The Siege (10 page)

Lisa forced a smile, but it was twisted and tight. Her hair was full of hay seed, and her face was streaked with sweat lines that cut through the grime. Angie was thinking, if she looked even half as bad as Lisa, then they were a sorry pair.

“We’ll have to go there again sometime,” Angie said, forcing firmness into her voice. “Maybe camp out overnight and party with those guys. Sound like fun?”

“I’m really sorry about that,” Lisa said. “I wouldn’t have taken you out there if I knew they were gonna be there.” She found it difficult to make eye contact with Angie, but when she looked down, her eyes locked on the dime-sized splotches of blood on the ground.

“It’s all right,” Angie said, fighting the trembling in her voice. “Do you have any idea who they were?”

Lisa shrugged. “I dunno. Probably some of those migrant workers who come to work during the potato harvest. All sorts of strange people show up for those few weeks.”

“But did you notice how
weird
they were?”

“What do you mean?”

“Those men,” Angie said. Her memory filled with the vision of that one man’s face, staring up at her through the shattered door, his eyes aflame with cold fury. “The whole time that was happening, they never said anything. Not a single word! Just all that grunting and groaning.”

Lisa glanced warily down the trail, but all was silent and calm. No one had followed them.

“Do you think we should call the police about this?” Angie said, following her friend’s gaze back along the trail. The sun was just on the horizon, and it edged the trees with soft, golden light. They were surrounded by the soft sound of crickets.

Lisa shook her head. “I don’t think we have to,” she said thoughtfully. “Besides, if they’re just here for the harvest, they’ll be gone in a couple of weeks. I just won’t go out there for a while.” She shook her head, resolved in her decision even though it obviously bothered her.

“Well,” Angie said huskily. “I think we ought to get cleaned up before your gram calls us in for supper.”

“We can use the outside faucet,” Lisa said, starting across the lawn the cellar bulkhead. “Less explaining to do that way.”

“Good idea,” Angie said.

“One other thing,” Lisa said, but she cut herself off and kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead.

“What?” Angie said, and she snagged Lisa’s arm, making her stop and turn to face her. “What other thing?”

Lisa’s face did a slow, agonized twist, and Angie thought she was going to cry. Maybe the stress had finally gotten to her, and she was set to fall apart now that it was all over.

“Did you notice? When I stuck that pitchfork into that man’s wrist, he…” She stopped herself and looked down at the ground, her jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Yeah?” Angie said, pressing.

“Did you notice that when the pitchfork went right through his wrist, his wrist… didn’t
bleed
?”

IV

T
he closest Dale could come to describing supper at Mrs. Appleby’s was that it reminded him of Thanksgiving dinner at his grandmother’s house when he was a boy. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had had a real home-cooked meal that included homemade wheat rolls, roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, peas, carrots, and tossed salad with three kinds of lettuce. Dessert was something else, too: a choice between homemade blueberry pie or fresh-made strawberry shortcake. Dale and Angie both tried some of each.

“I’m glad we’re only going to be here for a few days,” Angie said, “ ’cause if we were here very long, I’d go home a blimp.” She laughed, but when she saw the sadness that flashed across Lisa’s face, she let her laugh die. It didn’t take her long to feel close to Lisa, and the sudden realization that she would soon lose her newfound friend hit her like a splash of icy water.

Dale tried to smile, too, but as soon as he remembered that they were here for Larry’s funeral on Monday, the quiet pleasure of supper instantly evaporated. He sat silently sipping his coffee while Lisa and Angie scrambled around, clearing the table and getting the dishes ready to wash. Mrs. Appleby was sitting back, enjoying an after dinner cigarette. It surprised Dale that she smoked, and he commented on it.

“I know I should quit, but I only smoke Carletons, now,” she explained, chuckling. “They’re not much more than colored air.”

Dale nodded agreement, having fought his own battles with nicotine. “I think it’s nice the way Lisa and Angie have hit it off so quickly,” he said. “I mean, here we are, not even in town for three hours, and she, in fact both of us, feel like we’re home visiting for the holidays.”

“Well, like I said,” Mrs. Appleby replied, blowing out a pale plume of smoke, “I started renting out rooms so I wouldn’t be lonely once I retired. ’Course, once Lisa moved in with me, I had all the company I needed, but by then I was used to having a few other folks around.”

“I can’t imagine all of your boarders get a meal like this, though,” Dale said, leaning back and patting his stomach.

Mrs. Appleby flicked the tip of her cigarette into the ashtray and then took another shallow drag. “You know, I must admit I had a bit of an ulterior motive,” she said. Her eyes flicked quickly at the kitchen doorway before she continued. “You see, Lisa’s been living with me for almost four years, now, but she still… I don’t know, she just doesn’t seem to have much of a knack for making friends around town. She’s pretty much a loner, and frankly, I liked the looks of both you and your daughter right from the start.”

“I think it works out fine because it gives Angie something to do besides mope around in a motel room,” Dale said. “And I think Lisa’s a very nice girl. You must be proud of her.”

“Very,” Mrs. Appleby said, smiling warmly at Dale. “You know, I kind of sensed right off that they’d like each other, and I don’t know. I guess I was being a little selfish hoping Lisa would have someone around for a few days, someone her own age. I mean, here she is, stuck in this house with her old granny, and I, well, never mind. Listen to me. I could blab on all evening. You wanted to go over to Mildred Cole’s tonight?”

Dale stroked the side of his face and heaved a deep sigh. “Yeah. I suppose I should. I just want to, you know, speak with her before the funeral and tell her how sorry I am about what happened.”

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Mrs. Appleby said, snubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. “The longer you live, the more you see of death, but I’ll never understand why the young have to die like that.” She looked at Dale, and her blue eyes glistened brightly. “It’s about the only thing that sometimes shakes my faith in the Lord.”

Dale nodded his tacit agreement, not wanting to say anything about his own faith or more truthfully, his lack thereof.

“Well,” he said, sliding his chair back and standing up slowly. “If the girls are going to do the dishes, I’ll guess I’ll go.”

“You know where to go now, right?” Mrs. Appleby said.

Dale nodded. “Yup. Down through the center of town, the first left after the police station.”

“Ridge Road.”

“Right. Second house after the school on the left.”

“You’ll know you’ve gone too far if you see a sign on your right for the town dump.”

As it turned out, Dale did miss the house on his first pass and ended up turning around at the entrance to the dump. As he pulled up in front of the house, he saw two cars in the Cole’s driveway. He knew Larry’s father was dead, so that must mean someone was staying with Mildred.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Dale guessed that Larry would probably be buried right next to his father. On their way into town today, he had noticed a small cemetery named Brooklawn and had assumed that’s where Larry would be buried. The funeral, Mrs. Appleby told him, would be at Rodgers’ Funeral Home, and he reminded himself to look for it before returning to the boarding house.

Dale idled the car for a minute before killing the engine. Then, taking a deep breath, he got out and walked up to the front door. There was only one light on in the house, and from behind a drawn curtain, he could see the flicker and hear the low buzz of a television set.

The night air was chilly, and a faint puff of steam came out of his mouth as he blew out his withheld breath and rapped gently on the door.

At first, there was no response, but after a second knock, he heard someone approach the door. There was a loud
chunk
as the deadbolt lock turned, and the front door opened a crack. One eye peered out at him through the crack. Dale saw the safety lack chain stretched to its limit.

“Yes?” a woman’s voice said, muffled by the door between them.

“Mrs. Cole?” Dale said. “I’m…”

“Mildred’s asleep right now,” the person said, her voice a sharp whisper. “Can I help you?”

“Well, I’m Dale Harmon. Larry and I worked together in Augusta.”

“Oh, yes,” the woman inside the house said. “Just a minute.” The door closed, and Dale could hear it as the woman slid open the chain lock and opened the door wide.

“Good evening,” she said, extending her hand out to Dale. “I’m Roberta, Mildred’s sister.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dale said, shaking the thin, dry hand. “I only wish it was under better circumstances.”

Roberta rolled her eyes heavenward and took a deep, sighing breath. “I know, I know. It’s been very difficult on Mildred. Other than me, she’s left alone in the world.”

Dale smiled grimly, waiting to be invited in, but so far, it appeared he would spend his time visiting on the Cole’s front steps.

“Mildred said Larry mentioned you quite often, and yes, I think I recall some flowers arriving from your department.”

Dale nodded, grateful that Nichols had gotten right on it. “Perhaps I’d better come back another time,” he said, feeling awkward. “I just wanted to speak with Larry’s mother for a minute.”

“I told you,” Roberta said, “Mildred’s asleep right now. The doctor prescribed a tranquilizer for her, and the damned things knocked her right off her feet. ’S probably just as well, I suppose.”

Dale shrugged and took one step backward, about to leave.

“You know, Mr. Harmon, was it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Mr. Harmon, you being from Augusta and working for the state and all, maybe you could help us out.”

Dale frowned, genuinely confused. He wondered if maybe Larry’s death had seriously affected his aunt. She was staring at him with rounded eyes and a deep furrowed brow, looking for all the world like she just took a short trip around the bend. Maybe, he thought, she should try one of her sister’s “tranqs.”

“Ahh, how do you mean?”

“Maybe you could use some of your pull in Augusta to help us to get to see Larry.”

Dale shook his head and reached into his pocket for his car keys for a bit of reassurance. “I don’t understand,” he said, holding one hand up helplessly.

“They won’t let us see him,” Roberta said. Her voice was low and thin, and she leaned forward as though afraid even now she might wake her sister.

“Franklin Rodgers, the funeral director, won’t let us look at the body. He says the accident was so horrible, he’s insisting on a closed casket service, and he doesn’t even want my sister to see him, not the way he is now.”

The first thought Dale had was that he hoped Mildred had someone, a minister or close friend to talk to, anyone but her sister. If Larry’s death affected her this much, then Mildred was going to need some serious counseling to get her over it all.

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for that,” he said. “I mean, if he was really, you know, bad off, it might be too much of a shock for her to see him like that. I’m sure this Mr. Rodgers wants you and your sister to remember Larry the way he was when he was alive.”

Roberta shook her head viciously from side to side. “No! No!” she hissed. “Just the opposite. I think my sister
has
to see him, dead like that, so she can start to accept it and live with it.”

Dale took another step backwards, wishing he had just waited until the funeral to speak with Larry’s mother. He hadn’t counted on a crazy aunt.

“I’ll see what I can do about it,” he said, jingling his car keys in his hand. “Tell Mildred I was by when she wakes up, okay?” He wasn’t entirely sure how much of his visit would be relayed to Mildred, and he started to think that the less said, the better.

“I will, don’t you worry,” Roberta said as she started to ease the door shut. “You just do what you can so my sister can see her boy one last time, all right?”

Dale nodded and, turning, started down the walkway to his car. He resisted his impulse to run the distance, and he felt a slight measure of relief when he heard the Cole’s front door slam shut and the rattle of the chain lock as Roberta ran it back into place.

V

A
ngie pretended to be sleeping when her father came up to the room sometime after midnight. She heard him stumbling around in the dark, tripping over unfamiliar furniture and fumbling through his suitcase. Her body tensed as she forced herself to breathe evenly and deeply.