Scarecrow
Authors: Richie Tankersley Cusick
Richie Tankersley Cusick
for Mary Jack
and friendship
and wishes made on corners…
They really do come true.
A Biography of Richie Tankersley Cusick
S
OMETIMES THEY REMINDED HER
of the dead people, propped up on sticks, their arms outstretched in silent, eternal pleading that no one could hear but her. But mostly she just liked to play among them and use them for her special kind of magic.
“Come,” she said now, and the scarecrows stared straight ahead, their faded features as blank and beaten as the endless Ozark hills that enclosed them from the whole rest of the world.
No one had ever told her the story behind the scarecrows, but somehow she knew what it was. She’d seen it all happen before…all her life, in fact…in her own mind…Dreams of savage scarecrows in ragged tatters that filled her heart with terror and with pain. She never understood how she knew these things; she just did.
“Come,” she sighed again, a long, deep sigh like the back-hill wind, a sad sound that always made her feel so lonely.
Maybe it would work this time.
Maybe…if she wished real hard…
The little girl’s wide eyes swept over the fields…the woods…the sagging porch…
Sometimes the scarecrows seemed just
like
the dead people, lost and wandering around, looking for a way out they’d never find.
She watched the crows settle down among them, black wings beating back the cold, deep night.
She wished the scarecrows could keep all the bad things away.
But there were already too many shadows sliding softly over the old house…
And a chill of death in the autumn twilight.
“Come,” the little girl whispered. “Oh, please…come.”
“S
HE’LL HAVE TO BE
watched,” the voice said.
It came like a dream, and floating deep…deep…I sensed it rather than heard it. It was a voice I didn’t recognize, yet somehow it was pulling me, on and on, up through black, silent layers of sleep.
“You understand, don’t you?” It spoke again. “What I’m saying?”
Through the twilight of unconsciousness, I seemed to see two figures moving like ghosts, talking in whispers, and
I’m dead,
I thought,
I’m dead and these are angels and soon they’ll take me to see Brad and Kerry…
“Please,” I mumbled, but my own voice, like that other one, was eerie and faraway.
“Watch her,” it said again. “Watch her close.”
And as the last thin veil of shadows peeled away, I felt my eyelids open to a curious brightness.
I was in a bedroom, but it wasn’t my own.
I was lying in an unfamiliar bed, staring at an open window I had never seen before.
As panic gripped me, I tried to sit up, falling back almost immediately with a cry of pain and surprise. My hands flew to my forehead, feeling the bandage there, then lowered slowly, coming to rest upon a nightgown I knew I’d never owned. The long sleeves, mended in several places, had worked themselves partway up to reveal more bandages on my arms. Frowning, I ran my fingers over coarse sheets, a faded patchwork quilt—and I realized that my sensation of floating came from the thick feather mattress beneath me.
A hospital? Surely not…
This time I eased myself up on one elbow, pressing my other hand against my head. For a second everything spun around me, but then, as things began to settle, the room came together into one uncomplicated picture. It was small and sparsely furnished—other than the bed I occupied, there was only a small table beside it, a plain wooden trunk against the opposite wall, and a straight-backed chair standing solemnly beneath one window. As I squinted against sunshine, my heart clutched in fear.
But it was dark, darker than this, I remember it was much darker than this and raining
…As I tried to raise myself higher to see, a chilly breeze crept in over the sill and trailed across the foot of the bed. Shivering, I glanced toward the open doorway and saw the tall figure who stood there watching me.
His presence filled the room. As I drew back in alarm, I felt my eyes helplessly drawn into his, the steady intensity of his gaze both awesome and frightening. His lean, tanned face was streaked with dirt and sweat, yet his cheekbones were high, his nose straight, and his dark mustache flowed softly into his short beard. His brows sat low and stern over his dark eyes; his beard, tracing up angular jaws, joined a thick cascade of hair swept back from his forehead.
Releasing me at last, his eyes began to move slowly down from my face to the blankets bunched at my waist. “So you’re better.” His voice was harsh and authoritative, and I detected displeasure beneath the impassive mask of his face.
“Are you…a doctor?”
That look again, stern yet peculiarly wary. He stared at me several long minutes, as if trying to reach some decision. “You don’t remember,” he said at last.
Yes…yes, I do…I tried the pills but they didn’t work
a
nd—no, that’s not right, I’m confused, that was months ago, and now I’m on a trip…my car…
“My car. I had an accident.”
An almost imperceptible nod. “You have some bad cuts and bruises. You hit your head pretty hard.”
“The tree,” I mumbled. “There was a storm…I got lost.” Again I fingered the bandage. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“You shouldn’t move, it’ll only hurt worse.” He shifted his weight, melting momentarily into the half-light of the hallway behind him.
“Don’t go!” As my voice rose, he reappeared again, expression unchanged. “Please listen to me. I have to leave, I can’t stay here—”
“Try and rest. I’ll tell Rachel to bring you some food.”
“No, wait—” My hands pressed to my throbbing temples. “Where
am
I? I need to get—”
The doorway was empty.
Trembling, I eased myself deep beneath the covers, clenching them tightly to my chin. I could still see him, even though he was gone, his dark image leaning there in the doorway, his dark eyes sliding over me. Glancing round the room again, I forced back another wave of panic and tried to think rationally. Maybe if I held onto the furniture, I could make it to the door and find my way out, get to my car and—
I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, as if someone were climbing stairs, then coming down a hall toward my room. No, not just one person, I guessed now, and as my heart began to pound, there was a light tapping on the door frame and they walked in.
“So you
are
better! Seth said you were awake and—why, look at her, Rachel, she’s—”
“Hush now,” came the soft reply, and as I stared, the two women paused a respectful distance from the bed.
They looked as if they’d stepped from another time. As my mind groped to place them, I was struck with a whirlwind of images—photographs I’d seen of the Depression…of Appalachia…of the Amish…yet these women didn’t exactly fit any of these categories, only pieces taken here and there, patched together like the old quilt I was holding around myself. The one who had spoken first looked to be in her late teens, her calico jumper hanging nearly to her ankles, just brushing the tops of clumsy, laced-up boots. Her hair was straight and shoulder-length, the color of straw, and her green eyes twinkled mischievously as she grinned at me, a grin so contagious that I couldn’t help smiling cautiously back. That broke the spell somehow. As our smiles met, the other woman moved forward and held out a tray for me to see.
“I reckon you must be hungry,” she said quietly. “It’ll do you good to eat something.”
I couldn’t stop staring at her, the contrast was so striking. While the first girl was all sparkle and light, this woman in her baggy dress and crumpled bib apron seemed more a pale shadow. She was older than the girl—probably in her thirties, nearer my own age—but her eyes, glancing at me both shyly and curiously, were those of an old, old woman. Her forehead was high and wide, her mouth an unsmiling line beneath gaunt cheeks. Her black hair was pulled back unbecomingly, knotted at the nape of her neck. Like the girl, she wore no makeup. But it was the left side of her face which caused me to first drop my gaze and then steal another look in morbid fascination. A jagged scar split her cheek, puckering its way from her chin to a spot just beneath her eye. It looked painful and grotesque on that plain, sweet face, an accident that should never have happened. Yet despite her whole appearance of poverty, despite the horrible disfigurement of her features, there was something so beautiful there—so tragically and hauntingly beautiful—that I found myself wondering what could possibly have happened to her in such a short lifetime. I could identify with that kind of pain.
As my mind focused back, I heard the woman say, “Franny, I forgot the bread. Fetch it for me, will you, please?” And then we were alone, just the two of us. I watched her place the tray on the nightstand, noting how thin she was, her work-reddened knuckles. A dull gold band hung loosely from the third finger of her left hand.
“Please listen to me,” I said, and she jumped a little as if she’d forgotten I was there. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know where I am and—”
“You’re safe,” she said gently. “Just rest your mind.”
“But you must
listen
to me! I was on the highway and the colors were so beautiful and I turned off and followed them and…and…it was like I
had
to follow them, don’t you see? Like they
wanted
me to follow them…and I couldn’t find my way back to the road, and I kept getting more and more lost….” I heard my words tumbling out, helpless to stop them, fear and terrible confusion pumping through my brain. “You think I’m crazy, I know. You think I’m crazy, but I’m not. It was like—”
“You have to eat something,” she insisted, in that same quiet way. Her voice had a soft, slow drawl which was strangely comforting. She patted my wrist, her fingertips lingering there. “You’ve been lying here these three whole days without a bite of food in you.”
Three days!
“That’s not true. I don’t believe you. I can’t have been here that long.”
“Don’t you remember?” she asked worriedly. And when I looked blank, she added, “Seth found you out on the road. It was raining and that tree came down right on your car.” She thought a moment. “Lightning can do funny things.”
“My car. Do you know where it is?”
She shook her head. “I reckon you’re just lucky to be alive.”
“You mean…I almost died.”
She nodded. “You surely had us all scared.”
“Died…” My lips moved soundlessly, my face draining, as all the memories of the last ten months flooded back in a relentless rush.
Brad…Kerry…
A shudder went through me, and before I even thought, I heard myself say, “But I should have died. Why didn’t you let me die?”
There was a long silence as she looked at me with those tired, sad eyes. I watched her hands again, quick and capable, tucking the covers around me as if I were a child. “Why do you wish that?” she asked at last.
My head sank back upon the pillow, tears welling up in my throat, choking me. “I should have known better. I should never have left on my own. I’ve never done it before, you know. Brad always took care of those things. But he’s not here now, so I have to. I don’t want to. But I don’t have a choice.”