It was both asinine and infuriating that the old man actually believed his
own nonsense. A groan from the next room drew his attention. Joshua sat on the edge of the bed, his blood-shot
eyes and tousled hair giving him a wild, desperate look like the winos like his own father, pathetic bags of bones and delusion
who couldn't have told you what day it was if their lives depended upon it. That the arrogant old man had been reduced
to such a condition was encouraging as well as satisfying. He might have to stay at the camp for a long time.
He intended to weaken the old man enough to get him to loosen up the ridiculous rules so that he could come and go as he pleased.
I'll have to do something about the Stick Man though. He's probably jumping
at the chance to take over this hellhole.
He plastered on a sympathetic
smile and went in to give Joshua the rest of his juice.
"How
are you feeling this morning, Father Joshua?" he asked.
"I
don't feel so good," said the old man, putting both hands to his temple.
"You're probably just depressed about last night."
"Last
night?"
"The argument with John," he said,
improvising. "Here. Drink this and you'll feel better."
Joshua drained the glass and handed it back. "I can't remember what we were arguing about.
It doesn't seem like John to be disagreeable."
"He shouldn't
question your authority like that, Father Joshua."
"Shouldn't
question my authority," mumbled the old man. "No, uh---you know, uh---"
"You forgot my new name, Father Joshua?" asked Paget gently. "Don't you remember
what you called me last night? My new name?"
"New
name?"
Paget had looked up "Joshua" in the old
man's thick concordance to see if he could learn anything useful. Two headings intrigued him: Joshua and Moses,
which he didn't think he could use because Moses was some kind of big shot, probably more powerful than Joshua. The
other name looked better, and it was paired with Joshua several times.
"Yes.
Remember? You said I should be called Caleb."
"Caleb?
Yes, the spy."
"Spy?" blurted Paget in alarm, thinking
he had made a terrible blunder.
"He and Joshua were the only
ones who had faith to take the Promised Land from the . . . uh . . . the Canaanites."
Paget wondered if he should look up more references to this Caleb character.
"Faithful Caleb," muttered Joshua. "You will always be there when I need you,
won't you?"
"I'll be right by your side, Father Joshua---right
by your side."
"There is a friend," Joshua trailed
off sleepily.
Paget supported his head as the old man collapsed
backward. He looked down at the pathetic old geezer's slack mouth.
A prophet! he said to himself with a chuckle.
How easy it would be to put my hands around his neck right now and choke the life out of him. Then I
could find some way to drug the whole camp and strangle each of them one by one.
"Physical impossibility, Bobby Lee," he said aloud. "Besides, my hands would probably
cramp up."
He smiled.
Four hundred idiots, a pile of money, and their leader by the balls, meaning I've got the whole camp
where I want them---except for Stick Man. Need to get rid of that skinny faggot.
He patted Joshua's leg.
"Then it'll
be just you and me, old man."
The old farmhouse was in dire need of remodeling, but it already looked a lot better since the accumulated
trash and unserviceable furniture were gone. Shane heaved the last mouse-infested armchair onto a trash pile to be burned
after the first good rain. Lingering nighttime humidity coupled with a breezeless morning made his clothes sticky.
He squinted at the noonday sun and considered removing his shirt, but decided against it because he didn't know what impression
it would make on the girl.
"Dinner time," said Mrs.
Phillips, brushing back strands of gray hair from her red face. "Come in and wash up."
The old lady carefully emptied a bucket of sudsy water on the hollyhocks at the edge of the porch.
"Thank you, ma'am. I think I'm ready for a break."
"It is warm today, isn't it? I surely do appreciate you
and Sister Raven helping us out."
"Better here than
over at the sawmill. I'll bet those boys are burning up today."
Shane
was more than happy to be where he was. As he walked into the kitchen, he saw the main reason for his happiness at the
sink. The dark-haired girl wore a white T-shirt tucked into baggy jeans rolled at the ankle above sandaled feet.
"How you doing, Raven?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
"Fine. And you?" she said, making room for him at the sink.
"Tired and hungry," he said without looking directly at her.
"It's hot in here," he hazarded. "What say we eat on the
porch? It's cooler out there."
Although she didn't
particularly want his attention, she could think of no polite way to turn him down. Outside the silence was almost painful.
Shane tried to keep from looking at her too long at a time, but it was hard. He wondered why such a pretty girl didn't
have a boyfriend. At first he had thought that she was coldly superior like some girls he had known, but now she just
seemed shy and awkward, kind of like him.
Raven knew that he was
looking. She always knew. She was glad that the old couple was there.
Mr. Phillips settled heavily into one of the two serviceable chairs they had been able to salvage from the
abandoned house, breathing heavily and sweating profusely as he sipped his iced tea. Shane noticed his beet red face.
"Mr. Phillips, you'd better take it easy this afternoon," he said.
"It's awfully hot."
"That's what I've been trying
to tell the man," fretted Mrs. Phillips as she handed Shane a roast beef sandwich. "He's going to make a widow
of me if he doesn't take care of himself."
"I'll go
when my time comes, Dorothy."
"Don't tempt the Lord,"
she scolded. "Father Joshua says it's a sin not to take care of your body."
Raven, sandwich and tea in hand, looked for a place to sit, but the chairs were taken and the front
of the porch was in full sunlight.
"Let's go sit under the
tree," suggested Shane.
"Okay," she said, stepping
off the porch without waiting for him.
He followed, surreptitiously
admiring her narrow waist and the way her flaring hips moved beneath her loose-fitting jeans. He recognized what he
was feeling as lust, but told himself that it was all right because his intentions were honorable. Father Joshua taught
that God made women desirable so that the bond between the sexes would be strong physically as well as emotionally.
Admiring them was perfectly natural as long as a man's intentions were good. Letting his gaze linger too long seemed
sneaky, however, so maybe he shouldn't do it.
But she sure is
good to look at, he thought.
At first the way the women of the
camp dressed had surprised him. He had expected something along the lines of a Pentecostal dress code, women clad from
wrist to ankle with long hair held tight to their heads in buns, and no make up. They did dress modestly, some more
than others. But many wore T-shirts and mid-thigh length shorts. Raven dressed more conservatively. She
concealed herself almost like those Arab women with the veils and stuff. It pleased him however. No doubt she
was a pure woman, saving herself for her husband.
Such
a woman would be a man's most precious treasure, he thought. If I could win her---if she had kept herself pure
for me . . .
Shane decided that he did lust for her,
but it was a good kind of lust, the natural kind---the kind that resulted in children and families.
I'm getting way ahead of things.
When
they got to the shade, she sat on a tree root and looked up, her eyes making fleeting contact, and he knew that she knew he
had been staring at her. He blushed and averted his eyes. She looked up again, noticing his embarrassment.
"You were right," she said, as eager to get past the awkward moment
as he. "This is a lot cooler."
Sitting close was
impossible. Shane sat against the gnarled ruins of a large tree. Although happy to be relatively alone with her,
he found himself as tongue-tied as a self-conscious thirteen-year-old. He pretended to concentrate on the sandwich,
until she tucked back a loose twist of dark hair, and tilted her head, offering her smooth cheek and neck to the breeze coming
up from the field below.
He wished he had some bit of poetry he
could quote to impress her, and immediately felt like an idiot for even having the thought.
Lost in her own discomfort, Raven searched for a way through the awkward silence. Her eyes
drifted up to the branches of the old tree.
"What are those?"
she asked.
Shane swiveled his head, glad for the distraction.
Small fruits clung to the twigs beneath saw-toothed leaves, some purple verging on black, some white.
"Mulberries," he said as he stood to pick one and pop it into his mouth.
"What do they taste like?"
"Hard
to describe. Here."
He dropped a few into her small
hand, careful to avoid skin on skin contact.
"Don't get any
on your clothes," he warned. "They really stain."
Raven
tentatively bit down on one.
"Odd," she said.
"But not bad. I'll bet they make good jelly."
"They
used to make wine out of them, I think."
The dark purple
juice stained her lips, and he imagined her in his arms offering him those full sweet lips.
"What?" she asked, seeing his smile.
"Oh,"
he said quickly. "Look at your fingers. It's on your lips too."
Raven examined the dark stains and frowned. She delicately licked her lips, imagining she could remove
the stain. Seeing the tip of her tongue brought a twinge of longing.
She's so beautiful and wholesome, he thought, just like the woman in the Song of Solomon.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No. You just look so cute with purple lips," he stammered, coloring. "Well---not
cute. Beautiful in a . . . oh boy. What an idiot."
She frowned. He was something new to her. She had already picked up on his interest in her, and,
as unwanted as that was, she could tolerate it because he was so juvenile, so boyish and innocent. She envied him.
"Did I . . . I didn't mean to---I didn't make you mad, did I?"
She shook her head and looked away. "Don't pay attention to me,
Shane. I'm kind of messed up sometimes."
It explained
nothing, and wasn't what she meant to say. He saw her discomfort and wanted to say something to make it better, but
he couldn't think of anything. Relief came from the most unexpected quarter when they heard a rustling in the leaves
behind her. The hairs at the back of her neck prickled when she turned and saw a sleek, dark head lift up above the
grass. A small, forked tongue tasted the air, sensed her presence.
"Oh
my God!" she gasped as she scrambled away and almost into his arms.
"It's
just a black snake," he said Shane, interposing himself between her and it.
"They're harmless," he assured her. "Look at the size of him. Must be five feet
long or better."
"I don't like snakes," she said
hyperventilating.
"I'll get rid of him then," said Shane
picking up a stick.
As much as she wanted to be rid of the snake,
it sickened her that she had elicited what was about to come. He would display his manly nature by killing
it in order to impress her.
He lunged forward, but instead of
battering it to bloody pulp, he pinned the creature's head to the ground. Then he bent forward slowly and carefully
grasped it firmly just behind the head. Standing triumphantly, he held the snake at arms-length to show her. It
was male bravado, but palatable male bravado. When the writhing serpent coiled around his forearm, she shuddered
in revulsion.
"I'll just take him over there." he nodded
toward a brushy draw leading down to the woods. "Get him out of our way for awhile, but he'll be back. They're
territorial."
After releasing the snake, he tugged a sapling
from the ground, knocked the dry dirt from the roots, and broke some off.
"Sassafras,"
he said as he twisted the roots to bruise them and rubbed them on his hands. "It'll cover the smell of the snake
until I can wash."
He broke off a section of root, peeled
it, and handed it to her. Raven recognized the scent before she even brought it to her nose.
"They used to make root beer from this," she said,
"They still do."
"No. It's
a carcinogen," she said. "It can cause cancer."
"I
know what a carcinogen is," he said defensively.
Then he
blushed and laughed, shaking his head.
"I was showing off,"
he said. "Playing nature science guy, and when you called my hand on it, I got all defensive. Pretty funny,
huh?"
She looked at him without smiling, seemingly evaluating
whether he was worthy of her attention not. But rather than becoming angry, he only worried, afraid that he would fall
short.
"Did I make you mad?" he asked.
He was just like a little boy, like a little brother, she imagined. Raven
shook her head and gave him just the hint of a smile.
"How
could I be angry with a guy who tells me all about mulberry's and about sassafras and black snakes?"
"We could probably have skipped the," he said, greatly relieved.
"It gave me the creeps when it twisted around your arm like that, but I'm glad you didn't kill
it."
So I did something right, he said to himself.
The whole episode was more like a science class field trip than a romantic
encounter. Nevertheless, it began with Shane only infatuated. Now he was hopelessly in love.
"You know," he said suddenly. "This is a perfect day."
Raven was dismayed at what she had allowed to happen. It was all innocent and pleasant now,
but she knew there would be future demands.
He'll want
more. Then what? she asked herself.
Then
you tell him the truth. After that you won't have to worry about him anymore.
Canaan Camp, May 26, 11:45 AM
Paget shoved the car forward roughly along and across the sun baked, ceramic
ruts, heedless of possible damage to the undercarriage. He cursed the old man loudly and at length for his single-minded
pig-headedness. At two the old man had fallen asleep again, but not before insisting for the third day in a row that
John Campbell be brought up to see him. Although Joshua was now convinced that the Stick Man had been ignoring his summons,
Paget was uneasy about the meeting.
The combination of drugs,
starvation, and misinformation had disorganized the old man's thoughts thoroughly. Joshua didn't even know what day
it was unless Paget told him. He had finally inverted Joshua's sleep cycle at least. Currently he sedated him
at noon, woke him with a shot of the dust at eight, and then hit him with the "roofies" and alcohol whenever he
couldn't stand his hyperactivity anymore.
Bouncing roughly around
a bend in the road, he looked through the dusty windshield at the farmhouse where Campbell ought to be. A picture of
Joshua as he had left him flashed briefly into his mind. He got a kick out of the his eyes with that hot, wild, speed-freak
flit spiraling down to that cold vacant stare as the roacha took possession of the old burnout's gourd
"He'll die on me one of these days," he said as he pulled into the drive.
A girl looked up from her sweeping as he came across yard. He took in
the loose T-shirt concealing her ample rack.
Ah, Miss
Dusky, he thought. Sister Raven. The one the old faggot warned me not to defile.
He almost laughed aloud thinking of the term.
Defile, bend, spindle, and mutilate. How about that, Miss Dusky?
"Hi," he said, flashing tooth.
"Good
afternoon."
A shy smile---he knew that look. Women
were attracted by his muscular build and handsome face. They got hungry as soon as they saw him. Some of them
just hid it better than others. This one was trying hard.
"Is
John here?" he asked.
"He's out back talking with Shane
and Mr. Phillips."
"Father Joshua sent me to get him,"
he said, looking around the side of the house as if preparing to go.
"Say,
are you new here?" he asked suddenly.
"I joined the
Church over a year ago. You came here a few weeks ago, didn't you?"
It didn't surprise him that she knew. Women noticed Bobby Lee.
"I'm Cal---Brother Caleb," he said, extending his hand. "You're Sister Raven, right?"
"Yes," she said, thrown off balance by his knowledge of her name.
He held her hand, preventing her retreat. He stood too close, stared
too intently. Raven had the feeling he was about to reach out his other hand and touch her. He released her hand
but not her eyes. She tried to dismiss her fear as irrational, but her heart continued to race.
That's all in your head, she told herself. Part of your past. People
aren't like that here.
Still, she took a step back.
"Ever get bored?" he asked, still staring into her eyes.
She tried to swallow, but couldn't.
"I'll bet a pretty girl like you'd like a little excitement. This place is a little short on that,
right?"
"No," she stammered, shaking her head.
"Hey, a beautiful woman like you wasn't meant to spend her whole like
scrubbing pots and sweeping floors. Joshua says we should enjoy things. Wouldn't you like a little fun?"
As if summoned by her previous thought, he reached out to stroke her cheek.
She flinched away from his touch.
"That's not why we came
here," she stuttered. "I mean, we left all that behind us."
"No," he said authoritatively. "There's a time for work and a time for . . . well, for
everything. We aren't supposed to go around with long faces and act like we're suffering all the time.
Ask Father Joshua."
The words were true, but Raven saw their
context and knew exactly what he was driving at, and what he would do if she gave him the chance. It was all too familiar.
There was no escape from it even in Canaan Camp.
Last
year I would have just told him to go to hell, she thought.
"Of
course you're right," she began as if she were doing one side of a formal debate, "But I---"
"I could be really nice to you," he interrupted. "I could make you feel the
way a beautiful woman is supposed to feel."
It's
me. I always cause this, thought Raven on the verge of tears. It's like I'm wearing a sign, advertising.
I'm still just the whore's daughter.
But even as the
thought stole into her mind, she rebelled.
No! It's
not me! I didn't do anything to deserve this! It's him.
"Does
your silence mean ‘Okay' or ‘We'll see?'" he asked stepping closer. "If you need some time to
think it over, I can wait."
"Not now or ever!"
she said sharply. "I'm not interested in . . . anything you were talking about."
He wanted to backhand her, to kick her, to knock the frigid superiority out of her. Instead,
he plastered on what he thought was a self-deprecating smile.
"Look,
I'm really sorry. I . . . uh. This is all so new to me and sometimes the old me still takes over. Man is
both flesh and spirit, you know. The flesh took over . . . maybe because you're such a . . . beautiful, young . . .
uh . . . sister."
He thought that sounded good, especially
the part about her being beautiful. Women always liked hearing that.
"Can
we just . . . like start all over?"
Her silence convinced
him that he had salvaged the situation.
The old Bobby
Lee charm never fails, he said to himself
"We'll
just be Brother Caleb and Sister Raven. Okay?" he said, extending his hand again.
Since she could think of no way to decline, she took his hand.
"What was your last name? Or did you say?" he asked.
"Bliss," she replied, unable to keep the ice from her voice.
Paget gave her what he though was a winning smile. But Starry Dawn's daughter was familiar
with all manner of male lust. She recognized Brother Caleb at once. He was one of those men who enjoyed
forcing women to do things.
"So, maybe I'll see you later?"
he suggested.
She nodded, eager to end the conversation.
Another fake smile, and he disappeared around the house. Raven returned to sweeping the porch mechanically, but she
had been transported far away.
"I've got a little girl
just like you at home," the man said, showing yellowed teeth. "Why don't you come sit on my lap?"
Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her close. As he picked
her up, she looked pleadingly at her mother for rescue.
Starry
Dawn only smiled.
"I've got to run into town for
a minute, Sugar. This nice man will take care of you until I get back."
The sound of her mom's mufferless car faded, and the man's smile disappeared.
"What are you girl? Thirteen?"
She nodded.
"That's good---real
good."
The man only hit her once, but she wished he
had beaten her unconscious. When it was over she felt like a thing not a person.
"He doesn't belong here," she muttered as she swept furiously at the already clean
porch. "Why did he have to come? And why me? Why always me?"
Paget walked toward the high-pitched
whine of a skill-saw slicing through plywood. In the sudden silence of a finished cut, his voice startled the men working
on a small building.
"John, have you got a minute?"
Campbell looked up in surprise.
"Sure, Cal. I'm about through here. What do you need?"
Paget motioned him over, and then spoke softly so that the others wouldn't overhear.
"I'm worried about Father Joshua. He's been behaving weird lately---not
sleeping right---and he really seems out of it. You've known him longer than I have. Has he ever been like this
before?
"I've never known him to be out of it, as
you say. And as far as sleep is concerned, he's like clockwork."
"He
worries me. He's not been himself the last few days. I wish you'd come up and see him."
It had been a long time since Joshua had called for him, and John had been tempted to blame Cal for
it. Being an honest man, he recognized jealousy as the cause. Something wasn't quite right about the new man.
He couldn't understand why Joshua had taken to him so quickly. Maybe a talk with Joshua would let him discover what
was going on.
"Let's go," he said.
"No. Give me about an hour. I'll try to get him up."
"He's sleeping now? In the middle of the day?"
Paget shrugged as if he were at a loss too.
"Hey,
John. He's the boss. If he wants to sleep in the middle of the day, that's the way it is."
"There's something wrong. I'm going up there right now."
"Later, John. He'll want to shower, shave, get dressed. You've got to show him the
proper respect. I'm sure you agree."
It rankled that
the new convert should be instructing him. That Cal Hodges was right didn't make John's apparent loss of standing
any easier to take, however.
"Okay. I'll come up in
an hour."
"No. Make it two," said Paget,
unable to resist exerting his authority.
Canaan Camp 2:30 PM
"John.
It's good to see you again. Here. Sit. Sit." Joshua indicated the couch across from the armchair
in which he was sitting. "Now, where have you been keeping yourself?
"I've been busy with the new houses," said Campbell, noticing a faint sour smell as he approached
the old man. "And there's a lot to organize right now."
"You've
been too busy to come and see me?"
Joshua said it as if teasing,
but John caught the reproach behind his words.
"If I had
known you wanted to see me, I would have come up immediately."
"Is
that why you ignored my summons?"
"What summons?"
"I sent for you yesterday. And the day before. Why didn't
you at least answer?"
John looked questioningly at Paget
who, standing behind Joshua, shrugged as if to say he couldn't understand it either.
"Brother Cal came to see me today, Father Joshua. That's why I'm here."
"You should have come when I called you, John," said the old man
peevishly.
"I didn't know you wanted to see me until today?"
"You should have come!"
"You're right, Father Joshua," said Campbell, trying to find a way to break free from the old man's
looping petulance. It was beginning to remind him of arguing with a spoiled child. He wondered if Joshua had suffered
a mini-stroke or was in the first stages of senility. The possibility scared him.
Paget motioned with his head that he wanted to talk in the kitchen.
"I'm thirsty, Father Joshua," said Campbell as he headed for the kitchen. "I'll
be right back."
The odor he had noticed earlier was stronger
in the kitchen, but the sink was empty, and everything seemed to be in place. But there were stains on the counters
and dust on the floor in the corners, which was odd and disturbing. The old man was obsessive about house cleaning.
"See what I mean?" whispered Paget, coming in behind him. "He
keeps getting confused like that."
"He's never been
like this before, Cal. He's always been as sharp as a tack."
"He's
old, John."
John got ice and went to the sink, noticing with
distaste the slightly greasy feel of the improperly washed glass as he filled it. Whatever else he was, he decided,
Cal Hodges was not much of a housekeeper.
"I've been waiting
for you all morning," complained Joshua loudly. "Where are you?"
"Oh there you are," he said as Campbell and Paget came back into the living room. "Give
me an update on the new road."
"New road?" asked
Campbell in surprise. "What new road?"
"What
new road! The one I told you to have built from the south entrance up to the house here. When are you going to
get that done?"
"Father Joshua, we did that three months
ago."
The old man glared at him, or through him rather, his
eyes oddly unfocused.
"You remember when we built the road,
don't you?" John asked gently.
A look of fleeting comprehension
came and passed in Joshua's eyes. He ran the fingers of both hands through his greasy hair and sighed raggedly.
"Of course I remember the road. What are you talking about?"
"About the road. I---"
"You neglected to consult me? I'm to be consulted before you do anything new. You're usurping
your authority," the old man scolded. "I won't have it!"
"What are you---"
"Go on, John.
I don't want to---I'm very disappointed in you! Of all people, I never thought I'd have to worry about you."
"But---"
"Leave!"
shouted Joshua, pushing himself up from the chair.
He turned his
back and shuffled toward his bedroom.
John looked questioningly
at Paget, who held his finger to his lips and motioned him toward the door.
Once
on the porch, Paget affected deep concern.
"John, do you
think the old fellow is getting that Alzheimer's or something?"
Campbell
thought just that, and it filled him with concern for the Church. He wondered what would happen when Joshua was no longer
able to function. He was the second in command, so to speak, but he was no prophet.
"I don't know, Cal."
"Caleb,"
said Paget. "Father Joshua said I should be called Caleb. Caleb and Joshua were a lot alike, weren't they,
John?"
The thought suddenly occurred to Campbell that Cal
might try to succeed Joshua as leader of the Wilderness Church, which was ridiculous on several counts, not the least of which
was the fact that the Church would never follow a stranger, much less a novice.
"They were both faithful," he said, dismissing the idea.
"Well, I'll take good care of him. Maybe this is just some temporary thing."
Campbell left the house in a state of shock, not because of the ludicrous idea
that the new convert could replace Joshua, but because Joshua might have to be replaced. He wondered why he had never
thought of the possibility (make that the eventuality) before. Could the Wilderness Church survive without
Joshua? He had to have faith that it would, but he couldn't shake his deep foreboding.
Canaan Camp May 28
People of all ages milled around the bowl of the auditorium carrying trays
from the weekly potluck buffet. Joshua had initiated the tradition to engender a spirit of fraternity. He had
gotten the idea from his memories of the monthly PTA pie suppers of his rural childhood. It worked well. Canaan
had become an extended family as well as a community.
Small knots
clustered together eating and talking. Occasional peals of good-natured laughter lent a company picnic atmosphere.
Groups distributed themselves by age, the older ones congregated on the level floor in the center of the room. The ages
decreased as one went further back and higher in the amphitheater. Here and there unmarried couples sat talking quietly.
One attractive young lady sat alone, as she usually did.
"Mind
if I sit here?"
Shane stood a respectful distance away, holding
a tray and a soft drink.
"Of course," said Raven.
"I mean, of course not."
"Thanks."
He covered the silence and his feeling of ineptness by arranging his food and
drink on a fold out desktop before sitting down beside her. Shane was sure that he was making a terrible impression.
Raven was uncomfortable but ambivalent. His awkwardness portended future complications, but his basic honesty reassured
her. Every emotion he felt was either written on his face or reflected in his manner. Although she had enjoyed
few friendships, and none close, he seemed more like a friend to her than a suitor. She liked him and enjoyed his company,
and wished that she could freeze the relationship exactly where it was. But it suddenly occurred to her that she was
using him.
You're lying to him, she told herself.
Send him away. Don't let him think anything can ever happen between.
"What have they had you working on since we got the Phillips moved in?" he asked, glad
that he had finally discovering something to say.
"I've been
with the weavers."
The camp sold hand woven blankets and
other craft items on line. Along with the rough lumber from the sawmill, it brought in revenue.
"I suppose it beats working in the cannery," he said.
"Yes. Making beautiful things and supporting the Church is rewarding---or it will be when
I learn to weave."
He nodded uneasily. Knowing nothing
about weaving, he had exhausted his store of conversation material.
"What
have you been doing?" she asked.
"I'm back at the mill."
"That's a hot job this time of year, I hear."
"You heard right."
Although
he didn't know the word, the conversation seemed banal to him, and he desperately wanted to find something to talk
about that would allow them to get to know each other, but casual conversation seemed beyond his ability.
"What brought you here, Raven?" he asked finally.
She hesitated, considered telling him the truth, but then backed out. How could she tell him
about Starry Dawn? How could she tell anyone? Thankfully, the Church policy was to ask no questions about one's
former life.
"I guess I wanted to belong," she
said. "Canaan is the only place where I've ever felt like I did."
Shane wondered how such a beautiful girl could feel insecure. Before he came here, he would have said
she was hot, but no one ever said anything like that here.
"A
girl like you would fit in anywhere---anywhere where there were nice people I mean."
Raven had already said more about herself than she wanted, so she didn't respond.
"I like it here too," he said. "But I honestly don't know if I can really fit
in. I've never really fit in anywhere. I'm not like you, Raven. People don't like me."
Shane abruptly stopped, wishing he hadn't said anything.
"I like you, Shane," she said. "You're an honest person."
He tried to capture her eyes, to see if she were putting him on, but her head
was down. When she finally did look up, her large dark eyes held his for just a moment, and she smiled briefly, and
then looked away.
She could love me, he thought. She really
could really love me.
The amazing idea both elated him and filled
him with dread. He had messed up everything in his life, and he would probably mess this up too.
But Raven had already messed up.
Why
am I encouraging him? she wondered. I just want a friend, but that's not what he wants. No matter what
happens, it won't work.
A decrescendo of the noise signaled the spreading realization that Father Joshua was at the dais.
Neither Shane nor Raven had their attention completely on Joshua's opening remarks, but as with everyone else in attendance,
that would soon change.
"Tonight I will open to you the third
seal," intoned Joshua, his familiar voice not as resonant as usual, but still commanding.
"And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his
hand. And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of
barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine."
Joshua
looked blearily around the auditorium, and slammed his Bible shut. The amplified sound startled the auditorium to dead
silence as members of the congregation looked mutely at each other for explanation of their leader's uncharacteristic behavior.
"Now, any fool can tell you that this passage, the third seal, foretells
a great famine," began their prophet in something resembling his customary manner. "However, this is not a
normal famine," he shouted. "It is a contrived and world-wide famine brought about by the connivance and conspiracy
of a world organization---and there are many world organizations already---yet they are one---and many, and their name is
Legion. I have seen---and they didn't want me to see---they don't want anyone to see what they have done---that I have
seen when they didn't know that I was looking because their eyes were blinded by their own---and it was so that when they
thought to do this thing, that God decided to confound them with a great confusion and they knew it not---but being the blind
leading the blind, they all fell in the ditch---the pit, and it will be a deep, dark pit---lit only with the black fire of
Hell!"
Joshua paused to catch his breath. He couldn't
remember all that he had said, but was compelled to continue. The words coming to him were piling up behind his eyes
and demanded to be loosed before they split open his skull. The blood pounded in his temples, and he wondered what was
wrong with the air conditioning.
The stunned congregation sat
mute as each tried to understand what was happening.
"This
is a dreadful place," began Joshua again, now in a quiet voice full of despair. "It is none other than the
house of God. I speak in parables---in tongues of fire---to gain a prophet's reward. Will you receive a prophet
in a prophet's name?"
He paused puzzling over his own rhetorical
question. Staring slack-mouthed around the room, he tried to fix his gaze upon one set of eyes, any set, but his attention
wandered, his eyes spiraled, flitting from one thing to another, making him nauseous. To end his waxing vertigo he fixed
his eyes upon the open book. He peered intently, but couldn't make out a single word on the printed page.
"This famine---yes, this famine---" he began slowly as he caught
a glimmer of his retreating train of thought, "This famine commences the beginning of sorrows that herald the last times.
Already the enemy is at the gates---he will soon shut down the world economy---seeking to destroy the Church in a general
conflagration that licks its evil tongue around every precious thing in this corrupted universe---the pains of Hell will lick
into the open, festering sores that are the truths that this world trusts in!"
Now the words came in quick staccato. "Vanity of vanities---all is vanity that vain men have vainly
trusted and opened their veins that they might spill their life's blood upon the alter of this altered world---but I alone
saw and understood with a profound lack of moral courage when the evil one---in his time lack of understanding that this---this
thing is now upon us and oh, that it might pass us by without noticing where we have hid and what we have been up to."
Joshua paused for breath.
"Children,
bind up your wounds and hew the course of the battle with pride and humility lest ye fall by the wayside as wayfaring fowls
foul the air with their ways and weigh down and devour your good works---and wait for the sign in the face of the sky!"
Joshua spun away from the podium and lurched through the curtain behind the
dais.
Raven didn't know what to think except that something was
horribly wrong. She didn't know what a person would feel like when the last day arrived and the world was ending, but
she imagined it was something like the way she was felt now.
"My
Lord, what was that all about?" asked an elderly woman near her.
"Why,
he was speaking in tongues," explained her husband with calm assurance.
It took two glasses of wine laced with the roofies and nearly an hour to bring
the old man down from the PCP. Tonight's was the only church service Paget had ever enjoyed. The sight of all
those idiots squirming in their seats as they tried to rationalize the old man's crazy babbling had made him want to laugh
out loud. He remembered the shocked look of the stuck up slut while the old faggot was in full rant. Some kid
was sniffing around her. Immediately a fantasy began forming in his mind.
I'll use the roofies on both of them. She'll wake up and think her boyfriend slipped her something and
raped her while she was out.
He laughed.
She's probably so damned stupid and naive that she won't even know something happened---probably
just think she had a rash. Unless she's a virgin. She'd have to be retarded not to figure it out then.
The thought of her being a virgin excited him.
She'll be too embarrassed to say anything, but that'll be the end of it for the kid.
Paget's daydream only frustrated him.
A loud snort drew his attention to the emaciated figure on the bed.
The old man was getting a tolerance for the roofies. At first the stuff had put the old man
dead to the world for a good three and half hours. Now it took more of it, and the effects wore off quicker. Still,
the stuff was powerful enough to cause total amnesia.
It would
be a shame to use that on you, Raven Bliss. Bobby Lee wants you to know what's happening to you, and to remember it
for the rest of your life, which may not be too damned long.
He
went in the bedroom and stood over the old man, listening to him snore. Experimentally he placed his hand over Joshua's
mouth. The old man tried to turn his head, and his eyes flickered, but didn't open. Paget released him and turned
the light off. He stood in the doorway, looking at the unconscious figure lying fully clothed on top the covers.
He went back and placed his hand over Joshua's mouth again. The old man twisted away, groaning a muffled protest.
Paget grabbed Joshua's wrists, pinned them at his side, and jumped up onto the bed to straddle him.
Joshua's eyes opened, making him think for just a moment that the drug hadn't taken effect.
He pressed his right hand over Joshua's mouth again, and then pinched shut his nostrils with the other. The old man's
feeble attempts to twist away quickly subsided to nothing. The temptation to finish him off was intense, but Bobby Lee
reminded himself that he was only experimenting. In the morning he'd find out if the drug really produced total
amnesia as everyone said.
When the old man's struggles had ceased,
Paget released him. Climbing off the bed, he went to flip on the lights. The old man's eyes were closed which
was good, because he wasn't much use dead. His face was bright red, and he was breathing raggedly.
"Since you're still alive, I better get you ready for bed, Old Faggot."
He roughly stripped off the old man's clothes, then yanked the covers out from under him, and threw
them carelessly over him, before going to the kitchen for a drink of the sickening sweet wine the old man preferred.
"My luck to be stuck with a wino," he grumbled.
He momentarily considered the PCP.
"No.
That screws up your head too much."
He looked at the kitchen
clock.
"Only four!" he snorted in disgust. "They're
gonna kill you with boredom, Bobby Lee."
If I could
get Miss Dusky to come up here, I wouldn't be bored.
He
really wanted her.
I ought to go get her---tell her Joshua
needs her.
But she was in the barracks with all the other
single women.
If I ran this place, I'd make me up a few rules,
take me a few perks. Old Joshua could get just about anything he wanted with this flock of sheep. Just find him
some verse he could twist around---he does that anyway. I'll bet half the little lambs here would fall all over themselves
to service the old boy.
He laughed as he thought again of
Joshua's incoherent raving. At first, he was alarmed, afraid that he'd blown it. After all, if Joshua lost the
confidence of the people, then he might lose his hiding place. But, in the end, it hadn't mattered. If the idiots
had followed the old man out here to the middle of nowhere, then they'd accept anything he said or did.
"Damned lunatics!" he said as he drained the glass of awful-tasting wine.
He couldn't get his mind off Miss Dusky. He wanted her tonight, but that
was out of the question unless he came up with a damned good plan. He thought about it awhile, but inspiration refused
to strike. Seriously aroused by imagining what the girl would look, sound, and feel like, he decided that he needed
relief. Clearly, none was available at the camp, at least not tonight. He went to the bedroom to get the car keys.
He drove out past
the barn where he had watched the teenagers making out when he had first come to the camp. Then took the back road past
bus graveyard on out to the highway. By dusk he was prowling the streets of Springfield.
He had found what he needed downtown when it leaned into the car window to flash its wares.
He agreed to a ridiculous price because it reminded him, until it opened its mouth, of Miss Dusky. Price didn't matter
anyway, because he wasn't going to pay.
It had a specific motel
in mind like always. Paget tried to think of it as "she," which would have worked because it looked the part:
small, dark-haired, full-figured, and fine featured. But as soon as it got in the car he realized his foolishness.
It smoked. It talked incessantly. But, worst of all, it plied its trade with a combination of nonchalance and
aggressiveness that was a total turn-off.
When he tried to salvage
the situation by offering it liquor (with a roofie kicker, of course) it refused, and he lost it. He jerked the car
into a parking lot in the warehouse district. Sensing danger, it yanked open the door and almost got away. He
used his fists to silence it. Then it started begging, which got on his nerves, so he used his fists some more.
After checking to see that no one was near, he dragged the unconscious prostitute out and dumped her into the trunk.
Outside of Springfield, he found a suitable spot to do what he had set out
to do, but it turned out just as unsatisfying as he knew it would be. It sensed its danger and began apologizing, which
further infuriated him so he hit it until it was unconscious.
Why
is it so hard to find a decent whore? he asked himself as he studied the filthy thing lying unconscious on the passenger'
seat.
As he laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea,
headlights glared blindly in the rearview. He hastily pushed the prostitute down out of sight just as the car stopped
beside him.
"Problems?" asked a male voice from the
idling car.
Paget smiled thinking that the cop was as lazy as
most of them, and wouldn't get out of the car.
"Not if this
is Highway 60," he improvised. "I haven't seen a sign in awhile, so I pulled off to consult a map. Unfortunately
I don't have one."
"You're on 60 all right," said
the man. "Just about twenty miles east of Mansfield."
"Well
that's a relief," said Paget as he turned the ignition.
"Glad
to set your mind at ease. You keep her under the speed limit and between the ditches, you hear."
"Yes, sir. Thanks, officer."
When
the car pulled away he saw the lights on the roof and the county insignia. Luckily the whore had been out cold, but
then she moaned, coming around. He pulled onto a secondary road and turned into the driveway of a house set far back
from the road and cut the engine. He cut the lights, set the parking break, pocketed the keys, and got out.
He pulled it from the car and finished it off. When he was through he
knelt over it, flexed his cramping fingers and catching his breath as he contemplated leaving it where it lay.
Not smart, he said to himself. The county Mounty had
to have run the plates, so I can't leave this garbage here.
He
went back and popped the trunk.
"You're no end of trouble,"
he said as he hefted the dead weight.
He threw it into the trunk
crookedly, and one leg refused to bend far enough to be forced inside. Paget grabbed a handful of hair and pulled the
body over so that he could get the foot inside. He picked up the clothing and checked the ground to make sure that he
was leaving nothing that could be identified. Satisfied, he tossed the clothes atop the body and slammed the deck lid.
The reception
at the college had run long and Jill was already late coming home when the fuel warning sounded. Rather than go back
to Whalen's where they normally did business, she stopped at the station out on the highway. Having forgotten her phone
again, she couldn't even call Richard to let him know that she was okay. Dressed as she was, she would have preferred
full service, but she and Richard couldn't afford such luxury. Now the gas cap wouldn't turn. She bent down to
see if it had been put on crookedly.
"Something wrong, ma'am?"
She looked up to see a muscular man using the other side of the pump.
He had a nice smile.
"My gas cap seems to be jammed,"
she said.
"Jammed?" He came around the pump.
"Let me see."
He twisted the cap off with seeming ease.
"There we go," he said. "That thing was
really on there. You could have sprained your wrist. Fill her up?"
"Yes. Thank you," she said.
He
left the nozzle running and went back to tend to his own car.
"Go
on in and pay. I'll hang it up for you," he said over his shoulder.
"That is very nice of you," she said.
She
didn't notice the attention he paid to her as he watched her picking her way carefully across the crack fissured pavement
on high heels. She paid inside and went out to thank him, but didn't see him. As she got into her car, however,
he suddenly appeared and tapped on her window.
"Excuse me,
ma'am." His face showed both concern and reticence. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the tire
over on the other side is kind of low."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Come take a look."
Jill got out and went around to see. As she bent to look at the tire, she missed where the
man directed his gaze.
"Oh no. It's almost flat,"
she said.
He knelt beside her and inclined his head.
"I don't hear anything," he said, looking up at her. "It's
probably a slow leak. Do you have far to go?"
"Not
far," she said vaguely, leery of giving out information to a stranger.
"Pull
over to the air and I'll fill it up for you."
"You don't
need to do that. I know how."
"Yeah, but you're
not exactly dressed for it. I'd hate to see you get grease or brake dust on your dress. By the way, it really
looks elegant on you, Miss---"
"Mrs. Carter,"
she corrected, wanting to establish her marital status quickly, as much for his sake as hers.
"You're a college girl, aren't you?"
"You
may have seen me there, but I teach at the college."
"Wow.
You must be really smart."
Jill had yet to find an appropriate
response for such awkward comments.
"That is nice of you
to say," she said. "I will drive the car over and accept your generous offer."
Jill pulled the car over and got out to stand beside him while he aired up the tire because it seemed
rude to sit in the car while he was doing her a favor. When he finished, she smiled to show her appreciation.
"Well, thank you again."
"Well, us husbands have to stick together and take care of the ladies," he said, walking toward
the store. "Could you hold on a just a minute before you leave," he said over his shoulder.
"I am kind of in a hurry. My husband will be worried."
"I'll be just a second."
Jill
stood uncertainly, now uncomfortable with his extended attention. She had done all the right things: established
that she was married, kept her distance, and been courteous, but reserved. Now it was time to end the encounter.
She got in and started the engine, but couldn't leave until he came back.
He
finally emerged carrying a small plastic bag.
"Got some fix-a-flat,"
he said. "Now if your tire goes down on the way home, we'll just fill it up again."
She shook her head and frowned at the use of "we."
"Oh," he said closing his eyes as if he suddenly realized that he'd made a blunder. "It
hasn't been that long since that guy was supposed to be around here. You're right to be careful. Here."
He handed her the bag. "Know how to use it?"
"Yes,"
she said, opening her purse. "How much did it cost?"
"No
need for that. Just do something nice for someone else when you get a chance. I don't suppose I could see you
home safely---I mean we can't do that under the circumstances, can we?"
"I'm
afraid not," she said. "I hope you're not offended."
He'd be in his car, and I'd be in mine, she thought, almost changing her mind.
"My husband will really appreciate all you've done. He's a deputy
sheriff."
"Really? Those guys never get
the thanks they deserve. I'm glad I could help out his lady."
Jill's
worry about the tire lessened the further she went without feeling any change in the way the car was riding. By the
time she was half way home, well beyond the lights of town, she was busily planning her next teaching day. Then she
noticed the lights in her rearview and worried that the man had followed her after all. Soon she was almost convinced
that there was nothing wrong with her tire and that the man had tried to use it as a ruse to follow her.
He could have let the air out while I was in the station.
She frowned at the following headlights, and briefly considered circling back to town instead of
going home where Richard might or might not be waiting.
Relax.
He was just a nice guy. She told herself. He's married and just trying to take care of me the way Richard
would do in his place.
In fact it was just the sort
of thing Richard would do.
She stopped by the mailbox out on the
road instead of driving on up to the house.
The car that had been
behind her drove by without slowing, and she breathed a sigh of relief. When she turned in the drive, however, Richard's
car wasn't there.
She was putting water on for tea when she heard the front door rattle. She stiffened, looking toward
the door leading down to the basement. Richard's other pistol was in the bedroom, but she would have to go through the
living room to get there.
"Sorry I'm late," Richard
called as he came in.
She composed herself, and went to give him
a hug.
"How was your day, Dear?" she asked.
"Fine. Yours?"
"I had a little mishap actually," she said. "Well, not a mishap. I almost ran out
of gas on the way back from the reception---I know you've told me about that. Anyway, while I was filling it up I discovered
that one of my tires had lost air. I had to have it aired up at the station. A nice man noticed it or I could
have had a flat on the way home."
"Probably a slow leak,"
he said. "I'll take care of it in the morning."
Still
a little unnerved, she kissed him. It felt good to have his arms around her.
"The man reminded me of you," she said.
"You
mean tall, dark, and handsome?" he said, spinning her around playfully.
"That
too, only not so tall, dark, or handsome. He was just glad to help a damsel in distress."
"Dressed like that you should never have a problem attracting rescuers," he joked as he
slid his hands down her back.
"And there's the problem,"
she said seriously. "Men don't seem to see wedding bands. Are men just blind?"
"Well if they were blind you wouldn't have that problem, would you? I'll bet you just
hate all that unwanted attention."
"If you're
joking it isn't funny. And if you're not I'm going to be really angry."
It was one of those times he was tempted to use the old "You're cute when you're angry" line, but
with Jill, that was a non-starter.
"So was there something
more to this guy than you already told me. Did he bother you?
"No.
He was very nice actually, a lot like you on your good days."
"On
my good days!" He startled her by picking her up suddenly.
"What
are you doing? Put me down," she said giggling like a teenager.
"Depends
on how much cooperation I get."
"I will go along peaceably
officer. I promise," she said, looping her arms around his neck.
The end of an unnamed logging trail in Mark Twain Forest, 4:15
AM
It angered him to have to bring the body back
to Hawthorn County to get rid of it, but because the nosey deputy sheriff had probably run his plates, he had to find a safe
place to dump it. Pale Babe had been different. He'd had to take her and he did. Now she belonged
to him. Even now the urge to visit her was almost irresistible, but he didn't have time because of the whore in the
trunk.
"Wish I'd run into Sweet Teach earlier tonight,"
he said, beginning to daydream about returning to the drive where she pulled in. "Deputies spend a lot of time
away from home."
At last he had found the perfect place for
the whore, an illegal dump. He started to throw her clothes onto the mound, but thought better of it on the off chance
that they could be used to identify her and somehow connect him. Who knew if one of her whore friends might be able
to identify his car?
Use a rock for weight and sink
them in that lake I passed, he thought as he dragged the body from the trunk and hoisted it across his shoulder.
He tossed it so that she landed on its back, head facing him.
"Piece
of trash," he spat in disgust. "Perfect place for you."
Canaan Camp, June 1, 11:00 AM
This
place is a pigsty, thought Paget. Stinks. But I'll be damned if I clean up the old man's mess. Woman's
work. I'll get one of them up take care of it, maybe Miss Dusky.
Frustrated because of the way the whore had turned out, he began fantasizing. The ingredients were in
place: a strung out old man dead to the world, a girl, and the roofies.
Bobby Lee has the means, the motive, and opportunity, he said to himself. Why not make it happen?
Come on, Miss Dusky. I've got something you can help me with.
He
left the old man and drove down to the house where he'd last seen her. He didn't see her, but the kid she was with at
the church service was there tending the smoldering remains of a fire near the road. When he rolled down the window
the kid came over.
"Father Joshua sent me to get Sister Raven.
The two of us aren't very good housekeepers, I'm afraid. Father Joshua thought the place could stand a woman's touch
and he thinks very highly of the young sister Is she here?"
"No,"
said Shane. "She's working over with the weavers."
Paget
had no idea where the damned Weaver family lived. He wanted the girl and the house had to be cleaned up. He momentarily
flashed on the idea of leaving the camp to pay Sweet Teach a visit. Then he remembered that she was probably at the
college.
"I'm about through here," said Shane.
"This fire ain't going nowhere, so I could lend you a hand. Let me tell the Philips that I'm going with you, if
that's okay."
"Sure," said Paget.
He sneered his contempt as soon as Shane's back was turned.
Now I get why she let's you hang around her. She can control a wimp like you. It probably
makes her feel real powerful to make you jump through hoops.
On
the way back to the house, he asked Shane why he had come to Canaan---not that he gave a damn except that he couldn't imagine
anyone voluntarily incarcerating themselves in such a place. He only asked because he figured it was what would be expected
from a leader of the church.
"Things weren't going so good
for me, and I just sort of wandered in. I'm glad I did, though."
"What
wasn't going so good?" asked Paget, hoping to eventually bring the conversation around Miss Dusky.
"I messed up at school and . . . I got a GED and started college. That didn't work out
either."
"Got yourself kicked out of high school, huh?
What did you do?"
"I got in with some guys and . . .
well, I don't want to go into it, but got sent to a juvenile center for awhile."
Shane paused. Confession was supposed to be good for you, but he didn't want people to know that he
had been accused of trying to burn down his high school. He hadn't, but he was with the boys that did, so legally it
was the same thing."
"Juvenile detention," he said.
"I been through that too. It ain't what people think, is it? I mean it ain't no boys' club."
"No. It wasn't much fun, but I . . . brought it on myself.
I deserved it."
Paget sized Shane up, imagining him in the
detention center.
The experienced ones would eat you
alive, he thought. They'd start with a humiliating nickname and go on from there.
"If your experience in there was anything like mine, you didn't deserve
what happened to you. For me, the worst part was the niggers."
Shane
burned with shame remembering his constant fear of the inner city kids. He hadn't been the least bit racist before he
went to the Sears Center, and he didn't consider himself a racist now. He would never mistreat anyone just because of
the color of his skin. But in Sears he learned that black kids and the white kids were not the same---at least
those kids weren't. A simmering hatred stirred. He told himself that he hated their ways, not the kids
themselves. He had no desire for revenge even if he had the chance to take it, but he couldn't bring himself to forgive
them for how they made him feel.
Noticing the kid's silence, Paget
knew he had guessed right.
Got gang-banged by the "brothers,"
did you? Still, you're enough of a man to go after Miss Dusky.
"Things got a way of working out though, don't they," he said as they pulled up to the
house. "I mean, we both found us a family now, and you're hooked up with the prettiest girl in the camp."
Shane wasn't "hooked up" with Raven, although he hoped to be, and
he didn't want to talk about her with another guy because that was kid stuff and disrespectful.
The place on the hill looked just the way it should coming up, but as soon as the door was open a
stale smell caused Shane to wrinkle his nose.
"Like I told
you, me and Father Joshua ain't real good housekeepers. Tell you what. You clean up in here and in the kitchen,
and I'll go work in the bedrooms. We've got to be real quiet though. Father Joshua is still asleep."
"At this time of day? Is he sick?"
"Stomach flu. I was up with him all night. He wore himself out puking. That's
why the house smells so bad."
While Shane cleaned up the living room, kitchen, and bathroom, Paget went into his bedroom and locked
the door. Without removing his shoes, he reclined on the bed and thumbed through his magazines, getting quickly bored
at the fake poses. The women were all whores. He could tell by the hard-edged look in their eyes. They all
looked that way, but more so after he had seen them a few times.
Got
to get some new ones, he told himself before falling off to sleep.
He awoke at three-thirty, and went to the kitchen.
"Good
work, Shane," he said. "Looks like you're about done in here. I got my stuff finished too."
He poured a glass of wine for the old man, placed a roofie in a teaspoon, and
used another spoon to mash it up before stirring it into the wine.
"What
are you doing?" asked Shane.
"Oh . . . the old . . .
Father Joshua has trouble swallowing pills, and he says this stuff really tastes bad. He can stomach it this way."
"Man, you work quiet," said Shane. "I didn't hear a thing."
"I'm getting pretty good at that. Can't run a vacuum cleaner because
it'll wake up Joshua. We got one of these little hand-push jobs. Takes longer, but the old man needs his sleep.
I dusted, made the beds, folded and put away clothes---even washed the windows."
"The place was so quiet that I worried I was making too much noise just letting the sink drain,"
said Shane, as he walked over to the stove. "I made some coffee. Want a cup?"
"After I give Father Joshua his medicine."
As he sat at the table, its surface clean for
the first time in weeks, Paget decided it had been a good idea to bring the kid up. It would have been more entertaining
to get the girl, but then again chances were she wouldn't have got much cleaning done once she got a good look at Bobby Lee.
He wondered how having her assigned as live in housekeeper would fly with the flock.
"Tell me about your girlfriend," he said.
"She's
nice," said Shane, not really wanting to talk about her.
"How
serious is it between you two?" asked Paget, wondering if the kid had tried to get in her pants yet.
"Sort of serious, at least on my part." Shane laughed self-consciously.
"What's wrong?" asked Paget with a fixed grin.
Shane shook his head.
"Come on.
It's just us guys," urged Paget. "I'm older than you---maybe had a little more experience. I'm not bragging
or anything, but I used to be pretty good with the ladies. Maybe I could help you out."
There was something about Raven that Shane didn't understand. After hesitating, he decided
it wouldn't hurt to mention it as long as he didn't get too specific.
"Maybe
she's just shy, but sometimes she gets . . . I don't know . . . standoffish. Maybe that's not the right word.
It's like things are moving along and then . . . she kind of pulls back."
Shane wasn't referring to her physically pulling back. They hadn't been physical---hadn't even held
hands. What he was talking about was something that Paget wouldn't have understood, couldn't even imagine. He
had no idea that the man he was confiding in had absolutely nothing in common with him.
She's teasing him, thought Paget. They all do that if you let them get away
with it.
"Women have got to be shown sometimes,"
he said. "Talk isn't always enough."
"What
do you mean?"
"It's a game. Maybe you don't know
the rules. Look. You're probably trying to be like understanding and patient because you don't want to rush her,
right?"
Shane nodded.
"There you go. You're confusing her. She wants to get more physical, but being a
good woman and all, she can't make the first move."
"Physical?"
Shane shook his head. It was exactly what she seemed to be trying to avoid. Then again, he had never been able
to figure women out.
"She wants you to do something to show
her how you feel, you know, a touch, a hug, a kiss. You ain't careful, you're going to blow it."
"I don't know," said Shane doubtfully.
"Hey.
How's she gonna know how you feel unless you show her."
Shane
frowned. It sounded logical, and as inexperienced as he was, maybe the older man was right.
"Did you ever think that you might be making her feel undesirable? Women don't like that."
"That's ridiculous. You said yourself that she was the prettiest
girl in the camp."
Paget shrugged. "Women are
different---I mean weird different. You ever hear of a guy doing that anorexia thing. Half the time it's
the real pretty ones the kill themselves like that, all because they can't see what they really look like."
"I don't know," said Shane, still not convinced.
"Well, I do. I've seen the way that girl looks at you."
"You have?"
"Take it from
me. All you gotta do is encourage her. Show her you how you feel and before you know it, she'll be right where
you want her."
