Did this have anything to do with Gabby’s family? It was true the village had never embraced them. But had the death of the Barlow baby pushed the townsfolk to hatred and distrust?
Suddenly, Micah feared for his friends.
***
A tropical sun pulled beads of moisture onto the man’s skin. His companion sat across from him, sipping coconut milk laced with some native brew. His eyes were murky and troubled, staring sightlessly into the past.
The sweating man absorbed the blind man’s account. His skin itched with the words that still trembled between them. Dark words. Terrifying words. He recalled how they jived with the story told by the old sea dog so long ago. So long ago. Years of wandering had been filled with false leads, disappointing failures. But his path had, at last, led to this tiny port.
His search still wasn’t over. Not by any means. But now he knew what he sought. Now he would recognize his enemy.
16
_______
Micah peered around the false front on the roof of Slocum’s store. The afternoon had passed anxiously. Even the weather felt oppressively calm, as if the day was holding its breath. Now Micah peered through an ashy gray twilight as he watched the north end of Main Street.
The Barlow family held a private wake, but the burial ceremony in the churchyard was attended by a cross-section of the town. Neighbors comforted the grieving mother. Women hugged one another and shed tears of their own. But as the tiny grave was filled in and a wooden cross pounded in place, men glanced at each other with hard, grim expressions.
Gabby’s family was in attendance, and a lonely circle of emptiness had formed around them. No one, not even the Barlows, acknowledged them with more than a bleak stare. Momentarily forgetting their own differences, the town had fused together, walling out the outsiders. The Rameshes had been singled out.
Accused.
Micah watched the cluster of mourners break up and disperse in small groups. He kept his eye on the two men from Buddy’s shop, and his vigilance soon paid off. They nodded to each other and drifted to the edge of the yard. In the shadows across the street, Micah caught sight of three others strolling toward them. His suspicions confirmed, he hurried to catch his friends who were disappearing up the stage road.
“Gabby! Sanjay! Maria!”
The trio turned at his calls.
“Dear Micah,” Gabby’s mother said, extending an arm that squeezed him in a doughy embrace. Moonlight caught the glint of tears coursing down her swollen cheeks. “What is wrong with them? Why will they not speak to us?”
Sanjay seethed with anger. “Tell me why we were treated tonight like the plague.”
Micah couldn’t meet the fire in the man’s eyes. “There are some who blame your family for the baby’s death.”
Sanjay’s face registered shock, then outrage. “Who said these things? And after my wife and daughter did all they could to save the boy?”
Micah shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you three stay safe.”
Gabby caught his arm. “Micah, what do you mean?”
“I’ve heard talk, snatches of conversations.” He shook his head. “I think something is being planned for tonight.”
Gabby gasped. “What? What will they do?”
Sanjay snorted. “They will do nothing! Liars are cowards.”
“But Sanjay, what if a mob of them comes to your house?” Micah demanded.
The old sailor stood like a rock in the middle of the road. “Let them come! I am not afraid. I will not be bullied from my home.”
Micah hesitated. “But what about Gabby and your wife?”
Maria drew an arm through the crook of her husband’s elbow. Micah could see she was frightened, but she smiled bravely. “We will be fine, Micah. Go home now. It is getting late.”
Micah watched them walk away, fading into the blackness of the trees. He turned toward home, but a nagging fear compelled him to follow. His father might rage at his absence, but pouring vinegar into spoiled milk made little difference. He pressed on.
The backwaters were in dark shadow. Micah knew exactly where to set each foot, yet every snap, every watery splash, set off a riot of nerves. He expected any moment to meet a posse of riders brandishing knives and pistols. He’d read about vigilante justice, and he knew the mindset of the townsfolk. His fear grew with every step.
He reached the clearing where the tumbledown shack slouched in a bowl of moonlight. A lamp burned cheerfully in one window, and the garden twinkled like the night sky with the flickering of fireflies. The peaceful scene belied the upheaval in Micah’s gut. Anxiously, he settled beneath the sycamore to watch and wait.
The light in the house went out, and nighttime grew loud around him. Neighboring crickets chirruped back and forth in lively conversation, and a procession of mosquitoes droned mournfully in Micah’s ears. In the shallows, frogs by the thousands sang each other lullabies. One fat possum marched straight across the clearing, concerned with nothing but his dinner.
Night passed slowly. The darkness deepened. Heat lightning flickered eerily on the horizon, but the air felt cool and damp in the swamp. The clearing smelled sweetly of decay and dusky dreams.
Micah bolted upright. The moon had traveled. He had fallen asleep and something had awakened him. He saw nothing, but every nerve strained to listen.
Somewhere in the swamp a fish jumped, and a lone bat flapped between the branches of the sycamore, but Micah could hear nothing unusual. He relaxed against the flaky bark. Tired, stiff, cold, and with a score of itching bites across his face, he gladly admitted his mistake. Nothing was happening tonight, and he might as well go home to bed.
With a yawn and no small measure of relief, he wound his way out of the swamp. But two hundred yards beyond the clearing he heard the echo of footsteps—many footsteps—crashing through soggy underbrush. Flickers of torchlight gleamed on the underside of the trees.
He hadn’t been mistaken after all.
He retraced his steps to alert the family, but Sanjay had already heard them coming. The powerful man stood in the yard, clad in a ragged nightshirt, barefoot and unarmed, but daunting as a mountain.
Gabby and her mother pushed out onto the porch just as Micah neared the clearing. He almost called to them, but Sanjay boomed out, “Get in the house, girls!”
They obeyed and Micah halted. Sanjay would order him inside as well.
He couldn’t go in. He had to watch, needed to see what would happen. He crouched again beneath the sycamore’s sprawling branches and noticed mother and daughter peering from behind the curtain at the front window.
Sanjay never flinched as a mob of men invaded his yard. Flour sacks covered their faces, and torches blazed on black, vacant eyeholes. The lionhearted old sailor faced them alone.
“What do you want?” he demanded in a voice that made Micah tremble. A few of the men stepped back and glanced at each other uncertainly. Then a small man stepped forward holding his brand aloft.
“We want you, Ramesh. We want you and your family out of our town. We don’t take to your witchcraft and your heathen ways, your sacrificing of our children.” The rabble behind him growled in agreement.
Sanjay listened quietly. Anything he said would only fuel their anger.
Encouraged, the men stepped nearer. The leader glanced back at them and then continued, “Though you don’t deserve our kindness, we’ve come to warn you. Get out or next time you’ll lose more than just your property.”
At his nod, those holding the burning lights moved to surround the workshop. Seeing what they were about to do, Sanjay grabbed the nearest man and threw him to the ground as though he weighed no more than a sack of grain. Then he grabbed up the next chap, delivered a swift, hard punch, and tossed him on top of the first. The grass flamed around the fallen brands.
Micah wanted to scream. The old fool! Didn’t he understand a shed could be rebuilt? Already the structure wa
s on fire. As he watched, a torch was thrown through the glass window. Sanjay moved around the shed to the next attacker.
The leader followed, pulling something from his pocket that gleamed in the rising firelight. Sanjay deposited the third fellow with the others. Then he lunged for the leader. The little man raised a pistol.
A shot rocked the stillness of the swamp.
The force of the bullet threw Sanjay backwards. Micah stared in open-mouthed horror as the big sailor crashed against the burning shed and slumped to the ground.
The leader calmly replaced the gun and signaled to his men, but they had already fled across the clearing. At the sound of the shot, they had turned tail and run, not waiting to see which side held the gun. The leader followed slowly and confidently.
As the little man strode away, Sanjay pushed himself off the ground and gave his head a shake if to clear it. With a low snarl, he launched himself at the retreating figure.
The leader whirled, astounded. At the sight of the charging dead man, he fled in panic, crashing after his men as though pursued by a specter.
Sanjay stopped only a few feet from where Micah lay concealed. Moonlight glistened on the sweat of his forehead, and a jagged black hole marred the front of his nightshirt. When he turned to watch his workshop burn, Micah could see an identical hole in the middle of his back.
Micah gaped in disbelief, his jaw working soundlessly. There was no way Sanjay could have avoided that bullet!
As he watched, Sanjay ripped off his shirt and threw it into the raging fire. The light flickered on the thick muscles of his chest, but not a mark, not even a scratch, was visible.
As understanding flashed, Sanjay’s secret jolted Micah. The old sailor hadn’t dodged the bullet. It had passed right through him.
Sanjay could not die!
17
_______
The fire burned to ashes, and the sailor went inside the house. The mob would not return tonight.
Micah waited beneath the giant sycamore until the moon sank below the horizon and the sky turned gunmetal gray. He wanted to make certain Sanjay slept so his words would not be overheard.
At last he crept beneath his friend’s window. “Gabby!” he called in a loud whisper.
He heard blankets rustle, then a face appeared behind the mosquito netting. “Oh, Micah, you were right! It was awful!” she quavered.
“I know. I saw the whole thing.”
“You were here?”
“I followed you home to make sure you stayed safe.”
“There was a mob, just as you feared! But my father scared them away. You should have seen him, Micah. He was magnificent.”
“I did see him.”
“Oh, right.”
“Gabby, listen. I saw something else as well. Just before the shop burned, when Sanjay was fighting the men, did you hear a gunshot?”
“Of course I did.”
“Gabby, that gun was fired into your father’s chest at short range. He should be dead.”
Her face blanched in the dim light. “Thank goodness it missed,” she whispered.
“It didn’t miss, Gabby. Your father was hit. I saw the holes in the front and back of his shirt.”
“But he’s fine!” she argued. “I saw him. He took off his shirt.”
“And burned it so you wouldn’t see it. Because he doesn’t want you to know. Gabby, that’s your father’s secret,” he whispered earnestly. “He can’t die.”
Gabby sucked in a breath. “Micah, are you certain?”
“I was fifteen feet away. I saw it happen.”
He gave her time to let the shock sink in.
The quaver returned to her voice. “That would explain a lot of things.”
“He can’t even be hurt, Gabby,” he went on. “A few days ago, when we were cleaning fish, I stabbed at one and hit his hand. The knife sliced through it like water. I thought I was seeing things, but he blew it off. Told me I missed.”
She was quiet a long time. When she spoke, her words struck like lightning. “Then that’s the secret I share.”
Micah had forgotten the tattoo. Like her father, Gabby could not die.
Micah’s eyes pinched into thin, greedy slants. In all his fantasizing, he’d never even considered immortality. If the quill pen could grant eternal life, not only could he own the world, no one and nothing could ever take it away. He’d be invincible!
“Do you think it would work for me too?” he asked, his eyes digging hungrily into hers. “Do you think the pen will repeat a spell?”
She ignored his question. “We have to prove it.”
He looked at her blankly. “Prove what?”
“Our theory. This is huge, Micah, and I want to understand it.” She pointed to her tattoo. “Why did this happen? And what does it mean?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t fancy testing your immortality only to find out we were wrong.”
“We don’t have to try anything dangerous. I just want to see the pen work again.”
“You think it will answer those questions?”
“It might answer something.” Her face was both eager and cautious.
“Okay. What should we write?”
“I don’t know yet. Do you have the pen with you?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll think as we walk.” She pushed aside the mosquito netting and climbed out the open window.
Gabby was as fleet of foot as he. The sun hadn’t yet risen before they’d retrieved the pen and returned halfway through the swamp, pausing beneath the safety of the trees.
“Any ideas?” Micah asked.
“Yes.” Gabby looked at him steadily. “I want money.”
Micah lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
“Not for myself,” she specified. “For my pa. Just enough to settle the account at your father’s store. Now that Mrs. Crenshaw’s table burned—” She let the thought hang.
“Is that what this is about? Gabby, I’ll gladly lend you money. I have enough to—”
She stopped him. “No. It’s a practical, safe request. I want to see it happen.”
He nodded and handed her the pen and paper. But when she poised to write, her hand lingered over the page. And began to tremble. Looking up, Micah saw the uneasiness in her eyes. “I don’t know if I dare,” she whispered.
“I’ll do it.” He took the pen and bit his lip, considering his words carefully. Gabby’s idea was a good one, but she thought too small. If they were going to test the pen, they might as well go big. He’d put it to a real test. With a smug smile, he spoke the words as he formed them on the page. “I want enough gold and silver to make this town—to make my father—take notice. And I want it here. Now.”
Gabby’s eyes widened in horror. “Micah,” she whispered, “what have you done?”
The answer began as a stirring in the treetops, a soft murmur of leaves awakening with the first touch of the sun. The children watched in anxious fascination as the breeze began to swirl, gently at first, then with more force, directing a twist of golden leaves about their feet. The quiet rustle soon turned to the clink of coins. The wind rose in violence, buffeting them, snatching at their hair and clothing, catching them in a sparkling cyclone of precious metal.
Gabby screamed. Bent double, Micah clutched her in a death grip, bracing them against the brilliant onslaught.
Then the storm let loose, bursting upon them in all its fury, pelting them with a brutal torrent of coins. They struck their heads, bruised their skin, encased their feet. All that could be heard over the furious rush of air was the pouring down of gold and silver. The children were helpless against the pen’s power.
When the wind had deposited its full burden, it left as abruptly as it came, snaking away to writhe among the trees.
“Gabby, are you all right?” Micah kicked away the heavy pile of wealth that ensnared them to their waists. The girl sank onto the extravagant carpet
, her eyes and mouth agape.
With the danger past, Micah let out a whoop. “We’re rich, Gabby!” He flung glittering handfuls into the air. “Rich enough to buy our way out of this town!” Every footfall sang with the musical clink of money. He fell onto his back, laughing, fanning his arms and legs through the fluid treasure.
Gabby sat immobile, stunned into silence.
A last handful of leaves drifted onto their heads along with a single, torn scrap of paper. Gabby picked it up, scanned it, and met Micah’s eyes. “The money came from the bank,” she announced. “Mr. DeWitt’s bank.”
“What?” Micah lurched to a sitting position.
She flung the paper at him. “You wanted the town to take notice,” she snapped. “When the vault holding all their money turns up empty, they’ll notice all right.”
Micah gaped at the note. It was torn from Mr. DeWitt’s receipt book with his signature clearly scrawled across one corner. “No!” He met Gabby’s eyes as the realization sank in. “No, no, no, no!”
“We can’t keep it, Micah. It’s not ours.”
His eyes raked over the pile of riches, reluctant to relinquish his claim. “But, what do we do with it?”
She rose to her feet. “I don’t know. But if we get caught, we’re going to be in so much trouble.”
He sighed. “Why can’t the pen just obey us for once without creating any complications?”
“Because it’s evil, Micah. We can’t manipulate it. I see that now.”
“It can’t be evil,” he insisted. “It granted you eternal life, didn’t it?”
“But at what cost?”
“There is no cost. You’re going to live forever.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” she said quietly. “Am I going to outlive my friends? My mother? My husband and children?”
“Yes!” he burst out. Didn’t she understand her good fortune?
Her voice was brittle. “Micah, if I outlive everyone I love, think about how many people I will have to watch die. Think who I’ll have to live without—forever.”
The Quill Pen Page 11
