Low Country (40 page)

feel so much that I am wasting time.

I will wonder the rest of my life what would have

happened if I had not been at home in bed for the next

three days. Or what would not have.

On the morning of the fourth day I awoke and the

room did not spin and my eyes did not feel poached

and my face was not swollen to the size of a canta-

loupe, and I was ravenous. I showered and washed

my hair and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt—for outside

it was still warm and sweet with sun—and went

downstairs. Estelle, smiling, made me sausage and

cheese grits, and gave me a

360 / Anne Rivers Siddons

list of the calls that had come in while I was out of

pocket. None were from Clay. One was from Shawna:

Clay and Hayes were going on west with the South-

Ward people, to see a gold rush theme park in northern

California. Perhaps they would be in by Thursday. He

would let Shawna know where he could be reached.

They were on the move almost constantly; I probably

couldn’t reach him.

“I have my finger on him for you though, Caro,”

Shawna chirped. I made a rude noise at the answering

machine and finished my coffee and thought about the

soft golden week spinning out ahead of me. The light

on the marshes would be wonderful: ineffable and ra-

diant. I jumped up and rooted out my paints and

camera and threw some clothes into my duffel and

fairly flew to the island.

I was set up on the end of the dock, drowning in the

gilt glitter off the water and the marshes, breathing in

the clean old salt breath of the island, feeling the sun

pouring like pale new clover honey over my arms and

face, when I heard the shouts from the house. I knew

without turning around that it was Luis Cassells, and

that something was badly wrong.

By the time I had pounded halfway down the dock,

he came around the corner of the house, stumbling

and running, and in his arms he carried Lita. Her face

was buried in his neck and she

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did not move. My heart swooped into my stomach and

back up, and I stumbled and nearly fell. “Dear Lord,

goddamn it, you take care of this little girl,” I whispered

as I ran.

I met him at the steps up to the dock. He thrust her

into my arms and I took her automatically and held

her close. She scrubbed her face into my shoulder. I

watched him as he stood there, head hanging, chest

heaving for breath enough to speak. While I stood I

was going over the sick-child checklist in my mind, as

I had done a thousand times; I did it automatically.

Breathing shallow but clear, skin cool, grip strong. She

was obviously conscious and I had seen no blood. Her

arms were so tight around me that I could hardly get

my own breath. I waited.

He lifted his head and looked at me, and his face

was white under the tan and mottled red over his

cheeks. His eyes were opaque black and blazing with

something: fear and anguish, I thought, and fury.

“Take her to Auntie, over in Dayclear,” he rasped.

“Tell her to keep her warm. Then get Janie to ring the

bell; Ezra and Esau are fishing down at the bridge.

When they come, tell Ezra to bring a truck and meet

me here, and to bring whoever else is around who can

lift. And then go back and stay with Lita…”

“What is it, Luis?”

“It’s the horses,” he said sickly. “The mare

362 / Anne Rivers Siddons

and the colt. We found them about a half-mile down

the creek. We were bringing apples for them. They’ve

been poisoned, and I think it was the apples; there are

half-digested apples all over the place. Tell Ezra that,

too. I’m going to wait here for them. I’ll need some-

thing to carry some of the apples in, and a tarp or

something to cover the pile under the house. Don’t go

near those apples, and don’t let anybody from Dayclear

but Ezra and the men come back here. Especially no

children.”

“I’ll call a vet, and the rangers,” I said. Lord God,

please. Not Nissy and the baby. I was afraid to ask.

“
Not the rangers
! I mean that, Caro. Just get Ezra

and tell him what I said. We’ll take the colt to the vet

in the truck, it’s faster.”

“Nissy…” I whispered in dread.

“We can’t help her, Caro. But the colt is still alive,

I think. It would be good if somebody could walk the

creek and see if any of the other horses are…sick.

There’s no way to know how many of the apples were

eaten.…”

“Who could do such a thing?” I said through stiff

white lips; I had felt them blanch.

“Who, indeed?” he spat. “But I’ll tell you who thinks

she did. Lita does. She thinks she did it with her apples.

She hasn’t said one word since. I’m so afraid for her.

My God…go on now. Get her out of here. Auntie has

some kind

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of tea that she uses for sleep; tell her to give Lita some

of that.…”

“Luis…”

“GO, CARO!”

I helped him ease the limp child into the Cherokee

and ran up for my keys and ran back down. Clashing

the Jeep into gear, I said to him, “Did she see?”

“She found them,” he said, and closed his eyes. Then

he gave the car fender a smack and said, “
Vamanos
,”

and turned and went under my house to find the tarp

that stayed there, over the whaler. I screeched out of

the yard and headed as fast as I dared for Dayclear

and Ezra’s Auntie Tuesday. Lita lay with her head in

my lap, eyes closed, perfectly still. Her face was as

white and empty as that of a dead child. There were

no tear tracks on her bleached cheeks.

When I reached the store I held the horn down with

the flat of my hand. Janie came out, muttering darkly,

saw me and the child in my lap, and put both hands

to her mouth.

“Ring the bell,” I called, and she turned and ran. In

a second I heard it speak with its great dark voice, like

eternity. The sound seemed to roll on forever.

“Send Ezra and Esau down to Auntie’s,” I said. “Luis

needs them over at my place. Oh, God, I never

thought…Is Auntie at home, do you know?”

364 / Anne Rivers Siddons

“She to home,” Janie said. “I seen her this morning,

and she say comp’ny comin’ and she got to brew some

tea. I give her some lemons an’ sugar for it.…What

the matter with the baby, Caro?”

“Somebody poisoned the horses,” I quavered. I was

finding it hard to speak past the dread that lay cold

and knotted in my throat. Under it was a red anger of

a magnitude I had never known. But I knew that I

could not let it out yet.

“This baby didn’t get none of it, did she?” Janie

cried.

“No. But she found the horses. The mother is dead.

Luis needs Ezra and Esau to bring a truck; he wants

to take the colt to the vet in it. And he needs some

people to walk the creek and see if any other horses

got into the apples.”

“I tell ’em when they come. An’ I go walk that creek

myself,” she said. “You get that baby on down to

Auntie. I reckon she know what to do; she knowed

you was coming, didn’t she? Go on now…”

“Thank you, Janie,” I said, and screeched off down

the lane. Far off down the hidden creek I thought I

heard the faint, stuttering drone of a faulty outboard

engine.

Auntie Tuesday stood in her doorway. She looked

from me to the child with her milky old eyes and shook

her head.

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“MMMMM, MMMMM,” she said sadly. “Badness

walkin’ right up here in the world today, sho is. Bring

that baby on in here. I ’spec we can find somethin’

make her feel better.”

I lifted Lita and brought her up the steps. She still

did not remove her face from my shoulder, and she

still did not speak. Occasionally she shuddered, a deep,

racking tremor that ran all through her, but that was

all. I started to put her down on the little cot in the

corner, where Auntie slept, but she shook her head at

me.

“Set down in that rockin’ chair and rock her,” she

said. “I done built up the fire. You jus’ get settled

comfortable and rock her now. Keep on a’rockin’ her.

I got somethin’ on the stove do her some good.…”

“She’s not sick or hurt,” I said over Lita’s head. “She

saw something terrible and she thinks it’s her fault.

She’s stopped talking again. But it’s not physical.…”

“I knowed it wasn’t her body,” Auntie said. “Look

like it worse when it git the soul. Well, we do what we

can. We do what we can. The Lord give us things from

the earth help the soul as well as the body, and He tell

those of us what’ll listen how to use ’em. It the tackies,

ain’t it?”

“How did you know?” I could only whisper it.

“Seen ’em last night. Seen ’em in the fire. Knew

somethin’ dark was after them. If it’s a

366 / Anne Rivers Siddons

happy thing coming I sees it in water. Here, see will

she take this.”

She brought a chipped cup of something steaming

hot from the old stove in the corner of the dark little

room. I took it, not questioning for an instant the

wisdom of giving a child the arcane brew of whatever

this strange old woman found in the woods. I held the

cup to Lita’s lips.

“Take a sip for me, baby,” I said.

But she turned her head away.

“Give her to me,” Auntie said. “I been gittin’ that tea

down chirrun’s craws for lots of years now.”

She indicated that I should get up and let her sit

down in the rocker and put the child in her lap.

“Auntie, she’s too heavy for you,” I said. “I’m afraid

she’ll break one of your little old bones.”

“Ain’t no child gon’ hurt me,” she said, and I got up

with Lita, and she settled herself stiffly into the rocker

and held out her arms, and I put the child into them.

Lita’s face found the thin old shoulder and burrowed

there. Her legs dangled almost to the floor, but Auntie

held her firmly. She put her face down to the top of

Lita’s head and whispered something into her hair,

and began to rock. Presently I heard her begin to sing

softly, in a thin reedy old monotone:

“Fix me, Jesus, fix me right,

Fix me so I can stand.

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Fix my feet on a solid rock

Fix me so I can stand.

My tongue tired and I can’t speak plain,

Fix me so I can stand,

Fix my feet on a solid rock,

Fix me so I can stand…”

She sang it over and over, more a faraway, atonal

chant than a song, and presently the dim little room

seemed to shimmer with it, and the flickering light

from the lit stove rose up to meet it, and song and fire

and woman and child seemed to sway in the room

until my eyes grew heavy and I nodded. Whenever I

forced them open I saw that she still sat, cradling the

child, rocking, rocking. The last time I looked I saw

Lita lift her head from Auntie’s shoulder and sigh

deeply, and relax against her into sleep.

“Thank you,” I whispered, sliding into sleep myself,

but I could not have said who it was I thanked.

When I woke it was after noon; I could tell from the

square of pale sunlight that was creeping across the

cabin’s linoleum floor, from the open doorway. The

sweet smell of high sun on pine and salt from the estu-

ary blew into the room. Another smell, rich and green

and savory, came from a big black iron kettle on the

stove. Janie Biggins was stirring it and smiling over at

368 / Anne Rivers Siddons

me. Her gold tooth flashed in the sunlight from the

doorway.

“That smells good,” I said. “What are you doing

here, Janie?”

And then I remembered, and whipped my head

around toward the rocker. It was empty. I made an

inadvertent sound of fear.

“She all right,” Janie said. “She gon’ be fine. She

sleepin’ hard. Auntie and I put her to bed in the spare

room. She sleep a long time, I ’spec. Need to. Auntie

say when she wake up maybe she talk some.”

“Oh, God, I hope so. She…There was a long time

when she didn’t talk at all, before she came here. Luis

didn’t know if she ever would again. I was so afraid

that she’d lost it again.…”

“Auntie sing her a healin’ song. It a good one. I’ve

seed it bring the tongue back to folks what had been

struck and ain’t talk for months. ’Sides, Auntie seen

her talkin’ in the well water. She gon’ be all right. Her

mama gon’ take care of her.”

“Her mama’s dead, Janie. She’s only got her grand-

father.…”

“Auntie seed her mama in the water, too,” she said,

and I could tell that for her, that ended the matter. I

did not pursue it.

I got up and straightened my rumpled clothes and

went into the tiny, shedlike room off the cabin’s main

one. A big, beautiful old rice bed stood against the far

wall, the room’s only furni

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