Texas Born (26 page)

'And then?'

'Then we runs like possums with they butts
full o' buckshot.' Demps paused. 'What you say, boy? You in on
it?'

'It won't work,' Zaccheus protested
weakly.

Demps stared at him. 'It work. You do as I
says, an' it work!'

'I don't want to land back in jail, that's
for sure.'

But an escape attempt, however successful,
would make the law only want him even more. And if Demps was right,
and he was sent to the state farm, escape might prove impossible,
or at least more difficult. There they locked big iron cuffs around
one of your ankles and kept you perpetually chained to other
men.

Demps seemed to read his conflicting doubts.
'Hank Yarby, he a mean sonbitch. Forget it, boy. You ain't gonna be
let off easy. Yarby, he expert at trumpin' up charges. Claim you
resist arrest, try to attack him, all that kinda stuff. The more he
pile up on you, the longer you the property o' the state o'
Missouri.'

'Is
that
what you think's going to
happen?'

'How the
hell
I know, boy?' Demps
whispered forcefully. 'I ain't God or no Gypsy woman. I can't read
no future. Yarby, he sure don't confide none in me.' He leaned so
close into Zaccheus' face that Zaccheus could nearly taste his
breath. 'But I tells you one thing. Ever'body knows better'n to
fuck up on Yarby's turf. He want that sheriff star real bad.' Demps
paused. 'But if you wants to git outta here, you needs me.'

Zaccheus could feel the conflicts thrashing
about within him, bumping, grinding, slowly eroding whatever
confidence he had left in either option. 'I have to think it over,'
he persisted weakly.

'Don't think too long,' Demps warned. 'Come
mornin', we may be separated. Won't work if you and me locked apart
in two different cells. An', closer to mornin' it gets, less time
we got to sprout our li'l wings. You know?'

Zaccheus nodded slowly. 'Okay, Demps,' he
finally said softly. 'I'm with you. All the way. But I have to do
something first.'

'What's that?'

'I got to see somebody back home.'

'A woman?' Demps asked with a smile.

Zaccheus nodded.

'I don't advise it,' Demps said. 'Women's
trouble.' He shook his head. 'Big trouble. You mark my words.'

Zaccheus dragged the ladder around the
Flattses' dark house and propped it softly against Phoebe's second-
floor window. As if he'd ordered it expressly for the occasion, the
full white moon floated silently in the cloudless night. It was
past midnight in Muddy Lake, Missouri, and the night was quiet.
Even the breeze was a bare whisper in the foliage on the trees.

He felt something powerful stir within him as
he climbed the ladder sure-footedly, his hands flying from one rung
up to the next. Demps waited in the dark cover of the bushes
below.

Her window was shut. Zaccheus cursed softly
to himself. Then he cupped his hands against the glass and tried to
peer inside. At first, all he could make out were the dark hulking
forms of furniture, and then the breath caught in his throat. She
was lying in bed, her knees tucked up near her chin in a fetal
position, her body shrouded in an ethereal, almost phosphorescent
nightgown.

He rapped softly on the glass with a cocked
knuckle and waited anxiously for her to wake up. When she didn't,
he knocked a few more times, each knock louder than the last, but
the sounds did not penetrate the veils of her deep sleep.

'Come
on
, boy!' Demps hissed up at him
from below. 'We ain't got all night!'

'Just give me a minute!' Zaccheus hissed
back. He put a hand on the casement window and tugged at it.

It pulled open easily, with barely a squeak.
Grabbing the sides of the window frame in each hand, he ducked and
swung himself into Phoebe's room.

Swiftly he crossed the creaking floor on
tiptoe, all his senses assaulted in an exquisite agony such as he
had never before experienced. This was the first time he had ever
set foot in a bedroom which was exclusively the domain of a young
lady, a room which was not shared, where the combined smells of
toiling bodies, of dirt and sweat, did not exist. Here the tangible
femininity of the room's occupant was strong and potent;
pervasively, puissantly sweet. He inhaled deeply of the
mysteriously tempting fragrances which hovered deliciously around
him, which teased his senses and roused him in pleasurable
delight—the freshness of laundered linens, the honeyed sweetness of
flowers, the enticingly ambrosial enchantment of perfumes and
toilet waters, of soaps and powders. He took deep breaths and let
the scents linger luxuriantly in his nostrils, wanting nothing more
than to burrow into their source, swallowed up by the sweetness of
that nectar and myrrh.

When he reached the side of her bed, he gazed
at her with silent longing. Her eyelids quivered as she dreamt
sweet lady dreams, and her soft breaths were mellifluous purrs in
the night. As he watched, she stirred, her lips whispering
something soft and incoherent as she changed position, one arm
draping gracefully over the edge of the bed, her mouth curved in
the chaste smile of the innocent. He had to suppress the sudden
urge to reach out and stroke her, to pepper her face with gentle
kisses, to nibble softy of her flesh, her bones, her soul. Then he
became aware of something glowing richly around her neck, and his
lips widened into a gentle smile. So she wore the pansy charm he
had given her even while she slept!

She looked so at peace that he wished he
didn't have to awaken her. He would have been content to stand
there and look down upon her for hours, but time was sweet love's
enemy. He couldn't dawdle. He had to leave as swiftly and invisibly
as he had come. When Hank Yarby had arrested him, he had been
truthful and given his correct address; he could very well already
be hunted, even here in Muddy Lake.

He had to be careful. Anyone might turn him
in. The Flattses. Even Phoebe.

He bent over her and shook her gently. 'Wake
up!' he urged softy into her ear.

One moment she moaned softy, and the next she
sat bolt upright, her body rigid, her mouth opening to form a
scream.

He clamped a hand over her mouth and her eyes
bulged in fear. Instantly her hands flew to his and tugged at them
with surprising strength.

'It's me!' he whispered. 'Zaccheus!'

She ceased struggling immediately. Her eyes
were wide and pale in the moon glow.

Cautiously he took his hand away from her
mouth.

'Zaccheus?' she said, disbelief in her voice.
'Is that really you?'

'Ssssh!' he warned.

The room came alive with the urgent sibilance
of whispers.

'Where've you been?' she demanded. 'It's been
nearly a week and no one's heard a word from you!'

'I can't tell you now. I'll write you all
about it in a few days.'

'You'll write me? What do you mean? Where are
you off to? Why can't you just tell me everything?'

He turned away. 'I'm sorry, Phoebe. I can't
ever come back.'

Her eyes went huge. 'But
why?
' She
knit her brows.

He tightened his lips. 'I just came to say
goodbye,' he said quietly. 'I couldn't leave without doing that.
You've been so . . . so wonderful to me, Phoebe.'

'You're not going back to college?'

He shook his head.

'Have you . . . done something?'

He nodded. 'I tried to rob a store. A jewelry
store in St. Louis. I had to, Phoebe! How else could I pay for Ma
to go to the clinic?'

She regarded him in sad silence. 'Oh,
Zaccheus. Then you don't know?'

'Know what?' He frowned at her.

'You're . . . you're too late, Zaccheus,' she
said softly.

He just stared at her. Cold dread, like
blocks of ice, suddenly seemed to push against him from all sides.
'Too late?' He grabbed her by the arms and shook her violently.
'What . . . what do you mean, I'm too late?'

'Zaccheus! You're hurting me!'

'I'm sorry.' His hands fell from her
arms.

'Your ma passed away, Zaccheus,' she
whispered thickly. 'Three nights ago.'

'What!' The strangled cry caught in his
throat. 'You're joking,' he sobbed. 'Tell me you're joking.'

She took both his hands in hers and pressed
them gently. 'It's true, Zaccheus.'

He shook his head. 'She . . . she died?'

Phoebe nodded. 'If it's any consolation, she
went very quietly, in her sleep. Doc Fergueson said it was best
that way. At least at the end she didn't have to suffer too
much.'

Zaccheus turned away as the tears began to
slide down his cheeks.

'My uncle read the eulogy,' Phoebe continued
in a low voice. 'Your pa asked him to. He said since it happened so
soon, and you're not an ordained minister yet, it was what she
would have wanted. It sort of surprised us all, since none of your
family ever came to church. Aunt Arabella played the hymns, and
everyone sang your hymn, the one you wrote? I don't think it ever
sounded prettier, there was so much feeling put into it. It was a
very nice funeral.'

He sat in stony silence.

'Zaccheus?' She shook him gently. 'I'm so
sorry. Really, I am.'

He began crying softly, and she opened her
arms, held him close, and swayed him back and forth.

'I'm really so sorry,' she repeated.

'I robbed the store for her and Pa,' he said
between his moans of anguish. 'Just so she could get well and Pa
could keep the farm!'

'He can, Zaccheus. That's already been done.
The farm's still his. We took up a special collection in church on
Sunday. Everybody was generous, and Mack Collins, the banker, was
the most generous of anybody. Widow McCain was sitting right beside
him, and she told me he put twenty dollars into the basket. We
collected more than two hundred dollars, and the mortgage payments
are now up-to-date.'

He closed his eyes. He sighed deeply, his
body shaking with tremors. 'Just when Pa needed me, Phoebe, I
wasn't there!' He pounded his fists on his thighs. 'And now that he
needs me more than ever to help him run the farm, I'm a
fugitive!'

'You tried your best, Zaccheus. That's all
anybody can do. Your Pa will understand. I know he will.'

Zaccheus shook his head, sniffled noisily,
and wiped his eyes with his fingertips. 'I've shamed him. I've
shamed everybody. Ma's memory . . . the reverend and your aunt
Arabella.' He stared at Phoebe. 'You.'

She tried to smile. 'You haven't shamed me,
Zaccheus. You did what you thought was best.'

'I'll never become a minister now,' he said.
'And even if I wasn't wanted by the law, I still couldn't.' His
voice was weary, but there was no mistaking the self-loathing in
it. 'I couldn't live with myself. I took the bad road.'

'And you're going to stay on it? Is that
it?'

A long moment passed, then Zaccheus said, 'I
don't know. The way I see it, right now I just want to stay
free.'

Phoebe looked at him levelly. 'I don't care
what road you took,' she said huskily. 'Or down what road you're
headed.'

He remained silent.

'Zaccheus, I don't
want
to live my
life as a minister's wife. I never have! I'd
hate
it.
Couldn't you see that?'

He couldn't help staring. 'But I
thought—'

'Sssssh,' she said soothingly. She cradled
his head awhile. Then she licked her lips thoughtfully.
'Zaccheus?'

'Yes?' His voice was thick.

'What are you going to do now?'

'I guess I'll take off.'

'Where to?'

'Somewhere where nobody knows me. Out of
state, maybe out west.' He shook his head miserably. 'I don't know,
Phoebe. I just don't know.' He got to his feet and paced back and
forth.

'You shouldn't go alone, Zaccheus.'

'I won't,' he answered. 'Demps is coming with
me. He and I broke out together. Besides . . .' He stopped pacing
to look at her, then shrugged and gave a bitter approximation of a
smile. 'He's the only friend I've got.'

'You've got me,' she said huskily.

'No!' He shook his head adamantly. 'You have
to forget about me! Forget I ever existed!'

'Zaccheus! What are you saying?' Her pupils
dilated wildly as a sudden fear leapt into her eyes. 'You can't
leave me here in this godforsaken one-horse hick town!' she
whispered. She reached out and grabbed his arm. 'I beg of you! You
must take me with you!'

'And what kind of life could I offer you?' he
asked bitterly.

She was silent.

'Well, I'll tell you what kind,' he said
brutally. 'A life on the run with a man you'll eventually grow to
hate!'

'I'll never hate you, Zaccheus,' she
whispered. 'And anyway . . .' She got up in one fluid movement and
snaked her arms around his neck: Salome in the flesh. 'Any life is
better than the one I have here.' She pressed her face against his
chest, as though to better hear the strong, reassuring beats of his
heart.

The intoxicating perfume of violets and
things mysteriously female was strong in his nostrils, pungent and
painful. He could feel his instant arousal, the fires in her
reaching all the way inside him, demanding that he respond.

'No!' he said in a strangled voice, and it
was all he could do to push her away.

'What
is
it?' she whined.

'Can't you understand?' He raked a hand
through his thick yellow hair and declared, 'I love you too much to
ruin your future!' Then he retreated from her as if from a sinkhole
and looked studiously in the opposite direction, at the
sprig-papered wall. He let all the pain and sorrow and longing
which had accumulated inside him escape from his lungs in a single
long, heavy sigh. His self-control shuddered through him like the
ague. Then he straightened his shoulders and stood taller, and
despite his physical agony, managed to pull himself together.