Whisper Falls (13 page)

“Everywhere?” She blushed.

“Yeah.” This would be my second chance to hold her—only this time, she wasn't upset. I stepped closer and held out my hands, not smiling anymore, ready for some serious contact. “Let me show you how we dance.”

She looked up at me, her face half-shadowed, her hands slipping into mine. “That is fair.”

“We'll be hugging, sort of,” I said, wording the instructions as gently as possible, controlling the urge to grab her. I didn't want to scare her off.

“All right.”

“Why don't you start by putting your hands on my shoulders?” When I felt the light touch of her fingers through the fabric of my shirt, I dropped mine to her waist.

We merged together and swayed, our feet barely moving. I could feel the stiff ridges in her corset. Curious now, I let my fingers roam her back and sides. The damn thing was unending, like a fence guarding some of the girl's best parts. I'd bet corsets drove colonial guys crazy.

She whispered, “It seems to me this is merely a way to engage in a most improper embrace.”

“Oh, yeah.” I slid my hands to her hips. Much better. Nothing but thin cloth between my hands and her skin.

“Mark?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I shouldn't permit such liberties.”

“But you will anyway?”

“Indeed. I find it quite intriguing.”

“Good.” I smiled. “Lay your head against me and relax.”

Long minutes passed and still we danced, holding each other. It was weird. And nice. And I wasn't ready for it to end.

“Hello?” a familiar voice called from the top of the trail. “Mark?”

Susanna and I sprang apart and glanced up the hill where a figure stood, outlined against the sky.

“Holy shit.” I stepped in front of Susanna.

“Who is it?” she said, her fists against my back. “Is this your girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend. And yeah, it's Alexis.”

“You won't want her to see me. I shall go.”

Before I could respond, Susanna hopped across the rocks and jumped through the falls. But instead of making straight for the rock wall, she turned and stared, unsmiling.

Did she think I was ashamed of her? I wasn't. I didn't want the two of them to meet, but that wasn't because of Susanna.

“Mark?” Alexis was directly behind me now.

“What?”

She linked her arm through mine. “Who was that girl with you?”

“A friend.”

“A friend you dance with?”

I drew my arm away from hers. “Okay, then, a really good friend.”

Alexis wrinkled her nose. “Where did she go?”

Even though I was pissed that Alexis had tracked me down, her arrival had revealed something interesting. “You can't see her?”

“No. Can you?”

Susanna stood on the other side of the falls, her image clear to me. “She moves fast.”

“Whatever.” Alexis caught my arm again, turning her back on the falls. “How do you know her?”

Great. I'd have to come up with a half-truth I might need to remember. “She lives around here.”

“Where does she get her clothes? The Pentecostal Thrift Store?”

“Not cool, Alexis.” I glanced toward the cave. It was empty now. I started up the trail, Alexis hanging on beside me.

“You're not training tonight.” She sounded like she was accusing me of a crime.

“I finished earlier.” When we reached the greenway, I hesitated, not sure what would be the polite thing to do. I knew what I wanted—to go home alone. “Where's your car?”

“Parked at the entrance to Umstead.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of my house. “Can I walk home with you? I'd like to talk.”

At some level, this was surreal. Alexis McChord didn't need to beg. Ever. She was hot, rich, and had parents who didn't check up on her. She was every guy's dream. “About what?”

“Us.”

“There is no ‘us' anymore.”

She stalked away a few paces, flung out her arms, and let them drop against her thighs with a smack. Then she spun around to face me, lips thinned to a slash of bright pink. “I went out on a date last night.”

That was fast, so fast it pissed me off. It had barely been a week since she had asked me to try again. What was up with her? Was I really so easy to get over? Of course, whoever the guy was, she wasn't hooked on him yet, because she was here with me.

“I doubt he'd be real happy to know where you are right now.”

“He won't find out.”

“I'm sure.” Okay, done with this conversation. I glanced at my watch, hoping she would get the message.

“Don't you want to know who?”

Of course I did, but no way would I ask. “No.”

“Keefe Halligan.”

I couldn't think of anyone I'd hate more to see her dating. “Good luck with that.”

“He's a jerk. We won't go out again.”

I clenched my jaw and fought off the desire to smile. It was none of my business who she dated, but I was real glad it wouldn't be Keefe.

Her fingers combed through her hair, messing it up, a sign she was near tears and didn't want me to see them. “Have you changed your training schedule?”

No need to ask why Alexis wanted to know. I stared down the dirt trail, even though Susanna was long gone. “For my friend?”

“Yes. Have you changed for her?”

“A little.” Until Alexis asked the question, I hadn't thought about it, but she was right. I used to train in the evenings, and now I rode in the afternoons. The heat didn't matter because I'd do whatever it took to fit my schedule around Susanna.

Alexis pressed her fists to her eyes, but tears seeped out anyway. “Why did you change for her and not me?”

I didn't know how to answer. Instead, I took her lightly in my arms and let her cry, right there in the middle of the greenway, with dozens of people strolling past, talking on their cells and walking their dogs.

And I felt bad for Alexis, but nothing more.

* * *

Another Friday, another day off. No yard work for paying customers or grandparents. I could do whatever I wanted.

Today's goal was information.

Marissa had suggested the North Carolina State Archives or the Raleigh Historical Society as good places to look for information on eighteenth century Wake County. I hopped on my bike and headed downtown. It took longer than I planned, but—with parking spaces impossible to find and a bike rack directly out front—taking the bike paid off overall.

When the historical society opened at ten, I was waiting.

A guy about Marissa's age unlocked the door, three minutes late. “Can I help you?”

“Sure.” I had to look up at him—not something I was used to. But this guy was big. Football tackle big. “I'm looking for information on Worthville, North Carolina.”

“Not familiar with that, dude.” He shrugged his shoulders and lumbered through a warped doorframe into a gift shop.

I followed. “It was a town in Wake County around 1800. While George Washington was president.”

He puffed his lips out and shook his head. “That's a new one on me. Just a second.” He walked to a narrow stairwell. “Mamie, ever heard of a place called Worthville?”

A woman shouted back, “Who wants to know?”

“Some kid.”

Kid. Right.

“Be there in a sec, Randall.”

The guy turned around, shrugged, and resumed his guardian post at a desk by the front windows.

I wandered around the gift shop, looking at the items. There were thick books, crocheted doilies, and Christmas ornaments. Not sure why anyone would want the Raleigh Trolley hanging from their tree, but this gift shop had them, just in case.

An elderly woman exploded into the room, presumably Mamie. She was as small as Randall was big. She had on a red spandex skirt and a sheer white top and wore her hair in a weird style, like someone had pinned a bird's nest to the top of her head.

“Hi,” she said through bright red lips. “You're the one who wants to know about Worthville?”

“Yeah.” I couldn't look away from her hair. “Can you help?”

“Sure can. Follow me.”

We crossed into an exhibit hall. She headed straight for a blown-up reproduction of an old map. “This shows Wake County at the end of the eighteenth century.”

I studied it, trying to orient myself. The Neuse River made a diagonal slice across the county. Raleigh was a little square near the center. I tracked north along the river to a tiny squiggly line where Rocky Creek should be.

And there it was. I shivered.

“The dark blotch northwest of the capital is Worthville.” Her brown eyes peered sharply at me. “We don't receive too many requests for information about that town. What do you want to know?”

The position on the map was perfect. Of course. No more than a mile or so from where I lived, and where Whisper Falls was located.

“Why did it vanish?”

“A tornado.” She traced the area around the falls with her finger. “It struck the county in 1805. Wave after wave of thunderstorms. Most communities did fine. Not Worthville. The town was flattened. A few townsfolk died the same day and many more over the next few weeks from their injuries. Very sad.” Her face wrinkled with detached grief.

1805. Nine years after 1796. I let out a noisy, relieved breath. “How many survived?”

“I don't think any family was left fully intact.” She removed her purple-rimmed glasses, cleaned them on the tail of her gauzy white shirt, and pushed them back on. “The newspaper reported a couple of eyewitness accounts. Most homes along the main street and the meetinghouse were destroyed. So was the mill. I think it must've broken their spirits, because no one stayed to rebuild. The villagers scattered to other places.”

It was eerie to stand there and stare up at that map. Of Susanna's friends and family, how many would be gone in nine more years?

“I couldn't find the cause of the disappearance online.”

“The R
aleigh
R
egister
from that decade hasn't been completely digitized yet.” She walked over to a glass display case and pointed. “We have some editions here, though nothing as late as 1805. They have it on microfilm in the State Archives if you're interested.”

I was interested, way more than I would've predicted. “I'll be heading over there soon.”

She looked at me with open curiosity. “How did you hear about Worthville?”

I'd anticipated the question and had a vague answer prepared. “I ride my mountain bike out around Umstead Park, so I've done a little research on the area and stumbled across info about Worthville.”

“It's fascinating, I know. In 1805, they called the storm a hurricane because they didn't have a better word for it. But we're reasonably certain it was a tornado. It must've been terrifying. No warning. A sudden, horrific noise—and their lives changed forever.” She moved to another glass case filled with various bars of twisted iron. “Have you seen the mill ruins or the graveyard?”

“No.”

“They're deep in the woods of Umstead. I know it's a huge park, but you can always ask one of the rangers for directions.” She gestured in invitation. “Anything else you would like to know?”

I nodded. “What was life like for indentured servant girls back then?”

“In the Carolinas or farther north?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Immensely. Women in this state were generally more advanced than their northern sisters. Carolina women would've had better lives at all levels of society. It's a source of great pride to us.” Mamie smiled with satisfaction.

If sixteen-hour workdays and regular beatings were better, I hated to think what life would've been like in the North.

“I'm talking about here.”

“Well, naturally, the lives of indentured servants would've been harsh by our standards. Brutal, even. But it was a system that met its purpose. The servants received an education, and their masters received cheap labor.”

“How were the servants treated?”

“It varied by master. As well as could be expected for those who survived.”

I frowned at her, chilled at the implication. “What do you mean?”

“An inexcusable percentage lost their lives before reaching the end of their contracts. They were literally worked to death. In most cases, though, the local townsfolk were motivated to keep the treatment tolerable. The system would've fallen apart if the majority of servants had died. There are plenty of documents available on the State Archives website if you want more details.”

“Thanks.” I turned to go, then hesitated. “Did anyone record indentures?”

“Certainly. The Wake County Register of Deeds has a few images available online, and the State Archives will have originals.”

“Thanks.” I'd hit the county website first to see what I could find.

“My pleasure.” She walked with me to the front door. “This is one of the more obscure set of questions I've had in a while. Are you planning to present this in a class project?”

“No, you wouldn't believe me if I told you why.”

* * *

The first thing I did when I got home was check out the county website, and I totally won the lottery. There was a document listing the families who had lived in Worthville at the time of its final census. I hit the PRINT key. Definitely had to show this to Susanna if she'd let me.

A quick glance at the clock put me into action. She could be there any time now. I ran down the stairs and skidded to a stop in the kitchen. There was an odor that was vaguely familiar but out of place in our house. Grease—the kind that fried things and made them more delicious than steam. In the three years since I'd lost the last of the weight, my mom had avoided grease for months on end, even though my race training made it unlikely I'd ever be fat again. So I was surprised and happy to smell it now.