Signs in the Blood (21 page)

Ben was still up working at the computer when they arrived. He listened with a grin to Laurel's enthusiastic account of the revival and broke into a loud laugh when she told of Elizabeth's precipitous flight from the tent. “I thought you might OD on religion, Aunt E,” he chortled. “But just think, if you'd stayed maybe he could have rebuked the demons out of your folding chair and healed your aching butt.”

His face grew suddenly serious as he said, “By the way, Molly came back around nine. I heard her howling out on the porch. She's okay,” he added hastily, “just all scratched and her pads are bleeding in a few spots. She was really hungry, so I fed her and then put peroxide and ointment on the torn places. She went right in to your bedroom after she ate and she's zonked out under your bed. But there's no sign of Ursa.”

VII-D
ECEMBER
1901

All the hillsides was gray and bare when we buried little Louammia. Hit was mistin a light rain and Aetha couldn't stop cryin. Hit didn't make no difference how much the preacher and folks talked about Louammia bein the newest little angel, Aetha just looked like there weren't nothing on this earth would bring her any comfort. She leaned against Fate who had tears runnin down his face too. He didn't even try to wipe them away, just put his arm around Aetha and together they walked over to thank the preacher and the men who dug the grave. Then Fate led Aetha down the hill and they headed back to their house where Miz Gentry was watchin over the children.

I was grieved for Fate and Aetha and for their loss but, like my daddy says, them as has can lose. And they still had each other and five healthy young uns. And I didn't doubt but what Aetha's skirt'd be poochin out again before too many months went by.

Like mine was now. I hadn't said nothing to no one and I had took to wearin a shawl most all the time to cover it. If it hadn't been for Aetha's trouble, I might of told her but I don't know. Mister Tomlin hadn't said nothing, even when he'd seen me with the mornin sickness. He kept on a-plaguin me about gettin fat and not lettin me eat much. At first hit didn't make no difference for any food like to turn my stomach. But then the sickness passed and I was hungry all the time. There was days I'd slip down to Daddy's house and steal biscuits or cornbread out of the crock in the kitchen. One time Rom was there and I couldn't get at the crock without her askin questions that I didn't want to answer. That was the day I had went out to the barn and ate up ever bit of the old stale cornbread Daddy keeps in a lard can to feed his hounds.

Atter they burried Louammia I stood by the big white rock that marks my mommy's grave and I wished more than I ever had before that I could talk to her and she could tell me what should I do. Mister Tomlin and my daddy had been talkin to some of the men and then they left off and come over to stand beside me. Mister Tomlin took my arm and his fingers was pressin hard into my flesh. My daddy's lookin all mournful-like and I can see from the way he's studyin the little stones next to the one for my mommy that he's thinkin about the little boys him and her had lost.

Well, sir, says Mister Tomlin, I'm sorry for your loss of a grandchild. His bony old fingers bit into my arm. I'd hoped for a happier time to tell you our news but maybe it'd hearten you some to know that Little Sylvie's carrying another grandbaby for you.

Mister Tomlin had acted just as proud as anyone could be when he told my daddy about the baby. But when we got on Neb to go back up to the cabin, I seen that his eyes was as cold as the ground where Aetha's babe was layin. As we rode up the hill, he talked in a low voice that set the chill bumps to raisin on my arms. Little Sylvie, he says, I don't doubt that the brat in your belly belongs to that Johnson boy. But it doesn't suit me to be made a laughingstock for folk and so I'll let it be thought that this is my child.

Mister Tomlin, I says, why don't you let me go? Me and Levy'll go off and—

Oh, no, you'll not, he says, for I've sent Levy to do some business for me in Kentucky. He won't return anytime soon, for the roads are dangerous this time of year. Anything could happen.

CHAPTER 17

T
HE
E
ZEKIEL
V
ERSE
 (
S
ATURDAY)

E
LIZABETH HAD SLEPT BADLY, SLEPT
“
WITH ONE EAR
open” as she told Ben and Laurel at breakfast. “I kept thinking I heard Ursa thumping up onto the porch and I'd get up and go open the door and call and whistle, but she wasn't there.”

“Sounds like the agnostic, dyslexic insomniac,” said Ben, looking up from the magazine he had in front of him. “You know, the one who lies awake all night wondering if there is a dog.”

Elizabeth gave her nephew a sour smile and stared gloomily into her coffee. “I'll call the animal shelter as soon as they open just in case . . .”

“That's not a bad idea,” said Ben, “but haven't Molly and Ursa done this sort of thing before—gone off up the mountain hunting and stayed gone a couple of days?”

“They have . . . but not for this long. And they generally stick together. That's what worries me. I'll call around and ask if anyone has seen Ursa.” A small chill ran over Elizabeth, that “rabbit running over your grave” feeling again. This was too much like her search for information about Cletus. Her unsuccessful search, she reminded herself, with a sigh.

“What about the radio station?” Laurel spooned last year's blackberry jam abundantly onto her toast. “You know, the local one—WRSM. Do they still do that show at noon
—The Trading Post?
There always used to be lost-and-found announcements on that. And I bet a lot of the folks out here listen to it.”

When Laurel had left to return to the revival tent in search of an interview with the painting preacher and Ben had gone with Julio into town to get building supplies for some repairs on the tenant house, Elizabeth sat at the table and reviewed her options. She had wanted to go with Laurel but her daughter would have none of it. “Mum!” she'd said indignantly. “I'm not a child! This is business and I don't need a chaperone. Besides, what do you think he's going to do—seduce me behind the BP station?”

It's more likely to be the other way round,
Elizabeth thought gloomily, remembering the brief but intense infatuation that Laurel had acted out with the aging hippie Aristides. Well, if she couldn't go with Laurel, what she wanted to do was to start walking up the mountain looking for her missing dog. But reason told her that this was not likely to yield results. There were hundreds of acres of woods and pasture, some of it so covered in briars and brambles that it was impenetrable to anything larger than a rabbit or a very determined dog.
And I have to go with Birdie tonight to that church in Tennessee. What I need to do first is make those calls: animal shelter, radio station, neighbors down on Ridley, though the dogs probably didn't go that way, and Walter and Ollie Johnson. Their place is the nearest on the other side of the mountain.

Several hours later her telephoning had produced nothing helpful. Molly had awakened to make a brief, limping, necessary trip outside, had eaten ravenously, and then headed back to Elizabeth's bedroom, where she was once again fast asleep on the rug beside the bed. “Big help you are,” grumbled Elizabeth, gazing at the lean red hound. “If you were Lassie you wouldn't rest till you'd led me to wherever Ursa is.” Molly opened one yellow eye, regarded Elizabeth briefly, then shut it again with a profound sigh.

Well, hell, I can't just sit around,
Elizabeth told herself.
I'll check my e-mail, then drive up Bear Tree Creek. Maybe if Ursa's over there she might hear the car . . .
She resolutely thrust aside the image of a shaggy black dog lying dead on the road and, trying to ignore the inward ache that had been steadily growing, went to her computer. Her older daughter usually sent a long, chatty e-mail on the weekend, bringing Elizabeth up-to-date with her busy life in Chapel Hill. But the only message in the In box was from Trent Woodbern—the runaway from the Starshine Community. It was brief and puzzling.

Tell your friend not to let his daughter join Starshine unless he never wants to see her again. All those women belong to Polaris. And they never keep their babies.

Elizabeth immediately sent a return message.
Trent: thank you for the information. I'll warn my friend right away but could you explain a little more? Are you saying that Polaris is actually holding these young women against their will? If so, shouldn't we get the law involved?

She clicked on Send and sat rereading Trent's short message. Then she reached for the phone and dialed Hawkins's number. Eight, nine, ten rings. Still no answer and still no answering machine.
Probably out having lunch with that pretty little thing he was with on Thursday,
she thought bitterly, as she hung up.
But I really need to warn him—

The abrupt ring of the telephone under her hand broke into her thoughts. “Miz Goodweather? This is Harice Tyler. I heard on
The Trading Post
just now you had a dog missing.” He went on to say that a few days ago two dogs had come through his daddy's place on the track of something. “A big black shaggy dog, could of had on an orange collar like it said on the radio, and a red hound with a green collar. They was atter something or other and was heading up into the woods 'tween us and that militia place.”

“Thank you so much for calling,” Elizabeth said. “Do you know if those militia people have a phone or how they would be listed? I'll call right away and—”

“They ain't got no regular phone, just them cell phones. My daddy was trying to get up with them back of this and he never could do no good. Finally had to go talk to the feller at the gate and—”

“That's what I'll do then,” interrupted Elizabeth. “Thank you again for telling me about the dogs. I'll go up there right now.”

“Miz Goodweather, you don't want to go up there today.” There was real concern in Harice Tyler's voice. “They always have a bunch of people there on Saturdays, some big meeting and all. They just lock that gate and can't nobody get in. And Saturday's when they do what they call their ‘live-fire' exercises. No, ma'am, don't you do that. And you hadn't ought to go up there nohow without a man goes with you.”

“I'll get my nephew to—” She stopped in midsentence, remembering that Ben and Julio would be gone most of the day.

“No, Miz Goodweather, them folks wouldn't pay you no mind. But they know me. I've talked to a few of them one time and another and we get along all right. They foller Scripture just like I do, so we can agree on that.” Harice chuckled. “Course, we don't always foller it the same, but I reckon we both agree on what Paul says about the woman is subject to the man.”

He ignored Elizabeth's indignant sputter and continued, “What I'm tellin' you is, was I to go over there with you, I believe you'd stand a better chance of findin' out about yore dog.”

Reluctantly Elizabeth had agreed that she would wait till the next day to visit the militia compound. She would meet Harice Tyler at the entrance to his father's place so that he could go with her and “do the talkin'.” Against her every inclination she yielded to Harice's insistence that entering the property today or alone would be dangerous.

“Besides, you're comin' to church tonight, ain't you? Aunt Belvy done told yore Miss Birdie she'd likely have a message for her.” The preacher's voice grew smooth, almost wheedling. “And I been prayin' for an anointin' to handle ever since I got them copperheads that day you was up to Daddy's place.”

When the conversation ended, Elizabeth felt strangely unsettled. She had turned down Harice Tyler's offer to drive her and Miss Birdie to the church in Tennessee that night. But she
had
told him that she would be there, and a thrill of anticipation had surged unbidden through her body as he promised, “You'll see what the Lord has for you tonight, Miz Goodweather.”

Calm down, Elizabeth, you're just curious about snake-handling, that's all. Nothing to do with old bedroom-eyes Harice.
Lunchtime was long past, so she made a quick cheese sandwich and got the book on the Holiness signs-followers and snake-handlers that Ben had brought her from the library. “You might like a little background on this church you're going to,” Ben had said as he had held it out to her, opened to a photograph of a young woman, eyes closed in painful ecstasy. A fat rattlesnake, head pulled back as if to strike, was clutched in her hands.

As Elizabeth leafed through the pages, she found a section dealing with the rules of dress followed by church members and noted that women were supposed to keep their hair long, and to dress modestly, and to wear no jewelry.
Paul again,
she sniffed.
I think that the way I dress is modest, but evidently jeans are out. And earrings. But my hair is long, though thinking of that old curmudgeon Paul makes me want to get a crew cut.

She was deep in the book when the phone rang. This time it was Miss Birdie's cousin Dorothy, in a state of great agitation. “Lizzie Beth, honey. You got to come over here right now! Birdie's nose is a-bleedin' like one thing. You got to come read the verses. Hit's supposed to be someone what ain't related.”

“Verses? What verses? Have you had her put her head back and . . .” Elizabeth searched her brain for remedies, “. . . and . . . and hold a cold wet washrag to her nose? That might help.”

“Honey, we done tried that but hit's just a-gushin'. They's a verse in Ezekiel that'll stop a nosebleed, but hit's got to be someone what ain't kin that reads it. You come right now!”

“Dorothy, I'm on my way, but . . . I'm probably not the one to do this. You see, I don't believe—”

“Honey, hit don't matter.” Dorothy's reply was terse. “You just come do the readin'. Me and Birdie and the Lord'll do the believin'.”

As her jeep bumped down the road, Elizabeth's mind was racing.
I wonder what caused Birdie's nose to start bleeding. Dorothy didn't mention a fall or anything. Verses! What's that all about? At least I can take Birdie into the emergency care center if we can't get the bleeding stopped. . . .

She frowned as she neared Birdie's bridge.
Okay, Elizabeth, don't just assume that you know everything. Let's give Dorothy's way a fair chance—you can still take Birdie to the doctor if it doesn't work. Like Dorothy said, you don't have to do the believin'; just try not to stand in the way.

Something John the Baptizer had said the night before swam into her mind. “He's telling me to open myself and to make myself a vessel for His Holy Spirit.” With an effort that was almost a physical wrench, Elizabeth concentrated:
I have to try to believe that I can help. Open myself and help Birdie. In her way, not mine.
She cleared her mind of the words “superstitious nonsense” and tried to think of nothing but letting her own strength and health flow into her little neighbor.
Help Birdie. Help Birdie.

She was still inwardly repeating that mantra when she entered Birdie's cabin. Birdie was sitting on the sofa, head leaned far back, and the dishrag that Dorothy was pressing to her nose was ominously red. A small pile of similarly stained cloths lay heaped on the linoleum at her feet.

“Birdie, honey, you keep this rag up to yore nose while I show Lizzie Beth the place in the Book,” Dorothy directed her cousin. She reached for the worn black Bible that sat on a crocheted doily in the center of a low table littered with sympathy cards, copies of
The Progressive Farmer,
and a red-capped plastic peanut butter jar full of lemon drops.

“Hit's in Ezekiel, chapter 16.” Dorothy's capable hands opened the book to a marker and she ran a finger down the page. “Right here, verse six. You put yore hand on her head and you read the verse, only where it says ‘thee,' you say Birdie.”

The verse was brief and Elizabeth sat down by Birdie and did as Dorothy had said, changing the
thou
s and
thine
s to
she
s and
her
s. She tried to project a certainty she did not feel as she read, “And when I passed by Birdie and saw Birdie polluted in her own blood, I said unto Birdie when she was in her blood, Live; yea, I said unto Birdie when she was in her blood, Live.”

Beneath her hand Birdie's small head felt skull-like. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and once again silently pleaded,
Please help me to help Birdie. Please.
Her hand on Birdie's head felt warm and tingling, almost as if an electrical current was passing from her body into the little form leaning back beside her on the low sofa.

There was a long quiet moment, then Miss Birdie said quietly, “I believe hit's done stopped.” Elizabeth opened her eyes to see her little neighbor wiping the last smears of blood from her pale face. “Thank you kindly, Lizzie Beth.”

Elizabeth realized that she was trembling as she removed her hand from Birdie's head. “Miss Birdie, are you all right?”

“Ay law,” Birdie replied, “you stopped it just fine, Lizzie Beth.” She smiled weakly as she lay back on the vinyl-covered sofa. “I knowed you could do it.”

“Birdie,” Elizabeth said, “You're not going to feel like going over to Tennessee tonight. In fact, why don't you let me take you in to the clinic? You look—”

“Naw, I can't hardly make it. Maybe hit don't matter.” Birdie closed her eyes wearily. “About Cletus, I mean. Let my boy rest in peace.”

“Birdie, honey, you just lay back and take you a little nap.” Dorothy was pulling at Elizabeth's sleeve and nodding urgently toward the door. Taking a last look at Birdie, who seemed in these past few weeks to have become so much smaller and frailer, Elizabeth followed Dorothy outside.

“Dorothy,” she exclaimed, once the house door had been closed behind them, “we really need to get Birdie to the doctor! She looks terrible . . . she's lost so much weight—”

Dorothy pursed her lips and glanced toward the house. “She didn't want nobody to know but she finally had to tell
me.
I seen something weren't right and I got it out of her.” She paused, as if gathering strength. “The doctor done told her more'n a month ago that she's got cancer in the blood. You know, that leukemia. That's how come her to have these old nosebleeds. Mostly I can stop them with the wet towel, but this one today—well, it's a mercy you was there to read the words.”