Canaan Camp

Chapter Ten

The Dump Site

 A Service Station in Blue Creek        

          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 ‘er 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?"

109.

                   "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."

           "Nah, 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?"

110.

                   "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.

112.

                   "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.

113.

                 "Piece of trash," he spat in disgust.  "Perfect place for you."

 

Canaan, June 1

          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.

          Still frustrated because of the way the whore had turned out, he had been fantasizing ever since.  The ingredients were intriguing:  a strung out old man dead to the world, a girl, and the roofies.

          Bobby Lee has the means, the motive, and just maybe the opportunity, he said to himself.  Why not?  Let's make it happen.

          He left the old man sleeping, and drove down to the house where he'd last seen her.  He stopped beside the smoldering remains of a fire near the road and rolled down the window.  The kid tending the fire was the one she was with at the church service.  He came over to the car.

           "Hi," said Paget.  "Father Joshua sent me to get Sister Raven.  Is she working in the house?"

           "No," said Shane.  "She's working over with the weavers."

          Paget had no idea where the Weaver family lived.

          Still got to get the damned house cleaned up, he thought, trying to hide his frustration.

           "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." 

           "I'm about through here, and this fire ain't going nowhere so if you need help, I could lend a hand.  Let me tell the Philips that I'm going with you if that's okay."

           "Sure," said Paget, thinking that he would at least get the place cleaned up.

          He sneered his contempt as soon as Shane's back was turned.

          Now I get it.  She can control a wimp like you.  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.  He couldn't imagine why anyone would voluntarily incarcerate themselves in such a place.  He only asked because he figured it was what would be expected from a leader of the church.

114.

                   "Things weren't going so good for me, and I just sort of wandered in.  I'm glad I did, though."

           "What sort of things weren't going so good for you?" asked Paget, hoping to eventually bring the conversation around Miss Dusky.

           "I messed up at school and had to drop out.  I got a GED and started college, but it didn't work out."

           "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 tried to burn down his high school.  He hadn't, but he was with the boys that did, so legally it was the same thing.  Although he didn't know it, he had raised himself in Paget's estimation.

           "Juvenile," he said.  "I know what you been through.  I spent me some time in one of them places too."

           "You did?"

           "Yeah.  It ain't what people think, is it?  I mean it ain't no boys' club."

          Shane shook his head slowly.  "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 all of it." 

          Shane still burned with shame remembering his constant fear of the inner city kids.   

           "For me, the worst part was the niggers," said Paget.

          Shane hadn't been the least bit racist before he went to the Sears Center, and he didn't consider himself one now because he would never mistreat anyone just because of the color of his skin.  But in Sears he learned that black kids were not the same as white kids---at least those kids weren't.  When he thought about what he had been through, a simmering hatred stirred him.  He told himself that he hated their ways, not the kids themselves.  He wouldn't take revenge even if he had the chance, but he could not bring himself to really forgive them.

          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 him to wrinkled 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.  Got to be real quiet though.  Joshua's asleep."

115.

                   "Asleep?  Is he sick?"

           "Yeah.  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.

           "Good work, Shane," he said with a yawn as he passed the kid on the way to the kitchen.  "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 mashed 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."

           "How in the world did you work so quietly in there?" asked Shane.  "I didn't hear a thing."

           "Yeah.  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?"

           "Yeah, thanks.  Just let me go 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 better 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.

      116.

                           "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."

           "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 their 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."

117.

                   "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.  You ever hear of a guy doing that anorexia thing.  Half the time it's the real pretty ones the kill thenselves 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."

 

June 2, Mark Twain Forest

          Carrie Randolph clung to the twelve-year-old wild trying to impress her and she was getting seriously ticked off.

           "Slow down!" she yelled against the wind whipping her long hair back along her hunched shoulders.

          Instead, Scott screwed the grips forward, sending the ATV over an exposed lump of bedrock.  The engine screamed as they went airborne.  They hit with the wheel turned and careened off the trail into the underbrush, by sheer luck avoiding a head on with a tree, and skidded to a halt in head high saplings.

           "You're an idiot!" she yelled as she jumped from the four-wheeler and unsnapped her chinstrap.  "You almost got us killed!"

           "I knew what I was doing," said the freckle-faced imp, grinning widely.  "Had her under control all the way."

          She brushed dust from her pant legs.  "I ought to break your scrawny neck, you little geek."

           "What's wrong, Carrie?  You get scared?"

           "Of course I got scared.  I knew I shouldn't let you drive.  Now get off.  I'm driving back."

118.

                  "Aw, come on," he said, reluctantly getting off.  "I'll take it easy on the way home.  I promise."

          Carrie frowned down at him.  The last year's growth spurt had put her a head taller than the next-door neighbor with whom she been almost inseparable buddies since they were toddlers.  Being nearly the same size and always together, people were always taking them for twins, until the last year when time and hormones had stepped in to stretch her toward maturity in both stature and temperament, leaving Scott behind in prepubescent inferiority.

           "You promised," he whined.

          Vaguely, Carrie understood the reason for his reckless bravado.

           "You promised too," she reminded him as she straddled the ATV.  "Now get on."

           "Okay, grandma," he grumbled.  "Let's putt-putt back."

          She circled back toward the trail, picking her way carefully between the tangled branches of downed trees and a pile of tattered garbage bags someone had decided to donate to the park service.  The stench of something dead wafted their way, causing her to wrinkle her nose.

           "Somebody ran over a snake," suggested Scott.

          Carrie looked disapprovingly toward the pile of garbage bags.

           "No it's the garbage," she said.  "It really ticks me off that people did stuff like that."

          Intent on negotiating her new ATV safely through the brush without scratching it, Carrie failed to see what lay sprawled atop the pile.

           "Damn!  Look at that!" said Scott.  "It's a person.  Carrie!  There's a woman laying over there."

           "Don't be ridiculous," she said, thinking that he was trying some silly ploy to get to drive again.

           "I'm serious.  I think she's dead."

          Carrie still didn't believe him, but when she looked where he was pointing her mouth dropped open.  She shut down the four-wheeler.  What she was seeing couldn't be real.  In a daze, she eased forward, Scott close behind.  The thing that couldn't be a woman sprawled upside down, arms trailing downhill, one leg hooked over a burst trash bag.  The head was turned to the left, dark hair masking the face and sparing the children the worst.

           "Damn!" said Scott again.

          Despite the heat of the day, small nape hairs prickled on Carries neck.  She suddenly felt sure that they were being watched.

          The buzzing flies and a change in the wind carried the stench their way, and she thought she would throw up.

119.

                  "We've got to tell someone," she gasped.

          Scott silently nodded.  Like her, he couldn't take his eyes from the thing.

As if obeying an unheard signal, the two of them sprinted for the ATV heedless of the saplings slapping them as they ran.  Carrie got the engine running quickly, and soon they were tearing down the logging road at full throttle, flying over obstacles and skidding through the curves, heedless of safety.

 

           "It's right up here," said the prematurely balding man hunched forward on the seat beside him.  "Take the left fork," he continued, choking down a dry swallow.  "Right up there at that trash pile."

          Richard stopped his cruiser well back of the site.

           "Maybe you should come up and show me, Mr. Randolph," he said.

           "No.  I'm not going up there again."  The man's face was pale, his lips clamped together.  "Once was enough."

 

          When he got within easy view of the trash mound, Richard stopped to survey the trail leading up.  The rock-hard, leaf covered ground left no chance of tire marks or foot prints, but he determined to err on the side of caution by going around and coming at it from the other side.  He circling uphill to the left and came in from the upwind side, although there was little in the way of breeze.  A cloud of gnats caught him in the brush and worried at his eyes as he made his way slowly down, trying to disturb the ground as little as possible.

          At fifteen feet he stopped to examine the scene before approaching.  The body was that of a woman, unquestionably dead, and she had been for some time.  There was no hurry.  He backtracked to the cruiser where Randolph was waiting, and called it in.

           "We'll just wait here until the team arrives," he told the fidgety man.

           "Can we sit in the car and run the AC," asked the man sheepishly.  "I don't feel so good."

120.

                  "I don't feel so good either," said Richard.

 

          Chief Deputy Henry Rollins was in nominal charge, but funeral home owner, Clarence Greer, the perennially elected coroner, ran things.  A young deputy took the scene photos as directed and acted as general gofer.  Richard's sole contribution had been to string the crime scene tape from tree to tree marking a large, arbitrarily dimensioned boundary of the dumpsite.  He had also run Randolph back home as soon as the others had arrived to take charge of the crime scene.

          Now he sat on the hood of his car, ready to sign in anyone else who might have a legitimate reason to enter the scene.  A second cruiser sat at the entrance to the trail, turning away all but official traffic.  He observed the "crime team" with interest as they worked carefully through the scene:  pictures first, panoramic shots were taken from all sides, getting not just the scene itself, but the setting; then increasingly tighter shots, working toward the body, but not before the ground was thoroughly searched for physical evidence.  To an untrained observer the process might seem maddeningly slow, but Richard was favorably impressed.  Collecting evidence in situ was not something one got a second shot at.

          After bagging the hands, Greer examined the front of the body minutely, and then had the deputy help him turn the body over.  Richard could hear Greer's deep bass as he spoke into a tape recorder as he made his initial examination, but he couldn't make out the words.  The coroner then motioned for another set of close-ups.

At five-thirty dappled sunlight glinted from the chrome of the impeccably polished black hearse as it slowly rolled down the logging road, carrying the unknown woman back to town for the final, but necessary indignity of an autopsy.  Richard and three other deputies loaded the bagged trash bags and loose trash of the illegal dump into a van to be taken back for closer examination.

          Richard finally was allowed to help when they did a detailed search outward from the dumpsite.  In slowly expanding circles, they scoured the underbrush, photographing, bagging, tagging, and mapping every man-made item they found from chewing gum wrappers to a used condom.  They reached the crime scene tape over an hour later without finding anything that didn't appear to be weathered and old.  Rollins sent Richard and two of the others back down the road to search either side of the trail for, in his words, "as far out as a guy could throw something from a car."

          As they started down the logging road, Richard heard the battery powered leaf blower.  The immediate area of the dumpsite was being cleared of leaves and debris for one last shot at finding something the killer may have left behind.  By dark they had concluded that the only thing the killer had left was the body itself. 

Richard thought about it on the way back to town.

          He either left the clothes at the murder scene or took them with him, and he left nothing at the dumpsite.  Stripping the body could have been an attempt to make identification difficult.  It didn't necessarily take a lot of planning or expertise, so maybe he was just careful rather than experienced.

          They might recover DNA at the autopsy.  Dental records would be the best bet for identification, which in turn would be the best bet at finding out who murdered her.

Maybe where the body was found is the best clue.  The killer was probably familiar with the forest trail, which makes him a local.  If the woman turns out to be a local also, then we'll probably have a tentative list of suspects.

          Because of the time frame, and because the dumpsite had been a classic stranger killer scene, Richard's mind naturally turned to Bobby Lee Paget, but the man was assumed to still be in the Fayetteville area, almost two hundred miles away. 

If he killed her and if she was local, then it's a good bet that he's hiding somewhere in or near Hawthorn County.  When we identify her it might give us a good idea of where he's staying.

 

          As he was going up the marble steps of "The Greentop," as the county courthouse was called, he got an idea.  He was just a road deputy, not part of the criminal investigation team, but he didn't think making a suggestion was out of order.

 121.

                   "Sheriff," he said as he came into the office.  "How about looking at some of the other trails out there?"

           "Why?"

           "Well the killer may have left the victims clothes or maybe there's another body or something."

           "I'd think about it if we had other missing people," said his boss without looking up from his paperwork.  "But we don't and we don't have the manpower anyway.  This is probably going to be a lot simpler than it looks right now.  When we find out who that woman is and talk to the people that knew her, we'll probably find out who killer is.  That's the way it really works.  Most detectives don't detect anything but what someone tells them."

          Shug Shively winced at his own condescension.  Richard was new to the department, but he wasn't a kid.

           "I know you want to be involved in the investigation.  I would be too in your place."  Shug smiled mischievously.  "I ought to give you the assignment you're asking for just to teach you a lesson."

           "I'd like to do it if you don't mind.  I mean, it wouldn't hurt to check, would it?"

           "Do you have any idea how many miles of those trails there are?"

           "I could start on the trails closest to dumpsite."

           "You have other things to do."

           "Mind if I look on my own time?"

           "Suit yourself, Carter.  You're wasting your time, but it's yours and not the county's so go ahead.  Mind you ask permission if you go through private property though."

 

Canaan Camp, that evening

          Dusk gathered beneath the row of rock maples lining the lane.  The sun lay low, half screened by trees while a large thunderstorm grumbled diminishing threats as it rained itself out south of the camp.  Cool, moist air swept from it in a backdraft, rustling leaves and softening the late afternoon heat with dwindling gusts.

          Raven thrust back a stray strand of hair.  Shane was walking her back to the women's barracks.

           "Bet they really appreciated storms in the old days---you know, when they first settled out here," he said.

122.

                  "I imagine," she said, marveling at the fact that she was actually beginning to feel comfortable when he was near.

          She admired Father Joshua, and she liked old Mr. Phillips, but both were sort of father figures and therefore safe while Shane was her age and obviously liked her.  His self-conscious desire to please her, his clumsy attempts at humor, and his general awkwardness might make other people uncomfortable, but they allowed her to relax in his presence and forget whatever sexual interest he might have.  She felt safe with him because Shane seemed totally incapable of forcing anything on her.

           "I wish we were living back then," he said, squinting out across the field where a softball game was still in progress despite the fading light.  "Back when the land was new."

          He's already thinking of us as "we!", she said to herself, trying to brush away tingling apprehension.

           "Not me," she said.  "Life was hard, especially for women.  No electricity, no modern medicines.  There was so much that they just didn't know."

           "Maybe we'd be better off if there were a few more things we didn't know."

           "Ignorance is only bliss until it ends."

           "Like not knowing you're falling until you hit the ground, huh?"

           "Something like that," she said with a laugh.

          It was music to him.

           "You've got a wonderful laugh?" he said earnestly.

           "Thank you," she said, looking away as her smile faded as she thought, Please, Shane.  Don't.

          Shane saw that she was withdrawing like she always did.  He moved forward uncertainly, as he thought of Brother Caleb's advice about showing her how he felt.

Raven's tension ratcheted up and fed on itself, but she forced herself to remain still.

          He's too close!

          Encouraged that she hadn't withdrawn, Shane failed to notice the color drain from her face.  The breeze blew a stray, dark tress across her face.  Impulsively he reached to brush away, his fingertips grazing her cheek.

           "I really like being with you," he said, almost choking on his own ineptitude.

          Raven could only nod as she forced herself not to flinch from his fleeting touch.  She felt light-headed; the air was suddenly too thin to breath.  Encouraged, Shane moved forward, and placed his hand tentatively on the small of her back, seeking to give the physical proof of his interest as Brother Caleb had advised.  He had no idea that she was gone, having fled to a sanctuary deep within herself---the place she hadn't visited since escaping from Starry Dawn.

          Shane had no idea what was wrong.  Her sudden unresponsiveness left him at a loss, not knowing if he should release her or pull her close.  He studied her face, noticing for the first time how pale she had gone.

          Raven suddenly became aware that Shane was holding her by the shoulders.  He was demanding that she submit to him.  Unable to swallow, barely able to breath, she suddenly broke free of her paralysis.

123.

                 "No!" she said loudly, pushing herself away.

          Startled, Shane threw his hands back.  She lost her balance and fell.  Fearing that she was hurt, he rushed forward to help her up.

           "Are you okay?" he asked.

          She scrambled away.

           "Don't touch me!" she said, eyes wide as she got to her feet.

          Cold numbness gripped him as he watched her run away.

 

          By the time she reached the safety of the women's barracks, Raven's panic had subsided enough to let her assess what had happened.  Intellectually, she understood perfectly.  Shane had caused it, but was not to blame.  It had to have happened sooner of later.  Now there was no salvaging the hopeless situation.  Perhaps there never was.  She trudged to the maiden's quarters feeling a miserable sense of loss.

          He thinks I'm crazy, she said to herself.  I probably am.

           "Damn you, Starry Dawn!  Damn you to Hell!" she muttered.

          It was not something a Christian should ever say, but how could she ever "honor" her mother or whoever her father was?  Starry Dawn wasn't solely to blame, however.  Raven knew that she had caused the mess by pretending to be something she was not.  She had encouraged a nice guy to believe in something that was impossible.

          Now there was only one thing to do.  It was her Christian duty to explain things.  She owed him that much.    

          Raven went back outside and walked aimlessly until she came to an old barn.  She went inside to hide herself in the deep shadows.  Then she covered her face with both hands and tried to pray.

 

          Paget flipped the magazine closed and slid it under the bed when he heard the knock.  He closed the bedroom door and went to see who was at the door, half expecting to see Stick Man.  Instead, it was the kid standing on the porch.

           "Got time to talk, Brother Caleb?  I really need some advice."

          First advice to the lovelorn, Paget said to himself.  Now what?  Confession?  I popped her, Bobby Lee.  Now what do I do?

           "I messed up big time."

124.

                  "Come on in and tell me about it."

          As Shane related his fiasco, Paget listened with growing interest.  He'd had a girl act like that himself.  Of course, he wasn't just trying to get a kiss.  He discounted one explanation immediately.  Miss Dusky wasn't a lesbian.  He had an instinct about such sickening stuff.  The other possibility quickened his pulse.

           "I think I can help you out," he said.  "I've got just the thing to show her how much you care about her.  Wait here."

          He went to the bedroom for Pale Babe's necklace.  He held it up for one last look and imagined it dangling between the Miss Dusky's breasts.  It would be like a charm marking her as his.  It was going to happen.

           "Here," he said, coming out and handing it to Shane.  "Women like gifts.  Give her this.  If she takes it that'll tell you something, won't it?"

          Shane held the delicate piece of jewelry to catch the light.

           "It looks kind of expensive," he said.  "Are you sure?"

           "Hey, don't worry about it.  The girl that belonged to doesn't have any use for it anymore.  She gave it back to me.  I don't know why I even kept it---kind of bad memories, you know.  Go on.  Give it to your girl."

           "Are you sure?" Shane repeated.

           "Yeah.  It would make me happy."

          Shane admired the necklace.

           "It sure is pretty.  I hope she'll wear it," he said dejectedly.  "I just don't know if she'll ever even talk to me again."

           "Sure she will, Shane."

          I know women, kid, he said to himself.  They all rise to the same bait.