Scarecrow (7 page)

“I knew you’d have brown hair,” Girlie went on, as if she hadn’t even heard, “and I knew you’d have it down long ’cause I made it that way.” From under the veil she withdrew a long brown strand of horse’s tail, and I watched her dubiously. “And I gave you blue eyes,” Girlie added quietly. Uneasily I noted the blue painted eyes on the fabric face.
Funny…they are shaped like mine…
“And a veil,” Girlie faced me, her voice softening, “’cause I knew you’d be in mourning.”

She’s talking much older than the child she is…much, much older…about things she doesn’t understand and couldn’t know and has no right to know…
I stared at the scarecrow, my skin going clammy.

“She’s carrying her flowers for her husband and her little boy,” Girlie said sorrowfully, and I spun to face her, my color draining. “She wants to be with them, but I can’t let her. I want her here with me to be my friend.”

“Girlie,” I mumbled, but the sound was inside my head, my lips moving futilely as the sadness in Girlie’s eyes washed over me, rooting me to the spot. And then, “Girlie,” I said again, and I heard her name echoing through the quiet morning, over and over, and it wasn’t my voice at all, but someone else calling from far away, and as I looked back in the direction of the porch, Girlie darted past me and disappeared into the woods beside the house.

“Girlie! Wait!” I cried, but even as I went after her I knew I couldn’t catch up. Who had called to her? The sound had been so faint, yet it
must
have been real—Girlie hadn’t hesitated for a second. Now I plunged through the trees where I’d seen her go, and was instantly enveloped in darkness—even with most of their leaves gone the branches were knotted so tightly together overhead that they blotted out the daylight. I slowed down, trying to get my bearings. This was ridiculous, following the child this way. Even if I did catch her, what would I do? Make her confess?
To what, for God’s sake? A little girl who knows all about my secret pain—it’s not even possible and yet…
And yet I had stood right there and heard her say their names.
Brad…Kerry…

“Girlie!” I called again, and crashed through the underbrush, pushing back at sharp limbs that clawed at my face. The place was an impossible labyrinth—there was no way to tell where I was or where I was going, and there were hundreds of places Girlie could hide. I’d been foolish to even try it in the first place. Then, just as I decided to turn around and try to find my way out again, there was a shifting in the shadows just ahead, and I came up unexpectedly against a wall.

I knew this couldn’t be the house, nor did I think I’d gone far enough south to reach the barn, yet this was definitely some sort of building, and I was standing at the back of it. Trees pressed so close on all sides that I had to flatten myself against the walls to move, and inch by inch I began to squeeze around the corners until I reached the front and found a door. Although the back and sides of the building were flush with the woods, the entrance faced a footpath which was practically buried in leaves and led away again through a thicket.

The building looked like a ruin—as if it had been abandoned for so long that it had fallen into a rotting stupor. On closer inspection I could see that the bottom half had been fitted together with logs and red clay dirt—for the most part, still amazingly intact—though chunks of it had loosened here and there, spilling out into the tall weeds. A huge oak, hugging too close at one corner, had managed to lift the building several inches so that it leaned uncomfortably, but the roof, patched as it was, hadn’t yet slid sideways and toppled off. For all its sad disrepair, there was a certain charm about it, and I found myself irresistibly drawn inside. I put my hand to the latch, glancing once over my shoulders. The woods were still and watchful. I pulled on the door and let myself in.

For a moment there was total darkness, and as I stood there readjusting to the dim light, strange smells overpowered me from all sides. Meat, I guessed at once, and hickory, like our weekend barbecues back home, and something greasy…My eyes squinted against the gloom, swept up to the ceiling, to exposed rafters and lengths of wire and thick, dark shapes swinging there—
and those Sundays of grilled hot dogs and Kerry always getting ketchup all over him and Brad painting with one hand, a hamburger held in the other
—wire and loops of twine and those dark shapes swinging, and
my God, are those animals up there, hanging, swinging, dying from the ceiling—

“What the hell are you doing in here?’

I jumped back, choking down a scream, just as Seth ducked through the doorway, blocking out the lopsided square of light.

“I…I was trying to find Girlie.” My hands went up instinctively, to ward off the dark and all the things I couldn’t see that could see me, and I felt him, felt him coming closer the silence, the strength of him.

“Well, you won’t find her here. She’s inside playing.

I moved nearer the door, nearer the light. “She ran off and I followed her. I guess…I got lost somehow.”

“I guess.”

I strained my ears, following his footsteps across the din floor, then back again, close to where I stood. Again I stepped back.

“I didn’t mean to trespass,” I said. “I came out of the woods and wasn’t sure where I was.”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Seth said, and he was there without warning, looming over me. His eyes glittered in half-light. “It’s dangerous. The building’s old.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I lowered my eyes away from his own, my heart quickening, still angry at myself for feeling so uneasy and afraid. “What is this place?”

“Smokehouse.” He gave me an impatient look, and I nodded.

“Oh. Of course. All those smells, I should have guessed.”

Seth didn’t seem to be listening. He vanished again into the shadows and reappeared a second later hoisting a slab of meat onto his shoulders. “We cure meat and hides here.” He jerked his chin indifferently toward the rafters. “Skunks. Coons. Rachel puts her vegetables in here, too. Onions and peppers. Some herbs.”

I nodded, letting my eyes roam once again across the sagging walls, the wooden beams, the shadows. “It’s…fascinating.”

“What’s so fascinating about it? You need certain things if you want to survive. And if you need them, you do them yourself. Just that simple.” He stood aside at the door, indicating that I should go out ahead of him. My shoulder accidently brushed his arm as I passed; I felt his muscles tighten.

It was good to be out in the light again. Seth moved past me onto the path, and I followed slowly, stepping where he stepped, my shoes crunching twigs and leaves as I picked my way behind him. The woods were deep and golden-green, quiet as a church, the air so sharp and clean that it stung my cheeks and took my breath away. I dug my chin into the collar of my shirt and shivered.

“I’ll have to find you a jacket somewhere.”

I glanced up, surprised, for he was still walking ahead with his back to me.

“It’s a little different here than California.”

There was just something about the way he said it, almost as if he’d been there before.

“You know California?” I asked carefully.

He ignored the question. Leaves swirled down and he brushed them from his hair.

“Well, it is different,” I said hurriedly. “We’d never have fall like this at home.”

There was a moment of silence, then, “That wouldn’t seem natural to me.”

“Have you ever been west? Have you ever been anywhere else but here?”

The silence stretched on for so long, I thought perhaps he hadn’t heard. Then he said quietly, “Yes, once. A lot of us left, but I was the one who came back.”

“And you’ve stayed ever since?”

“I don’t feel the need to go off now. I’ve got everything right here.”

I wanted to ask him where he’d been that could have embittered him so, but some instinct warned me against that. Instead I said hesitantly, “Don’t you ever wonder what else is out there?”

He stepped easily across a fallen log and waited for me to catch up. “I know what else is out there. And even if I didn’t, it still wouldn’t matter. My life’s the way it is. I just want to keep other people away from it.”

There was no mistaking his implication. I clambered over the log and kept my distance behind him.

“They’d change it all,” Seth went on, more under his breath than aloud. “They’d change things plenty and think they were doing what was right.”

“Changes are scary to me,” I said before I even thought. As he glanced back over his shoulder I stammered, “I mean…I don’t like changes very much…things catching me by surprise. Here you have a place to hide from changes, but—”

I’d said the wrong thing. I wished I’d never mentioned the word; it seemed to magnify my predicament overwhelmingly, and I glanced in growing alarm at the crushing woods. Without warning Seth stopped square on the path, turning around so quickly that I nearly ran into him. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

“My family’s been
hiding,
as you put it, back here in these hills since 1854. Ever since my great-great-grandfather settled. He had a pretty good feel for human nature, and I expect that’s why he came up here in the first place. I don’t figure things have changed a whole lot out there in the world since then.”

Frowning, he swung the ham effortlessly to his other shoulder and looked for a moment as if he might stalk away. But instead he just stood there, staring me down.

“I have my reasons for being here—and for why I’ll never leave.”

“You’re lucky. But I guess you know that,” I said quietly, hoping to mask the growing fear in my voice. He was standing too close…staring too hard…

“Lucky?” His dark eyes burned with an emotion I couldn’t read.

“Yes. The land and your roots…your home and your family. You belong.”

There was a long silence. I tried to step around him on the path, but he blocked my way.

“This is the one place left in the world that still makes some sense. Everything that happens here, happens for a reason.” His gaze swept upward, soaring over trees and hills, and as I watched him, the wind blew his hair full around his face. “We know about life here,” he murmured. “We know where it starts.” His eyes shifted into mine. “And where it ends.”

His voice was like a warning, and again I tried to sidestep him; again he filled the path.

“There’s order here and harmony. Truth. And no—” He broke off sharply, and his face angled down into the hazy green light, strange shadows playing across his tensed jaw.

“What?” I asked, wanting to run, to find the cool, clear sunshine, the fresh air.

His lips moved in a whisper. “Betrayal,” he said at last. “There’s no betrayal here.”

A cold ripple of wind sighed through the helpless leaves overhead—with a death rattle they shook free of their branches and sifted down around Seth’s shoulders. I watched them fall, and I saw Seth’s eyes again, deep and relentless, full upon mine. I stepped back to steady myself against a tree.

“You’re tired,” Seth said, and he turned, striding unconcernedly into the yard behind the house. By the time I reached the back porch he had disappeared completely, and with my heart pounding in relief, I dragged myself up the steps and reached out for the door.

The hand came out of nowhere.

As my mouth opened in a mute circle of fear, the hand clamped about my wrist, nearly pulling me sideways off the steps. In the next instant it had steadied me again, and I twisted to see Micah there behind me.

“What—” I began, but his hand, releasing my arm, came down firmly over my mouth, pushing me back against the house before I could struggle. For a moment all I could see were his eyes, the color of clear, blue sky, fixed on me like magnets—and the fear in them, the pleading, as he made a shushing sound and looked wildly back over his shoulder.

“Micah—” I mumbled beneath his fingers, but he pressed harder and shook his head violently.

“You gotta get out of here,” he hissed. “You shouldn’t be here…it’s all Girlie’s doing, she—”

I struggled to pry his hand from my mouth, and he dropped it to my shoulder, giving me a shake. “You don’t understand!” he gasped. “You don’t belong here. You’re not part of it. She didn’t mean anything by it, but—”

“Didn’t mean anything by what? What are you
talking
about?”

“I’ll help you,” he went on, not listening, almost crying now, his voice desperate and shaking. “I’ll help you and you can get away and maybe it’s not too late…maybe—nothing will happen—”

“Happen—Micah—what are you talking about?
What’s going to happen!”

He pushed me back against the house, his face close to mine, every feature sharp with terror. “I’ll help you,” he whispered. “I’ll help you get away.”

And then he squeezed my hand and was gone.

HIS
HANDS KNOWING EVERY
inch of me…memorizing each line and curve…no one knowing me so totally…so intimately…and the lovemaking, wild and sweet…and how willingly…how wonderfully, wonderfully willing…

“Brad!”

I sat up in bed, shaking, my nightgown soaked with sweat. In my dreams he had been with me again, keeping me safe, and then suddenly other hands had been there, hands that weren’t his—hands catching me, holding me, desperate hands that trembled with fear—
scarecrow hands—and one of Micah’s hands, dangling bloody from the steel jaws of a trap
—
and other hands pulling me from a raging fire.
And yet, even now, wide awake with terror and grief, I still
felt
on fire, still felt a stranger’s hands that made me aching and afraid…

Trembling, I reached up and unfastened my bandage, unwinding it slowly, cringing at the feel of my damp, dirty hair. Tomorrow I’d ask Rachel about a bath…a shampoo…I always felt better after a bath…I could think clearer…things made more sense…

I buried my face in my hands and pulled my knees up to my chest, rocking slowly as I’d rocked Kerry when he’d had a nightmare.
What was happening?
I didn’t understand any of it—Seth’s animosity and Micah’s terror and the strange little girl with the Knowing who told me things about myself that no one else could possibly know. And why was Micah so desperate to help me leave? What had he meant by all that talk about Girlie? He’d made it sound as if something dreadful was about to happen.