Decoration Day (6 page)

David started to rush the door to accost the two men, but his head swam hard. A sudden attack of sleep overtook him. He had just enough time to sit on the couch before he fell dead asleep.

Wednesday

David reached out and grabbed Thomasine by the arm as she tried to sneak from his room. She squealed and jerked away from him. His grip was too strong for her to wrench free.

“Let me go,” she croaked.

“Why were you trying to sneak out?”

“Master Marsh said not to wake you. I was supposed to leave your breakfast on the nightstand and leave.”

“Why is that?”

“He said because you needed your rest.” Thomasine clammed up.

“Don’t stop now; keep going.”

“I’ve got nothing else to say.”

David kept a secure hand on the maid and got out of bed. This entailed a degree of difficulty he hadn’t expected, but he knew if he had let his grip slip just a little, Thomasine would have bolted for the door. The Marsh servants liked to dodge him and his questions at every opportunity. He pulled her with him to the door and closed it.

“Go sit on the sofa.” He let go of Thomasine’s arm.

She stood looking at him but didn’t move. David pushed her toward the couch. Her feet scuttled across the floor. Again she made no effort to move by herself.

“Fine. If you want to stand, be stubborn,” David said. He took a position between her and the door just in case she tried to make a dash for it. “You’re still going to answer some questions for me.

“How did I end up in here? I passed out in the parlor.”

“We brought you up here. Master Marsh believed you would be more comfortable. I have work to attend to.” She tried to walk past him.

“Not just yet.” David blocked her. “Why did Ebenezer give me a sleeping potion?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why am I dreaming about purple lights?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you won’t tell: which is it?”

“She doesn’t know,” Marsh said from behind David.

He turned to see the master of the house wearing a smoking jacket and standing just inside the door. Thomasine pushed past David and left the room. Marsh shook his head.

“Have a seat,” he pointed to the bed, “and eat your breakfast. You need food.”

David sat down on the bed but left the tray of food on the table. “I’d rather not.”

Marsh sat on the sofa and crossed his legs. “Why?”

“I don’t know what’s in it.”

“I believe it’s grits and melba toast.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I overheard you and Ebenezer talking last night. He gave me a sleeping potion.”

“That is true.”

“How do I know you’ve not drugged the food?”

“You don’t, but why would I do that?”

“Why would you give me a sleeping potion?”

Marsh smiled a wry smile. “Because you needed to sleep. Ebenezer said the only way to help your brain heal was sleep.”

“That’s not right. You’re not supposed to sleep if you have a concussion,” David said.

“You’re being irrational, Reverend Stanley. He’s a doctor and knows more than both of us in this matter.”

“What about all that talk about the nightmare light?”

“Have you or haven’t you been having nightmares involving a pulsing purple light?” Marsh asked.

“Yes.”

“We were talking about the nightmares. Ebenezer knew that his sleeping medicine would keep you from having those dreams. Sleep is the most important thing you can get. Without it, you’ll go crazy.”

David thought for a moment. He rolled the conversation he had overheard in his mind. Marsh did an excellent job explaining it. He hated it when he felt so silly. Everything had been a misunderstanding.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I’ve just gotten rattled by the fall and the nightmares.”

“It is understandable.” Marsh stood. “Have your breakfast, and then you can go back to the church and work on your sermon.”

“I’d really like to use the Internet. Do you have it here at the house?” David took the tray from the table and placed it on his lap.

“The Internet? No,” Marsh answered.

“How about the library?” he asked through a mouth of grits.

“Nothing in Innsboro has it. We are very far out.”

“Not even dial-up?”

Marsh walked to the door. “Our phone lines are very poor. They’ve not been updated in many years.”

David bit a piece of melba toast. “I guess I’ll have to use my cell phone when I get back to the church. It’s slow going, and I don’t know how much time I have left on my plan.”

“Cell phone signal is atrocious here as well, like Ebenezer said last night. They are practically useless. You can leave when you get ready. I will give you my good-byes now. I have work to do in town and probably won’t be here when you depart.”

“Thank you for everything,” David said.

Marsh gave a small bow and left. David finished his breakfast and set the tray back on the table. Rain spattered against the window. It seemed it rained every day in this town. He walked to the window and looked out. His room faced the street. Marsh’s Lincoln drove down the street toward the town. David decided to go back to the church and get some work done.

Trepidation filled David as he looked at the doors to the church. He wanted to get back in his car and drive away. At the same time, God tugged at his heartstrings. A voice told him that these townspeople needed saving. David agreed. Something about the town and the people felt strange, like a group of people doomed forever. He didn’t like that feeling. If being their preacher might save them from eternal damnation, he would do it. David stormed into the church.

Despite the gloominess outside, the sanctuary seemed brighter than it had. A lemony odor hung in the air. Everything smelled fresh. He walked to the windows. The dust that had streaked them just the day before was gone. The cemetery beyond the wall looked as clear as if he stood in it. He absentmindedly put his hand on the curved back of a pew. The wood felt slick as if oiled. The smell of melting paraffin wax with the fragrance of lemons wafted over him. He looked at the ceiling. Light flickered from the chandelier. Long taper candles melted halfway down. The church had been cleaned. It looked amazing.

“Hello?” he said loudly into the room.

“What?” a voice croaked from behind the pulpit.

“Who’s there?” David asked.

A pudgy woman with her gray hair pulled back under a black scarf toddled up the steps to the podium platform. She wore a maid’s black uniform with a white apron. A wooden bucket hung from one hand, and the other clutched a scrub brush.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Reverend David Stanley.”

She smiled. It was unpleasant, showing far too many teeth and too much gum. When the skin on her face wrinkled, all her features disappeared. Her face looked like a piece of chewed gum.

“Very happy to meet you. I’m Hester. Mr. Fernwell sent me to clean the church for Sunday. It’s our big day. He wanted it spic-and-span.”

“Mr. Fernwell?” David searched his memory of the last few days. His brains still seemed a bit addled from the fall.

“Nahum Fernwell. He’s one of the elders,” Hester said.

“I remember. Please excuse me. I had a fall yesterday and have a slight concussion, according to the doctor.”

“Doctor?”

“Ebenezer Hollingsworth.”

Hester blew a raspberry. “I’m more of a doctor than he is.”

“You’re a little different from the other servants I’ve met,” David said.

“I ain’t a servant. Well, not anymore. My master’s family has been dead for years. I guess being without one that long makes my tongue a little looser.”

“Do they prevent you from talking?” David said. “The master’s family.”

“They discourage it,” Hester said.

David took a moment to consider things. Perhaps this cleaning lady could answer questions for him.

“Do you know anything about an eerie purple light that might float round in here?”

“Yep.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

Hester shook her head. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Ain’t proper to talk about things I’ve never seen.”

“But you know a legend or something about it. You can tell me that.”

She shrugged. “Ain’t anything to tell. I reckon it’s like the will–o’–the–wisp or foxfire. Preacher, unless you need me for anything else, I’m done here.”

“That’s fine.” He looked up at the candles. “How do I put those out?” He pointed.

“Let them burn out. Won’t cause any issues.”

Hester plodded past him and out of the church. As he stared at the candles flickering close to the ceiling, David decided he should give her a ride home. When he went to the door, she was gone. He walked to his car and looked both ways down the road. A light mist floated around but didn’t interfere with visibility much. The maid wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Will-o’-the-wisp,” he said aloud.

He’d heard about that but didn’t really know what it was. His grandfather called it foxfire and said it showed up out over the swamps where he grew up, but David had never seen it. It had never been described as purple that he could remember. Maybe his phone would get enough signal for him to consult Google.

His apartment felt like a tomb after coming through the clean-smelling sanctuary. The air smelled musty and stale. Even opening the window didn’t help. The damp outside air only brought in the heady smell of rot and wet pine needles. It didn’t sit well on his stomach, leaving him queasy.
 

David grabbed his phone and headed back to the sanctuary. As he crossed over into the church, he saw that his phone had no signal. He stepped on the podium platform, but the signal bar remained the same. Marsh had not been lying. The phone didn’t even give a hint that it would find signal. Maybe he needed to get higher, out of the small valley.

David left the church building. He walked across the cemetery to his car. Nothing came up or down the road, so pulling out was simple. He eased the car up the road toward the main highway. The shoulder on his side of the road was narrow, and a deep ditch dropped off from there. The other side plummeted to the hollows and valley below. David carefully watched both his phone and the road. The last thing he needed was to meet another tanker truck barreling down the mountain and end up turtled
 
at the bottom of a hollow.

Driving higher up the mountain had no impact on the signal. The phone showed no signal bars. He shook the phone as if that would help, but still no change.

“Come on,” he shouted. “There is no way there is this big of a dead zone.”

David stared at his phone, willing it to get a signal. He looked back to the road and saw several boulders blocking his way. The excessive rain likely had caused the rockslide. He slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed as the tires squealed on the pavement. David braced himself, ready to topple down the side of the mountain. Instead, the car spun and slammed into the rocks. The passenger side crumpled in toward him. The impact jarred his phone out of his hand. It clattered to the passenger-side floorboard. The car stopped. He looked out the windshield. Through spiderweb cracks, the great drop-off stared back at him.

With a clarity that only a near-death experience can bring, David looked around. Adrenaline amplified his senses. The car idled. Nothing knocked in the engine, which was a good thing. He shifted the gears to park and reached to the floorboard for his phone.

David eased the car into reverse. Metal ground as the car moved against the rocks. When he was sure he could turn without dropping a tire off the side of the road, he put the car in gear and started toward the church. Everything seemed okay. The tires didn’t blow out as he slowly descended the mountain. His brakes held out. The whole way back he kept staring at his phone, hoping for some signal. Now he wanted just enough signal to make a call to the outside world and let someone know where he was. For some reason, despite what God was telling him, the idea of being trapped in Innsboro scared him. No signal appeared.

As he neared the church, rain began to splatter the windshield. He looked up to turn on the wiper blades and hoped they’d work across the broken windshield. Glowing purple water hit the windshield instead of rain. The entire windshield became a flashing neon sign. David screamed and slammed the brakes. The car pulled to the passenger side, threatening to skid off the road.

The wipers swiped
 
the water from the windshield. The glow turned into a fog. The engine shut off. The car sat dead on the side of the road. The violet fog began to sift into the cabin. David still depressed the brake. He shifted the gears to neutral and let off the brake. The car rolled downhill. Without power, the brakes wouldn’t be much good, but anything was better than being eaten by the purple light. The car rolled faster. He sailed past the church, taking the curve toward town so fast the tires squealed. The road flattened out, and the car coasted down Main Street and slowed as the slope of the street leveled off. He stood on the brakes. The car stopped. He looked at his phone, hoping that he might finally, just by luck, have signal so he could call 911. The phone was dead.