Quarrel with the Moon Page 15

  He must get himself and Cresta away from this virulent place as quickly as possible.

  14

  Reverend Hooper tugged on the thick rope. The bell in the steeple tolled loudly, but the somber sound was muted by the roar of the departing storm. Thirteen times the bell tolled, mourning for Faye Brooks.

  It was just past six thirty when the preacher left the church. The rain had abated; the sky was white and glowing in its wake. The trees dripped as though it were still raining, and the preacher's boots made squishing sounds as he hurried through the evening, Sin-Eater to the dead.

  There were about twenty people gathered on the porch of Faye Brooks' cabin. They moved aside to make room. No one spoke to him, and few looked at him. Reverend Hooper did not look at them, either. Their deformities appalled him. God had surely cursed the Ridge. He removed his flat, black hat and pressed it under his arm as he entered the kitchen.

  The kitchen was permeated with the odor of home cooking. But a more formidable scent was evident, one with which the preacher was painfully familiar. It was the smell of death. He looked through the door leading to the parlor. The closed coffin was propped up on sawhorses and a cluster of figures in black knelt beside it. They were the four oldest women on the Ridge - Avarilla, Jewell, Sophie and Sissy. Avarilla looked up and smiled directly at him. The preacher nodded, grateful at being acknowledged.

  In the kitchen two tables had been pushed together to hold the food brought by the mourners. From the ceiling above, strips of paper unfurled, speckled with limbs and wings and bodies of summer flies - flags of the vanquished. The preacher filled a plate with a sample of each food. He did not choose from personal taste. The amount of each sample was exactly the same. He mixed sweets and starches together, often eating them in the same bite. He took a bite out of one of Roma's caramel apples and followed it with a mouthful of cole slaw. The preacher did not sit, but rather stood in the middle of the floor while slowly, methodically, he ate everything on his plate. When he had finished, he placed the plate and fork in the sink, although he knew that they would not be washed and used again, but taken away and buried with the corpse.

  Reverend Hooper bowed his head and offered a prayer. It was as much for himself as Faye Brooks. His lips moved in a silent litany: "Oh Lord, why won't You return to the Ridge an' drive out the beasts which have taken over the night? When will You return? What can we do to bring You back? What sacrifice must we make? Sweet Lord, what sacrifice do You want from us?"

  He put his hat on, and once more eased his way through the silent crowd on the porch.

  As soon as the figure in black had departed, the younger people began to file into the kitchen. They grabbed plates and began heaping food onto them. Reuben's jars of liquor were opened; substantial tots were poured into jelly glasses and quickly consumed. The middle-aged women, the mothers of the youngsters, followed their children inside. Solemn and drab in their mourning clothes, they ate little and spoke even less.

  The four women at the casket finished their prayers. Sissy retreated to a rocking chair in the corner and watched the young people with placid interest. Alex brought her a plate of food and cajoled her into eating. Sophie, Avarilla and Jewell began clearing away the used dishes.

  Jewell went to the sink, took off her garnet ring, placed it on the windowsill, and began stacking plates. She wished that she had given the ring to Faye while she still lived. As she washed the dishes, she eyed the young people reflected in the kitchen window. Not for the first time, Jewell resented them. True, they hadn't been brought up with the traditions and the beliefs which she and her peers had been given by their parents. But that wasn't what bothered her. They seemed completely bereft of normal feelings. They weren't there to mourn Faye, but rather to eat and to drink. She bit down on her lower lip, flung the dishrag aside and hurried through the house to Faye's bedroom, where she closed the door behind her.

  Avarilla, collecting plates, saw Jewell's actions. She gave the stack of dirty dishes to Marinda, saying, "Would you put these in the sink, dear? Jewell needs some attending."

  The young girl carried the dishes to the sink and began to scrub the plates. She hummed a sprightly tune to accompany her work.

  Sophie, her face strained and anxious, brought a stack of dishes to the sink. She sucked in her breath as she saw Marinda.

  "I sure enjoyed your apple pie, Mrs. Balock. Perhaps next time you'll add some raisins."

  "The ... next time?" Sophie whispered.

  "Yes, I'm just wild for raisins."

  Avarilla shut Faye's bedroom door behind her and looked around the small, neat room. Jewell was sitting on the floor next to the window. Thin rays of late sunshine surrounded her like a cage. "Jewell," Avarilla began.

  Jewell looked up, grief and misery in her face. "Nobody cares," she sobbed. "Faye's dead an' nobody cares."

  Avarilla knelt beside Jewell and cradled her in her arms. "That's not so, Jewell," she said soothingly. "Everybody liked Faye. You an' I loved her."

  "She was like a sister to me," Jewell sobbed.

  "I know, I know," crooned Avarilla. "She was a sister to everyone."

  "I should have give her my garnet ring, Avvie. She always admired it. But I can't now. The coffin lid's nailed shut. It's too late."

  "I'm sure Faye understands, Jewell. She doesn't need it now."

  "Where's Orin - Roma?" wailed Jewell. "They haven't come by. Where are they?"

  "Shhh. They'll be here soon," said Avarilla. "I'm sure they just wanted to wait till the crowd had thinned out. They were very fond of Faye, you know."

  "Yes, I know. I guess," Jewell sniffed, "everybody was."

  "The young ones show their grief in a different way. Goodness, Jewell, you have to remember that they're so different from us. Havin' no fathers an' bein' marked has made them - well, a little strange. We got to be tolerant of them."

  "I suppose," Jewell conceded.

  "It's not like Faye was really gone from us, you know. She's in heaven now. She's with the Lord."

  "Amen, sister. Amen."

  "An' you'll be seein' her soon. You know that, don't you, Jewell?"

  Jewell nodded. "You know, Avvie, I don't mind dyin'. Now that Faye's gone, the sooner I go, the sooner we'll be together."

  "Not to be rushin' things," Avarilla said gently. "You'll go in your time. Here, take my handkerchief an' dry your eyes. We ought to be gettin' back to the wake."

  "You think Orin an' Roma has come yet?"

  "I'm sure they have," Avarilla tenderly stroked her friend's hair back into place. She stood up and helped Jewell to her feet.

  Jewell kissed Avarilla on the cheek. "Avvie, you're a tonic for everythin'."

  When they returned to the parlor, the last of the mourners were filing past Faye's coffin, paying their final respects, going home. Avarilla took her friend into the kitchen, sat her down and poured her a cup of coffee. While Jewell was drinking it, Roma and Orin entered.

  Roma came to Jewell and hugged her. "Jewell, I'm so sorry." She glanced at Orin. "We both are."

  Orin touched the old woman's narrow shoulder. "Faye was a good soul. We'll all miss her."

  Once again Jewell broke into tears. Roma comforted her while Avarilla drew Orin aside. "You're both late comin'." It was a gentle chastisement.

  "I'm sorry, Grandma. The storm washed out the road. Me an' some of the boys went to see if we could right it, but seems like the whole mountainside slid down. We'll have to wait till it dries up before we try to clear things away."

  "Why was Roma so late?"

  "A chunk blew off her roof, an' she spent most of the afternoon up in the attic movin' things about so they wouldn't get spoiled."

  "Well, you're here now, an' I'm sure that makes Jewell feel a whole lot better." She lowered her voice. "She's really torn to pieces. They were so close, as close as sisters. Goodness, I've got to get you two young people somethin' to eat." She touched Orin on the arm. His clothes were damp.

  "I didn't have time to
change."

  "You'll catch your death."

  "A shot of old Reuben's juice'll fix me up." Orin looked over the table and grinned. "I see Roma made her caramel apples again."

  Avarilla smiled indulgently. "Roma tries, but she's just out of place in the kitchen." Orin said nothing. "Your ma's inside. Why don't you go say hello to her? She gets upset when you don't come around."

  Dutifully Orin went into the parlor. Sophie was sitting on one of the side chairs, staring at the casket; Sissy, still occupying the rocker, was toying with her hair. As Orin approached she looked up, and her usually dull face became bright and animated. Orin, who had always been somewhat repelled by his mother, gritted his teeth, then bent to kiss her forehead. "How you feelin', Ma?" Sissy smiled in reply. "Can I get you somethin' to eat?"

  Sissy rubbed her stomach and smacked her lips. "I'm full, Orin. Good an' full." She ran her fingers through Orin's thick black hair. He stifled the impulse to draw back.

  "I'll let you alone now. Ma," he said and returned to the kitchen.

  Sophie got up and followed him.

  "Is there anythin' I can do?" she asked Jewell. "I can stay all night with you, if you'd like. I don't mind at all. Uh uh, not at all."

  Jewell looked up wearily. "No thanks, Sophie. I'm not goin' home for a while. I want to stay here with Faye."

  No one else spoke. Reluctantly Sophie said, "Well then, I guess I'll go, uh huh, go." The assembly mumbled their goodbyes. Sophie started for the screen door, stopped, and uttered a nerve-shattering scream.

  Framed in the doorway, looking like a specter of the night, was Josh. His hair was matted, his haggard face streaked with dried mud; mud and leaves clung to his clothes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

  Avarilla jumped up from the table. "Josh, what is it? What's happened?" She guided him to a chair. The others clustered around him. Josh was finally able to speak.

  "Cresta and I, we got caught in the storm. Soaked to the skin. She caught a fever. I'm afraid she's very sick."

  "Where is she?" asked Avarilla.

  "I got her back to the camper. She's in bed. I came looking for you. I'm sorry about Faye. One of the children told me."

  Avarilla took charge. "Roma, get Josh a glass of whiskey an' stay with him. Orin, you see Sophie home. I'll take Sissy by the house an' get what I need to tend to Cresta." Josh started to stand. "No, Josh, you stay here an' rest. I'll see to things."

  "But I should drive down to Jericho Falls and find a doctor."

  "You can't," said Orin. "There's been a landslide. The road's completely covered. Besides, there ain't no doctor as good as Grandma. She can take care of anythin'."

  Avarilla turned to Jewell. "Jewell, you sure you want to stay here?"

  Jewell nodded, "Yes, I'm goin' to spend the night. I don't want to leave Faye alone. I'll be fine. You all go do what you have to do an' Avvie, please don't worry about me. I'll be just fine."

  Sophie interrupted, "Can't I do anythin' to help?"

  "No," said Avarilla sharply. "Orin will take you home."

  Sophie started to protest, but Avarilla's face stopped her. She turned to Orin with a small smile.

  ***

  On his way back to the church, Reverend Hooper detoured to cut several branches from the huge willow tree which stood as the only marker to the secret grave he had dug many years before. Upon returning to the church the preacher stripped to his boots. He carried the branches to the center of the altar rail, sat down and, using a pen knife, began cutting away the leaves, leaving the resilient branches bare. As he worked he prayed. "I beseech you, brothers, by the mercy of God, present your bodies as a living sacrifice, which will be holy an' acceptable unto God." Then slowly, methodically, he began to flagellate himself.

  15

  Avarilla opened the door of the camper. "Cresta?" There was no answer. She stepped inside. She could hear the young woman's labored breathing coming from the bedroom. She set a worn carpetbag and a bundle of quilts on the kitchen table, then hurried towards the sound. "Cresta?"

  "Who is it?" Cresta's voice was weak and rasping.

  "It's Aunt Avvie." She went to sit on the bed. Cresta was wrapped in a blanket. Her face was mud-smeared, her eyes red and glistening. "I'm goin' to nip that fever in the bud."

  "Where's Josh?"

  "I told him to stay away. It's a bother havin' men underfoot when there's illness. Now, if I help, do you think you have enough strength to get in that shower contraption?"

  Cresta nodded. "If you help me."

  Avarilla put her arms under Cresta's and lifted her out of the bed. The young woman could hardly walk. "You're burnin' up with mountain fever. It's a caution, but trust me. I'll break it up. Just trust me."

  "I do. Aunt Avvie."

  Avarilla set a wooden stool in the shower stall and said, "You sit on that an' wash yourself. Make the water as hot as you can stand it. Meanwhile, I'll brew a special tea an' have your bed ready."

  While Cresta was showering, Avarilla put a kettle on to boil. She had brought her own teapot to brew the tea from the leaves of boneset, ground ginger root and pine needles. To that she would add honey and whiskey. It should break Cresta's fever. If not, she would have to resort to more drastic measures. She spread the quilts on the bed. The teakettle whistled; Avarilla poured the hot water into the teapot and left it to steep. Cresta came out of the shower.

  "Here, honey, I'll help you dry."

  "I'm so c-c-c-cold," Cresta shuddered.

  "I brought you an old flannel nightgown. It'll keep you warm."

  "Did Josh tell you that they left camp?"

  "They're not there?"

  Cresta shook her head. "No they must have gone back to New York. We just missed them. I wish we'd missed the storm."

  Avarilla helped Cresta on with the nightgown, then practically carried her to bed. "You'll be warmer in a minute, honey. The tea must be steeped now."

  Avarilla brought a large mug of the steaming brew to Cresta. "Sip it if you have to, but drink it all."

  "Hmmm, what's in it, Aunt Avvie? It has some bite."

  "A lot of good things, darlin'."

  "I can barely hold the cup. It's so heavy."

  "I'll hold it for you." Avarilla sat next to Cresta.

  Steam rose from the mug and caused beads of moisture to form on Cresta's forehead. With her free hand Avarilla dabbed them away with a clean handkerchief. When Cresta had nearly finished the tea, the old woman set the mug aside and made her scoot down into the bed. She tucked the quilts and blankets around her and switched off the overhead light.

  "Don't go. Aunt Avvie. Stay with me."

  "I'll stay as long as you want, Cresta." She sat down on the edge of the bed.

  "Oh, I hope I don't get real sick. It's been such a wonderful trip coming here. It's meant so much to Josh."

  "You love him very much, don't you, my dear?"

  Cresta smiled softly. "Yes, I do."

  "How did you meet?"

  In slow, dreamy phrases Cresta started to tell Avarilla of that morning in Central Park, but her words began to run together. Her eyes closed and she was asleep, her breathing sonorous and strained. Avarilla turned out the lamp and slipped out of the room.

  In the kitchen Avarilla made herself a cup of regular tea. She was hungry. Even though she had cooked all day, she was not one to sample her own cooking, and she'd eaten nothing at the wake. She looked in the refrigerator and found a container of raspberry yogurt. She looked at it curiously, held it up to the light and read the label. "There's nothin' in there that could hurt me." She sat down on the couch and sampled it. It was tasty for store-bought food, she thought. Her hunger satiated, Avarilla curled up on the couch and, finally allowing her exhaustion to take over, she fell asleep.

  ***

  Josh, Roma and Jewell sat around the table in Faye Brooks' kitchen drinking from the remaining jug of Reuben's whiskey. Round wet marks made by their glasses decorated the tabletop like interlocking prizes from
a carousel.

  Josh was worried about Cresta and felt that he should be at the camper, but his exhaustion, combined with the lure of the whiskey, kept him where he was. And he was beguiled anew by Roma's sensuality. He wanted her with more intensity than he had ever wanted any woman, and he knew that she wanted him. All the signals were there - half-lowered eyes, parted lips.

  Roma regarded Josh through a fringe of heavy lashes. She had ceased to be impressed by his remarkable similarity to Orin. There were differences, and it was those differences which interested her. There was an evasive quality about Josh that made him irresistible. He seemed like an innocent ready to be corrupted. This thought alone excited Roma more than anything. He was also important. She liked that. And he lived in the fairytale city of New York. Could she make him fall in love with her?

  She touched his hand, which was clutching an empty glass. "Josh, can I pour you some more whiskey?"

  "I think I've had more than enough," he replied, but he was unconvincing.

  Roma hoisted the gallon jug and filled the glass to the brim. Her tongue outlined her lips; she smiled at him. He returned the smile.

  Jewell was completely oblivious to the interplay between Josh and Roma. She was immersed in the whiskey and in her memories of Faye Brooks. They covered the past fifty years of her life. Their relationship seemed to be a series of shared firsts ... the first dance, the first date, the first "crush." And then marriage - they had had the first and only double wedding ceremony to take place in Chestnut Ridge. The births and eventual loss of their firstborn, the deaths of their husbands, and finally the closeness between them which allowed them both to face an old age together with a kind of hope. They were bittersweet memories.

  Jewell spoke more to herself than to the others. "I remember the first time Faye an' I went berry-pickin' together. We came across the biggest copperhead you'd ever seen...."

  "You look tired," Roma murmured to Josh. "You need a bath."

  "Well, sir, Faye picked up a rusty sickle which somebody had left stickin' in a fence post an'...."

  "I'd better be getting back to the camper," Josh responded without conviction.