Nate Rosen Investigates

by Ron Levitsky

  “My daddy says t’trust the Lord, but I’m awful worried. Since Friday’s service, she’s been in such a sorry state.”

  “Nate Rosen and I will do everything in our power to help her. I don’t want you to worry.”

  “Looks like we’re beholden to ya again.”

  Jesse didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and lit a cigarette. “Here, let me help you with the basket—looks pretty heavy.”

  “That’s all right. You could fetch what’s over against the porch. Yeah, that’s it.”

  He picked up an odd-looking contraption. Its handle was long and thin, similar to a golf club, but at the end was a leather loop. He didn’t like the way it felt in his hand. “What is it?”

  Again she smiled, walking with him to the front yard. “We call it a snake-catcher. Use it for rattlesnake huntin’. Ooh, I ain’t never been in a fine car like this.”

  Jesse was afraid to ask anything more about it, afraid he might jeopardize their being together. After all, he was on a date with Bathsheba; she’d actually invited him. After all those hours worrying how he’d ask her out. Maybe she was joking about the snakes. There weren’t any rattlers in these parts . . . were there?

  Bathsheba leaned out the window, so that the breeze gently tousled her curls. When her hand went across the soft leather of the backrest, he imagined her touch on his own skin.

  He asked, “Where to?”

  “That field by the furniture factory. It’s pretty, lots a’ wild flowers ’n’ a stream.”

  “That’s Hobbes private property. Isn’t there a wire fence . . .?”

  “That’s back a ways, stretches across a cornfield leading up t’ the holler. There’s plenty room off the highway. ’Sides, don’t that land belong partly t’Sister Claire? Seems like her friends got just as much right t’use it as anybody.”

  Jesse turned onto the highway and drove toward the factory. He couldn’t imagine her father or anyone else from her church saying what she just did, acting . . . well . . . acting pushy. Bathsheba was dirt-poor and uneducated, but during the few times he’d seen her, she seemed different. Jesse’s own mother acted that way all the time—parking next to a fire hydrant, chatting with her friend during the middle of a movie, or putting $10,000 in a shoebox so it wouldn’t be taxed. But those were things rich folk did, not someone coming barefoot down from the mountains.

  Bathsheba reached down to scratch her thigh: the dress rode up and stayed above her knees. Her skin was incredibly smooth and tan; in comparison his was fish-belly white. Staring out the window, did she notice him glancing at her legs? An oncoming truck rumbled close, its horn blaring for Jesse to stay in his lane. A few minutes later the Porsche reached the open field.

  She said, “Pull in there . . . that’s right.”

  Jesse parked where the overgrown grass had been beaten down by numerous tire ruts. A no trespassing sign tilted on its post. About a half mile to their right stood the furniture factory. Straight ahead the land, mostly prairie with a few clumps of trees, merged into a cornfield that sloped toward a ridge just below the horizon.

  She said, “Why don’t you leave your jacket in the car? It’s mighty warm.”

  As they stepped from the car, Jesse looked at the ruts. “Have you been here before?”

  “A time or two. Mostly Lem come out here huntin’.” She gave the basket to Jesse and took the blanket and snake-catcher. “You mind walkin’ some? Stream up yonder’s mighty pretty.”

  “Fine.” He looked down at her bare legs and feet. “But if there are poisonous snakes in the area . . . shouldn’t we be careful?”

  “Don’t pay them rattlers no mind. It’s the hottest part a’ the day. S’long as we stay away from any paths or shady places, we’ll be fine. Here.” She put her hand on his arm. “Just stay by my side. This way.”

  Jesse felt the sweat slide under his shirt as they passed the no trespassing sign. He’d never broken the law; as a boy he’d never even been late for school. He was a little afraid but, even more, excited by her hand upon his arm. She stepped lightly over the uneven ground, while he occasionally stumbled in his attempt to keep up. Every few minutes she paused, without complaint, to let him catch his breath. Finally they reached a small stream that meandered down from the ridge. Bunches of blue and yellow wildflowers played hide-and-seek among the tall grass.

  “This’ll do fine,” she said, beating down an area about four feet square and spreading the blanket. As she and Jesse sat, two honeybees buzzed lazily above them. “Hope you like what I brung.”

  Opening the basket, Bathsheba took out bread, a platter of ham and cheese, macaroni salad, cookies, and a large fruit jar filled with lemonade.

  “Oh my,” Jesse said, “this is some spread.”

  “Lots a’ folk brung food during Lem’s sickness. We ain’t never gonna eat it all. ’Sides, you look like a man who needs some good cookin’.”

  He wiped his face with a handkerchief. “That ham sure does look good.”

  “Here, let me fix you a sandwich.”

  Bathsheba sat, legs tucked under, and made his lunch. Mouth parted, the point of her tongue licked her lower lip as she handed him the plate. One of her curls had become tangled just above an eyebrow. He longed to smooth it back into position but didn’t dare. Besides, maybe if he touched her, this would all disappear as if a dream. It was beautiful, that curl, black and lustrous and coiled like a . . .

  Suddenly he put his plate down.

  “Jesse, you all right?”

  He nodded. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his face again.

  “You went all white real quick-like. The food’s all right?”

  “Yes, it’s fine.” He took a long swallow of lemonade.

  While Jesse ate his sandwich, she nibbled bits of ham and cheese. For a long time neither spoke. They listened to bees humming among the flowers near the stream and watched a few clouds puff like smoke in a pale blue sky. As a boy he’d sat on the edge of a stream day after day waiting for the fish to bite. Not that he’d enjoyed fishing, but there had been nowhere else to go and nobody else to be with. In all that time, he never remembered hearing the bees or watching the clouds. Eyes turning inward, all he’d seen was what he’d felt—the sweet pain of his own unhappiness. Whenever things had grown too difficult, he would sit very still, feel that sweet pain and everything bad would go away for a little while. Now, staring at Bathsheba’s smooth brown legs tucked under her body, he was feeling that pain, only it had never been more intense.

  “You’re awful quiet,” she said. “Sure you’re feelin’ all right?”

  He took another drink of lemonade. “I’ve just been enjoying the day. You were right about this place—it is beautiful. As a boy I used to go fishing in a stream like this . . . no, it was never like this. Never as beautiful.”

  Bathsheba tilted her face toward the sun, fluffing her hair so that one tangled curl shook free. Her moist skin glistened, and he thought how soft and warm it would feel.

  “It’s like this back home,” she said, stretching her legs so that they were almost touching him. “Used to go off into the woods ’n’ spend the whole day pickin’ berries. Swimmed naked in the river. Course, that was before Daddy found the Lord ’n’ became a preacher. His life turned whole around. Guess mine did, too.”

  Jesse tried not looking at her legs. “What was your father like before?”

  “A mean man, rough as a cob. Used to drink a lot. He come down hard on lots a’ men. I saw him once break a feller’s head fightin’ over a woman. But one day that changed. Friend took him to a church meetin’ out in a field, under a brush arbor. Know what that is?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen them. It’s a frame made of branches and covered with leaves and such.”

  “My daddy heared the Lord that day. The power come over him like lightning, knocked him to the ground, shook him around ’n’ left him sweatin’ like he was dying a’ fever. ‘God shook me like a rag doll!’ he told folks. After that day he never did
touch no drop a’ whiskey or swear or break any a’ the Commandments.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “I reckon ’bout ten years ago. He’s been upright ever since.”

  Her brow crinkled slightly; perhaps too much sun. The sun was hot. Jesse felt a bit light-headed, as if he’d been drinking. “And you?” he asked. “Do you share the same beliefs?”

  Bathsheba turned away, so that he couldn’t see her face. “Ever’body knows the answer to that question. It’s in the Bible plain as day. ‘Honor thy father.’”

  Jesse nodded. “‘And thy mother.’ You’ve never talked about your mother.”

  Staring into the horizon she almost whispered, “And I never will.” She slowly rose to her knees and put the food and dishes into a plastic bag, leaving the basket empty.

  “How ’bout we take a walk,” she said, reaching for the snake-catcher.

  Suddenly Jesse felt the same chill he had in church, when the wooden box was opened. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Are there really rattlesnakes in this field?”

  “If there wasn’t before, there is now. Last Friday, man my daddy knows come to Earlyville from east Tennessee. Brought a crateload a’ rattlers—eight big ’uns. We used three in the service you was at. After seein’ what that policeman’s shotgun did to those three, the feller dumped the rest in this here field. Best way he figgered t’hide ’em. Lord knows, it’s sure gonna be hard enough findin’ ’em.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Why? They’s just poor dumb critters. I’d rather hunt rattlers than cross the highway when them college kids get liquored up.” She stood, the basket in one hand and the snake-catcher in her other. “If you’d like t’stay here, I won’t be long.”

  “No.” He struggled to his feet, brushing the crumbs from his lap. “I don’t want you to go alone.”

  “All right. Can’t say I mind the company.” She handed him the basket. “Just stay close t’me and watch the ground real careful. You’ll be fine.”

  They wandered toward the ridge. The land rose unevenly, filled with thick clumps of grass and gopher holes from which Jesse expected a rattler to appear at any moment. The only sounds were crickets humming and an occasional fly buzzing around his ear.

  “I wish there was a path to follow,” he said.

  “That’s where they’d be, all right, waitin’ for some critter to come along. Let’s try over by them trees. It’s shady there. They do like their shade.”

  As they approached the trees, something dashed through the grass just past Jesse’s foot.

  “Jesus!” he shouted, jumping back.

  He fell heavily on one leg and almost knocked over Bathsheba. Trying to regain his balance, he grabbed the woman, feeling her heavy breasts tight against his chest. Her laughter made him quickly pull away.

  “Only a poor little rabbit. Nothin’ t’worry ’bout. Lord, you sure did scoot, like the cow jumpin’ over the moon.”

  He laughed, retrieving his cigarette from the ground. “I suppose I looked rather silly.”

  “Never you mind. Ever’body’s touchy first time doin’ this kinda thing. Man’d be a fool if’n he wasn’t. You want t’go back?”

  He shook his head.

  “C’mon, then. Just make sure—”

  Bathsheba was interrupted by another noise, this one loud and coming from the ridge. About a quarter mile ahead stood a fence of heavy-gauge wire about four feet high. Past the fence a field lay thick with tall, green corn, through which a man hurried toward them shouting. He passed through an open gate, then locked it.

  “Hey! Don’t you know this is private property! Didn’t you all see the No Trespassing signs?”

  It was young Danny Hobbes. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt, torn jeans, and an old pair of boots, the laces frayed. His clothes were dirty and stained with sweat. Danny’s gaze lingered on Bathsheba, then narrowed at Jesse.

  “Compton, what’re you doing here?”

  “We’re just out for a walk. Had a picnic . . . see.” He held up the basket. “I guess we missed the sign. Sorry.”

  Danny moved closer to the woman. “That’s all right. No harm done. Who’s your lady friend?”

  “This is Reverend Gideon McCrae’s daughter.” To Bathsheba, “Danny’s the nephew of Ben Hobbes.”

  “That’s right,” Danny said, grinning. “Our family owns all this land. Guess that makes it mine.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Jesse smelled the sweat from his body. Bathsheba must’ve smelled it, too. Danny stood matchstick close to her and said, “I got a powerful thirst. Any cold beer in that picnic basket?”

  Bathsheba shook her head, then brushed back her curls. “We ain’t got nothin’ you’d want.”

  His grin widened like a crescent moon. “Don’t know about that. Thought I knew all the pretty ladies in town, but guess I was wrong.”

  “Reckon you don’t know much ’bout anything.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t . . .”

  “Leastways, that’s what I hear from your aunt.”

  “Who?”

  “Aunt Claire . . . your Uncle Ben’s widder.”

  Danny took a step back and suddenly grew pale. He glanced around, then balled his hands into fists, not to attack but, rather, to protect himself. With his back hunched, for a moment he actually seemed smaller than Jesse.

  “What do you know about Claire? What she tell you?”

  Bathsheba looked at him like a mother about to scold her child, but said nothing. Her power grew, as their eyes locked and the silence lengthened. Just as Jesse had watched, during Friday’s church service, the serpents gazing back at him while slowly uncoiling their smooth lithe bodies.

  Finally Bathsheba turned toward Jesse. “Maybe we oughtta walk back toward the water.”

  Jesse asked Danny, “You don’t mind us being here, do you?”

  As if cold, the other man rubbed his arms. “Guess it’s all right. Just stay away from the fence. I put in some hybrid corn and don’t want nobody messing with it.”

  “We won’t be going over there. I didn’t know you farmed.”

  Smirking, he stretched back his shoulders and moved his legs apart. He reminded Jesse of Elvis. “Most folks think I can’t do a damn thing. Take my daddy and my uncle Ben. They give me this piece of land like throwing a bone to a stray dog, and me their own flesh and blood. My daddy, he probably thinks this is something else of mine that’ll likely go belly-up, but I’ll show him. I’ll show ’em all.”

  He took a step toward them, saw that Bathsheba’s expression hadn’t changed, and stopped suddenly. “I got to be going. Mama’s got lunch ready.”

  Danny strode away toward the factory, glancing back to see they hadn’t followed him. In a few minutes he disappeared from view, but Bathsheba continued to gaze in that direction.

  Jesse cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we be getting along?”

  Nodding, Bathsheba walked back toward the stream. She seemed preoccupied, flicking the snake-catcher against the tall grass while humming softly. Jesse had expected the worst—she and Danny walking away together, maybe to lie upon the blanket and make love, while he stood in the middle of the field, as he used to sit alone fishing the day away. But she hadn’t left him; instead, Danny was the one who scurried away like a frightened rabbit. She had actually sent Danny away. Why?

  He hurried beside Bathsheba and recognized the tune she was humming, an old mountain ballad called “Rose in Winter.” As a boy he remembered Ruth Hobbes singing it as she washed her long black hair:

  Who’ll take a thread of sunlight

  And weave it for my glove;

  Who’ll bring a rose in winter

  And be my own true love?

  He almost murmured, “I will.”

  She skipped over a rock. Following her, Jesse nudged the rock and heard a loud rattle. He froze as the snake drew its head back to strike. Before the rattler could hit, the leather loop flicked over its head, pulling it back. Still unable to move, Jesse w
atched Bathsheba twist the loop tight around the snake just below its jaws, then lift it halfway off the ground. It was about a yard long.

  “Little feller,” she said. “If it was a fish, I’d throw him back. Open the basket.”

  Jesse’s eyes were transfixed by those of the rattler, endless pools of darkness. It was only after a long time that he realized he wasn’t staring at the snake but at Bathsheba.

  “Jesse.”

  Blinking hard, he placed the basket on the ground. He opened it, then stepped back. “Do you need any help?”

  She had already positioned the snake directly above the basket. The reptile hung motionless except for its tail, which twitched idly, the sound soft as the turn of a fishing reel. Balancing the snake-catcher’s handle under her left arm, Bathsheba lowered the rattler into the basket, closing and securing the lid with her right hand. She handed the contraption to Jesse.

  “I’d better carry our friend here. We’ll head back now. Guess you had enough huntin’ for one day. Watch where you’re walkin’. Like they say, ‘Where there’s one, there’s two.’”

  Gathering the basket between her hands, she led him back toward the stream. Jesse followed closely.

  *

  Stretching back with eyes closed, Bathsheba lay on their picnic blanket, the basket about a foot from her head. Jesse sat beside her. She raised one knee, and her lemon-yellow dress slipped halfway up her thigh. His eyes followed the line between the fabric and her skin, which, in contrast, appeared even darker. As if responding to his gaze, her leg stirred slightly, the dress edging up farther.

  Jesse touched the place where her skin met the fabric; his finger traced the line that seemed to melt under his touch. He moved his hand higher and found she wore no underwear. She pushed him away and, with the same motion, pulled her dress over her head. He had never seen anything so perfect; she could have been carved from stone.

  But she was warmer than stone, warmer and more yielding. One arm drew him to her, another reached around his head as his lips touched her open mouth. Her teeth felt sharp, cutting his face. Tasting the blood made him stronger, and they wrestled together. He heard her breathing heavily, which made him ravage her body until, unashamed, he cried out. A few seconds later she pushed him off and, as they lay still together, Jesse realized it had not been Bathsheba’s passion he’d heard. The sound came from the basket above her head. Somewhere behind the wicker—a soft steady hiss.