When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) (18 page)

A heavy flush darkened her face. “What are you accusing me of, Kiah Grave?”

“Don’t try to deny it, Dabney. I saw you slipping off with the parson. You think I was so naïve I couldn’t figure out why he wanted to adopt your baby?” I scowled. “I guess he got the bright idea from the story of baby Moses.” I referred to a Bible story I heard in the Primary Department at Sunday School, shortly before Mama and I got the boot.

“I don’t follow you, Kiah.”

“Parson Pruitt chose to send for the real mama to come take care of the ‘adopted’ infant. How convenient for him. It gave him a good excuse to plant you within his palace walls.”

Her eyes had a wild look
.
“You think you have it all figured out, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong. I can deal with other folks thinking I’m Rooster Run trash, but you—you were different. Or so I thought. Kiah, I could never do what you’re accusing me of. Parson Pruitt is a loving husband. How could you even think such?”

Unable to control my tongue, I blurted, “If not the parson, then tell me. Who
is
the father? Or don’t you know?” I suppose I would’ve been forgiven if I’d stopped after the first question. It was the second part that really riled her.

Her jaw dropped. A deep, painful shade of red colored her face. The veins in her neck protruded, when she quipped, “There you go again.”

I rolled my eyes.

She snapped, “I can see you don’t believe me. You think I’ve had so many men coming through my back door, I can’t keep count. Well, think what you will and see if I care. I don’t have to answer to you, Kiah Grave.”

“I’m sorry, Dabney, but I do believe you owe me an explanation. You’ve played me for a fool and I want to know why.”

I didn’t know how this puzzle fit together, but I sensed Zann’s death had something to do with the illicit affair between her father and Dabney, and for reasons I couldn’t discern, they were hiding the truth from me. “If it isn’t the preacher, then who? If you know the identity of the father, what reason would you have for not telling me?”

She whirled around and blurted, “Because I’m afraid you’d kill him if you knew his name.”

I shrugged. “No, I wouldn’t, Dabney. Your lovers are your own business.” I stopped and mused at the irony. “I won’t deny I believed you and the parson had a thing going, and to tell the truth, I’m glad if it’s not his.” My words must have sounded cold and pitiless.

“Kiah, Parson Pruitt is the most decent man I’ve ever known, and he loves his wife, dearly. But it hurts me to know what you think of me. I’ll admit I’ve done a lot of stupid things in the past and I’ve told you I don’t do those things, anymore. Why don’t you believe a person can change?”

I wanted to yank out a shank of my hair. “Forget it, Dabney,” I snapped. Did she take me for a moron? She’d just given birth, for crying out loud, and yet she expected me to believe she was different? Was I supposed to believe she had the baby all by herself, without the help of a man? I didn’t have much Bible knowledge, but I had enough to know there’d only been one woman who’d ever done that, and there’d never be another. So who was she trying to fool? I flexed my jaw. “I don’t want to haggle with you, Dabney. It doesn’t matter what I think. But you’ve just admitted Zann didn’t die from pneumonia. Why the big secret?”

She reached for my hand. “Can we go for a walk?”

My head told me to refuse her hand. But since I hadn’t been listening to my head lately, I wrapped my fingers around hers and felt a tinge of comfort as she gave a little squeeze.

I swallowed. “A walk? At this hour?” It must have been nine o’clock or later.

“Yes. I’m going to tell you the truth. The whole truth.”

Chapter 15

At long last, the truth.

Dabney Foxworthy and I walked out the gate and down the long dirt road, hand in hand. Neither of us spoke for several minutes. I let go of her hand, when mine began to sweat. I got a whiff of perfume. I assumed it was the same stuff I gave her last Christmas. It didn’t compare with the fragrance of gardenias, but I couldn’t deny Dabney did smell mighty nice when the wind blew in the right direction. The quarter moon peeked over my shoulder like a one-eyed bandit, threatening to rob me of my scruples. Fat chance, Mr. Moon. Dabney Foxworthy wasn’t my type. There was only one girl in this world for me, and her name was Zann Pruitt. There’d never be another.

She was being too quiet. Made me want to turn around and head back in the other direction as fast as I could go. She’d done gone and got herself pregnant once, and if she had any ideas of pinning the blame on me, she could think again. The more I thought about it, the madder I became. Finally, I blurted out, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I’ll tell you in plain English, Dabney, I’m not interested in spooning, if that’s what we’re supposed to be doing out here.”

She stopped abruptly and sank her hands on her hips. “Forget it, Kiah. I wanted to tell you everything, and I’ve been trying to get up the nerve, but you’re so full of yourself, I don’t think you care to hear the truth.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dabney. I mean it. That was low. Seems I’m always saying the wrong thing to everyone. Forgive me?”

She nodded. “I guess we’re both a little edgy. Do you mind if we sit on the log for a few minutes?”

We walked over, took a seat and Dabney poured out a story so incredible, I had trouble letting it soak in.

She began by saying, “Kiah, I think you should know the Pruitts named the baby Alexandra Pruitt, after her mother.”

I had to be civil if I hoped to get the whole story. “That’s nice.”

“That’s all you have to say? That’s
nice
?”

I couldn’t decide if I was losing it, or if she was, but one of us was having trouble keeping our oar in the water. So the Pruitts named the baby after Dabney. What did she expect me to say? Frankly, at the moment I didn’t care if Dabney’s name was Little Bo Peep, but it appeared she wanted me to care, so I tried to oblige. I grappled for words, and came up with, “So is your name Dabney Alexandra or Alexandra Dabney?”

She shook her head. “Neither,” she whispered and buried her face in her hands. Her body shook with sobs. “My name is Dabney Sue.”

Now, what had I done? “Look, Dabney, I don’t know what I said to make you cry. Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I misunderstood, okay? I thought you said the baby was named after you.” I stood. “Come on, let’s walk.”

“Kiah, you don’t understand.”

I felt like a firecracker with a short fuse, and I was afraid if this conversation lasted much longer, I was going to make a loud noise. Though it was becoming increasingly difficult, I made a concerted effort to keep my voice at a normal level. “You’re right, Dabney. I don’t understand. So try helping me. Please?” I contributed Dabney’s erratic behavior to after childbirth blues. I’d read it was a common phenomenon and if any mother had a right to be blue, poor Dabney would be a prime candidate. No husband. And now, no baby. Poor girl. I decided to wait until she was ready to proceed. But I hoped we could soon dispense with talk about her baby and get to the real issue. Zann’s death.

She wiped her eyes. “Kiah, Zann is a nickname for Alexandra.”

So that was it. Well, why didn’t she say so in the first place? Perhaps Dabney feared I’d resent her illegitimate child having the same name as my precious Zann. I tried to set her mind at ease. “Dabney, when you said Mrs. Pruitt named the baby after her mother, I didn’t know you meant after Mrs. Pruitt’s mother. I suppose Zann was named after her grandmother, also.”

Dabney cocked her head. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “No, Kiah. You aren’t hearing me.”

I sighed. It was difficult being patient with her. “I do hear you, Dabney. I’ve heard every word. You said Mrs. Pruitt named the kid after her mother. I’ll admit I was confused at first, thinking you meant after the baby’s mother, so I assumed she named the kid after you . . . until I figured out you meant the baby was named after Mrs. Pruitt’s mother.”

Dabney put both hands on my shoulders, and shook me gently. A look of panic stretched across her face. “No, Kiah. You aren’t listening. Little Alexandra wasn’t named after her grandmother—and not after her great grandmother—but after her
mother,
Kiah. Her mother.”

My fuse grew shorter. I snapped. “All that’s interesting, but if you don’t mind, I have a lot of questions I need answers to, and at the present, I don’t give a hoot about the origin of the baby’s name.” I cringed as the careless words flung from my lips. I sighed. I had to get a grip.

Dabney stared at me with giant tears streaming down her cheeks.

Then like a mighty ocean wave, the truth rushed toward me, sucked me under and left me gasping for air. I bit my lip. “Impossible,” I mumbled.

She laid a restraining hand on my shoulder, her fingernails cutting into the flesh. “It’s true, Kiah.”

“Then what you’re saying, is—” I locked my knees to steady myself, and suddenly felt myself wavering. The world around me was spinning at an incredibly fast rate of speed. When I came to, Dabney was kneeling beside me, her hand resting on my forehead.

“Welcome back to earth.”

I reached up to touch the back of my aching head and felt warm blood oozing from a gash on the back of my crown. I looked at my fingers before wiping them against my overalls.

“You hit your head on the tree root when you went down,” she explained. “I think you’d better lie here for awhile. You may have a concussion.”

“No. I’m fine.” I stood, and tried to gather my thoughts. Then I remembered. My voice quavered. “Are you trying to make me believe the baby—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I glared at Dabney.

She nodded. “Yes. The baby is Zann’s.”

A sudden rush of anger came over me. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. If Dabney hadn’t been a female, I think I might have hit her I was so infuriated. “Why would you say such a thing? Zann was your friend.”

Dabney bit her lip. “Yes, and the best friend I’ve ever had.”

I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t losing Zann traumatic enough? Why rub my wounds with salt by trying to convince me Zann was no different than . . . than
her
? What was Dabney trying to prove? I swallowed. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

Dabney placed her hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I jerked away. “Don’t touch me. I don’t know what your game is, but you’re a liar. Zann would never have—” I couldn’t seem to finish my sentences.

“She was raped, Kiah.”

I felt sick. This couldn’t be. But why would Dabney make up such an outlandish lie?

We must have walked five miles or more, most of them in silence, when she said, “Let’s sit down on the grass. I’m getting tired.”

I stopped. My legs felt weak. I looked at Dabney. “Raped?”

She nodded.

I repeated the horrid word. “Raped. But when? Where? Why didn’t Zann tell me?”

“She couldn’t, Kiah. She wanted to, but she couldn’t.”

The image of sweet, innocent Zann being compromised in such a horrid way by some low-down rascal like the foul-mouthed Arnold Evers was suffocating. I thrust my hands to my throat.

Dabney began to cry.

The hot rage that caused me to lash out at her, slowly cooled into an indescribable heartache as I faced the ghastly truth. I handed her a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Dabney. Forgive me for being so cruel.”

She snubbed and pressed the handkerchief to her nose. “Then you do believe me?”

I nodded. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, I had no doubts she was telling the truth. “Start at the beginning.” I clinched my teeth together, not knowing if I’d be able to stomach the horrid details.

Dabney wouldn’t look at me. She glanced from the stars to the ground. “Remember the day school let out for Christmas break, and I brought you a note from Zann?”

“Yes. Go on.”

“Well, she waited for you at the bridge. You didn’t show up. However, someone else did. Zann ran back to the house, hysterical. I was there when she rushed in. Her pretty blue gingham dress was ripped away at the shoulder. Her neck was black and blue and she had a bloody nose. When she wouldn’t name her attacker, her father naturally assumed it was you, since she’d gone to meet you.”

I suddenly felt sick. Bad sick. I jumped up and ran behind a tree and heaved until my sides ached. I blamed myself for not being there for her. Tormented, I believed the only way to free myself from such misery was to die. How could I go on living, knowing I could’ve prevented Zann’s death? If only—

I walked back to where I’d left Dabney and lay flat of my back on the ground. I stared at the stars. “Why did she let her father think I was the one who raped her?” In a coarse whisper, I kept asking the same question. “Why?”

Dabney sat with her arms wrapped around her legs. “Oh, she tried to tell him differently, but he insisted she was trying to protect you.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Why would she want to protect me if I was capable of doing such a horrid thing?”

“Zann made the same point, but I think Parson Pruitt was so distraught it became impossible for him to think straight. You know how much he loved her.”

It was becoming clearer. “So that’s why he felt the need to be her body guard. It also explains why he and Mrs. Pruitt suddenly turned on me.”

“Yes. Until Zann was able to convince her mother it wasn’t you. Mrs. Pruitt explained to her husband that Zann was terrified of her attacker, whoever he was. It stood to reason, she wouldn’t have defended you, if you were the guilty party.”

I was on an emotional roller-coaster. My feelings reeled back and forth from sadness to frustration. “But she never mentioned a word to me about a rapist. Not one word. If only she’d told me.”

“Kiah, she wanted to get it out of her mind. She was afraid if she told you, you’d never be able to forget it, and you’d look at her differently. I guess she was afraid you might think she didn’t fight hard enough.”

My eyes clouded. I groaned, “Oh, Dabney. That would never have entered my mind. Never.”

Dabney looked down at me. “Kiah, would you mind if I were to lie down with you?”

Beads of perspiration formed on my brow. The apprehension I experienced at the notion of her issuing me such an open invitation, made me quiver.

Our gaze locked. I licked my dry lips and tried to swallow. “Sorry, Dabney. Thanks, but no thanks. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but that dog won’t hunt.”

The quizzical expression forming on her face gave me a start. Had I misinterpreted her suggestion? No. She was clear. I sucked in and blew out a lungful of air. Why should her proposition surprise me? I squirmed, feeling antsy. An awkward silence lingered in the air, like an unwelcome Fuller Brush salesman loitering on the front steps. I could blame no one but myself for the embarrassing situation. Like a nincompoop, I’d led her to this spot—at this hour—giving her just reason to suspect my motives. I wiped beads of perspiration from my upper lip. I hoped I had not offended her with my retort, but Dabney Foxworthy had opened a door, which I had no intention of walking through.

With glassy eyes, she nodded. “I understand.” She clasped her hands around her knees and held her head back, gazing up into the heavens. She rocked back and forth. Neither of us spoke for several minutes. I wanted to hear the rest of the story. Dabney’s abrupt question had sent my mind on a different track and it took several seconds before I could think straight.

She had a peculiar look on her face. I couldn’t read her. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or just hurt. Of all the people I’d never want to hurt, Dabney Foxworthy was at the top of the list.

The sadness in her eyes spoke loud and clear, though her lips remained clinched. I cowered under the silent accusations, which I found impossible to refute. Undeniably, I had stomped on a tender spot and left her vulnerable heart bruised and hurting. What had happened to me? Why had I grown so cold and callous, caring about no one’s feelings but my own? Had I given Dabney the impression I disliked her? That would be far from the truth. It was me I loathed. Spite and bitterness gnawed at my insides the way a mouse nibbles cheese—slowly and deliberately, until nothing is left. I’d become a shell of a man. From the outside, I appeared whole, but on the inside, I was as hollow as the holes in Swiss cheese. So what if I was right and Dabney had propositioned me? Was it a reason to reply in such a crude manner? Couldn’t I have been a little kinder? Who set me up to be her judge?

She glared at me with wide, distrustful eyes. “Kiah,” she said, “I know you may find this hard to believe, but you misinterpreted my intentions when I asked to lay beside you. My back ached from sitting in the same position for so long, and I—” She paused. “But I don’t blame you for wondering, my reputation being what it is.” The tears welling in her eyes made a slow path down her cheeks.