Vivid (22 page)

A
man's loud scream woke Vivid from her sleep. In the darkness, she
sat up and listened wondering if she had imagined the sound, hoping that it had
been just a dream. She heard only the night songs of the crickets at first, and
then the scream came again, harsher, and filled with pain and despair. Chills
ran over her flesh as the cry echoed across the night. Vivid slid from her bed,
hastily donned her robe, grabbed her bag, and went outside.

In her bare feet she crossed the dark
yard, looking up at the Grayson house. There were no lights in the upstairs
rooms but the tortured cries sounded as if they'd come from inside.

She found Abigail seated at the kitchen
table with her hands clasped tightly around a cup of tea. At Vivid's entrance
she looked up and said softly, "Hello, Viveca dear."

"Hello, Abigail," Vivid replied
just as softly.

"Did Nate wake you?"

Nate?
Vivid stared a moment, then nodded.

"Me, too. Magic used to sleep through
them, but not anymore. I suppose it's because she's no longer a small child. I
just got her back to sleep." Abigail paused a moment, then said,
"Have a seat, dear, and let me tell you a story."

Vivid set her bag on the table and took a
chair opposite Abigail.

"On the east bank of the Mississippi
on April 12, 1864, Rebs overran the Union garrison at Fort Pillow. My nephew
and my brother Absalom were part of that garrison. It was made up of two
hundred sixty-two Black troops and two hundred ninety-five White troops. When
the Union men realized there was no winning the battle, they threw down their
weapons and surrendered. The Rebs ignored the gesture."

Abigail had her hands laced so tightly
around the cup, Vivid could see the strain on the veins and flesh. “The Rebs
gave no quarter that day," she whispered. "The Union men tried to run
down the bluff and hide in the trees, but they were hunted down and shot,
especially the Blacks. Even those who stopped and raised their hands were
murdered where they stood. Of the two hundred sixty-two Black men who'd greeted
the dawn that April morning, only fifty-eight were taken prisoner by the Rebs;
the rest were either killed, wounded, or—like my nephew—buried
alive."

Vivid gasped in horror.

"Yes." Abigail nodded, tears in
her eyes. "Fortunately, Nate was among those lucky enough to still be
breathing when the Union forces unearthed the bodies. My brother, his father,
was not."

Vivid could not name the emotions that
welled within her upon hearing of such atrocities. Nothing in her life could even
remotely equate to such awful circumstances. "He's lucky his mind is still
whole."

"Yes, he is. These nightmares occur
rarely now, but when he first came back, he was afraid to sleep. He'd prowl the
woods like a wolf most nights, grabbing a couple hours of sleep here and there.
Even now he manages to get by on only a few hours. I don't believe he's slept a
full, restful night since that April."

"Has he ever described the
nightmares?"

"No, and I haven't asked."

"You love him very much, don't
you?" Vivid asked softly.

"Yes, I do. If he and Eli could
settle their differences, I'd go to my grave a happy old woman. Nate deserves
some happiness. When he came back, I truly believed we would have lost him had
it not been for Majestic. She was such a tiny little thing. She'd been
abandoned and she needed him. That kept him living."

"Nate's wife abandoned his
child?" Vivid tried to imagine what sort of circumstances would have
caused his wife to abandon the baby girl.

"No. Nate and Cecile never had
children. Majestic was found on the steps of one of the hospitals where Nate
sought help after Fort Pillow."

"Magic isn't Nate's daughter?"

"Not by blood. But I say a prayer for
that mother every night because she gave her to us."

Vivid was stunned but also proud of Nate
for rescuing the child. "Did the hospital try to locate the mother?"

"According to Nate, they tried at
first, but with all the doctors and nurses had to do, they lacked the resources
and the time to investigate fully."

Abigail raised her eyes to the ceiling.
"He's quieted."

Vivid was pleased the house was silent
again. She hoped the rest of his night would pass peacefully. "Do you
think it would help if I spoke to him as his doctor?"

"No," Abigail answered.
"Leave it be for now. He prefers to deal with his pain alone. We should
respect that."

Vivid didn't know if she agreed, however,
Abigail had been dealing with Nate's demons for a long time and Vivid didn't
feel right to disregard his aunt's advice, at least for now. "Has he seen
a physician at all?"

"A few times after he returned home.
A doctor down in South Bend assured him the dreams would go away eventually,
and suggested laudanum or an opiate to help him sleep. Nate refused to take
them though. He'd seen the men in the army hospitals and he didn't want to
trade the nightmares for an addiction."

As a physician, Vivid understood Nate's
stance. "You say the nightmares rarely occur now. How rarely?"

"Lately, only three or four episodes
a year. Springtime seems to be particularly hard for him. During the month of
April two years ago, he had one every night for weeks."

Silence filled the kitchen as both women
lost themselves in thought.

"He'll sleep for the rest of the
night now. You should go on home to bed, Viveca," Abigail suggested
softly, breaking the quiet. "Sun'll be up in a few hours."

Vivid agreed, though after learning Nate's
story, she doubted the sleep would be a peaceful one.

Nate sat on the edge of the bed, drenched
in sweat, still breathing harshly from the aftermath of the nightmare. Tonight
it had been particularly intense. It began, as always, with him lying in the
dark of the damp, shallow grave, terrified and surrounded by the dead, but this
time, the dampness of the earth felt real. The dull thud of the bodies being
tossed atop him sounded as loud as drums, the laughing voices of the Rebs
fining the pit, like demons. With the addition of each man thrown in, the piled
corpses shifted, lifeless limbs moving macabrely across his face and chest, and
in the dream, as he had in reality, he'd gasped to breath in the thin, stale
air. Panic and fear howled within him, yet he didn't dare move or make a sound
lest the Rebs murder him like all the others. So Nate lay there, letting
himself be entombed, his mind screaming the silent screams of the damned.

Nate walked across the room to the open
window. He pushed the double panes open further. The air came in slowly,
ruffling the curtains a bit, soothing his face. He closed his eyes and let the
breeze's touch lift away the remnants of the horror. Would he have to endure
these recurrences for the rest of his life? Hadn't he suffered enough,
sacrificed enough? Had the death of his beloved father, Absalom, meant
anything? The questions were ones he'd been flinging at the heavens for over a
decade, without an answer.

The intensity and frequency of the Fort
Pillow memories had decreased sharply with time and he hadn't screamed out in
horror in many years as he had tonight. He was certain he'd woken Magic and
Aunt Gail. He'd have to speak with them in the morning.

He noticed the lone light shining in
Lancaster's cabin. Had he awakened her, too? Had his screaming frightened her
as much as it had Cecile? He sensed not. She impressed him as being cut from
stronger cloth. She'd certainly shown her strength in the barn this evening.
They had not parted on the best of terms. He remembered how red and cracked her
hands had been. For some unexplained reason he was angered by the sight of her
injuries. Why hadn't she waited until he found someone to hire? She should not
have been elbow-deep in lye scrubbing. Nate realized she had him in knots. On
one hand, he had the interest of the Grove to consider, and on the other hand,
he found himself more and more captivated by her lush mouth and his eyes
straying more and more to those swaying hips. Finding her yesterday when she
got lost had been easy because he'd been covertly following her movements all
day. He'd seen her greeting the families and kneeling to talk to the children
eye to eye. He noted the respect she gave Garret Turner, even though Nate was
sure the man had turned down any offers of assistance she may have pledged. He
also noticed that not everyone had greeted her with a smile, but she hadn't let
it deter her from behaving graciously to the next person.

He readily admitted to being distant with
her, but he had her best interest in mind. While in Kalamazoo, he'd decided
there could be no more kisses; her soft, virgin mouth was not for him to toy
with. The last time he felt so overwhelmed by a woman he'd married her, making
the mistake of a lifetime. And had no intention of making any more mistakes by
marrying Lancaster or anyone else. Yet the fortress guarding his heart, sealed
shut a decade ago, seemed to be slowly opening its rusted and creaking gates in
direct opposition to his will. Viveca Lancaster, with her billiard stick, her
rifle, and her lovely black eyes seemed to be turning his world upside down.

Neither Nate nor his daughter made an
appearance at breakfast the next morning. When Vivid asked after them, Abigail
explained they'd left at first light to go fishing for a couple of days.

After breakfast, Vivid helped Abigail with
the dishes. Once they were done, Vivid said, "Abigail, I don't believe
your nephew appreciated your teasing yesterday."

Abigail's mahogany face took on a look of
absolute innocence. "What teasing?"

"The Nate-and-Viveca-should-marry
teasing."

"Oh, that. I wasn't teasing."
Abigail poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table.

"That's absurd. He and I don't even
like each other. Why just yesterday we—never mind." Vivid didn't
want to reveal her anger or her bruised feelings.

Abigail peered at her suspiciously.
"Viveca, my grandfather put great faith in the spirits. I believe that is
why he and the People got along so well."

"The People?"

"The native people."

Vivid nodded in understanding.

"The day my nephew turned one week
old, my grandfather took him out to the woods for three days to see if the
spirits would reveal Nate's future. Throughout his life, my grandfather kept
true to the traditions he learned before his capture. He'd performed this same
ritual quest with my father and my brother, Absalom. During the three days in
the woods with Nate, Grandfather saw no signs from the trees or animals, nor
did he hear anything on the wind. He knew the spirits would often keep the
child's fate to themselves if the future was too bright or too tragic. Such a
thing happened on my brother Absalom's quest, and all the adults assumed a
brilliant future lay ahead. Who among them could have envisioned an event as
horrible as Fort Pillow?" she said softly.

Vivid felt her sadness. "So did your
grandfather see a sign for your nephew?''

"Yes, he did. That last night as he
lay sleeping he had a dream. There were two pillars, one aflame, the other
frozen like ice. The ice pillar grew first, filling the dream like a glacier,
then behind it stood the flame, small at first, then it, too, began to rise.
The ice tried to stand but as the little flame grew larger and roared red-hot,
the ice began to melt. It melted slowly, he told us, forming the shape of a
woman before finally fading away."

"What became of the flame?"

"The flame turned into a slowly
revolving circle of smaller flames, each of which turned into women from the
village of his youth. They were smiling and dancing the traditional dance to
celebrate a long and happy marriage."

"So what did it all mean?" Vivid
asked.

"It meant that Nate would have two
women in his life with the ability to wield great power. I am certain the icy
pillar was his first wife, Cecile."

"Did she die?"

"No, they dissolved their marriage a
few months after the end of the war."

"I see," Vivid said softly, but
the knowledge only raised more questions.

"I believe you are the fiery pillar,
Viveca."

"Abigail, I'm not denying your grandfather
may have had a dream, but I doubt it had anything to do with me."

"I understand."

"Abigail, you can't possibly believe
that."

"Of course I do. I've been waiting
for you for ten years."

Vivid looked across the table at her,
stunned by this revelation. "Abigail-"

"Viveca, I am not asking you to
believe anything I have told you. That is not important. Do you want to have
babies, my dear?"

At the abrupt question, Vivid stared into
those dark gray eyes that were so reminiscent of Nate's and stammered. "If
I marry someone, I'd like to have some daughters, yes."

Abigail smiled. "Just
daughters?"

“Well, maybe a son or two. Why do you
ask?''

"Because the Graysons have only sons,
always have."