Signs in the Blood (31 page)

CHAPTER 25

F
IRE AND
W
ATER
 (
W
EDNESDAY)

E
LIZABETH YANKED
L
AUREL TO HER FEET AND POINTED
to the window. The singing was closer now. She whispered fiercely in her daughter's ear, “Get out the window as soon as he's at the door. Go as fast as you can down to Walter and Ollie's. Call nine-one-one.” She bent her knees and locked her hands together. “Put your foot here and you can grab the sill.”

“Rise up my fair one and come away,”
sang John the Baptizer.

“Mum, I can't leave you—”

“Just do it!” Elizabeth snarled. “I'm not the one he wants! Get out!
Now!
”

Laurel put a tentative foot in Elizabeth's locked hands and with a panic-driven explosion of energy, Elizabeth hurled her toward the window. Above her, Elizabeth heard Laurel's boots scrabble against the rough boards of the wall. Then she had a hold and was through the opening. Elizabeth grabbed up the pitchfork; at the same moment, the door was flung open. John the Baptizer stood there in a rusty black suit, a fading smile on his face and a bunch of wildflowers in his hand.

He stared uncomprehendingly at Elizabeth. She stood frozen, holding the pitchfork in both hands. A breathless moment passed and suddenly the rustling and pounding footsteps of Laurel's escape could be heard. A light of understanding dawned on John the Baptizer's face and he swung back toward the door.

Gripping the pitchfork tightly, Elizabeth ran straight for the evangelist. John the Baptizer gave a startled yelp that turned to a howl of pain as three rusty tines sank into his side. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, clutching the shaft of the pitchfork. Elizabeth let go of it and made a dash through the open door, but as she passed the writhing body, a hand shot out and caught her by the ankle. She kicked viciously at him with her free foot: his face, his crotch, anywhere to do damage. He bellowed with pain but the viselike grip grew stronger. Then, with a sudden, savage twist of her ankle, he brought her down. Her head hit the door frame and she crumpled to the dirt.

Someone was pouring water on her head and she brushed at her face to keep it out of her eyes. She had a terrible headache and something was wrong with her hands. Reluctantly she opened her eyes. She was lying under the big oak beside the still pool where Mary Cleophas and her baby were waiting. John the Baptizer stood over her, one hand pressing a bloody towel to his side, the other pouring water from a bright red-and-yellow Bojangles cup onto her head. “It's good you woke up,” he told her conversationally. “You ought to be awake when you enter in to Glory.”

A rope bit into her wrists; he had tied her hands together in a prayer position.
How long was I out?
she wondered desperately. Then she thought,
At least Laurel got away. Maybe she's already called for help and they'll be here soon. If I can just keep him talking . . .

“Why did you kill Cletus and the other man?” she asked the preacher. “Cletus was just trying to help your daughter.” She tried to sit up but he pushed her flat with his foot. A look of pain shot across his face as he did so.

“Just you lay still,” he cautioned. “It'll not be long.” He seemed to be listening for something, his head cocked to one side. “Mary Cleophas was supposed to stay hidden from the eye of man. It was a sign when the child was wrong, but I didn't understand it right off. The Lord had told me to keep her hid, so when those two come along and found her, I knew what must be done.”

He looked at her happily and asked, “Have you been washed in the blood of the Lamb? It's just a quick thing and then you go to dwell in the house of the Lord forever. That's where I sent that feller with the squirrels and that's where I sent the one that come along a few days later, said he was following the first feller's trail 'cause that one always knew where the best sang was.”

His eyes grew dreamy and he removed the bloody towel, glanced at it and turned it to a drier side, pressing it back against his wounds. “They was both baptized in the living waters, like it says in the Book. Living waters that flow from the rock and return to the sea. Course I couldn't leave their earthly husks here; both times I carried them out by night and took them to the river. The Lord give me the strength to do it. I'll not be able to carry the rest of you to the river. But it's fitten that Mary Cleophas and the child lay there. I put stones on 'em so they can't raise up and come after me.”

His eyes brightened as if he had just heard a beloved voice. He threw his head back and looked at the sky. “I hear you, Lord,” he cried in an exultant tone. Bending, he grasped Elizabeth's bound wrists and began to drag her over the grass. “It's time,” he declared, and pushed her into the pool.

She sank down into the clear water, the breath driven out of her by the shock of its deathly cold. Her feet touched the rocky bottom and something brushed against her leg and she saw the long pale hair of the drowned girl wrap itself around her ankle. The dead infant's blanket was floating loose now and the tiny shriveled arms of its attached twin waved and beckoned to Elizabeth through the icy water. Shrieking, she floundered away from the silent forms swaying softly there beside her. Her head broke through the surface of the water into the sweet, sweet air and she gasped, filling her lungs greedily again and again. The sunlight dazzled her eyes. John the Baptizer, a black shadow shimmering against the sun, was standing at the edge of the pool, watching. Holding one hand outstretched over her, he broke into a rambling prayer.

Elizabeth fought madly to get a hold among the rocks and tree roots. The banks were slick, almost vertical, and she kept slipping back. John the Baptizer ignored her frenzied struggles and prayed on, his voice resounding throughout the clearing in a maniacal chant. Suddenly Elizabeth's bound hands slipped into a crevice just above the water line and her fingertips brushed a damp metal cylinder of some kind. As she ran her fingers over it and felt the metal change to wood at one end, she knew that she had at last found Cletus's shotgun.

John the Baptizer was speaking in tongues now, great ugly syllables rolling and slobbering out of his mouth like the death agonies of some horrible beast. He leaned over the pool, reaching out his hand for Elizabeth's head. She forced herself to stand motionless, waiting for him to get closer.

As he leaned nearer and nearer, drops of his spittle fell on her face. His pale eyes were rolling back in his head and his words were coming in gasps. She took one last breath, then, with all her strength, thrust the shotgun barrel straight up, smashing it into the nose and mouth of the praying man. A shriek that became a bloody gurgle formed in his shattered mouth and he tottered and fell.

Trembling with shock and cold, Elizabeth struggled out of the pool, her tied hands forcing her to slither like an ungainly seal. She gave the still body of the evangelist a wide berth and started running. Her bound hands made her clumsy and she was terrified she would fall. Only once did she pause briefly to look back. John the Baptizer had not moved. Then she ran, as fast as she could, oblivious to the messages of pain her body was sending her.

The road was steep and, with her hands bound, the many fallen trees were difficult to climb over. Twice she tripped over roots and was flung to the ground. Each time she staggered up, she was certain she heard dragging, relentless footsteps following her down the trail. Her heart was pounding and she gasped for breath. Her twisted ankle gave an excruciating twinge each time she put her foot down but still she pushed on.

She was wriggling under the big fallen poplar, inch by painful inch through the dirt, when her shirt snagged on the stub of a broken branch. It was just out of her reach and she could go neither forward nor backward. She pulled with all her strength but could not tear free. Then, like an animal in a trap, she lay there panting and exhausted, her face wet with tears of frustration. The thump of her heartbeat filled her ears, and at first she didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

Someone was hurrying toward her. Caught under the huge log, Elizabeth couldn't see the path but she could hear short gasps of breath as the footsteps grew closer. She gave one last desperate thrust to rip herself loose then two booted feet came to a halt inches from her face. The spatters of paint were unmistakable.

“Laurel! Thank God! Get me loose!”

Her daughter quickly unsnarled the snagged shirt and pulled Elizabeth from under the tree. She carried a twenty-two rifle and her face was filthy and grim.

“Mum, are you okay? I called nine-one-one but they haven't come yet. I was going crazy and finally Walter said he'd get his squirrel gun. Mum, are you hurt? Why are you wet?”

“I'm fine,” Elizabeth said, ignoring the throbbing pain in her head and every muscle in her body. “Be quiet a minute.”

They stood silently, mother and daughter clinging to each other as Elizabeth strained her ears for any sounds that might be the wounded evangelist. She heard only the usual small rustlings and chirpings of the undisturbed forest. At last, she sagged wearily against Laurel and murmured, “I don't know . . . maybe I killed the bastard. See if you can untie my hands. We need to get back down to the trailer.”

She had swallowed two tall glasses of Ollie's super-sweet iced tea when she remembered that she had Hawkins's cell phone number in her wallet, which was locked in her car. Though they had called both 911 and the sheriff's office, as yet no help had arrived.
It's worth a try,
she told herself as she eased her aching body down the steep porch steps.

The phone rang, but there was no answer. There was a blur of static and Elizabeth was about to hang up when suddenly Hawkins's voice was loud in her ear. “Elizabeth—are you all right?”

“I need help,” she replied wearily. “I think I've killed a man. We've called nine-one-one—”

“I'm with the sheriff right now,” he said quickly. “We've just busted the militia and we're leaving the others to mop up. I'm riding with Blaine to answer some weird call up someplace called Lonesome Holler.”

They were there almost before Elizabeth could hang up the phone. After hurried explanations from Elizabeth and Laurel, with background interjections from Ollie—“I knowed something weren't right and I said to Walter . . .”—the sheriff suggested, “Ms. Goodweather, why don't you and . . . uh . . . this young lady wait down here?”

Hawkins quickly said, “We might need them to show us how it happened.” He hesitated, looking at Elizabeth. “That is, if you feel up to it.”

Elizabeth smiled mirthlessly and gave Laurel a one-armed hug. “The Goodweather women,” she told the two men, “are up to anything.”

They circled around the little cabin, making straight for the pool where Mary Cleophas and her baby kept their silent watch. A faint odor of burning filled their nostrils and they quickened their pace. The smell grew stronger and as they came into the clearing, Elizabeth saw a great blaze of fire between them and the little pool. Panel after panel of John the Baptizer's strange, apocalyptic paintings were heaped in a roaring bonfire. She could see the bright fantastic figures writhing and twisting in the flames as they were consumed and turned to black ash. Laurel uttered a cry and lunged toward the fire, but Elizabeth pulled her back.

“Let them go,” she said. Then it came to her. “Phillip,” she said in horror, “he must still be alive! We have to—”

She looked at Hawkins and then at Blaine. Both men were holstering the guns they had drawn when approaching the cabin. And both were staring through and beyond the blaze at a dark shape that shimmered in midair.

The black-clad body of John the Baptizer twirled slowly at the end of a long manila rope hung from the old oak. His head drooped, and the bulging eyes above the crushed nose and mouth seemed to lock gazes with the pale eyes of Mary Cleophas and her infant child staring up from beneath the surface of the little pool.

XII-M
AY
1902

Hit was near black inside the cabin afore I heared him comin. I stayed back from the window for I didn't want him to see me but I could hear him talkin to hisself and sayin scripture. He swore something awful when he seen the busted padlock and the hole in the door and then the door swung open. He weren't nothing but a black shape against the fadin light and I fired one barrel right at his heart. He pitched forward afore I could even make out his hateful face.

The kick from the gun flung me down for I had forgot to brace myself. I was pullin myself up off the floor, my ears a-ringin, when I heared Mister Tomlin say, like he was a long ways off, O Little Sylvie, I fear you've killed your own true love.

Then I heared the scratch of a Lucifer match and looked up to see Mister Tomlin lightin the oil lamp on the chimbly piece. He had his pistol in his other hand and was a-pointin hit at me.

The yellow lamplight come up and I seen that hit was Levy layin there on the floorboards. His arms was flung out towards me and his pretty golden hair was all spattered with his own heart's blood.

I screamed and started to throw myself down at his side but Mister Tomlin picked up the shotgun from where it lay. He put it to my breast and said, I found your fancy man coming for you, Little Sylvie, and I convinced him to walk along with me. Mister Tomlin's eyes was as icy blue as a winter sky and he whispered in my ear, Now your family can all be together, Little Sylvie.

CHAPTER 26

A
Q
UESTION OF
F
AITH
 (
T
HURSDAY)

W
HEN
E
LIZABETH FINALLY OPENED HER EYES,
the sun was high overhead. She looked incredulously at the bedside clock—one-thirty in the afternoon.
I never sleep that long,
she thought, but then reflected that it had been late before they had finally returned home from giving statements at the sheriff's office. Evidently the exertion and shocks of the day before had taken their toll. When she gingerly forced herself out of bed in search of coffee, every inch of her body ached. Pulling on a T-shirt and a pair of scrubs, she glanced in the mirror. There was a nasty bruise on her right cheekbone and some reddened scratches below it, but otherwise she looked happier and more alive than she had in many years. She smiled cheerfully at her reflection and headed for the kitchen. The delicious aroma of French roast coffee filled the air.

It seemed unremarkable that Phillip Hawkins should be in the dining room sitting at the table with Ben and Laurel. He jumped to his feet on seeing her and held out both hands. “Are you feeling okay, Elizabeth? Laurel's been filling Ben in on the whole story. You both had a narrow escape.”

“Mum was amazing,” Laurel exclaimed. “She fought like a . . . a . . .”

“Like a mother defending her child?” said Elizabeth, grabbing Laurel's hand and squeezing it. “But, Phillip,” she turned to Hawkins, who was still standing and watching her and Laurel with placid approval, “I thought I'd . . . well . . . I thought I'd killed John the Baptizer. I certainly tried to. Anything to get away. How could he have managed to . . . to hang himself?”

Hawkins poured another cup of coffee and handed it to her. As they both sat down, he said, “You did a lot of damage all right, but it looked worse than it really was. Besides, people in desperate situations sometimes have incredible reservoirs of strength.” He took a sip from his cup and smiled at her through the steam. “As you should know.

“I talked to Blaine this morning,” he went on. “He and his deputies were back out there at the scene early, looking around and trying to put all the pieces together. Blaine said it looked like John the Baptizer had tossed the rope around one of the lower branches of that oak and used it to walk himself up the trunk. Then he sat there on the branch and made the noose and—”

“But
why
?” Elizabeth interrupted. “If he thought he was doing what God told him . . . ?”

“Blaine thinks he found the answer to that one. He said they were going through the cabin and saw a Bible open on the table. Blaine said it looked like John the Baptizer had dragged himself in there and cracked the Bible. You know,” he went on, seeing the puzzled look on Ben's face, “lots of folks around here use the Bible to answer questions—open it up and put your finger on a verse at random. Then you read the verse and take it as the answer to your question. Anyway, Blaine said the Bible was open to Matthew twenty-seven and there was a bloody fingerprint smeared down the page starting at verse four.”

Just like Birdie did,
Elizabeth thought, and shivered.

Ben jumped up from the table and headed for the wall of books in the living room. Returning, he quickly leafed through the Bible he was holding. “It's about Judas . . . in verse four he says, ‘I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood . . .' and then he goes and hangs himself.”

“Oh, my god,” said Laurel quietly. There seemed no more to say, and silence fell in the snug, little room. Ben closed the Bible gently and laid it on the table. Hawkins looked appraisingly at Elizabeth.

“What's this about a rattler in your car?” he asked. “You didn't tell Blaine about that yesterday.”

“She didn't tell
me
till we were coming back home last night,” said Laurel, sounding a little indignant.

The telephone rang and Ben answered it. “Just a moment,” he said, handing the phone to Elizabeth with raised eyebrows and the beginning of a smirk.

“Miz Goodweather?” It was Harice Tyler. Elizabeth's eyes widened and she started to reply but Tyler continued evenly, “Miz Goodweather, I just found out about that serpent and I thank the Lord you wasn't harmed. I believe the Lord must have been with you. Now Sister Warren's here with me and she wants to ask your forgiveness.”

There was a pause, then a woman's voice said, “Miz Goodweather, it was me put that serpent in yore car. When Harice—when Brother Tyler went to talk to you there at the grocery store, why, the demon of jealousy just grabbed ahold of me. I knowed Brother Tyler had a serpent in his truck; he'd told me about how he just caught it . . .”

She paused and in the background Elizabeth could hear Harice saying, “You got to go on, Sister Warren; you got to make it right.”

“Miz Goodweather, I was just blind with the demon jealousy. You a sinner woman and a good man like Harice trailin' after you—” She stopped abruptly. There was a murmur in the background and she continued.

“I took that bag with the serpent in it out of Brother Tyler's truck and put it under yore front seat. I thought maybe it could be a kind of test to see was you worthy of Brother Tyler. I see now that I was wrong, that it was the Devil leadin' me and I'm askin' yore forgiveness, Miz Goodweather.” There was an expectant pause.

Elizabeth thought about this.
Forgive you, you bitch? I'd like to rip your throat out. You almost kept me from getting to Laurel in time.
But she surprised herself by saying, “Okay, I forgive you.”

There was a smothered giggle at the other end of the line. “That's real Christian of you, Miz Goodweather. I want you to know that me and Harice—me and Brother Tyler's fleecin' the Lord about what to do. Brother Tyler's goin' to pray with me regular to expel that demon of jealousy.” There was another giggle and, with a soft sigh, Elizabeth hung up the phone.

“That explains the rattlesnake,” she said. “Is there any more coffee?”

“Were you just talking to the person who put the snake in your car?” Hawkins looked puzzled. “Don't you want to press charges?”

“I don't know. After yesterday—after everything that happened—it's like I don't want to be angry anymore. The person I just talked to . . . well . . . it was all a misunderstanding . . . a stupid mistake.”

“That was that preacher, wasn't it?” asked Ben. “That one at the snake-handling church in Tennessee?” He laughed. “You know, at one time I thought you might be starting to believe all that stuff. When you came home over there you were kind of . . . kind of starry-eyed.”

Elizabeth smiled. “There's a real appeal to blind faith. It would be comforting just to believe and not have to deal with the hard questions, but, to tell the truth, in the end it scares me. Look at those women who gave up their babies because they believed in Polaris—”

“Not to mention all the fools who believed in the white-supremacy line of the Sons of Adam,” added Hawkins.

“And Mary Cleophas and John the Baptizer—they both believed he was doing God's will,” said Laurel solemnly. “That kind of faith's scary.”

The events of the previous day having been told and retold, Laurel had returned to Asheville and to her job. Ben was hard at work digging a new outhouse hole near his cabin, and Hawkins and Elizabeth were sitting on the porch. He was explaining that he was planning to stay on in the Asheville area for at least six more months. “I really am going to teach Criminal Justice at AB Tech next semester,” he told her. “And try to get to know my daughter a little better.” He stared out at the mountains, where the late sun was casting long blue shadows. “I'd like it if she could meet you and Laurel—”

The telephone rang and Elizabeth reached for the cordless phone that she'd brought out to the porch.

“Hit's a miracle!” Dorothy cried, in response to Elizabeth's guarded hello. “Lizzie Beth, I want you to know that some of them Holiness folks come to the house yesterday evenin', you know, them folks from that snake-handlin' church in Tennessee? Well, that Belvy Guthrie made 'em to come and they gathered all round Birdie and they was prayin' and callin' out and speakin' in tongues, oh, hit was a sight on earth! Then Brother Tyler anointed her with sweet oil and laid hands on her and when they was done, Birdie said all the pain had gone out of her vertables and she wanted her some biscuits and gravy to eat. She hadn't taken nary a bite of food in two days.”

“Well, that's good,” said Elizabeth, “I'm glad the praying made her feel better—”

“Honey, that ain't all hit done!” Dorothy almost sang the words. “When I took her back to the doctor this morning, he done that blood test they allus do and he said her count was plumb normal; said maybe him and the other doctors had been wrong all along, or hit was a spontaneous emission or some such words. Birdie's plumb cured, Lizzie Beth! And hit was her faith what done it!”