When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) (17 page)

Tired of pacing, I sat down on the edge of the porch. “Dabney, although I couldn’t see the logic in it at first, I tried to accept the fact you did what you felt best for the baby. I certainly don’t fault you for that. But it’s the charade I don’t understand. You’ve deceived everyone who trusted you, including me.”

She cried. “Kiah, I didn’t want to deceive you. Honest, I didn’t. But I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. I did what I believed best for all involved. I’m sorry I let you down. Please, forgive me.”

I don’t know what made the difference, but the latter tears were more touching than the former. As much as I wanted to punish her for putting me through such guilt and shame, I blamed myself for not being a better friend.

Though Dabney wasn’t the smartest girl I’d ever known, I never took her for being an imbecile. What in the name of common sense prompted her to pull such an idiotic stunt? Anger stirred within me. I wasn’t ready to let her, nor the good parson get away with fooling everyone into thinking she was dead.

“Kiah, all I’m asking is for you to keep quiet. I should’ve known you’d guess, although I don’t think anyone else will suspect. I’m not asking for my sake, but I’m begging you to think of Zann.”

Her confusing words rolled around in my head like loose marbles. I jumped up at the mention of Zann’s name. “Zann?” I screeched. “Where is she?”  Having been thrown by the sight of seeing what appeared to be a ghost, I’d completely forgotten the reason I was here. I dashed to the front door and slung it open.

I raced through the parsonage, screaming, “Zann? Zann? Where are you?” I heard the baby crying and saw a bassinet sitting in a back bedroom. Except for the infant, the house appeared to be empty.

I ran back to the porch. Dabney hadn’t moved. “Where is she, Dabney? Where’s Zann?” I yelled. Horrid thoughts sprouted and took root in my mind. Dabney was crying. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Are they hiding her from me? They are, aren’t they? You’ve got to tell me where she is.”

Dabney sobbed. I’m not sure if she felt sorry for me or frightened of what I might do in such a state of mind.

“Kiah, you’re scaring me. From what you were saying, I thought . . . I thought Fennie told you.”

I swallowed hard. “Told me? Told me what?”

“Oh, Kiah. Zann. She’s gone.”

The cold words dropped like icicles and hung suspended in the air.

I froze. “Gone? What do you mean, gone? Gone where? Back to New Orleans?” I wanted an explanation. Any explanation, other than the one which tried to force its way into my thoughts.

Dabney took me by the hand. “Sit down in the glider, Kiah. We need to talk.”

She got that right. We needed to talk, for sure. I buried my face in my hands. “Dabney? What’s going on? I feel as if I’m in the middle of a horrible nightmare.”

“Kiah, I sat with your Mama at the funeral. She said you were taking it hard, but I had no idea it was this bad. I think you’re in denial. I know how much you loved her, Kiah, but you have to accept it. Zann is dead.”

The words banged in my head like a loud tune on a player piano. “What are you saying?” I screamed. My breath caught in my throat. “No, no. It’s not true. The funeral was—” I was about to say the funeral was for Dabney, but how could that be? Dabney sat beside me, full of life. But there
was
a funeral. Of that, I was sure. Frantic thoughts whirled in my head so fast, I felt dizzy.

“But Mama said—” I stopped short and tried to remember the conversation we had on Sunday before the funeral. Did Mama tell me Dabney died? I couldn’t remember. Thoroughly unnerved, I now understood I only presumed the woman standing before me to be dead. Yet here she stood. As much alive as I was. Perhaps even more so, for at the moment, I didn’t feel alive. Even if I had, my wish would’ve been to die for I no longer wanted to live. If Zann was dead, I had nothing to live for.

Dabney’s lip quivered. “Oh, Kiah—”

Chapter 14

My head throbbed with pain as if someone had hit me with a hammer. I tried to capture the confusing thoughts swirling aimlessly in my brain.

I jumped up from the glider and sailed off the front porch. I ran . . . and ran . . . and kept on running. Overhead, the sky was changing. Turning dark. Clouds billowed, constantly forming new shapes. The wind blew fiercely in my face. I fought the air, flinging my fists at the gusts whirling around me. Dust filled my mouth as I sprinted down the long, lonesome road, but I kept running. Had to reach the bridge. Had to. Our place. She’d be there, waiting for me.

The run was a picture of my life. Two steps forward, three steps back. Seemed the wind had never been to my back thrusting me onward. Always blowing against me. What did I have to live for? There was nothing left for me. I couldn’t go back to school and face her empty desk. If only I had my diploma and could go far away to college. Tears flooded my eyes. Why did I keep fooling myself? Me, a college professor? The dream was nothing more than a bubble and now it had burst. There was nothing left.

Suddenly, I felt a strange sensation. Fear. I’m not sure I’d ever felt fearful before. Angry, bitter, lonely, hurt, yes . . . but afraid? The excruciating agony robbed me of my logic. The trees bent and swayed in an eerie fashion, like giant octopuses hovering over me waving long tentacles, while the wind moaned in sympathy with my plight. How could I go on without her? What was I to do? I trembled when a chilling breeze seemed to answer, as I imagined the wind screeching, “Die, die, die.” I wanted to obey the wind. I wanted to die. The thundering echo resounded in my ears.

The muscles around my heart tightened. My knees weakened. My pace slowed. Though strength had left me, I struggled to forge forward, pleading with my weak knees not to give out on me. With determination, I rounded the bend and could see the covered bridge. Almost there. Couldn’t breathe. Had to keep going. Maybe if I made it to the bridge, I’d find her. She’d throw her arms around me and we’d laugh together. We’d drink lemonade from a quart jar and eat delicious burned cookies in the safe haven where love had come to us.

I tried to persuade myself I’d been the victim of a nasty hoax, but who’d pull such a hideous scheme? And why? What would be gained? The answer opened up the truth to me. The parson wanted me to believe she was dead, to get me out of the picture. Of course. That had to be it. The whole scenario was a carefully executed fraud. Zann was alive and I’d find her.

I scuttled down the embankment in full-blown sobs, screaming her name. “Zann? Zann?” I stumbled and fell on my face. I listened. There were no sounds. The silence was eerie. Not even the familiar rippling of the water washing over the rocks. Had the stream ceased to run? Where were the squirrels which scampered from tree to tree on any given day? Why weren’t the birds scratching for worms? No crickets chirping. No frogs croaking. The world stopped. Why? Where was Zann? Why couldn’t I find her? Lying prostrate on the cold, hard clay, I didn’t try to get up. Why should I? I had no place to go. No one to see. If only I could close my eyes and die.

I was exhausted beyond belief. Never had I experienced such fatigue. I’m not sure if I went to sleep or if I passed out. I have no idea how long I’d been lying there, when I awoke hearing my name called.

I opened my eyes and squinted. It was dark. Very dark. The image leaning over me slowly came into focus. “Parson Pruitt? What are you doing here?”

“I came for you, Kiah.”

He seemed real enough, but maybe this all one big horrible nightmare.

The parson reached down for my hand to help me up. My pulse raced as I brushed the leaves from the back of my pants

“Kiah, I know how much you loved her.”

Past tense. Loved. My lip quivered. I put my hands over my ears. “It’s a lie,” I screamed. “Tell me it’s not true.”

The parson’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid it is, Kiah.” He put his arms around me, and I could fill his body shake in a faint rhythmic pattern as we held on to one another and wept. I had questions, but if I voiced them, it would make it real. I wanted it to be nightmare. “Please, please,” I screamed. “Tell me she’s not dead. Not Zann. Tell me you’re lying.”

Moments later, with his arms still wrapped around me, I felt the parson’s hand pat my back. His voice quaked. “Let’s go, son. Your mama’s worried sick. Dabney’s staying at the cabin with her until I can get you back home.”

I climbed in his car, but neither of us spoke all the way to Rooster Run. I wanted answers, but the words stuck in my throat. I looked over at the parson, and the quiet tears trailing down his cheeks glistened in the light of the moon.

I saw Mama standing behind the screen door, when the parson pulled up in front of our cabin.

She ran out to meet me. “Oh, Kiah, I’ve been out of my mind. Shug, are you okay?”

I stepped out of the car and jerked away from her touch. My breathing was so fast, I became light headed. Tears blurred my vision. I felt like a trapped ‘coon, staring into the eyes of a pack of hound dogs. Though these people meant me no harm, I felt cornered. Alone, and friendless. Berserk, I snapped. “Okay, you ask? You wanna know if I’m okay?” Hideous laughter erupted from my lips. It sounded far away, as if the sadistic sounding chuckles were coming from someone else. “Confound you people. No, I’m not okay.” I stepped back and balled my hands in a fist. “What do you expect? I can’t deal with this. Scram. All of you. Leave me alone.”

The parson held out his hand. “Kiah, lets go in the house.”

I looked at the parson, and then back at Mama. Dabney walked outside. They all stared, wide-eyed. I panicked and took a swing at the parson when he stepped forward. The knot in my stomach twisted again. “Leave me alone,” I yelled.

My knees buckled and the parson grabbed me. I yelled like a wounded animal. Parson Pruitt slapped me across the face, and I stopped. I mumbled. “I want to lie down. I’m tired.”

He held on to me, led me into the house and helped me to the bed. I stretched out. He gently lifted the chenille spread over me, before kneeling down to pray.

In a voice soft and low, he called out, “Father, this is your son, Eddie, here.” It sounded strange, the way he addressed God, as if he were a personal friend. Like he really believed Almighty God up in Heaven was his daddy. Even more peculiar, the parson seemed to have the notion his daddy cared about him and his wants. This didn’t fit the image I had of a daddy. I didn’t want to give the impression I was listening, yet I strained to hear every word.

His calm, soothing words were like salve to my soul, when he prayed, “Father, my little brother here is hurting something awful, and he needs someone to help bear his load.”

Then he said, “Remember, Lord, you told your children whenever our burdens got too heavy for us to bear, to ask for help? Well, I’m asking. This load seems too heavy for Kiah to bear alone, so I’d count it a special blessing and a favor to me, if you’d undergird him with your strength.” The last thing I heard him say was, “Just between me and you, Lord, I don’t think Kiah can rest, ‘til he knows the truth, and I’d tell him, if it weren’t for the promise I made Dora. If I’m right in my thinking, then Lord, I trust you to work out the details.”

I didn’t even try to make sense of what he was saying. He was still praying whenever I fell asleep.

The next morning when I awoke, I didn’t want to get out of bed. Mama tried to coax me up with the aroma of fried salt pork and flapjacks coming from the kitchen, but I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t want to work anymore. In fact, I didn’t want to live. I thought of the parson’s words. They made even less sense in the morning than they had the night before.

Mama pleaded and cried. “Kiah, I know you’ve been hurt, sugar, but you can’t just give up and die.”

Her words infuriated me. “Why can’t I, Mama? What do I have to live for?”

“Live for me, honey. For me. Don’t you know how much I love you?”

But my heart had grown cold. I had no sympathy for anyone—no one other than myself, I should say. The capacity to love seeped out of my body the moment I finally admitted Zann was gone.

I awoke shortly before noon, and winced at the bright sunlight streaming through the window. I looked outside and saw Mama in the back yard, washing clothes. She had a fire going under the wash pot—a fire, which she built—while I curled up in bed feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t want to be like this, but I couldn’t turn things around. I crawled out of bed, walked over to the table and picked up a piece of salt pork and poured a glass of buttermilk. There was nowhere I wanted to go. Nothing I wanted to do except to fall asleep and never wake up.

I crawled back in bed and hoped sleep would come soon. Apparently, it did, for I awoke to the sound of voices outside the door and winced when I heard Mama say, “Come on in Mr. Thatcher. He’s lying down. I reckon he didn’t feel up to par this morning, but I’m sure he’ll be back in school tomorrow.”

Groggy and disgruntled, I cringed at the thought of having to go through the motions of civility. I ran my fingers through my disheveled hair and sat up in the bed, when I heard Mama and Mr. Thatcher walk through the door.

I slung my legs off the edge of the bed and mumbled. “Hello, Mr. Thatcher.” The daggers shooting from Mama’s eyes told me I’d better jump to my feet without delay. I stood and grudgingly thrust forward my hand.

With his right hand extended in a hand shake, I couldn’t help wondering about the large envelope in his left hand. “Good evening, Kiah.”

Evening? I looked out the window, surprised to see the sun had gone down. He said, “Kiah, I have great news. You’ve been approved for a scholarship to both state colleges. I received the notices last week, and couldn’t wait for school to begin to give you the wonderful news. But when you didn’t show up at school today, I could wait no longer.”

The possibility of getting a college degree had helped me to dream big. All I’d ever wanted was to make it up to Mama for having been born and interrupting her life. Since the age of eight, when I first realized what people were saying about us, I wanted to take care of her and to provide her with the necessities of life. But until Mr. Thatcher came to Pivan Falls, I considered those noble thoughts to be nothing more than hollow dreams. But with a degree, I could make things happen. I could fill those dreams with more than the necessities of life. I’d finally be able to give Mama the desires of her heart. The best of everything. So why wasn’t I excited at the news? Wasn’t this what I’d been working toward for eleven years?

I pulled both letters from their respective envelopes and read them over a couple of times.

I handed them back to Mr. Thatcher. His brow furrowed. “I must admit, I’m surprised at your reaction. I thought you’d be elated.”

Mama frowned. “Honey, it was nice of Mr. Thatcher to come all this way to give you the news, wasn’t it?” She was giving me my cue.

I mumbled, “Yes, thank you, Mr. Thatcher.”

He nodded and pushed the papers back toward me. “These letters belong to you, Kiah. You need to keep them until you’re ready to make a decision.”

I didn’t tell him I’d already made my decision. I wouldn’t be finishing school, nor going to college. I didn’t know what I planned to do. I only knew what I didn’t plan to do. I wouldn’t be going back and sitting alone at lunch under the big oak. I didn’t tell Mr. Thatcher because Mama wasn’t ready to hear it. Sooner or later, though, she’d have to learn to deal with it.

That night, I sat outside on the stoop and stared blankly at the stars. A car drove up to #3. Parson Pruitt’s car. Dabney got out and waved bye. He drove off, and when she spotted me, she walked over and sat down beside me.

I continued to stare at the sky, without acknowledging her presence.

“Wishing on a star?” She asked.

I turned my head and glared at her. “What good does it do to wish?”

She didn’t answer. We sat in silence for a long time. Maybe thirty minutes. Maybe longer. But I was glad she was there beside me.

Recovering from an unpleasant tightness in my thorax, my voice cracked when I finally spoke. “What happened, Dabney? How?”

“Are you asking how she died?”

I nodded.

“Kiah—” She spoke my name and then lowered her head and moaned. She began a second time. “Kiah, everyone believes she died of complications from pneumonia.”

My body trembled. “What do you mean? Are you saying she didn’t?”

She threw her head back and closed her eyes. “Well, she did. And she didn’t.” Dabney’s eyes glassed over. She reached and touched my arm. “Kiah, I want to tell you the truth, but I’ll be breaking a confidence if I do.”

My jaw tightened. “Dabney, I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t accept Zann’s death as long as I know there are secrets shrouding her demise. You have to be honest with me.”

She nodded. “Promise you won’t tell a soul?”

Frustration mounted. No, I wouldn’t promise. Why should I? I blurted out, “Dabney, why did you do it?”

Her brow furrowed. “I did it for Zann, Kiah. For Zann.”

I growled. “That’s crazy. Why would she want you to have an affair with her father?”