As the Sparks Fly Upward (24 page)

“No, you'd have to build a fire.” He saw that she ignored him, and he was too tired to argue. He watched as she gathered the small sticks that they used for starting fires. She made a small pyramid out of it, then went to the lamp and lit a twist of paper. She carried it back to the fireplace, knelt down, and held it against the small pyramid. She waited until it caught, then carefully piled pieces of rich pine on it until it crackled brightly. The twigs burned as if they were soaked in oil. She stirred the small fire, sending myriads of sparks up the chimney, then piled more durable wood on it. Soon the warmth of the fire reached Colin and he said sleepily, “That feels good.”

The heat radiated from the fireplace with a cheerful sound. For a time, Colin shut his eyes and welcomed the warmth that seemed to soak into his very bones. He heard Twyla move closer to him and had almost dozed off when he heard her say, “Here, drink this.”

Opening his eyes, Colin saw that she was in front of him with a flagon. “What's that?”

“It's a posset.”

Colin took it and stared at it. “What's a posset?”

“It's something that I've been working on. Nice spiced pottage of milk. It's curdled with some wine. It's good when it's hot, and I've put some honey in it to make it taste good.”

Colin seized the warm cup. He tasted it. “Mmm, that's good!”

“Next time I'll put some ginger in it, or maybe some cloves.”

Colin drained the cup and handed it back. She refilled it. “Drink some more. It'll warm your insides.”

Comfort and warmth spread through Colin as he drank the second posset. He stared for a time at the fireplace with its popping sparks and bright colors. “What have you been doing all day?” he asked in a tired voice.

“I went to church.”

“Did you like the sermon?”

She turned and gave him a long look. “Not much. I don't understand religion, Mister. What does it all mean?”

Colin stirred uneasily. “Why do you always call me ‘Mister'?”

“It's proper, that's why. I can't call you ‘Colin.'”

“I don't see why not.”

Twyla turned and faced him. The heat was filling the room, and she allowed the robe to fall open at the top, exposing the woolen garment she wore underneath. “Because I'm your property.”

Colin threw his hands up in a gesture of despair. “Twyla, I've told you a hundred times that's nonsense. If you say that one more time, I'll—!”

Colin broke off, and Twyla demanded, “What will you do? Beat me?”

“I might do just that!”

“No, you won't.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it's not in you to beat anything.” It was something she brought up frequently. “Why did you save me from that awful man?” she asked abruptly as she continued to stare at him. A small dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth, and he was aware that she was annoying him on purpose. He saw the light that danced in her eyes, and at the same time he saw her will and pride visible in those eyes and in the corners of her lips. “Why did you buy me?” she demanded again.

“I don't know.”

“I know. You felt sorry for me.”

“Maybe I did.”

Twyla fell silent for a moment. Then she moved over and spooned some stew out of a kettle hanging above the fire into a wooden bowl. She came back and put it before Colin, and he ate it hungrily. “You're a fine cook, Twyla.”

“Yes, I am.” She refilled his cup twice after he had emptied it, then sat down and ate some stew herself.

She put the utensils away, then came and sat down on the floor, her back to the fire. “Tell me how you were when you were a boy.”

“Why would you want to know that?”

“I'm nosy. All women are nosy.”

“You're right there!” He began to speak, for he had long noted that she loved to hear about his boyhood days. He found pleasure in going back in his mind and finding the memories that lingered there. Finally, he grew sleepy and rose to his feet. He picked up three large logs and put them on the fire. “That ought to last until morning. I'm going to sleep in here where it's warm.”

“So am I.”

Twyla got up and left the room. She soon came back with covers. He was sitting in the chair, dozing off. She put one of the blankets over him, and then wrapped herself up and lay down close to the fire.

“You'll burn yourself up, Twyla.”

“No, I won't. Now you go to sleep.”

Her admonition was scarcely needed, for Colin was too sleepy to move. He started to protest, but fatigue struck him almost like a blow, and he leaned back in the chair. Twyla watched him for a time, until he moved restlessly and threw the blanket off his shoulder. Quickly, Twyla arose and reached for the blanket but then stopped and stood, looking at Colin. She reached out and touched his hair, then withdrew her hand quickly. She sighed, put the blanket over him, then went back to lie down before the fire.

January had passed, but there was still some snow on the first of February—a light layer, just enough to cover the ground. Twyla had fixed a hot meal for Colin, Dr. Teague, and herself, of beer, bread, and fish. The beer was warm, for she had let it sit out and had added some cinnamon and other spices to it. She was glad to see Colin drink it heartily. “It's been a long day,” Colin said.

Dr. Teague, sitting across from him, nodded. “Aye, it has.” He looked weary, for they had seen patients all day long and a few after it had turned dark. Teague scratched his chin, which he had neglected to shave. “Colin, we have to have a new body.”

“We can't do that. The ground is frozen.”

“That's no matter.”

“It will be when we try to dig it out.”

“You've not heard? They caught a murderer over in Loxley. They hanged him today. You know, at the crossroads? You wait until midnight, then go get him.”

Colin stared at Teague. “It's freezing out there.”

Teague cackled, and his small eyes glinted with humor. “A man's got to suffer. That's what the Bible says.”

“Where does it say that?” Colin asked quickly.

“It says it in half a dozen places. ‘Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.' That is the Book of Job. So, your sparks are going to fly tonight. We've got to have that body.”

Finally, Teague went to bed. Twyla was clearing the table and doing the dishes. Colin grumbled, “I'm not going to do it.”

“Good! It's not a good idea.”

Colin waited for her to argue more, for it seemed she had reached an argumentative stage. He went over to a shelf and pulled a book down, and Twyla said, “Good night, Mister.”

“Good night, Twyla.”

Colin went back to the table and sat down. Twyla had made some small honey cakes. From time to time he reached over and
broke off a piece of cake and chewed it. He studied the book for three hours. He then got up and sighed, “Of course I'm going to do it. That old man can make me do anything.” He put on his heavy coat and a pair of boots that reached nearly up to his thighs, and then pulled a fur cap over his head.

He went outside and hitched the horse to the sled the servant used for hauling wood. “Get up, Hector. If I've got to freeze to death, you have to do the same.” Hector nodded his head and slobbered his reply, then moved out from the yard, dragging the sled behind him.

Twyla had not gone to sleep, for she had known full well what Colin would do. She was a hardy young woman and rather daring, and she had decided to follow him. She donned her warmest clothes and waited in her room. Finally she heard the front door close, and moving to the window she saw the horse pulling the sled from the house. Quickly, she threw on her coat and pulled a wool cap over her ears and went downstairs. She opened the door and noticed that the moon was very bright. It was an old moon that looked as if it had been pitted by a thousand stones. Then, as she watched, a cloud came and covered it up.

The snow masked the sound as she moved along. A large hunting owl soared over her head. She heard nothing as the shadow crossed her face. She looked up, startled, as she saw the huge bird sail over until it dropped. She heard the sound of a scuffle, a squeal of terror, and then finally silence.
He got something to eat
. She hurried to catch up with the sled. Twyla had no trouble following them, for she could hear Hector's soft hoof-beats punching through the snow. She was a bit nervous, and being out at midnight and in the darkness frightened her. She made her up her mind to make sure Colin was in sight in case she needed him. It proved to be difficult to stay close to him. She had no trouble knowing which way he was headed, but
keeping up with Hector was harder than she'd anticipated. To make things worse, he chose to go down a small, little-known path instead of staying on the main road.

Thirty minutes later, she was falling far behind. A cloud cloaked the moon again, which made the darkness almost complete. She knew that Colin was just ahead, although he was keeping out of sight. He had turned down a sharp bend just a second ago. She stepped into the curve, and suddenly a dark form emerged. Arms clamped around her, and she let out a squeal and was dragged to the ground. Fear was rising in her. “Let me go!” she cried.

The arms seemed to relax their grip and she heard a familiar voice say, “Twyla, what are you doing out here?”

Twyla wriggled herself free and stood up. “I wanted to go with you. I knew you'd never take me with you, so I followed you.”

“You go home right now!” Colin ordered.

“I won't!” Twyla replied stubbornly.

“You are always saying that I own you, so if that's true, I'm telling you to go home right now.”

“I won't do it! Own me or not, I'm going with you.”

Colin looked desperate. He struggled with whether to turn around and take her all the way home, which would take forever, or to bring Twyla with him to steal a dead body. He became frustrated. “You are a troublesome brat!” he said angrily, then turned and moved to catch up with Hector, who had not stopped plodding down the trail.

Twyla hurried along behind Colin, saying nothing. Neither of them spoke until a half hour of silence had passed. Then he moved forward and grabbed the lines, saying, “Whoa! Whoa, Hector!” Twyla moved forward to stand beside him. They stood there in the semi-darkness, then the clouds that cloaked the moon moved. Twyla gasped, for there, high against the sky, was a body that was twisting slowly in the breeze. She couldn't see much, nor did she want to.

Colin shook his head and said, “We've got to hurry.” He moved toward the body and, clambering up a slight hill, he managed to reach up, put one arm around the body, and with his knife cut the rope. The body came loose, and he couldn't catch himself. Falling over backwards, the body fell on top of him. The stench of death was in his nostrils.

“Are you all right, Colin?”

“Yes,” Colin grunted. She noted that he was still angry with her. Colin shoved the corpse off and stared at it. He then grabbed the body by the armpits, pulled it to the sled, and loaded the unseemly burden. “Let's get out of here,” he said sternly.

Nothing could have pleased Twyla more. She kept pace with him, and when they were in sight of the house he finally broke the silence. “Well, we did it. You got your own way. Are you happy?”

Twyla didn't answer for a moment; then she said, “I'll help you carry him in.”

The corpse was not a large one, but heavy enough that Colin could use the help. They struggled inside the house, then to the small room the two doctors used for autopsies. With a grunt, they lifted the body and plumped it down on the waist-high table. Twyla shoved the feet over and stared down at the dead face.

Her gaze surprised Colin. “What are you looking at? He's just another dead man.”

Twyla seemed to be hypnotized by the man's features, which were twisted and worn with the warfare of survival that most peasants knew. “He was just a murderer,” Colin said quietly. “Don't fret yourself.”

Twyla didn't answer for a moment, then said, “His mother probably loved him, Colin. His mother probably never thought it would end like this. When he was just a baby, don't you think she had hopes he would amount to something?”

Colin did not answer. He had long since learned to harden his emotions against feeling anything for the bodies that he stole. “There's no way of knowing that,” he said finally. He was shocked at her emotion. She was a strong young woman, yet he saw her still staring at the man's face.

“He deserved better than this,” Twyla said quietly.

Colin moved forward and put his hand on her shoulder. “You're probably right. There is a lot of sadness and grief in the world. Come on, it's late. Go to bed.”

She removed his hand, then turned and gave him a look that puzzled him. She said sadly, “All right, Mister, I'll go.” He watched her as she left the room. She didn't look back as she disappeared up the stairs that led to her room. He stood there confused, thinking about why the whole thing had troubled him. He had stolen many bodies with Teague at his side, but this had been different. He went to his own room, undressed, got in the cold bed, and lay there shivering. He thought for a long time about Twyla and her words.
His mother probably never thought it would end like this.