Scarecrow (33 page)

Girlie’s eyes widened alarmingly. She tugged at my hand and led the way up the ladder into the hayloft. There was a deafening patter of wings; I gasped as birds and chickens scattered around us, as mice scurried frantically into the hay. The cows bawled restlessly below us; the horses whinnied in fear. Girlie and I lay flat on our stomachs. We could see most of the barn from here. Around us piles of hay nearly touched the ceiling in places, and frost wove thick webs among the golden drifts, turning our breath to ice. My hands were so numb I had to look down to make sure I still had ahold of the rifle. I leveled it, its barrel aimed right at the barn door. Beside me Girlie moved closer, her body half buried beneath mine. I thought I could feel them—the mice, the rats—crawling over my ankles, slithering around my legs.

“Help me,” I murmured, “help me.” Yet there was no one to help. Not Girlie huddled next to me…not even myself, I realized, for I knew that if Seth came through that door, I didn’t know how I was ever going to pull the trigger.

And then it happened.

At first I told myself it couldn’t be…that it was just the wind playing tricks with the door…catching the latch…lifting it free…that it was just the wind pushing it open…inch by creaking inch…the wind rattling in my lungs…the wind squeezing my heart in my chest…squeezing…

I saw his head bent low, the slump of his shoulders in the cold, gray gloom…stumbling forward…as if he couldn’t think anymore…couldn’t stand. He tilted forward into the shadows, and hung there as if he weren’t quite real.

Girlie grabbed my hand and my heart nearly stopped. I tried to bring her closer to me without moving the gun, without moving at all—without making the noise that might give us away.

He acted like he wasn’t sure.

He hung there, bowed over, and he never looked our way, never once lifted his eyes to the loft where we lay too petrified even to think. He hung there and stumbled a few feet forward—nearly falling, clutching at a post for support. But he wasn’t sure, you could tell by the very way he moved—awkward and slow—his head going slowly from side to side, a battered doll come to life, a limp…ragged…
scarecrow.
And my eyes misted, a blur of fear and pain as he stumbled forward and looked around…stumbled forward…looked around….

Scarecrow!
And I could see it now, as plain as the mud and straw trailed on the floor behind him…as plain as his windblown clothes hanging from his tall, stooped frame…the leanness of him…the winter-swept hair and beard…the long arms lopsided as he fought for balance…

As he stumbled to the hayloft ladder…

As he grabbed hold…

The floor shook beneath us, with every uncertain step…each slow, deliberate tread of his boots. I clutched the gun like a prayer and was only dimly aware of Girlie trying to grab it from me.

“No!” her whisper, and the boots…closer…closer…filling the barn…my head…
No…No…

Blood pounded in my ears, the roar of fate drowning out all other sounds—and Girlie tugging at me now—pulling my arm—and me shaking her off—
I won’t let him hurt you, Girlie
—
I won’t
—and the top of the ladder just visible…any moment the hands appearing…
murderer’s hands…
and the trigger, lost somewhere in the dead weight of cold metal…the trigger…and Girlie squeezing me to death…my finger squeezing on the trigger…
murderer’s hands
—
murderer’s hands…

Only it wasn’t his hands I saw first.

It was his eyes.

Black and burning, they cleared the loft and drank me in—holding me—torturing me with something not entirely mad—a slow dismay that drained his already white face, even as his lips moved, forming my name…

The gun drowned out the sound of his voice.

And in that last split second before he fell, there were tears in his eyes as he reached out for me.

T
HE SCREAMS WENT ON
and on.

They echoed down from the rafters, filling each corner with despair, stirring the shadows into a black, wild frenzy.

I felt the sting of a slap against my cheek and saw Girlie’s tear-streaked face come into focus. She was crying but no sound was coming out—pulling on my arm, one leg already thrown over the edge of the loft as she prepared to go down the ladder.

“Wait,” my voice shook. “Let me go first.”

But she was already halfway to the floor, and I felt painful prickles all through my body as if it had gone numb and been resurrected.

I remembered then what I had done, and I realized those screams had been my own.

“Seth!”

I don’t remember getting down—only stopping there beside him, gagging, feeling sick, the barn catapulting around me.

I had never seen so much blood.

He was lying on his back, his arms flung out at his sides, his right cheek resting in a red puddle on the floor. His body was soaked—his coat stuck to him, pants, shirt, all wet with blood, and beneath him a dark red stain grew and grew, spreading out around him, his frame suddenly, pitifully small as the life drained oat of it.

I screamed again, falling down on my knees beside him, my pleas, my fears all falling out in an incoherent stream, my hands groping for him, slippery from him, stained and smeared with him—
“No!”
and again—and again—
“No! God, no!”
because surely I couldn’t have done this, this insane butchery, surely. God help me, I couldn’t have hurt him like this—Seth—
Seth
!

I felt along his clothes, his neck, his chest, searching, probing for the bullet hole—if only I could find it, staunch it. Maybe…maybe…My fingers moved faster, groping for his heartbeat, pressing frantically on his chest. “Seth—
Seth
—can you hear me?” I felt a murmur…a faint, faint echo deep within him…so soft…so fragile…

He was looking at me.

With a cry, I pulled back, gazing into his black, black eyes that drew me helplessly into their depths.

There was no light in them now.

No secrets.

Just a thin haze spreading slowly across their shadows.

“Seth—”

He struggled to breathe. “I…tried…to kill…Rachel…”

He strained to lift his head, but the effort was too much for him. Taking hold of his shoulders, my fingers ran across a frazzled tear along one shoulder of his jacket, and I stared down at it, my mind working in slow motion. I could see a patch of skin showing through, oozing blood, but the wound was only a slight tear in the flesh, not more than a quarter-inch deep. Shaking, I ran my hand along the bullet graze, but Seth didn’t even flinch. He seemed to feel nothing. Panic fluttered in my throat. Slipping my arms gently around him, I tried to ease him onto his side, my eyes widening as his bloody jacket hung away from his body.

Most of his back was gone.

In that split-second glimpse of chopped flesh and shattered bone, I realized that my hands were holding the last pieces of him together, and I pressed him close to me sobbing.

“Oh, Seth…Seth…no…please…”

Against my neck his lips moved, a sigh I could barely hear. “Take…Girlie.”

“Don’t talk now, Seth—don’t. We’ll get help. We’ll—” I looked frantically around the barn, at Girlie standing solemn-eyed, weeping her silent tears, at the shadows closing in, the solitude he’d loved so much, betraying him now. There was no help…no one.

“Help him,” I sobbed. “Girlie…do something.”

She moved forward…knelt beside Seth…placed her little hand on his damp forehead…

“No,” Seth whispered. “Let me go.”

“Oh, Seth—” I cried.

“Girlie,” he whispered again, and his body trembled. I felt a warm trickle leave his mouth, slide down my cheek with hot, hopeless tears.

“Yes,” I promised. “I’ll take her, only Seth, don’t leave me—please—”

I could feel him dying.

There in my arms I could feel the invincible strength flowing out…the smell of earth and woods and autumn wind gone forever. I buried my face in his hair, his skin, the warmth fading wherever I touched, the lines of his face relaxing into the gentleness they had guarded for so long…

I looked into his eyes.

There was no distrust there now. No anger. Only cloudy mirrors of my face against slowly fading blackness…

His mouth moved.

He tried to focus once more upon my face.

“Hold on,” I begged him,
“just hold on…
”

But he couldn’t.

His lips curved in a gentle smile…

And he was gone.

T
HERE COMES A RESOLVE
when you’ve done all you can do—when you’ve taken more than you can stand—when you feel there’s little of real value left to lose.

I sat with him, and time held no meaning, and even though I knew at last what was really happening, suddenly it didn’t even matter anymore. I felt no more panic. No more fear.

Not even when it began to grow dark and the cold sifted draftily through the cracks in the barn. Not even when Girlie touched my arm and I realized she was shaking, and her huge eyes held something—some greater sadness—that they had never held before. And even when I laid him down, so very gently, and pressed my lips one last time to his; even when Girlie and I walked outside and saw the lights burning brightly in the windows of the house, the smoke silhouetted lazily against the dusky sky—even then there was no feeling of dread. No hesitation.

No surprise.

We opened the kitchen door and Rachel whirled around from the stove, her face aglow from absolute relief, her hands floury from patting out biscuits.

“Oh, mercy, I was sick to death with worry about you two! Where on earth have you been?”

Girlie stood there saying nothing, but Rachel didn’t seem to notice. It was me she was looking at, her eyes dark with worry and unanswered questions.

“We went looking for you,” I said. “You and Seth.”

“Oh, but you shouldn’t have! You could have gotten lost. There’s so much land to cover, and Lord only knows where Seth might be.”

“You didn’t come back yesterday,” I said. “We were afraid something might have happened to you.”

“Oh, Pamela, now what could happen to me?” She came over and hugged me and stood back with a smile. “You two better wash up now. Supper’s nearly ready.”

For the first time my eyes fell on the table. There were five places set.

“You left somebody out,” my voice sounded hollow. Dead.

Rachel turned from the pie safe where she was taking out a jar of jam. “Oh, Seth won’t be home tonight. He still has some work to do out in the bottom acre. But the others are here.”

My blood ran cold. I was surprised at my steadiness, turning to Girlie, where she stood, staring sadly, by the door. “Why don’t you bring in some wood?” I suggested.

Girlie looked at me, her little hand patting down a flyaway tangle of hair. Rachel leaned over and took her by the shoulders.

“That’s all right, angel. I can get it later. Now you go wash your hands.”

I stood by as Girlie dipped her hands into the bucket by the door, as Rachel planted a kiss on her nose, as she dried her hands and took a dish of butter that Rachel handed her, setting it down carefully where Seth’s plate should have been. I averted my eyes. They were strangely dry.

“So,” I said, pouring coffee into my usual cup. “You finally found Seth. That certainly saves us a lot of worry.”

Rachel looked at me gratefully. “Oh, Pamela, I can’t tell you how scared I was getting, working myself up like that. I’m so silly sometimes. Why, I should have known better. Seth would never leave me.”

“Is that what you thought?” I asked quietly. “That Seth had gone?”

A look of confusion flickered over her face. She paused, tasting a spoonful of mashed potatoes from the pot. “How could I have thought that?” she said at last, brightening. “Seth never left me in his life. Never. Not even when…” Her face darkened, fell. She stared down at the stove, laying the wooden spoon carefully aside. Her movements were unsure…slow…

“Not even when those boys attacked you?” I asked gently “Not even when everyone else abandoned you?”

Her eyes gazed into mine, dimming softly. “How…did—”

“You told me,” I lied, my voice full of sympathy, of understanding I didn’t feel. Beside me, Girlie’s fingers curled into my own, her hand tugging. Rachel was staring at me, but as I leaned down to meet Girlie’s level gaze, I had the feeling we were invisible to her.

“Micah…” Girlie mumbled. It was almost incoherent, but I saw her eyes slide past me, to the hallway beyond, to the lamplight spilling softly from the parlor. “Franny…”

I squeezed her hand, making her wince. “You told me,” I repeated to Rachel. “Don’t you remember? What you said those boys did?”

Rachel’s hand flew to her throat, her eyes filling with pain. “Go outside for me, will you, Girlie? And get Mama some more cream from the cellar. That’s a good girl.”

I wanted to scream at Girlie, to tell her to stay outside, to run away, but I only followed her with my eyes, trying to communicate my thoughts. The door closed behind her, and I went weak with relief.

I looked at Rachel, dry-eyed. “Seth never left you. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”

“No,” Rachel said slowly, her expression puzzled, remembering. “They came one day when Pa was gone to town. I was in the barn by myself…” Her voice trailed away, eyes blurring into the past.

“Where was the rest of your family?”

“Out in the fields. It was just me there. And Seth and his brother doing some work on our smokehouse for us. They…they didn’t know those boys had come.”

A long silence.

“They sneaked into the barn where you were,” I prompted.

“Yes…yes…they…” She bit her lip, her fingers working frantically at the folds of her apron. “They were all dressed like scarecrows—and I was so
scared,
I couldn’t get away. They called me names—’cause—you know—I wasn’t very pretty to look at—they called me names and said I was stupid and ugly and made fun of me…” A sob rose in her throat; her speech thickened as she tried to choke it back. “They…they held me down…and…and—” Her voice rose, her eyes rolling desperately. “They tore off my clothes…and…they…touched me…all over…they hurt me…and…took an axe…and…chopped off my hair…” The sobs were coming now, heaving furiously as her body shook with the force of each one. I shut my eyes and heard her say, “It was Seth…who found me…covered me up…It was Seth who was kind to me.”