The Storycatcher (13 page)

“I won’t bite. I promise.”

His hand was warm, almost hot, but the squeeze was gentle.

“I really need to have a word with your father. I’ve come from New Orleans just for the pleasure.”

“He doesn’t much care for interruptions.” The lavender snow fell heavier.

Even the man turned to take a look. “This is a fine place to live. Why is it he’s always writing letters about how terrible the place is?”

“Daddy doesn’t like it here. He’s more of a city preacher, or so he says. I like it just fine. Daddy says living here is God’s punishment for something bad one of us in the family did. He probably thinks it was me.”

The man grinned. “We need to be formally introduced. I’m your uncle Lenard.”

“I’d like to say I’ve heard of you, but Daddy doesn’t talk about New Orleans or anyone there.”

This brought a loud laugh from my uncle. “I just bet he doesn’t.” The man looked at the church. “I’m going to surprise him. Pray for me.” He winked. “I want to see that fine mother of yours too.” He strolled off with the blossoms catching in his blond hair, the same shade as mine.

I let him get around the corner of the church and I cut down behind Amanda’s cabin into the woods. Amanda would throw a fit if she knew I was there because she believed they were haunted. I’d heard the spirits calling at night, too, but of course I never told anyone. Mama would have thought I was crazier than she already did, and Daddy would have sworn a demon was in me. The thing was, a tiny bit of Amanda’s magic had moved into me when I stole the sewing basket. Once I sent Daddy a bad thought and a glow showed all around him for hours afterwards. Other times the knowledge of a spell would pop into my thoughts, as if my mind always contained the directions. The magic sat in my chest and ached for use. It settled in my joints and made them stiff. And when I didn’t use the suggested spells, the magic floated through my head, creating an unbearable pressure that pushed against my temples. A losing of one’s mind was not a pretty thing.

I knew if I stayed on the edge of the woods I’d be safe enough. The daylight washed the fern-covered ground. I didn’t have to walk long before I came to the back of the church. I stood under one of the open windows.

“You’re not welcome here, Lenard!” Daddy’s voice boomed.

“Come now, brother. We haven’t seen each other for too long. What, almost nineteen years now.”

“What have you come for?” Daddy barked.

“Father has a deal. He realizes he can’t keep you trapped on this mountain forever.”

“Really,” Daddy said skeptically.

“Father wants you to walk away from the idea of preaching, from this church, and he will give you the new mercantile he bought last week in New Orleans. Imagine, Charles, the city, home. It would be an honest living and there is an apartment on top. I’ve seen the whole place. It’s wonderful. It would be a healing life, Charles. You would be safe.”

Daddy’s anger seeped out the window where I hid against the wall. The thought of losing my mountain made me sick.

“Tell him I refuse!” Daddy yelled.

“Be reasonable, Charles. It’s only a matter of time before you make the wrong choice again. Your letters prove that. The last letter sounded like a madman. Of course your maid and her children will have to find another life besides living off of your income.” My uncle raised his voice on the words “maid” and “her children.”

I balled my fingers into fists. Amanda could not be sent away.

“You don’t need her anymore. The child is grown.”

So I was “the child.”

“Times are hard, Charles. A store is truly a gift.”

“A gift. A gift. To strip me of my calling, my God. A gift.”

“Was that night in Georgia part of God’s calling, Charles? Is that God giving direction?”

Glass shattered in the window three down from where I stood. I swallowed the scream in my throat and took a step back.

“Your temper hasn’t improved, has it, Charles? Father requested I speak with Lydia. It’s over. If you stay here, it will be of your own accord. Father will wash his hands of you.”

“You won’t speak with my wife!” Daddy’s voice was strained and twisted in a way I’d never heard before.

“I will.” Uncle Lenard’s voice was quiet and sure.

“Leave. Leave now! I will not leave Black Mountain. Tell Father he will have to expose me for what he thinks I am. I will not leave my church. I will not.”

Footsteps moved across the old wooden floor. “I will have my visit with Lydia and then take my leave. You can’t stop me from speaking with her. I’m not afraid of you, brother.” Uncle Lenard’s footsteps moved down the steps.

I stood still. If Daddy caught me, he would beat me. He had it in him to do anything, and that was exactly why his brother had come. He knew what my father was capable of.

I WAITED UNTIL DADDY LEFT
the church, his boots crunching on the path leading through the cemetery. The cemetery wouldn’t be safe, and the last place I wanted to spend much time was the woods. So I went in the back door of the church to wait out my uncle’s visit and what it would bring.

If Daddy loved anything at all, it was the church—the actual building, not the people. The walls of the sanctuary were nothing but blackened wood. The windows didn’t provide any brightness, even though when I looked through the old, wavy glass, the daylight was still there. I chose to sit in the women’s amen corner. My body relaxed on the hard wooden bench as if I hadn’t slept for days. I hadn’t, not well. Strange dreams had plagued me since my last visit to the cemetery.

A shadow moved into the one source of light, the vestibule where the bell ringer swung from the rope each Sunday morning. A woman moved down the aisle toward me wearing an old-fashioned cotton dress with lace around the throat and hem. Most of the folks on the mountain wore clothes that were old and out-of-date, so I didn’t give her much thought. The woman had red hair wrapped in a knot on top of her head.

I stood so as not to scare her since I had been sitting in the shadows. But the woman only looked through me. Around her neck was a cross just like the one Daddy kept in a velvet bag, just like the one Arleen wore when she was buried. In the center was a tiny diamond. When I was six, Daddy told me one day I would receive the necklace, but he never mentioned it again. What I would have given for some real light at that moment.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Can I help you? My father is pastor of this church.”

The woman didn’t say a word, but her soft look lingered on the walls. “Have you seen my Armetta?”

“I’ve never heard of her.” My voice echoed off the high ceiling.

She looked at the cross of Jesus hanging on the wall. Then she turned to me. “I need to find Armetta. It’s so important. I can’t leave without her.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know her.”

A horrible sadness soaked the air in the room.

“If you see her, please tell her Amelia Daniels is looking for her.”

A loud popping noise like a rifle being shot came from outside the window. A large limb fell from the big oak tree, narrowly missing the corner of the church. “My goodness.” But I was talking to thin air. The woman was gone. She must have left through the back door.

By the time I walked into my backyard, I was thinking only of the limb. I never mentioned the woman to Amanda, who stood on the back porch. Uncle Lenard’s car was gone.

“Where have you been, Faith?”

“Walking,” I lied.

She raised her eyebrows. “You best not be in the woods. Remember what I told you.”

I opened my mouth but closed it again.

“It’s full of bad spirits.”

“I know. I know,” I said.

“Don’t act all sassy with me. Have you seen Shelly?”

“No, ma’am.”

Amanda smiled. “Your uncle was here.”

“Really.”

“Didn’t stay too long. Your daddy made sure of that. Your mama went to her room and locked the door. Must have been a bad visit.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Your uncle was driving a big old fancy black car. You sure you didn’t see it?”

“No, ma’am.” Another lie.

“Nothing good comes from wisteria blooming in June.” Amanda watched the lavender petals fall to the ground. I just kept quiet. The time for talking would come, and when it did, I could only pray something good would come from all I had to say.

THAT NIGHT I HEARD
a girl’s voice call to me from outside. This would be enough to make most people pull the sheets over their heads. I felt the pressure against my temples, the ache of an unused spell. I stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water. Thump, thump, thump, the pain continued. I fumbled with one of Mama’s good crystal glasses and shattered it on the floor. I began to gather the larger pieces when one sliced into my thumb. Red flashed across my hand. The pressure in my head left and was replaced by a light feeling, relief.

The girl’s voice, now in the room, called out to me.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“Make a charm quilt.”

The pain in my head was gone. I went back to bed.

MY BODY WAS LIGHTER,
better, when I didn’t eat, but I couldn’t tell Mama or Amanda such a thing.

“Look here, Miss Faith, I made your favorite red velvet cake to go with your lunch.” Amanda held out the platter with the beautiful white frosted cake on it.

“Thank you. I’ll have a slice after supper.”

Amanda frowned. “What’s got into you, girl? You’re not eating a thing.”

I forced a laugh. “I have to watch my figure. You’d make me fatter than a laying hen if I let you.”

She gave me her look. “You look on the skinny side to me.”

“Amanda, I have a question.”

“What that be?”

“What is a charm quilt?” I looked away.

Amanda grew still. “Why you ask about such a thing?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I heard one of the church women talking about making a charm quilt.”

Amanda clicked her tongue. “I just bet you did. Them holier-than-thou ladies.” She placed a tea towel lightly over the cake and put
it away. “It ain’t no quilt you want to make, Faith. Charm quilts ain’t nothing but trouble. They can be one thing or another, but most of the time they all have meanness in common. Can’t think of no other reason to make one.”

“How about protection? Can you protect someone by making one?”

Amanda gave me a sharp look. “Well, I reckon, but I ain’t never heard of such around here.”

“But I could do it?”

“You need to get your mind off any charms. You know how I feel about such things. They ain’t made for children.”

I laughed. “I’m not a child.”

Amanda gave me a real smile. “Leave magic to me. A charm quilt ain’t nothing but hurt, Miss Faith.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay.” I left for my room. The voice said a charm quilt.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON
when the heat was the worst, I went upstairs for a nap. I had the strangest dream. Nana Tyson stood in my room near the window. I had only seen pictures of her, but I knew her instantly. She wore a white suit, the pricey kind found in cities. Her body looked frail, and I rushed from my bed to support her so she wouldn’t collapse. Her smile was sad. “Your mother isn’t here to meet me? She sent you instead?”

“She’s not here. Only me.”

“She never chose to see what sat right in front of her, never. I’m so sorry you were pulled into their mess, sweetie.” Nana Tyson’s words woke me up. The room was empty, but I swore I smelled her perfume, a light lavender fragrance.

I had slept all afternoon and it was night. I tiptoed through the hall to Daddy’s room. The door was cracked open and his bed was
untouched. But in the dark corner stood the ghost I saw with Shelly in the backyard, the one who seemed angry, a colored girl. She wore the same stained, old-fashioned yellow party dress. Shelly called her Armetta. Of course I never told Shelly I could see her ghosts. No. She’d use that fact against me. In that moment I remembered the woman in the church, the one who asked after Armetta. The spirit stood in the shadows looking at me as if this wasn’t the first time she had come to Daddy’s room. “There be a price to pay. A way to live and a way to die. What will you pick, girl?”

I jerked awake, this time to my room flooded with late-afternoon sun. The dreams sat with me on the bed, too real. A sharp knock made me jump. Daddy pushed open the door. When I was younger, I used to wonder how many plain white dress shirts he owned. Probably a closetful. Each one crisp and clean.

“Your uncle Lenard was here this morning. Did you see him?” His voice was soft but stern. When I didn’t respond, he ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “He upset your mother. Don’t bother her.”

“Was it him or you?” My words were quiet but sassy, almost hateful.

“You don’t want to be punished, Faith.” His voice turned mean.

“I am a woman, a grown woman. You can’t punish a grown woman.”

His face turned hard. “You are my daughter. Is that understood? You will not disobey me. You obviously do not know what is good for you.”

“You can’t keep me from being grown. Most girls my age are married.”

“Really, Faith, is that what you’re looking for—a husband? Didn’t you learn your lesson with that boy? Don’t you understand what kind of girl you are? You can never marry.” His voice grew louder. “You are an abomination in the eyes of God. A sinner of the worst kind.”

“Stop. I’m not,” I cried.

He stepped closer. “You have sinned in more ways than one.”

“Will is that boy’s name and you know it. I never did anything
wrong and you know that too. I just wonder what Mama would say if she knew the story Will knew.”

Daddy grabbed my arm, squeezing until his knuckles turned white. “You are a tramp, trash. You make me sick.” His face was bright red. “Your colored boy will walk with you the rest of the way to Hell. You’re just like him. You are the devil, the mark of the damned is on your soul.”

I only stared at him.

He shoved me so hard, my head bumped against the wall. “You’re a whore.” He spit on me and left the room.

The pounding pressure began. I pulled open my drawer and took out the knife. The thump at my temples slowed. I sat on the bed and stared at the wall.