Scarecrow (19 page)

Girlie’s eyes widened…widened…luminous owl’s eyes in a changeling body.

“I know what you did,” she said.

My heart lurched into my throat, my lips parting soundlessly as I stumbled out of bed.

I never got to her.

A scream went through the house, shattering the quiet, echoing again and again with an anguish that pierced my soul.

“Oh, my God…” Snatching on my clothes, I ran out into the hall where Girlie had already disappeared, only to stand frozen as another heartrending scream rose from below.

“Micah!” it shrieked.
“MICAH!”

I knew it was Rachel.

And somehow, even before I got there, I knew Micah was dead.

T
HINGS SEEM SO UNREAL
in twilight. The hour hangs, suspended between day and night, moody, uncertain.

Nothing is as it seems.

It didn’t look like Micah, that bloody thing that Seth carried into the house—the mangled body dreamlike and weightless, floating so peacefully on the loveseat in the parlor. And the murmurings and shiftings…the shadows and quiet sobs—all, all ghostlike as I watched them gathering around him, stunned and disoriented.

His one hand slid from the gash on his chest…hung down from his tattered sleeve…swung back and forth, brushing the floor with thin, limp fingers…leaving a trail of red…

Seth reached up to the mantel and stopped the clock.

Tears stung behind my eyelids. I stood back in the doorway, not part of this grief, yet trapped by it.
Why should you feel anything at all…he tried to kill you…
Yet even beneath the blood and dirt, his pale, angelic face looked anything but evil. He looked like an innocent, safely home at last.

“Micah! Oh, Micah—”

It was Rachel who upset me the most—Rachel throwing herself across the slender body, caressing him, holding him, rocking him like a child—and Seth gently but firmly trying to disentangle her and pull her away. Franny stood to the side, her face ghostly white. Girlie gazed on solemnly, as if death were an old, old friend. I stared at her in silent horror.

“Micah! Micah—”

“No, Rachel, don’t. He’s gone. Leave him be.” Seth held her tightly against his chest, and I felt his arms, strong and determined, as if I were Rachel. Shocked at my thoughts, I lowered my head, clasping my arms about me to keep from shaking.

“What happened?” I murmured, but no one heard and Rachel tried to wrench free of Seth’s arms.

“Micah!” she wailed. “Please…
no…
”

Kerry…no…my baby…my little boy…
The image hit me like a wave. Choking back a sob, I fled to the front porch, gripping the railing as tears streamed down my face.
Kerry…it should have been me…it should have been
—

The screen door creaked behind me. With a ragged breath I turned halfway and felt Girlie’s hand nestle into mine.

“Girlie,” I said, and for the moment I forgot what she’d said to me upstairs, forgot everything but Micah’s body lying so still in the parlor.

She tugged at my hand, nodding, and I eyed her quizzically.

“What is it?”

Another tug. She looked back over her shoulder, then began to pull me toward the steps.

“Girlie, where are we going?” I asked uneasily, and then heard the screen door open again behind us.

“Girlie,” Rachel said brokenly, “my poor little girl…you loved him so much, didn’t you, honey…”

And as she came to where we were standing and gathered Girlie into her arms, I looked on, feeling strangely unsettled.

Girlie’s huge eyes were swimming with tears, her lower lip pouted and quivering. But she didn’t cry. Instead she just kept staring at me from the shelter of Rachel’s arms, tolerating the embrace with no response of her own.

I didn’t want to view this private grief, but as I started back inside, Rachel stopped me with a cry.

“Pamela, please don’t go. I think…I don’t want to be alone right now.”

My heart went out to her. I offered a tentative smile.

“Of course. I’ll stay if you’re sure you want me to.”

“Yes. Please.” She sat down, patting the vacant step beside her, and hoisted Girlie onto her lap. The child immediately curled up and began sucking her thumb, her eyes still full upon me.

“Rachel,” I whispered, and I sat beside her, covering her cold hand with one of my own. “Oh, Rachel, what on earth happened?”

There was a moment of silence as she stroked Girlie’s hair and struggled to control her tears. “Did you see him? His sweet, sweet face—all of him cut to ribbons.” She took a deep breath. “Seth found him down at the bottom of the gully. He must have fallen, broke every bone in his body. Seth said there must have been a rockslide and…” She raised stricken eyes to mine, and I squeezed her fingers. “I wasn’t there, Pamela. Nobody was…”

“Hush, Rachel, please don’t.”

“I don’t know what he was doing out there. Oh, Pamela, maybe if we’d heard him, maybe somebody…”

“I don’t think so, Rachel,” I said softly, moving nearer. I could still see Micah’s head, hanging there, a dead flower on a broken stem. “He probably broke his neck. He probably didn’t feel a thing.”

“Oh, do you think so?” She fumbled in her apron pocket for a handkerchief, pressing it to her eyes. “I hope you’re right. I can’t stand the thought that he might have suffered…even a little….”

Sometimes Micah has to stay here…stay here…
Desperately I fought back the images that clamored in my mind—the cellar…the chains…
Strangers disturb him…A change in routine disturbs him.

Micah’s going to die.

Gasping, I clapped a hand to my mouth.
I won’t believe it!

“Pamela, what is it?”

“It’s…nothing,” I mumbled. “Nothing.” But Girlie was looking at me with a wisdom that unnerved me. As if she knew what I’d been thinking.

“He’s at peace now.” Rachel began to cry quietly into Girlie’s tangled hair, rocking her slowly to and fro. “Finally, Micah…finally. No more devils.”

I felt my own eyes brim; I stared hard at the falling darkness, wondering how this could all be happening, if Rachel really knew the full extent of her son’s madness, if she even suspected that I had nearly been a victim myself.

“He never liked the dark,” Rachel said sadly, and I glanced up.

“What did you say?”

“No, he never liked the dark, it made him afraid.” Then catching herself in front of Girlie, she added, “I reckon the angels build Micah the brightest spot in heaven, don’t you?”

I nodded glumly, my mind once more filled with the cellar and the cold, dank darkness. If Rachel knew how much Micah feared the dark, then why would she have allowed him to be put down in that awful place? Even more incredible, was it possible that she didn’t even
know
about it? Yet surely not, not after all these years, all those murders…

“He was a funny one,” Rachel went on, more to herself now than to Girlie or me. “Only had that one hand, but Lord, he never let that stop him from anything, not for a minute. Why, he was every bit as strong as Seth—
stronger,
maybe. Just smaller, is all…Why, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. Not anything.” She smiled to herself, remembering. “Didn’t want anybody to help him, either. Didn’t want to be a burden on anybody.” Her eyes looked into mine, clouding with deep, deep pain. “And he wasn’t,” she whispered. “No, he never was that.”

“Rachel…” I held out my arms and she leaned into them, sobbing uncontrollably with Girlie caught between us, limp as a rag doll. We didn’t hear the door open behind us, didn’t hear Franny come out onto the porch, didn’t even know she was there until Girlie wriggled free, causing us to pull apart and look.

Franny looked terrible. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and there was a wild desperation about her that was almost chilling. I stared at her.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re
wrong!”
she burst out, and as I drew back in surprise, I saw that Rachel’s face had grown solemnly composed. “You’re wrong!” Franny said again, and her voice rose, shaking. “It wasn’t the scarecrow—it
couldn’t
have been! I wouldn’t ever have hurt Micah! You
know
that!”

Frowning, I glanced at Rachel, expecting some sort of soothing reply, but her eyes were immeasurably hopeless and she looked away.

“He’ll say the scarecrow did it, but that’s not
true
!” Franny said again, stomping one foot defensively. “It’s not my fault Micah’s dead! It just happened!”

Scarcely able to believe my ears, I heard Rachel take a deep sigh. “Oh, Franny, you know it should have been burned with the others—”

“It’s not my fault
!” She was practically hysterical, and Girlie clambered out of Rachel’s lap and stood at the bottom of the steps, regarding Franny with a sober stare. “It’s not!” Franny said again; she grabbed for Girlie and held her by the arm. “You could do it!” Franny screamed at her. “You
could!
You
know
you could! Just bring him back!”

Horrified, I felt the impact of her words sink in, saw Rachel stand up and calmly pull Girlie away.

“Go in the house, Franny. You’ve done enough already.”

“But you could! You know you could!” Franny yanked on Girlie’s hand until Rachel pulled it firmly from her grasp.

“That’s enough, Franny. I never heard such a thing.” Her face had paled, and her voice trembled beneath its authority. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

For an instant Franny gazed at their accusing stares, then with a sob, she ran into the house, slamming the door behind her.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Rachel said nervously, tilting Girlie’s face up so she could look into it. “You hear me, Girlie? She’s crazy with grief, and she’s just not thinking, you
hear
?”

But Rachel sounded frightened.

And as she went back inside, I saw an expression in Girlie’s eyes that made me shiver…an expression I had never seen there before.

Hate.

T
HEY LAID MICAH’S
body out in the large, formal sitting room, encircled by candles and empty chairs, as if crowds of mourners were expected. Rachel allowed none of us to help with the death rituals. I stood in the doorway, silent and helpless, as she scrubbed Micah’s mangled body and dressed him in clean clothes, as she wrapped his head in towels soaked in soda water. “To keep him from turning dark,” Franny explained to me, and I felt sickened.

I’m not sure when, or if, Rachel actually slept. No matter what hour of the day or night, she was in that room with Micah, keeping vigil, smoothing back the silky hair from his mutilated face, whispering to him with a sad, secret smile. For three days he lay there. It was Seth who finally persuaded Rachel that Micah’s poor soul be put to rest.

It rained the day of the funeral. We stood in a wet, miserable huddle in the family cemetery as Rachel wept and prayed. Seth had dug the grave just that morning; the shovel stood propped against a tree, pathetically awaiting the second half of its task. As each of us tossed a handful of dirt onto the coffin, I couldn’t help glancing at Seth; with every dull thud of earth I remembered those other graves in the cave. Franny sobbed uncontrollably. Girlie’s eyes were deep, silent pools of despair.

One by one we drifted our separate ways. Through a chilling gray drizzle I watched Seth head off toward the barn, his face grimly set. I wondered how he could be so unfeeling about his own son, a part of him and Rachel, his firstborn. I wondered what he’d done when he’d found Micah, what he’d thought and felt. Sorrow? Relief that the horrible secret no longer had to be guarded? And did he still believe, as Franny had so fearfully voiced that night, that her scarecrow had caused it all?

I leaned wearily against a tree, tearing a leaf into thin, wet shreds. What could I say to Rachel now—to comfort her, to give her hope, to offer understanding and friendship—after what I’d been through with Seth? I was still angry with him, still frightened of him…and yet the memory of his lovemaking still burned within me, leaving me shocked and ashamed of my feelings. I couldn’t bear to think of it, and yet I could hardly stand to be near Rachel, to look her in the eye for fear of giving something away. I had to stop thinking about it…to even acknowledge it had happened. To hurt Rachel would be unforgivable to me.

I tossed the crumpled leaf to the ground and started walking back to the house. I didn’t see anyone outside at first, but then as I drew closer, I saw Rachel cross the backyard and go toward the barn. Was she going to Seth for comfort? Had he, in fact,
ever
comforted her, held her, shared the burdens of her heart? Since I’d been here, he had never seemed sympathetic or even concerned. And all those days that Rachel had spent beside Micah’s body had been spent without Seth there to console her.

Sighing, I trudged up to my room. The house was empty, and I shut my door firmly against the silence. When would Dewey ever get here? When would I ever be able to leave? With an effort I closed down my mind and lay back upon the bed. The rain was holding to that same monotonous drizzle, and before I knew it, I was halfway dozing, still seeing that pathetic coffin in its muddy hole…

I’m not exactly sure when I first heard the voices. So low and shadowy were they that I might have been aware of them for some time, like the fuzzy edges of a deep, deep dream. Yet as my eyelids flickered open, the sounds didn’t disappear with the last dregs of sleep, but continued to tease me from some faraway place. As I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on my dim surroundings, it occurred to me that the voices were louder and very real—and that they were somewhere just beneath my window. Slipping quietly across the room, I flattened myself against one side of the window frame so that I had a clear view without being seen.

The voices
were
real—there was no doubt about that now—and as I strained my ears, trying to hear, I saw two familiar figures standing just below in the yard. The gray afternoon and my awkward position kept me from seeing their expressions clearly, but it only took a second for me to realize that they were involved in an argument.

“You’re acting like it’s my fault!” Franny’s voice, shrill and defensive. “Everybody’s acting like it was my fault!”