JEZEBEL'S BLUES

by Ruth Wind

  “Sure, I’ve heard of it. Gets wiped out every spring by the flood. That’s why they call it that. The river’s bound and determined the town’s gonna belong to her before too much longer.”

  “I thought it was the Mississippi that did that kind of thing.”

  “Nah. Most any river with any spirit takes a town every so often.”

  Celia smiled and nodded, then pulled her keys from her purse. A hot shower and a good night’s sleep sounded heavenly.

  But at the doors, she paused. What could it hurt to make just one or two more calls?

  The Sheriff’s Department in Calla’s Folly referred her to a clinic that wasn’t even listed in the phone book. There, a pleasantly energetic woman answered the phone, and when Celia asked again about a woman fitting Laura’s description, she said, “You’re in luck tonight.”

  “I am?”

  “Mmm-hmm. We found a woman like that this very morning. She’s unconscious and critically dehydrated, but I reckon she’ll live.”

  “Has she awakened?”

  “Not yet. Might be tomorrow morning.”

  “No identification?”

  “No, I’m sorry. You’ll have to come see her yourself, I’m afraid. Sure does sound like the woman you described. ”

  “I’ll be there,” Celia said. “I have to drive from Gideon, so it’ll be an hour or so.”

  As she hung up the phone, she thought of fetching Eric to drive along with her. Then she remembered the false alarm of a few minutes before and decided he’d had about as much as he could take. If she had to sit by the woman’s bed all night until she awakened, at least Eric would be spared more worry. If the woman turned out to be Laura, nothing would be lost—Celia would just call to let him know.

  If it wasn’t Laura, well, at least he would be spared another false hope.

  Chapter 12

  By the time she reached Calla’s Folly, Celia was truly exhausted. Her neck ached, her head pounded, her eyes were grainy. Muscles she didn’t even know existed ached from the vigorous night she’d spent with Eric.

  Outside the friendly, brightly lit clinic, she paused. Jezebel had come through here screaming. A tree branch clung to the roof of a house across the road, sticking comically into the starry sky like an antler.

  The clinic had obviously received first priority in the cleanup effort, however, for as Celia walked in, she saw that the floors were waxed, the lights bright. The walls could have used a fresh coat of paint, but that was, after all, a minor point.

  A stout woman behind the desk looked up as Celia approached. “Hello. Are you the one who called about the woman we found?”

  “Yes.”

  The nurse waddled around the counter. “Come with me.”

  Celia followed her down a hallway, hearing the squeak of rubber-soled shoes against clean linoleum. The nurse pushed open a big door and stepped aside for Celia to pass.

  Inside the room, Celia paused. There, covered with a crisp sheet, was Laura. There was no question that it was Eric’s sister lying so still in the bed. Her hair was long, trailing over a shapely figure, and it was every bit as black and wavy as her brother’s. There was the same mouth, fuller and riper in this woman’s face, but unmistakable. Even the sweep of lashes over the high cheekbones was the same.

  Like Eric, Laura was uncommonly, compellingly beautiful, even with pallor and bruises marring her face.

  Celia nodded at the nurse, who winked and left her. She crossed the room to take one of the still woman’s hands. “Laura,” she said softly, “can you hear me?”

  There was no response.

  Celia stroked the slender hand. “Your brother is going to be so happy to see you. He’s been crazy with worry.”

  There was a tiny flicker of eyelids in the still face and a jerky movement of a thumb against Celia’s palm.

  Suddenly Laura was looking right at her, with eyes a stunning, rich shade of blue. Celia smiled and squeezed her hand. “Your mother must have been quite a beauty,” she said, not caring if it made sense.

  Laura licked her lips and her eyelids drifted to half mast. “Mama was blonde,” she whispered. “Like you.”

  Even in the weakness of the words, Celia heard the husky beauty of Laura’s voice. Patting her hand, she said, “I’m going to go call your brother. I’ll be right back.”

  In the hallway she found a pay phone and realized she had to look up the telephone number. It seemed odd after all they had shared, but until now, there had been no reason to call him.

  The phone rang five times before he picked it up, and Celia winced at the wary, harsh sound of his voice.

  “Eric, I found Laura. She’s alive.”

  “What?”

  “She’s alive. She’s in a clinic in Calla’s Folly.”

  “How do you know it’s her?”

  “I’m here with her now, Eric. There’s no question that she’s your sister. The two of you could be twins.”

  “Calla’s Folly?” he asked.

  “A little clinic here. You can’t miss it.”

  “I’ll be right there. Will you stay with her until I can get there?”

  “I don’t think so,” Celia protested. She didn’t want to see him. It would just make it harder. “I’m very tired.”

  A pause traveled over the wire. “All right, then. I understand.”

  Guilt washed through her. It was a small thing to ask, after all. He didn’t want Laura to be alone. “I’ll stay.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m sure she’s in good hands. You’ve done so much already—thank you, Celia.”

  “I’ll stay. Get in your car and get here. I’m exhausted.”

  “Then go on home,” he said firmly. “I mean it.”

  She was suddenly too tired to argue or care anymore. “All right. Goodbye, Eric.”

  She hung up before he could reply, a deep plucking sensation in her chest.

  * * *

  Laura.

  At the door of the hospital room, Eric paused, his knees shivery with relief. Celia sat alongside his sister in a chair and she jumped up.

  “I didn’t stay for your sake,” she said defensively, folding a newspaper and putting it down on the chair.

  “I don’t care why you stayed.” He crossed the short space to the bed and took Laura’s hand gently, drinking in the precious, achingly familiar sight of her beloved face. For long, long moments, all he could do was stare at her, his Laura. Alive. He smoothed a tangled mass of hair from her neck and gently kissed her cheek.

  Then he let go of a long-held breath and rested his forehead briefly against her temple, taking joy in the warmth of her flesh. “Thank God,” he whispered.

  Finally he looked at Celia. “And thank you.” He swallowed, wishing he could cross the empty space between them. He needed to hold her close to him, to have her somehow absorb the excess of gratitude and relief he felt pouring from him like sweat.

  He couldn’t seem to take that first step, however, and instead, he just looked at her, hoping she could see what he couldn’t say. His thanks meant so many things—that she’d found Laura, that she’d stayed, that she cared.

  She stood silently, absorbing his messages with her great, pale ice eyes.

  “I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” he said. And now in the ethereal face there glowed a hunger, a pain, a plucking wish—all of which he’d planted. She dropped her gaze and set her stubborn mouth in a strong line. “I was glad to help.” Her laugh was soft and self-mocking. “It makes me feel like a good neighbor.”

  He nodded.

  She gathered her purse. “I’ll leave you two alone now.” She passed him and paused to look once more at the sleeping Laura. “I really was glad to help,” she said, and patted his arm, squeezing a little around the elbow like a friendly matron.

  He recognized a defense when he saw one and didn’t breach it as he’d breached so many others. For once he left well enough alone—let her go and didn’t say a word to hold her back.

  *
* *

  “Eric, will you stop waiting on me?” Laura exclaimed in some irritation from her perch on the couch.

  “You don’t need to be up running around just yet. Doc said it would take a few days to get your strength back.”

  “I’ve been home five, brother dear.” She rolled her eyes. “Get over here and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

  Warily, Eric sunk into the chair adjacent to the couch. He had to admit she looked better: her bruises were faded to a pale yellow, and her robust good health had reasserted itself in the clear whites of her eyes and the ruddy color in her cheeks. “I get the message,” he said. “You’re okay.”

  “I’m better than okay.” She touched his nose. “I’m free—God forgive me for being happy about anybody dyin’, but I don’t have to worry about Jake anymore.” She smiled gently. “It’s you I’m a little worried about.”

  He frowned.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look. You can bluff the rest of the world into thinkin’ you’re a big, tough guy, but I know you better than that.”

  Eric felt a little panic building in his chest, a purely defensive need to hide—even from his sister—the connection he’d discovered with Celia. For five days he’d managed to keep his thoughts on hold. If his sister started poking around in his heart, he’d be truly lost.

  But her words surprised him. “The flood really upset you, didn’t it?”

  “Well, I—”

  But typically, Laura pressed on. “You seem so vulnerable, and I know the last couple of years have been real hard on you, but it goes deeper than that. I’ve been thinking about it, and all I can come up with is that the flood brought up a lot of old memories for you.”

  “Laura, it’s not the flood. It’s Gideon.” He jumped up and walked to the window, restless. “The flood just made me remember how much I hate this place, how much I hate all of this.” Unconsciously, he clenched his fist at his side. “Then you were missing for so long, and I guess it was the last straw.”

  Soundlessly she crept up behind him and hugged him. “When are you going to stop running, Eric Putman?”

  “Running?” He turned, uncomfortably reminded of the afternoon at the river when Celia had confronted him. “I just don’t want to be here.”

  She crossed her arms and lifted her eyebrows, her mouth taking a skeptical line. “That’s the biggest lie of all.” She shook her head. “I just wish I knew what you were looking for. Maybe then I could help you find it, help you finally be happy. You deserve it, little brother.”

  Something inside of him recoiled. “Like hell,” he growled, and spun on his heel, heading for the door.

  Her voice, rich and laced with amusement, stopped him. “You don’t have to run from me, Eric. I love you no matter what.”

  He closed his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

  “Life’s like that.” She took his hand. “Why don’t you let me cook up something good for supper? I’ll even make biscuits, since we missed your coming-home breakfast.”

  He licked a threatening smile from his lips and relented. He didn’t have to act like an ass with Laura. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Nothing he did would drive her away. Thinking of her crispy biscuits, however, made it hard for him to keep a straight face. “Sounds great.”

  “Good.” She nodded to herself and bent to straighten a stack of magazines on the coffee table. Then, as if just remembering something puzzling, she said, “Eric?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Laura?”

  “Was there a woman in my hospital room before you got there?” She peered sightlessly at the wall, reaching for the elusive memory. “Small, all kind of silvery—” She broke off and looked at him. “Am I crazy?”

  “No.” He cleared his throat. “Her name’s Celia Moon. She’d tracked you down and sat with you until I could get there.”

  Laura let go of a peal of laughter. “Whew,” she said, touching her chest. “I thought she was an angel that night, you know. I’ve been afraid to ask in case she wasn’t really there.”

  Eric remained silent, afraid anything he said would give him away.

  Laura didn’t seem to notice. She folded an afghan. “Moon. Is she kin to that writer?”

  “His daughter. She’s living in their old farmhouse.”

  “I wonder why I haven’t met her yet?”

  Restlessly, Eric moved, looking for something to do. “I don’t think she’d been here that long. A few months, maybe.”

  Laura’s gaze sharpened and he ducked it and squatted over the body of his guitar. “How do you know her?”

  For an instant he almost lied. But she’d hear the story from someone else, and then he’d be even more cornered. He touched his nose. “I, uh, got stranded at her house during the flood.”

  “I thought you were here!”

  He shook his head. “My car got stuck in that little creek by the Tylers’ farm. I set out on foot, but it just got bad—I nearly drowned trying to ford another creek, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to cross the river.” He shrugged. “When I saw the lights at the Moons’ house, I went there. She took me in.”

  “I see.” A hard note sounded in Laura’s words, and Eric looked up to see her standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. “What kind of neighbor are you, anyway? She took you in and gave you shelter in the storm, then found me for you, and you haven’t even called her to say thank you!” She made a little noise of disgust. “I can’t believe your manners.”

  “I thanked her.”

  “Well,” Laura said, “I’m going to thank her properly.” She moved toward the phone.

  “Laura,” Eric said in protest.

  But she’d already set her mind on her course. The phone was in her hand.

  * * *

  Celia had tried every possible polite excuse she could think of to get out of going to dinner at Laura’s house, but Laura was gently, politely insistent. In the end, she won out.

  So in spite of her sweaty palms and aching heart, in spite of her resolve to stay clear of Eric until she could overcome her feelings for him, here Celia was, walking up the path once again. And once again, there he sat, on the porch, harmonica in hand. The notes he played danced with the sound of crickets in the brush and the dying calls of birds twittering in the branches of the trees. On the step sat a cat, its eyes sleepy, its ears alert as if it was listening.

  Celia braced herself this time. All the way over, she’d reminded herself of Eric’s physical details, calling up the most stunning of them in particular, so they wouldn’t be such a shock.

  It didn’t help. He was like a sunset; she could remember the beauty and the sense of awe she felt, could summon the words for the details that so enchanted her, but each time she saw him was a brand-new experience, more compelling than her mind could hold for memory’s sake.

  The sight of his big, dark head, bent over the mournful notes of his harp, sent a wave of desire washing through her belly. Then he caught sight of her and stood up, broad and graceful and strong, and simply looked at her. He was polished, as if for special company, and Celia allowed herself a small smile, for she knew that was Laura’s doing. His hair was carefully brushed, his shirt pressed, his feet shod in boots.

  “Hello, Celia,” he said.

  She wanted to close her eyes against the sound of that dark, raw voice, but forced herself to stand there as if he didn’t bother her, as if she were composed.

  For another minute, they simply stood there, Eric on the porch, Celia in the yard, the cat between them. A breeze lifted a lock of his hair. It was impossible to read anything in his expression—his walls were firmly, rigidly in place.

  Laura appeared at the screen door, a flutter of red silk and gold fringe. “Why, Eric Putman, your manners are in the sewer.” She banged out the door and brushed past her brother. “I apologize, Celia—you are Celia?—he’s been among men for too long.”

  Celia glanced at Eric. He smiled, as if sharing a secret with her. Infinitesimally, he shook his head
.

  Celia looked at Laura. “It’s all right.”

  “Come on in,” Laura urged, taking Celia’s arm. “I’m just about to set the table. You and I can get acquainted while I’m doing it.”

  Overwhelmed, Celia let herself be led up the stairs, past Eric—who still grinned, as if in relief—and into the house.

  * * *

  Whatever she’d been expecting, this night was not it, Celia thought later as Laura served fat slices of chocolate cake. Eric sat directly across from her, speaking little, avoiding her gaze except for the occasional glimmer of humor she caught over one thing or another Laura did.

  Laura herself was quite a surprise. The song Eric had sung on Celia’s porch of the delicate, vulnerable woman looking for a home and gentle arms to hold her had nothing to do with the talkative whirlwind who served burned biscuits and cherry Kool-Aid with a supper otherwise wonderfully well cooked. She flitted around the room like a scarlet bird, her long, black hair flying, her jewelry glittering. Dazzling.

  “So, tell me, Celia,” Laura said as they ate the sinfully rich cake. “You plan to stay in Gideon?”

  “Definitely,” Celia replied. “I spent most of my life trying to get here.”

  “That’s nice. I hope we’ll be friends.” With a droll glance toward her brother, Laura added, “I love Gideon, except when it comes to shopping. I go into Dallas for the big things. Have you been there?”

  “No,” Celia admitted. “I’m a little afraid of the freeways.”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad once you get used to it. Next time I go, I’ll call you. I know all the best little spots to find bargains.”

  Celia glanced toward Eric, who silently ate his cake, outwardly calm. But she could sense the restlessness that brewed just below the surface and wondered what was bothering him. “Do you like Dallas, Eric?” she asked.

  He lifted his shoulder in a single shrug. “I guess.”

  “Do you like anything tonight, Eric?” Laura asked.

  He looked at Celia and heat flashed in his eyes for an instant, a heat laced with hunger and loneliness. It could only have lasted for the space of a heartbeat or less, but in that moment, she saw that he still wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. Flushing, she lowered her eyes.