handed him.

“Where do you think she is?” Rachel leaned back against the table, hands digging into her apron pockets, eyes avoiding mine.

“Could have gotten caught in the far pasture. Wandered down to the bottom acre. Probably a damn swamp down there by now. I just hope she hasn’t drowned.”

“I worry with that bridge out,” Rachel murmured. “What do you aim to do?”

“Have to go down there and look for her.” He sighed as if the very thought was wearying. “If that fence came down again, there’s no telling where she might be.”

“You can’t go after her in this weather,” Rachel said anxiously. “It’s too early for snow, but that sky…”

“We can’t afford to lose a cow, Rachel,” Seth said, and his tone ended the matter.

I saw Rachel bite her lip and busy herself at the stove. Seth downed the last of his coffee and kicked back his chair, buttoning up his jacket as he stood.

“What’s wrong with Franny?” he asked shortly. “She’s so jumpy, she acts like something’s after her.”

Rachel stiffened, hands outstretched toward the wood-box, and I glanced up quickly, noting how Seth’s eyes narrowed, going from Rachel to me and back again.

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked mildly, throwing in a handful of kindling, wiping her hands nervously on her apron.

“I mean she’s jumpy as a cat.” Seth stared at her, but Rachel shook her head in forced amusement and pretended to examine the fire.

“I’m sure I don’t know. We’re all a little edgy with this weather, I reckon. Probably an old-fashioned case of cabin fever coming on, is all.”

Seth grunted something unintelligible and strode out. I let my breath out slowly and caught Rachel watching me.

“Do you,” she began slowly, “do you think Franny—”

“Seth’s probably imagining things,” I cut her off. “We’re
all
letting our imaginations get the best of us. Franny seems just fine to me.” I looked away, out through the window, to the endless shroud of gray mist. Then I fixed Rachel with a strained smile. “I don’t think you should give it another thought.”

“You’re right,” she said, and she actually looked relieved. “I know you’re right, Pamela. It’s just everything that’s happened…it’s just…” Her eyes clouded for an instant, pain creasing her brow. She turned abruptly to the stove, dishing up eggs and fried bread onto my plate. “You eat now.” She smiled, setting my breakfast in front of me. “You eat, and we’ll just see if Dewey shows up today. Maybe he decided to walk it, after all.”

But Dewey didn’t show up that day. As the morning dragged on and dinnertime came and went, I realized I wasn’t even disappointed when Dewey didn’t show up. I hadn’t even really been waiting for him. A newer, more persistent feeling had replaced my alternating hopefulness and despair over the arrival of Dewey—a gnawing feeling that left me strangely unsettled and made me jump at the slightest sound, that caused my eyes to dart toward dark corners and glance repeatedly over my shoulder. It was a foolish feeling…and maddening…but one I couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how I tried.

Seth made a brief appearance at noon, but left again almost immediately. I helped Rachel pack a satchel of food and a canteen of hot coffee, and stood with her at the back door watching Seth go into the woods. But as we watched, he stopped to look back at us.

“He’s turned around,” Rachel said in surprise, and her eyes fell upon me, frightened and confused.

I stared toward the trees, and I felt his eyes, knew he watched me, and my heart filled with fear. What was that superstition Rachel had told me once?
“When you start off on a real important trip, you shouldn’t ever look back as you’re leaving….
” But by then he had continued on his way.

“He turned around,” Rachel whispered. “He looked back.”

A strange chill crawled over me as I saw Seth’s back vanish into the tree-lined shadows. I shook it off and went to stand uncertainly beside the stove, trying to warm a part of me the heat couldn’t touch.

We divided our evening between the warmth of the kitchen and the blazing hearth in the parlor. Rachel skinned a rabbit Seth had shot that morning and started cooking supper. The house smelled of game and wild herbs. Franny cleaned the lamps. Girlie played at our feet on the rug, drawing pictures on her slate, making up stories to herself. Franny and I went out several times to check on the sheep. We carried wood and filled the box on the back porch. We kept anxious eyes on the darkening sky, on the gathering of dull clouds high in the north. We watched the woods for a sign of Seth, but he didn’t come.

I peeled potatoes for supper, staring down into the pan, trying to make the skins into long, unbroken curls. Rachel sliced up squash in a pan, opened a jar of tomatoes, cast nervous glances out the kitchen window. Girlie played the organ, mumbling strange indistinct verses that wore raggedly at my nerves. When Franny dropped a dish, we all jumped as if we’d been shot. And still Seth didn’t come.

I went with Franny to the smokehouse, helped her reach down a ham, our eyes darting constantly to the corners, to the rafters. Sudden creaks and groans sawed through us like razors; we grabbed for each other and laughed, embarrassed. We strained our ears, trying to identify outside noises—leaves, branches, rain, wind—no shuffling sounds…
thank God
…no rustlings or feet sliding along wet ground. I didn’t tell her about my earlier conversation with Rachel. It seemed unwise, somehow, unlucky—
look who’s superstitious now…

We went back to the barn, did the milking. The ewe was warm and comfortable, her ordeal apparently forgotten. The horses dozed in their stalls. The temperature was dropping.

There was no sign of Seth.

We ate in strained silence. Girlie tapped her fork on her plate, tap-tap-tap…tap-tap-tap…keeping her eyes on Franny all the while. Rachel reached over, covering Girlie’s hand with one of her own. Franny shifted nervously in her chair, looked up once into Girlie’s full, round stare, and immediately dropped her eyes. The food was limp and tasteless. The coffee in my cup was cold—with a start I wondered how long I’d been sitting there, gazing down into its brown, calm center.

“Time for bed, Girlie,” Rachel said quietly, and again we all jumped, as if a stranger had crept unaware into our midst and suddenly spoken.

Girlie went upstairs, her feet fading overhead, ending with the shutting of her door. Rachel rose mechanically and began clearing the table. I tried to ignore the sound of the clock, yet my heart seemed to be trapped in the monotonous rhythm of its ticking.

“He’ll be all right.” Rachel’s voice was unnaturally loud. “He probably had to go a long way to find the cow and then he had to mend the fence again. He’ll sleep in one of the sheds and be back in the morning.”

Franny pressed her nose against the windowpane, her voice oddly distorted by the frosty glass. “It’s starting to snow,” she said.

W
E SAT UP WAY
past midnight. To pass the time and warm us up, Rachel passed around whiskey, and I drank more than I should have. No one wanted to be the first to leave, as if in some strange way it would be like admitting that something was very wrong. But Seth had been gone like this before. Rachel assured me. Many were the times that work had kept him and Micah far from the house when darkness fell or bad weather hit. That’s why there were sheds built all over the property, for emergencies such as these. And yet I had the unshakable feeling that what we were really dealing with wasn’t so much that Seth was somewhere out there, but that he
wasn’t here.

At last Rachel blew out the lamps and we went up to bed, but I knew I’d never be able to sleep. I’d forgotten to warm a brick for the foot of my bed, but nothing could induce me to go back for it alone. I berated myself for having fallen such easy prey to all this talk of Girlie and her Gift, of Micah coming back, of life being breathed into dead birds. Yet I could still hear those unearthly noises at the barn—could still feel my utter terror, still hear the creak of the door being opened and something dragging itself inside…

Oh, Seth, Seth, where are you?
All my talk to Franny about superstition…my talks to Rachel about overactive imaginings…and yet we had
all
heard the noises—
all of us
—the heart-stopping noises in the dead of the night…
Micah can’t sleep…poor Micah….

I slipped into my nightgown, putting my shawl on over that, layering my feet in several pairs of socks. My head was beginning to feel strange—as if the edges of my mind had gone all fuzzy, with soft buzzing way back in my ears. The bed felt like an iceberg. I wiggled down and lay very still, hoping that if I didn’t move, maybe my body heat would at least warm one spot I could curl up in for the rest of the night. The second I hit the pillow, my head seemed to explode very slowly, the room going suddenly off balance, all tilts and angles. My hands gripped the sheets to keep my body in place—the whole bed rocked gently from side to side, like an oversized cradle. I shut my eyes and drew a deep breath, warmth oozing down through all my limbs into the tips of my toes. I was in a giant cocoon, sleep muffling me like a thick, comforting cloud…how could I have ever thought of staying awake…
Seth…Seth…where are you
…

I slept, I slept a dreamless sleep, and my body sank lower and lower into warmth, into peace, into nothingness…. I roused once, confused, thinking I was home and someone was tossing pebbles at my window, but before I could call to Brad to see who it was, I was out again, floating in an endless sea, a distant, calming whisper lulling me away…

At first I thought the damp had woken me.

Struggling up from the depths of oblivion, I was dismayed to feel myself soaked with sweat, my clothes and the covers a sopping tangle around me. Fighting to remember where I was, I felt a sickening stab of pain in my head and a dangerous lurching in my stomach. Groggily the tenseness of that evening began to drift back to me. I put a hand to my head and collapsed back onto my pillow. I should never have taken that whiskey.

Through half-lidded eyes I saw the outline of my window, framing an eerily lighted sky. It was still snowing. I could hear it now, slushy against the pane, soft little spatters and secret whisperings as it trailed down the glass…down the sides of the house…

Along the hall outside my room…

My brain screamed then, but no sound came out—just the jarring reverberation that set my teeth on edge and exploded my heart into a million frantic beats…. I tried to sit up but the room swam sickeningly in a kaleidoscope of black and gray…the silence surged in so unexpectedly that I gasped.

The silence was more terrifying than the noise.

And then it came again.

Dragging itself down the length of the hall…a curious shuffling sound along the bare wooden floorboards…

Something sliding…thick and wet…

My hands were at my throat, scrabbling uselessly…kneading the closed windpipe…
scream…scream…scream for help
…

It stopped on the other side of my door.

Waiting.

I heard its awful breathing…

A guttural struggle for air…

Oh my God…my God…it knows I’m in here…

Something scraped the door…

Micah can’t sleep…poor Micah…

The knob began to turn.

Even in the dim wintry light I could see it—the dark circle of doorknob, the slow…slow…movement to the right…the pause…a quiver as the thing which held it gripped it tighter…

It knows I’m alone…that Seth is gone…

The click echoed like a gunshot…the agonizing hesitation. Through fear-crazed eyes I saw the door inch away from its frame…move inward toward me.
He won’t have a hand…just the stump of an arm caked with mud and the first snow of winter…and open sores where the worms have begun to feast…