Summer of the Redeemers (30 page)

Two terrible things had happened in one day, and nobody wanted to call the sheriff. I might not call Joe Wickham, but I was going to call The Judge. As soon as it turned dark. Mama Betts would have his number and I’d call him in New Orleans. He had to come home and take care of this. Effie too. Bad things were happening. Until then, though, I couldn’t let Mama Betts see me. She’d know something was bad wrong if she took one look at me.

I sneaked around to Arly’s window, pried off the screen and slipped in. I had to stand on an old tub we used to haul leaves to the ditch to burn. It was barely high enough, but I managed to jump to the sill and wiggle up. It was a lot easier breaking out of the house than in, I decided.

I got two white T-shirts, then slipped down to the bathroom for some aspirin and whatever else I could find. There weren’t any bandages nearly big enough for Greg’s back. There was one roll of gauze, but it wouldn’t cover much territory. In the back of the shelves where we kept our towels I found some old cotton diapers. I took four of those and some tape. They might make big bandages, and I could tape the corners of the diaper to his chest. He had to have something to keep the dirt out of his wounds.

When I heard Mama Betts go outside to hang some clothes, I sneaked into the kitchen and got a brown paper sack. I filled it with biscuits from the morning, bread, slices of fresh ham, a hunk of cheese, some apples, and a knife. I’d make Greg some sandwiches, without the deadly mayonnaise.

I made a dash to the study and grabbed a collection of stories by Poe and one of Effie’s books. Since I wasn’t willing to risk meeting Mama Betts in the yard, I waited until I heard the screen door slam as she came back in, and I went back out Arly’s window. I couldn’t get the screen to fit together right, so I did the best I could and took off. In Arly’s perpetual state of horniness, he probably wouldn’t even notice if a few mosquitoes got in and feasted on him.

I beat it back to the barn as fast as I could with all the things I was carrying. When I got to the loft, Greg was lying on his side. A few pieces of hay had gotten into the salve, so I picked them out and made him a diaper bandage by taping the corners of the diaper to his collarbones and the front of his stomach. It took the whole diaper to cover his wounds. Then I made him put on the T-shirt. In my haste to escape, I’d forgotten a blanket, but I made him take two of the aspirin.

“I need to rest for a while,” he said.

I went down to the tack room and got the cleanest horse blanket I could find and took it up to him.

“Greg, Nadine would drive you home,” I suggested. Then I remembered those rooms at the church. The horse blanket was surely as clean as those urine-soaked mattresses. Maybe cleaner. And the barn was certainly cleaner than Nadine’s house.

“I can get you to my house.” I pressed him because all of the hard edges had dropped away from his face. His eyes were soft, liquidy, yet dry. He smiled.

“No can do,” he said, then reached and touched my leg. “Thanks. You didn’t run away.”

I slapped together some bread and ham and cheese into a rough sandwich for him and left the rest of the food with him, along with some bottles of water I hauled up for him to drink in case he woke up thirsty.

I went down to the barn, cleaned out Cammie’s stall, taking it down to the red clay floor, and then covered it—walls and floor—in as much lime as I could throw on it. Nadine had not come out of the house, so I got Cammie out of her stall and brushed her. I only meant to saddle her and ride around the yard. But once the saddle was on, I led her out of the gate, mounted her under the chinaberry tree and took off down Kali Oka Road. I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Greg about the preacherman. I couldn’t wait for the right time. The Redeemers drew me down the road. I might not have any answers to my questions, but at least I’d look at them. With any luck, maybe I’d see Jim or Georgie or even Magdeline. If I did, I intended to talk to them.

Twenty-seven

H
OLDING
Cammie on the road took all of my strength and know-how. She spooked at mailboxes, gates, whenever the road shifted colors from brick red to coral. Rutted tire tracks made her balk and try to rear. She’d never been down the road in her entire life. It was as if I’d taken her to a different continent, a place of danger and the unknown. If I hadn’t been so determined to bring her under control, I might have turned back to the barn.

When we stood at the bridge to Cry Baby Creek, Cammie was coated in sweat and foam on her neck. The dust we’d stirred in approaching the bridge in crab-like scuttles and lunges settled over us, giving Cammie’s gleaming mahogany coat a sticky pink topping.

Across the bridge, three Redeemer women stared at us. Picket stood just in front and to the right of Cammie, her hackles raised.

“It’s a public road,” I challenged them.

The women said nothing, but they didn’t turn away. Some fifteen feet behind them a young girl darted behind a tree. She was about eight, and she peeked out at me, curiosity plainly overcoming her fear of me.

One of the women heard her and turned quickly. “Get inside, Ruth!” she commanded, pointing toward the sanctuary. “Get the others and get inside.”

The child looked past the woman at me. I waved to her. “I won’t hurt you,” I called out. “Don’t be afraid of me.” I’d seen men, women, teenagers and young children, but no babies.

“Ruth! Get inside or Rev. Marcus will tan your hide.”

The young girl fled, not even daring a look over her shoulder.

The youngest-looking of the Redeemer women spoke to the other two, then turned and ran back into the woods. She was going for some of the men, maybe even the preacherman. They acted as if they thought I intended to harm them, as if by standing in the road and looking at them I might do them some horrible damage.

The very thin grip I’d kept on my anger snapped. Digging my heels into Cammie’s side, I urged her forward. She bolted onto the wooden bridge without having time to consider her action. Her momentum carried her forward another stride before she heard the hollow wood echoing beneath her. She panicked, rising high on her hind legs and pawing the air.

The two Redeemer women fell back, screaming. From high on the horse’s back I could see their faces twitch as they threw up their arms to ward off the horse’s hoofs.

Cammie had no intention of going any closer. She twisted in midair and started back to solid ground.

“I know what you do here!” I called at the women. “I know.”

There was no stopping Cammie with the simple snaffle bit in her mouth. She tore out for home, stretching out long and frightened as she pounded the red clay road toward Nadine’s.

By the time I got Cammie to stop, she was heaving and blowing. There was no going back to Nadine’s in that condition. I walked past the creaking sign and kept going to my house. Cammie was too tired and exhausted to even put up a protest when I turned her down the drive to my house.

Mama Betts was taking in the clothes that had dried on the line. It rained every afternoon, and she timed her wash so that it was ready to come in long before the sky clouded over with the heat rain. She paused, clothespin held aloft, as she watched me come down the short drive.

“Looks like you’ve had a ride,” she said, folding a towel and dropping it into a basket at her feet.

“She’s too hot. I’m afraid she’ll get sick.”

“Take her to the back and put the water hose on her. Just her feet for a little while.”

I remembered Nadine telling me the same thing about an overheated
horse, or one that had been ridden hard. Cool the feet and legs with water before you let it touch the chest or body. I was impressed that Mama Betts knew that fact.

“I know you think only Nadine knows a thing about horses, but you forget I was born before cars were invented. In fact, before there were water hoses. We’d have to take a horse like that down to the creek and let her wade around for a while.”

I left Mama Betts taking down the last of the towels. The hose was behind the house, and I turned it on and let the cool water wash over Cammie’s front legs. I shifted the spray front to back, front to back, front to back, in a slow and endless pattern. There were rainbows in the spray of the water as it spread around the finger I held at the end of the hose. When I was a little girl, Effie had told me that rainbows were magic. She said if I could step inside one, I’d be granted a wish. If only that were true.

“Where’s Nadine?” Mama Betts answered.

“Up at the barn.” I inched the water higher up Cammie’s hocks.

“Does she know you’ve had this horse on the road?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Shall I call her to come down here?”

“No, ma’am. It’s okay. I just wanted to cool Cammie off.” I looked up at her. “I wanted to come home for a few minutes.”

“She’s a beautiful horse. When I was a teenager, I was courted by a man who had a beautiful bay mare. Truth told, I liked his horse better than I liked him.”

“What happened to him?”

“Oh, he found out where my sentiments were and it hurt his feelings. He found a girl who liked him.”

I smiled. Mama Betts could always make me feel better.

“I didn’t bring Cammie here to show off. I just wanted to come home.”

“Effie’s gone over to Pam’s to get her hair styled. She’s leaving for New Orleans as soon as she gets back.”

I’d never really doubted that Mama Betts could get her to go. “I have to talk to Daddy.”

“You can call them both tonight, see if they’re still alive.” She chuckled. “ ‘Course, Effie might turn around and come straight home, you know. She might come back to get me.”

“She might.” I inched the water up to Cammie’s chest. She lowered her head for some of the spray. I’d have to clean and oil the bridle, but it didn’t matter. Cammie wanted to be hosed off.

“Bekkah, when you finish up at the barn, why don’t you go over to Alice’s for the afternoon? I don’t want you around here when Effie comes back. Might just give her an excuse not to go. Or she might want to take you with her.”

I wanted to go to New Orleans. I wanted to escape from Kali Oka Road, from what had happened at the barn. From what might happen next. “Okay, I’ll go over to Alice’s. Can she have supper with us?”

“Make it late, about seven. I know she’ll bring that baby.” Mama Betts sighed. “I thought once I raised Effie, I’d be done. Little did I know I’d be raising hers and the young’uns down the road.”

I smiled. “You love Maebelle V.” Mama Betts always grumbled about Maebelle, but when the baby was in the house, no one else could hold her or change her or feed her.

“I do,” Mama Betts said suddenly. “God help me, I do love that little redheaded child.”

I allowed the water to cascade over Cammie’s chest. I spared the saddle as much as I could while giving her back end a good rinsing. With Mama Betts watching with what might have been some approval, I mounted.

The cold water had revived some of Cammie’s foolishness, and she sidestepped away from a terra cotta pot of geraniums.

“That horse is pretty, but she lacks good sense.”

“I don’t think she’s ever been away from a barn.”

Mama Betts snorted. “It’s a wonder she hasn’t turned mean. Keeping animals penned up and running around in circles will make ‘em crazy. Just like people. They have to be allowed to do what comes naturally.”

I’d heard this lecture before. Mama Betts thoroughly disapproved of everything she’d heard about Nadine’s horse care, especially the confinement.

“I’ll see you tonight. With Alice and Maebelle.” To prevent an answer, I nudged Cammie into a trot.

“Hey?” Mama Betts called out when I was halfway down the drive. “Bekkah!”

I turned Cammie into a tight circle and stopped her. “What?”

“You look mighty pretty on that mare. You’re a natural.”

“Thanks, Grandma.” I turned back to Kali Oka and rode toward Nadine’s.

The barn was as deserted as when I left. A pinch of guilt tweaked at me as I unsaddled Cammie and put her in her stall. I intended to take her down the road again as soon as possible. Mama Betts was right. Keeping animals penned up might not be the best thing for them. Cammie had enjoyed going down the road, and once she learned that it was part of what she was supposed to do, she’d like it more. I cleaned and oiled the saddle and bridle. It took well over an hour, and still there was no sign of Nadine, Jamey Louise or Greg. I thought he’d have to come down to go to the bathroom, at least. When I’d finished everything I was supposed to do, I went up to the loft. He was lying on his side, asleep.

His face had a flushed tinge that didn’t look good. I woke him with a gently shake.

“Bekkah?” He acted like he didn’t know me.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Hot.” He pushed up on one arm, his face contorting. “Would you hand me that water?”

I gave him one of the bottles, and he drank it down. I found the aspirins I’d hidden in the straw and gave him two more. He took them without any sign of stubbornness.

“I think if I sleep some more I’ll feel better.”

His face was puffy from sleep, and when I touched his forehead, he felt slightly warm. “Greg, won’t you please let my grandmother look at your back?”

“If you’ll get out of here and let me sleep, I’ll be fine.” He pushed at my hand and eased back down on the horse blanket. “Bekkah?”

“What?”

“Who killed Caesar?”

I didn’t know what to say. “We don’t know.” I waited a minute, but his eyes were closed. “Greg, where did Rev. Marcus come from? Do you know?”

“Upstate. Near Memphis, I think.”

“From the Delta?”

“Gossip before he came was that he’d grown up in a rich family and gave it all up because the Lord told him to.” Greg opened his eyes
and looked at me. “Only the women believe that, because they want to. It makes him sound noble or something.”

“I wouldn’t believe anything he said, a man who could hurt a young boy the way he hurt you.”

“You live in a fairy tale, Bekkah. I looked at your mother’s book. She dedicated it to you, for your help.” He reached out his hand and touched my leg. “You live someplace I’ve never even dreamed about. If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from the church. Don’t be asking questions, and don’t be going down there. Where Rev. Marcus came from and where he goes ain’t none of your concern.” He closed his eyes and in a few minutes he was breathing slow and shallow.

“It is my business if he killed Caesar,” I whispered.

Maebelle’s fingers grabbed my left braid, and she pulled with all of her strength.

“She’ll jerk you bald,” Alice warned. Her attention focused on my hair, she advanced across the Waltman front porch, avoiding the two places where the wood had gone soft with rot. “How are you going to wear your hair this year? Pigtails are too little-girlish. Nobody wears buns anymore. What are you doing to do?”

It was an issue I hadn’t given a terrible amount of thought, but it was far better than the things that kept edging up in my head. “What do you think?”

“Cut it shoulder-length and see if it’ll turn up on the ends.”

I shook my head, partly to get Maebelle’s wandering attention and partly in denial. My hair would never flip up. There was too much of it, and it was too fine with a will of its own.

“I’m getting mine cut.” Alice sat down on the floor beside the straight-backed chair where I sat. We’d come out on the porch to escape the mayhem of the house. Agatha Waltman was five months along, and she was as mean as a hungry lioness. She had everyone in the house jumping from chair to chair. She wouldn’t allow Alice to leave the yard, but she didn’t want her inside with Maebelle V. Mrs. Waltman said the sight of Maebelle made her bottom hurt, and she was getting ready to go through it again. I’d started to ask her why she got pregnant again if it hurt so bad, but Alice had dragged me out the screen door, which had no spring and two enormous holes in it.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she’d hissed in my ear. “You may not
be one of her young’uns, but she’ll take your head off and roll it home for you.”

I laughed. There had been a time when I was afraid of Agatha’s harsh tongue and quick hand. Not today. But I didn’t want to make it harder for Alice. If we aggravated her mother, Mrs. Waltman wouldn’t let Alice come for supper. More than anything in the world, I didn’t want to be alone. If I was alone, I’d think about what had happened.