When the Wind Blows

by John Saul

  Sometime, when things were settled, she and Christie would try to piece them back together.

  Leaving the storeroom, Edna went to inspect the nursery once more. Except for the cradle, the crib, and the rocking chair, it was empty.

  Edna went back downstairs and found a hammer and some nails.

  With tears flowing down her cheeks, she nailed the door of the nursery closed…

  Matt Crowley pressed the button, and the elevator whined to life, shuddered, then began its long descent into the depths of the mine. Beside him, Juan Rodriguez looked nervously up at the cables from which the car was suspended.

  “It’s all right, Juan. Those cables won’t break.”

  Juan shuddered, suddenly wishing he hadn’t come. “I don’t like this place,” Juan said. “My mother says there are spirits here.”

  “Naw. You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

  Juan squirmed and shuffled his feet. “My mother does,” he said. “She says there are babies here, and when they cry, people die.”

  “Well, don’t you believe that,” Matt said, though in his mind’s eye he suddenly saw the pile of bones the team from the university had pulled from the cave the day before. “That’s just a story to scare people.”

  “But people die here,” Juan protested. “And I heard the babies cry once.”

  Matt decided to change the subject. If Juan kept talking, he would certainly scare himself into going home. “You know how this stuff works?” He indicated the box of dynamite, and Juan looked at it doubtfully.

  “It blows up,” he said.

  “Only when it’s fused, and so far this stuff isn’t fused. Now, all I want you to do is drill holes for me, then I’ll put the dynamite sticks in the holes, install the fuses, and wire it. I don’t want you even to touch the dynamite.”

  “I won’t,” Juan promised.

  “That’s right. All you have to do is drill the holes where I tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  The elevator rattled to a stop at the bottom, and the two men got out. Together they went through the mine, Matt marking the places where he wanted holes drilled. Then he gave Juan an auger and told him to start drilling.

  Juan, eager to please, began working while Matt opened the box of dynamite and started preparing the fuses. By sunset the job would be finished, and tomorrow afternoon, if all went well, the mine would be gone.

  They worked slowly and carefully, and by late afternoon the mine was riddled with dynamite. When the charge was set off, the supports of the shafts would be blown away, and the mine would fall in on itself.

  Matt fed the wire out carefully as the elevator took them back to the surface, then laid wire along the floor of the tunnel until he came to the entrance. When he and Juan were finished for the day, he left the roll of wire next to the equipment box. In the morning he would return, run the wire down the hill, and attach the blasting machine.

  “Done,” he said.

  Juan scratched his head. “How do you set it off?”

  “A cinch,” Matt told him. He opened the box and took out a blasting machine. “I attach the wires to these terminals, then, when I push the plunger, this box generates a charge. When the rack hits the pin at the bottom, the charge is released, and the detonating caps go off. They set off the dynamite. Boom!” He put the blasting machine back in the box and dropped the lid closed, then switched off the power. The lights strung along the walls of the mine went out and plunged them into gloom. “Let’s go home.”

  As they left the mine Matt glanced instinctively up at the mountains, then pointed and grinned at Juan. “Looks like we might have heard your mother’s babies in a couple of more hours,” he said.

  A cloud bank was building above the Rockies, towering into the sky. Juan looked at it worriedly. “I wish Mama was home,” he said.

  “Isn’t she?” Matt asked.

  Juan shook his head. “She’s in church. All day. Maybe all night, too.”

  “You mind staying by yourself?”

  Juan ground the toe of his boot into the dirt and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. Without looking at Matt, he nodded.

  “Then you come home with me,” Matt told him. “Jeff’s off camping, so there’s nobody there but me and Joyce. If you want, you can even spend the night.”

  Juan’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Really,” Matt assured him. He glanced once more at the mine and got into his truck. Tomorrow, if all went well, they would come back, attach the blaster, and push the plunger. And then, at last, the mine would be gone. He started the engine, jammed the truck into gear, and roared off down the hill.

  Eddie Whitefawn cut across the Ambers’ pasture. He was searching for Jeff Crowley. It was only an hour since he’d heard that Jeff was going camping with Christie and Miss Diana, and he hoped he could talk Jeff out of going. Not that he wanted to tell Jeff that he’d seen Miss Diana up at the mine the night Jay-Jay had died. He didn’t. That, he was sure, would only lead to trouble with the marshal, and he’d long ago learned that the less you said, the more trouble you stayed out of. Still, he didn’t want anything to happen to his friend.

  He paused at the edge of the pasture.

  The yard surrounding the Ambers’ house looked empty, and Eddie had a sinking feeling that he might be too late. He trotted over to the barn and went inside.

  The stalls were empty, though he could see the signs of their recent occupation. Eddie scratched his head and wondered what to do.

  He emerged from the barn into the bright sunlight and stared speculatively at the house. All the stories he’d heard about Miss Edna came into his head.

  Finally, gathering his courage, he made up his mind and approached the back door.

  He knocked, then, when there was no response, knocked again, louder. Finally, feeling almost relieved that no one had answered, he turned to leave.

  “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  Startled, Eddie whirled and peered through the screen door at Miss Edna.

  “M-Miss Edna?” he asked, his voice shaking with nervousness. “It’s Eddie Whitefawn.”

  “What do you want?” Edna repeated.

  “I—I was looking for Jeff Crowley. Is he here?”

  “No.” From the other side of the door, Edna watched the little boy. He seemed nervous and looked as though he was about to ask another question. And why had he come out here looking for the Crowley boy? “Why did you think he’d be here?”

  “I—I heard he was going camping with Christie and Miss Diana.”

  “Well, he did,” Edna said.

  Eddie looked up at her. “Where?” he asked.

  “Up in the hills, I suppose,” Edna replied. She wished the little boy would go away. There were so many things still to be done, and so little time. But then Eddie asked another question, and Edna’s heart began to pound.

  “In the hills up by the mine?” he asked.

  Edna felt her knees begin to weaken and had to lean against the doorframe. Why had he mentioned the mine? Did he know something? And then it came to her. The people in Shacktown, most of them, had no telephones. On the night Jay-Jay died, and Joyce Crowley had phoned all the mothers, she might not have been able to reach Mrs. Whitefawn.

  “Maybe you’d better come in,” Edna said at last, pushing the door open. Hesitantly Eddie Whitefawn stepped into the kitchen.

  Edna offered him a glass of milk and sat him down at the kitchen table.

  “Why do you think they might have gone up near the mine?” she asked, seating herself opposite him.

  “I—I don’t know,” Eddie stammered.

  “Don’t know, or won’t tell?” Edna countered.

  “I—well, I just thought—” Eddie stood up. “Maybe I better go home.”

  “Sit down,” Edna rasped. Eddie sank back into his chair.

  “You were at the mine the night Jay-Jay fell, weren’t you?”

  Eddie’s eyes grew wide. How had she known? Was she a witch after
all, like some of the kids said? Terrified, he nodded.

  “And did you see anything?” Edna demanded.

  Eddie hesitated, thinking furiously. If he lied, would she know? He decided she would.

  “Miss Diana,” he whispered.

  “What about her?”

  “I—I saw her. She went into the mine, and there was a scream, and then she came out again.”

  Edna sighed heavily and sank back in her chair. He knew. He knew, and sooner or later he would tell someone. And then it would all come out. All her secrets that she had intended to have die with her.

  “All right,” she said at last. She smiled at Eddie. “Have you told anyone you saw my daughter that night?”

  Eddie shook his head.

  “But you should have,” Edna said. “You should have told your grandmother and the marshal. Why didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t want to get in trouble,” Eddie said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  “Well, you’d better go back to town and tell your grandmother,” Edna said. Eddie stood up, his relief that nothing was going to happen to him showing on his face. He started toward the back door. Just as he was about to leave, Edna spoke again. “Eddie? Before you go, do you think you could do something for me?”

  Eddie looked at her questioningly.

  “They forgot to feed the chickens before they left. Do you think you could help me do it?”

  “Sure,” Eddie agreed. “Where’s the feed?”

  “I’ll show you,” Edna said, getting stiffly to her feet. Leaning on her cane with one hand, the other resting on Eddie’s shoulder, Edna led him out to the toolshed. “It’s in here.” Eddie opened the door of the shed and stepped inside. Edna followed.

  When their eyes were used to the dim light, Eddie saw the sacks of feed leaning against the back wall and started toward them. Once again Edna stopped him.

  “Not that,” she said. “There’s a different kind, down in the root cellar.” With her cane, she indicated the trapdoor, and Eddie obediently pulled it open.

  “I can’t see anything,” he said. “It’s dark.”

  “The seed is on the floor, right behind the ladder,” Edna said.

  Eddie scrambled down the ladder but still found nothing. He climbed back up and stuck his head out of the trapdoor.

  “I didn’t find—”

  That was all he said before the silver head of Edna Amber’s cane crashed down.

  Edna stood still for a moment, staring down at the crumpled body on the floor of the root cellar. Then she shook her head sadly and used her cane to push the trapdoor closed.

  Now no one knew what had happened up at the mine, and no one ever would.

  Slowly she started back toward the house, leaning into the wind that was whistling down from the mountains.

  26

  Joyce Crowley was finishing the supper dishes when there was a soft knock at the back door. She wiped her hands dry, then opened the door. Esperanza Rodriguez was standing on the stoop, obviously upset. When she spoke, her words tumbled from her mouth in rapid Spanish.

  “Yo vengo a ver mi hijo,” the old woman said. Joyce looked at her blankly, and Esperanza struggled to find the English words. “My son,” she said at last. “Aqui?”

  Joyce pulled the door wide. “Come in,” she said. “Juan is in the living room—sala.”

  Esperanza bobbed her head but made no move to leave the kitchen. She looked at Joyce pleadingly.

  “Juan? Your mother’s here,” Joyce called. A moment later Juan appeared at the kitchen door and, when he saw his mother, wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. The two of them chattered in Spanish for a minute, but Joyce couldn’t understand any of it. Finally Juan turned to her, his eyes unhappy.

  “What is it, Juan?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “Mama says I have to go home,” he said. “She says the people are mad at me.”

  “Mad at you? Why?”

  “For helping Mr. Crowley at the mine.”

  “But why would they be mad at you for that?” Joyce asked. She glanced at Matt, who had also come into the kitchen. He seemed uneasy.

  “’Cause of the children,” Juan said, his voice clearly reflecting his fear.

  “Children?” Joyce asked, immediately thinking of Jeff. “You mean up on the ranch with Miss Diana?”

  Juan shook his head. “Spirits,” he breathed, his eyes wide.

  Joyce turned to Esperanza. “You mean the water babies?” she asked. Esperanza nodded, her eyes as terrified as Juan’s. When she spoke again, Joyce’s voice reflected the exasperation she was starting to feel. “You really believe that?”

  Again Esperanza nodded. Then she spoke, searching for the right words.

  “Los niños—the children—they live there. The people—my people—they say Señor Crowley is going to—ah, como se dice—” Her English failed her, and she made a gesture indicating an explosion.

  “Children?” Joyce asked, ignoring the gesture. “What children?”

  “Los muertos!” Esperanza said. “Los niños muertos!”

  Joyce looked helplessly at her husband. “Matt, what’s she talking about? What dead children?”

  “We’d better call Bill Henry,” Matt said without answering her question. “He speaks Spanish, and he knows her people.”

  Esperanza waited restlessly in the kitchen until Bill Henry arrived, then she spoke to him for a long time in Spanish. Finally, when she was done, he turned to the Crowleys.

  “She says that she heard you were going to blow up the mine. She says you can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Joyce asked. “She said something about dead children.”

  Bill nodded. “I’m not sure I follow it all, but there’s a legend that the Indians used to take stillborn babies up there and put them in a cave. She says the spirits of the children live in the cave, waiting to be reborn.”

  “The water babies,” Joyce said, nodding. “The story of the water babies. But—but that’s ridiculous!”

  “Maybe it’s not so ridiculous,” Matt said. Briefly he told Joyce and Bill about the cave, and what had been found there. “So maybe the legend’s true,” he finished. “At least as far as putting stillborn babies there.”

  Esperanza had been listening, and suddenly she spoke again in another rush of Spanish, gesturing as she talked.

  “She says you can hear the children,” Bill translated. “She says when the wind blows, it frightens the children and makes them cry. If you go up there, you can hear them.”

  Matt Crowley suddenly laughed out loud. “But that’s just the mine. When the wind blows, sometimes it echoes in the shafts and sounds sort of like a baby crying. I heard it once when I was working with Elliot Lyons. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

  Bill explained what Matt had said to Esperanza, and her eyes flashed with indignation. Scowling, she grasped Juan’s hand and began moving toward the back door, speaking rapidly as she went. She opened the door and turned to face the three people who were watching her. She spoke once more, then pulled Juan out into the gathering darkness, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. After she was gone, there was a silence, broken finally by Joyce.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said that it doesn’t matter what we think, that even though the bones are gone, the children are still there, and if we do anything to the cave, we’ll have to pay. She doesn’t care whether we believe her or not. All she wants is for Juan not to be involved, so that whatever happens, the children of her people will not be harmed.”

  Joyce sank into a chair and rested her chin on her hands. “My God,” she said softly. “I thought superstitions like that had disappeared years ago. But they haven’t, have they?”

  “Apparently not,” Bill said, “And apparently there’s something to it. After all, the bones were there.”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Matt asked. “Do we go ahead and blow up the mine? Or do we give in?”

  Bil
l shrugged and listened to the wind, which was coming up stronger. Suddenly he grinned. “Maybe we should go up there later on and listen. Who knows? We might hear something.”

  “Yeah,” Joyce said. “We’d hear Diana, trying to keep Jeff and Christie under control.”

  “Diana?” Bill asked.

  “Didn’t you know? She took the kids for a campout. They’re up there right now. Is something wrong?” she added, seeing the look on Bill’s face.

  “I don’t know,” Bill said slowly. And yet he did. Only this morning Dan had come to him once more, hammering away yet again at what had happened at the picnic. Finally Bill had had to admit that when she’d awakened from her faint, Diana had seemed to have no memory of what had made her black out. At last he had told Dan the strange story that Edna had told him and that Diana had denied. Dan, his expression grim, had gone back to his office, intent on talking to the hospital in Pueblo. Now Bill turned to Matt. “I think we’d better go talk to Dan Gurley,” he said.

  Leaving Joyce alone, the two men went out into the night.

  As night closed in and the wind grew stronger, Diana felt her head begin to hurt. Next to her, Christie and Jeff were finishing their supper, and as she watched their faces she began to hear the strange sound that had haunted her life.

  “Listen,” she said. “Do you hear it?”

  Jeff cocked his head. “Hear what?”

  “My baby,” Diana said. “Can’t you hear my baby crying?”

  The children looked at each other. What was she talking about? No one was crying, and all they could hear was the wind in the trees. Christie began to grow nervous.

  “A baby?” Jeff asked, his voice uncertain.

  “It’s in the hills,” Diana said. “It’s coming from the hills.”

  She stood up and stepped away from the fire. Christie and Jeff joined her, staring off into the darkness, straining their ears to hear whatever Diana was hearing.

  “Can’t you hear it now?” Diana asked.