Читать книгу The Return - Dinah McCall - Страница 8

Camarune, Kentucky, present day

N ellie Cauthorn, the preacher’s wife at the Church of the Firstborn, had been saying all day that things didn’t feel right. She’d told Preacher so during breakfast. Then she went to the store to tell her best friend, Lovie Cleese, who owned Camarune’s only grocery. Lovie had heard Nellie’s predictions before and never put much stock in them. But in the midst of cleaning out the produce section, she heard a commotion out in the street, then heard Nellie screeching.

Lovie darted toward the front of the store to see what was wrong. When she got to the window, her heart skipped a beat. A long black hearse from the Lexington Funeral Home had just run over a dog. The dog was past help, and from the looks of the casket just visible inside the hearse, so was the person residing inside.

To Lovie’s dismay, at the sight of the dead dog, Nellie fell to the floor in a faint. By the time Lovie had revived her friend, the dog’s carcass had been removed from the street and the driver of the hearse was reimbursing the owner for the loss of his pet.

Nellie was mumbling something about premonitions and wiping her face with the cloth Lovie pressed in her hand when another vehicle pulled up behind the hearse. The woman getting out of the dusty black Jeep was a stranger. Lovie judged her to be in her mid-twenties, and from the cut of her clothes, probably a city dweller, a bit above average height, and erring on the side of slender. But it was the blue-black hair brushing the tops of her shoulders that made Lovie take a step forward for a closer look. She squinted through the streaks in the windows, absently thinking they needed a wash, and kept staring.

Who was she? She looked so familiar. But the thought wouldn’t connect.

If only she’d turn her head a little bit to the…

The woman turned, and for the first time, Lovie got a good look at her face.

“Have mercy,” Lovie muttered. “Who is she?”

“What? What is it now?” Nellie cried, gawking around Lovie’s shoulder toward the street.

“That woman,” Lovie said.

“What about her?”

Lovie inhaled sharply. “She looks familiar.”

“Looks like who?” Nellie urged, her curiosity piqued.

“I don’t know…probably no one,” Lovie muttered. “I guess I was mistaken.”

“She’s coming inside!” Nellie said.

Lovie turned.

The bell over the door jangled. The woman was standing in the doorway with a hesitant look upon her face. Her jeans were clean but travel-worn, as were her shirt and jacket.

“Can I help you?” Lovie snapped.

Nellie stared at Lovie as if she’d just lost her mind. Never in her life had she heard Lovie use that tone of voice with a customer.

The young woman tugged at the lapels of her jacket, then took a couple of steps farther, letting the door close behind her.

“I need to hire someone with a truck.”

When Lovie remained silent, Nellie felt it her duty as the pastor’s wife to answer the stranger’s request.

“Maynard Phillips down at the service station has a—”

“Maynard’s probably busy,” Lovie snapped, interrupting Nellie before she could finish.

The young woman’s gaze centered on Lovie’s face, silently acknowledging her rudeness, but she stood her ground.

“Maybe there’s someone else?” she asked.

Lovie shuddered. The way the stranger pursed her lips before speaking seemed familiar, although she knew good and well she’d never seen the woman before.

“Doubt it,” Lovie said. “People are pretty busy around here.”

The woman’s chin jutted mutinously, and for the first time since she’d entered the store, her voice took on an edge.

“Does that come naturally, or do you have to work at it?” she asked.

Lovie frowned. “Work at what?”

“Being rude.”

Nellie gasped. She hated confrontation. Her hands fluttered around her chest like butterflies caught in a cage as she gave Lovie a nervous glance before speaking.

“I’m sure Lovie didn’t mean to be—”

“Is there anything else you’d be needing?” Lovie snapped.

This time, even Nellie was shocked at Lovie’s rudeness. “Lovie! What on earth is wrong with you?”

Lovie didn’t answer. But it wasn’t because she wouldn’t. Truth be told, she didn’t know what was wrong. But every time she looked at that woman’s face, she got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. And Lovie Cleese hadn’t lived to be seventy-five without paying attention to her instincts.

“Never mind,” the woman said. “I’ll be asking elsewhere. Surely there’s someone in this town who’s interested in making some extra money.”

Nellie took a step forward. A pastor’s pay was far from generous. Maybe Preacher could borrow a truck.

“What was it you were needing hauled?” she asked, ignoring Lovie’s indrawn hiss of disapproval.

The young woman pointed over her shoulder. “My grannie’s casket.”

Nellie’s eyes widened in sympathy. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

All the stiffness of the young woman’s demeanor deflated as her voice softened.

“Thank you,” she said.

Nellie felt better. Condolences were part of her job as a pastor’s wife. She was on firm ground again, but curious. “The hearse is already here. Why can’t the driver take the casket to the cemetery for burial? It’s just at the edge of town.”

The woman’s eyes disappeared behind a sudden pool of tears. Nellie sighed. Had it not been for Lovie, she would have put her arms around the girl and held her close.

“Because Grannie wanted to be buried behind her old home,” the woman said. “I’ve already seen to the grave being dug, but I’ve been told that a hearse won’t be able to traverse the road up the mountain.”

“That’s certainly true,” Nellie said, and then added, “exactly where are you headed?”

The woman began digging through her jacket pockets. “Somewhere up the mountain above a place called Pulpit Rock. I’m sure I have the directions right here.” But when she couldn’t find them, she shrugged. “They’re probably in my car.”

To Nellie’s disbelief, Lovie Cleese actually cursed. Fearing another confrontation, Nellie felt obligated to point out what she felt sure was a misdirection.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Nellie said. “I fear you’ve been misled. There’s nothing up there but the old witch’s cabin.”

The woman jerked as if she’d been slapped. “I didn’t believe her,” she muttered, more to herself than to the two women, then she turned sharply and started toward the door, and as she did, something in the way she moved sent another shudder up Lovie Cleese’s spine. In spite of her fear, curiosity won.

“Wait!”

The woman paused, then turned.

“What’s your name, girl?” Lovie asked.

The woman’s chin tilted, and in that moment, both Nellie and Lovie felt the fire of her glare.

“Catherine Fane.”

Lovie paled. “Even in death,” she muttered cryptically, then sank into a nearby chair.

Nellie gasped. “The witch’s kin!”

Catherine was so angry she was shaking. “You people are a bunch of superstitious fools. If you’d known Annie Fane, you wouldn’t be accusing her of such a thing.” Then she pointed straight at Lovie’s face. “And with or without your help, Annie Fane’s last wishes are going to be fulfilled.”

The door slammed behind her, leaving the two women alone.

“We’re doomed,” Nellie muttered. “The witch has come back to Camarune.”

“Just shut up,” Lovie said. “The woman’s dead.”

“And so is Henry’s dog,” Nellie said. “God only knows who’ll be next. I told you something wasn’t right today. I told you, didn’t I?” she said.

Lovie had more things on her mind than Nellie’s predilection for prophecies. But Nellie wasn’t about to be silenced. Not when she’d just been proven right.

“Yessiree, I knew something bad was going to happen today.”

As if the last few minutes had not been enough to prove her right, a loud crack of thunder rattled the grocery store windows, and then it started to rain.

After a few brief words to the driver of the hearse, Catherine slid behind the wheel of her car and then sat, trying to regain her composure. The last few days had been nothing short of hell. Facing her grandmother’s death had been inevitable. The cancer had been eating at her body for over a year. But the deathbed confession of the woman she loved had destroyed what was left of her world.

She closed her eyes, picturing her grandmother’s face and then remembering the words that had shattered her soul.

She was no relation to Annie Fane. After that, she’d absorbed only bits and pieces of what Annie had been trying to say.

Feuding families.

Forbidden love.

Lies.

Murder.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. Alone. She was so alone. Her past was a lie. No, she thought, not everything she’d been told was a lie. Her parents were dead, after all, just not in the romantic fashion she’d been led to believe. So they hadn’t died in a train crash in each other’s arms. So in reality her grandfather had caused her mother’s death, as well as his own son’s. The urge to scream was overwhelming. Dear God, if all that was true, then what did that make her? What sort of monster’s blood ran through her veins?

A loud crack of thunder made her jump. Seconds later, the heavens opened, diluting her view of the store and the two women staring at her from behind the dusty windows. Well, she thought, wryly, at least one side of the glass was about to come clean.

She started the car, then turned on the windshield wipers before pulling away from the curb. The intensity of her anger was making her sick to her stomach. She needed to cry, but she was afraid if she started, all she would do was throw up. And, she reminded herself, she wasn’t taking the word of anybody who dared to call her grannie a witch. Maybe the man named Maynard would help her, after all.

She found the place easily and parked, noting several large pickup trucks parked about the station. Surely one of these men would be willing to earn a little extra money. Without giving herself time to think, she got out on the run, dashing through the rain to the door.

Luke DePriest was downing the last of his Coke when the door to Maynard’s Gas and Guzzle suddenly flew open and a young woman rushed in. He had a brief glimpse of her face—enough to know she was a stranger—and then she was past him, heading toward the counter and the other three men lounging there. He set the empty Coke can on the windowsill and waited, curious as to her intent.

“I need to hire someone with a truck to carry something up the mountain for me,” she said.

Luke watched all three men come to attention. Extra money was hard to come by in these parts. He took a step closer, curiosity overcoming manners.

Maynard Phillips figured since this was his store, it was his right to get first dibs. He braced himself against the counter and offered her a grin.

“Well now, Missy, I’ve got the newest and best truck in these parts. I reckon I can help you out. Exactly what is it you’re needing hauled?”

The woman’s answer startled everyone, including Luke.

“A casket,” she said. “I’m taking my grandmother’s body up the mountain to her home place to be buried, and the hearse can’t make the trip.”

The smile on Maynard’s face slipped a bit, but Luke had to give him credit for maintaining it.

“I can’t say as how I’ve ever hauled me a dead body before,” Maynard said, then peered out the window, his eyes widening as he saw the long black hearse parked down the street. “However, I don’t suppose it’d do no harm.”

Luke saw her shoulders sag with relief.

“That’s wonderful,” she said softly. “I’ll go tell the driver.”

As she started to turn, Luke caught a glimpse of her profile. Raindrops clung to the tips of her eyelashes, shimmering like tears, and her lower lip was on the verge of quivering, too. She looked as if she was running on guts alone, and he wondered how far she’d traveled to get to Camarune.

“Say, Missy,” Maynard called. “I reckon I should ask exactly how far up the mountain you’re needing to go? The roads get slick pretty fast in a rain.”

She paused, and Luke saw her worry her lower lip before answering.

“About a quarter of a mile above a place called Pulpit Rock.”

Maynard frowned. “I think you’ve got your directions confused. There ain’t nothing up there.”

Then one of the other men interrupted. “Just the old witch’s cabin.”

The woman’s posture stiffened, and Luke could tell by the tone of her voice she’d been offended by what they’d said.

“I’m offering one hundred dollars to drive less than four miles. Are you going to help me?”

“Are you saying that’s where you’re going?” Maynard asked.

“Yes.”

Maynard’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t recall your mention of the deceased’s name.”

This time there was no mistaking the tension in the woman’s shoulders.

“My grandmother, Annie Fane.”

Luke winced. He hadn’t grown up here, but he knew the name, and he knew damned good and well that none of these men would go up that mountain with Annie Fane’s body in the back of their truck.

Maynard took off his cap and swiped a hand through his hair, then jammed it back on his head.

“I’m sorry, Missy, but I can’t help you after all.”

When the young woman’s chin began to quiver, Luke sighed. Damn. He never could stand to see a woman cry.

“I have to get my grandmother’s casket up the mountain to be buried. Are you saying you don’t want the job?”

“Yes, ma’am, I reckon I am,” Maynard said.

Before she could ask any of the other men present, they bolted out the door to their trucks and drove away.

Luke was torn between sympathy for the woman and understanding for the men. Superstition was as much a part of these people as the air they breathed. Although he didn’t believe in such gossip, he’d heard plenty of stories about the witch, and the curse she’d put on Jubal Blair and his sons. He watched the woman, wondering what she would do next.

“Is there anyone in this place you could recommend to me?” she asked.

At that point Luke knew she wasn’t going to quit. A part of him admired her persistence, while the rest of him worried what kind of hornet’s nest she was bound to stir up. With the rash of thievery that had been going on in the mountains above Camarune, he already had more trouble than he cared to cope with, but he had always been a sucker for a woman in need.

“Hey, Maynard, can I borrow your truck for about an hour?”

Maynard looked startled, but not as much as the woman, who pivoted suddenly, unaware there had been another man at the back of the room.

“Well, sure, I reckon so,” Maynard said, and started digging out his keys. “But Pete will be through changing the oil in your Blazer pretty soon.”

“Yeah, I know,” Luke said softly, staring intently at the fear on the young woman’s face. “But the patrol car isn’t long enough to hold a casket.”

Maynard cursed beneath his breath as he handed Luke the keys.

“You wash it out before you bring it back,” he muttered. “I don’t want no death marks on it.”

Luke pointed out the window. “You haven’t washed it since the day you bought it. Thanks to the rain, I can guarantee it’ll come back cleaner than when we started.” Then he tipped his Stetson to the woman. “Ma’am, my name is Luke DePriest, sheriff of Taney County. I’ll be glad to help you.”

He felt her relief as her expression softened. “I’ll pay you after we’re there.”

“No charge, ma’am. Consider it part of my job.”

“My name is Catherine Fane,” she said quietly, then took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need, and I’m sorry for your loss.” Then he put his hand under her elbow and guided her out the door. Within minutes, the transfer had been made from hearse to truck.

“I’ll follow you,” Catherine said, and started to get in her car.

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to drive all the way up,” Luke warned.

“I’ll take it as far as it will go,” she said. “I’ll need a way to get off the mountain when I’m done.”

For the first time since he’d made the offer, Luke wondered how he would get the casket out of the truck. It had been fairly simple to get it from the hearse to the truck bed. He’d just backed the truck up the open door of the hearse and slid it from one to the other, but there was no way he and this slender young woman could lift it out on their own.

“We’re going to need some help unloading,” he said. “And there’s the grave. What about digging the grave?”

Her gaze was steady, her voice confident. “Help will be waiting.”

His eyes rounded. “Are you sure you know what—”

“Just get me and my grannie there and leave the rest up to me.”

He shook his head at the foolhardiness of it all, gave his cargo one last check to make sure it was safely in place, then crawled into the cab of Maynard’s truck. Moments later, he was on the way out of town with the woman not far behind.

As they passed by the city limit sign, the rain began to lessen, and by the time they were out of sight of Camarune, it had stopped.

The relief Catherine felt was overwhelming, but she was starting to shake. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, and sleep had been scarce this past week. But she’d made her grannie a promise, and she wasn’t about to quit on her now. She’d come this far. She could hold out a little while longer.

And there was another thing—something that had happened to her when she’d seen the man’s face. It had been a true but quiet knowing that he would matter.

“Grannie, do you believe in love at first sight?”

Annie tried not to laugh. It was a pretty serious question from a girl who’d just turned ten.

“Well, now, I suppose that I do,” she said.

Catherine giggled. “Did you know you were in love with Grandpa Billy when you saw him?”

“Lord, no, girl,” Annie said. “But you have to remember that I knew Billy Fane all my life. You don’t fall in love with a boy who puts frogs down your shirt. That comes after he becomes a man.”

Lord, where had that come from? Catherine thought, and then caught herself staring at the breadth of the sheriff’s shoulders in the truck in front of her. Nerves tightened, knotting her belly and bringing tears to her eyes. Oh, Grannie, she thought. I would like to believe in such things as destiny, but I don’t think I do.

It was only after they drove out of town and started up the mountain that she began to take note of her surroundings. The trees over the road were tall and dense, often forming heavy canopies that prevented both rain and sun from getting through. The bare ground that was the road was heavily rutted and in places quite rocky, making her thankful for the durability of her Jeep. The pain between her shoulder blades was moving toward her neck. She took a deep breath, rolling her head to loosen the muscles and hoping it went no farther. She’d had a few migraines before. This wasn’t a day to have one.

The truck ahead slowed down for a pothole. She hit the brakes, waiting while he negotiated the obstacle, and again caught herself focusing on the back of his head and the set of his shoulders. She squinted her eyes, trying to remember what he looked like.

His eyes had been dark, probably brown. And what she’d seen of his hair was thick and short, but she couldn’t remember if it was brown or black. His face was something of a blur, but she had an impression of strong features. What she did remember was his voice. It had been kind. So kind.

Tears spiked, but she blinked them away. She was so tired of crying. But after what Annie had told her, would she ever be able to let go of the pain?

Suddenly, she realized that he’d made it on through. She straightened her shoulders and followed. Gradually, the incline began to steepen. She downshifted once, then again, until she was driving in first gear, bouncing in and out of rock-laden ruts and often just missing being stuck on high center. The forest around her now was so thick it was impossible to see more than a few feet past the trees at the edge of the road. It was daunting to realize how far away from civilization a mere four miles could be. But before she could panic, the truck ahead of her pulled over. She followed suit, wondering if they were already there.

Catherine got out. “What’s wrong?”

Luke was already out and shuffling through the jumble of objects in the truck bed.

“There’s a tree down in the road. Surely Maynard has a…oh, good…here it is.”

Catherine stepped backward, her eyes widening as he hauled a chain saw over the rim of the truck bed.

“What are you going to do?”

He paused, giving her a slow, curious look, then pointed past the truck with his chin.

“Move the tree, ma’am,” he said.

Catherine nodded. As he started to walk away, she hesitated, then spoke.

“Call me Catherine.”

He stopped then turned, giving her the full force of a dark, silent stare. Then he smiled, and she caught a quick flash of white teeth and what looked like a small dimple to the right of his mouth.

“Catherine it is.”

She clasped her hands in front of her stomach to keep them from shaking as he disappeared around the front of the truck.

Grannie, do you believe in love at first sight?

Ignoring her flight of fancy, she stood out of the way, watching as he bent to the task. Moments later, the chain saw roared to life. She leaned against the hood of the Jeep and thrust her hands through her hair, massaging the muscles at the back of her neck. After a bit, the pressure eased. Curious now, she surveyed the area, trying to picture her grandmother traipsing about these woods gathering her herbs.

To her right, a large projection of rock was visible above the tops of the trees, and in the same moment she saw it, she knew it had to be Pulpit Rock. The skin at the back of her neck suddenly crawled. She needed to see—to stand in the place where it had all ended.

But how?

She couldn’t just walk away without telling the sheriff where she was going, yet she needed to do this alone. She stood for a moment, trying to decide what to do, then tilted her chin and headed toward Luke DePriest.

The chain saw vibrated the length of Luke’s arms as the saw blade ate through the wood. The tree was large and would have to be cut in several pieces for him to be able to move it aside. The roots were gnarled and dry. The tree had been here for some time.

The piece he was cutting off suddenly dropped to one side. He grunted with satisfaction and was setting the chain saw aside when Catherine Fane walked into his line of vision.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She pointed toward Pulpit Rock. “I’m going over there to take a look.”

He frowned. The idea of her wandering off in any direction bothered him, never mind that she was pointing toward Pulpit Rock.

“If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll go with you,” he said, then wondered at the way her expression blanked.

“No. This is something I’d rather do alone.” Without waiting for him to agree, she walked away.

Luke watched her go, taking careful note of her direction—just in case. The last thing he needed was to have to instigate a search party, especially up here, and especially for her. He doubted if he could round up a half dozen people who would be willing to set foot on this side of the mountain to look for the lost granddaughter of Annie Fane.

Then he remembered what he’d been doing and turned back to the tree. The quicker he got it out of the road, the quicker he could deliver her to the cabin.

The trees were alive with sounds, from the insistent squawk of a blue jay to the chatter of squirrels as they leaped through the leafy branches, using them like a highway as they moved from tree to tree. On another day, this would have been charming, but everything inside her was in knots. Even now, she could hear the echo of her grandmother’s shaky voice, relating the events that had led to her being orphaned.

A couple of minutes passed as she continued to move toward the looming promontory. The closer she got, the denser the trees became. Tension knotted in her belly, and her legs began to shake. Less sunlight filtered through the canopy, which in turn meant less undergrowth beneath the trees. In places she could see bare rock showing through the earth, and the forest was silent, absent of life.

Suddenly she was standing in the clearing and looking up, trying to imagine what freak of nature had created this natural pulpit. It stretched out from the face of the mountain, as if defying gravity, to overlook a spacious meadow. The natural resonance of sound must be amazing in this place. Then her gaze fell to the shadow below the rock, to the place where Grannie had seen her mother die. Sorrow moved through her like a wave.

She walked closer, needing to see—to touch—to be in the place where her parents had died, and as she did, she saw that what she’d taken for shadow was actually barren ground. She knelt, fingering the thick, dark earth and then stood, letting it filter through her fingers, and wondered why nothing grew in earth this rich.

Then she spun, suddenly aware of faint whispers, but there was no one there. In spite of the heat, she shivered as she searched the area for signs of life, but it was as empty as her heart. In the distance, she could see leaves moving in the tops of the trees, and convinced herself that was the source of the sounds. Yet as she turned away, a powerful urge to run overwhelmed her. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but there was a miasma here that had no earthly roots.

“Cath…rine.”

The faint sound of someone calling her name made her jump. She spun, subconsciously expecting to see the specter of Fancy Joslin, but when the sheriff walked out of the trees instead, she silently scolded herself for the fantasy.

“I’m here,” she called back, and as she started toward him, she realized she was glad to see him.

He met her at the edge of the clearing.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “I’ve been calling you for several minutes.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I suppose I was lost in thought.”

He hesitated, then touched her shoulder. “Do you know about this place?”

She hesitated, unwilling to reveal her identity to anyone. “Just what my grannie told me,” she said. “Something about some people dying up here because of a feud.” Then she turned, pointing toward the pulpit. “Isn’t that odd?”

He looked in the direction in which she was pointing, trying to decide what she meant. “Isn’t what odd?”

“That bare spot beneath the pulpit. It’s not rocky like some of the other places up here, and yet nothing grows.”

Luke sighed. What he was going to tell her would only add to the legend, yet the truth of it was there for the world to see.

“It didn’t used to be,” he said. “Story goes that after they carried away all of the bodies, the grass began to die. Supposedly, nothing has taken root there for almost thirty years.”

Catherine blanched as she spun around, looking at the place with new meaning. Unwilling for him to see how the news had upset her, she took a deep breath and turned, and for the first time since she’d walked into the woods, realized that her grandmother’s casket had been left unattended.

“We should be going. I apologize for the delay. Please lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”

A short while later they were back at the truck. Relieved that her grandmother’s casket was still intact, she ran her fingers along the fine finish on the cherry-wood casket.

“Sorry, Grannie. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” Luke said. “I didn’t think.”

Catherine shrugged. “We can both take the blame.” Then she looked—really looked—at him, appreciating the quiet grace of the man, as well as his strength. It wasn’t until she focused on his face that she found herself caught in a dark, silent gaze.

“You okay?” he asked.

Brown. His eyes are brown, just like his hair. Then she nodded. “Yes.”

He glanced at his watch. It was just after two-thirty. “You want to ride the rest of the way with me?” he asked.

The urge to do so was great, but she didn’t want to think of being isolated without convenient means of getting off the mountain.

“How much farther?”

“About a quarter of a mile.”

“I can make it.”

He didn’t bother to hide his admiration. “You’re not a quitter, are you, Catherine Fane?”

“I am the way my grandmother raised me.”

“I’m thinking she did a fine job,” he said quietly, then settled his Stetson a little more firmly on his head. “Let’s go. If you get into trouble, just honk.”

Then he got into the truck, leaving Catherine to scramble back to her vehicle, as well. Minutes later, they were in motion.

Annie Fane’s journey was almost over.