I smile. “Only 'portant people go to Savannah.”
“Then you'd best get goin'.” Catfish unscrews the jar of moonshine and gulps it down so fast it leaks out his gills. He smacks his lips and screws his eyes up in his head. “White lightnin'!” he cries. “Mother's milk!” He offers me a slug, but I turn it down.
“Can't drink me no shine, Cat. It pains my belly somethin' fierce.”
“Sorry, I done forgot.” He nods and offers the jar to Tom. “Long trip, Mr. Lawyer–Man. Best take a swallow now! You gonna need it where you goin'.”
Tom shakes his head. “No, thanks.”
Catfish chuckles. “Suit yourself. Don't you mess with Lordy now, or you'll wish you never left New York.”
Tom promises he won't.
Chapter 6: THE HUNGER IN ME
I push off and let the Okefenokee swallow us. Tom's bein' real quiet. Too quiet, and that bothers me. He keeps lookin' back the way we come, and I'm not sure if he wishes he was back in Howphil or we were just further away from the island.
“What was wrong with that man?” Tom finally asks. There's a shudder in his voice.
“Wrong? Ain't nothin' wrong with Catfish. He was just bein' protective, is all. He's like an uncle to me, and you know how they get.”
Tom gulps and does his best to nod. “No more stops, though, all right? Just straight on through.”
“Uh–uh. We got to make one more stop. Got to tell my Pappy I's ferryin' you to Trader's Hill, so he knows when to 'spect me back. Won't take long.”
“That's what you said last time.”
“You can wait on the raft while I go in. Pappy… he don't like visitors much, 'ceptin' Catfish, and he likes strangers even less. Besides, I got to pick up a few things for the journey to make us more comfortable. Bedrolls and such.”
“Your father,” Tom says, “does he look like Catfish?”
I can't help but laugh. “Pappy? Heck no! He don't look nothin' like that. Where you get a fool notion like that?”
Tom shrugs helplessly. “I don't know. It seems I don't know anything anymore.”
“You don't know shit 'bout this swamp, that's for true, but you must know lots of city stuff. You been to college, ain't ya?”
“What?”
“Back at the island, you said you was a lawyer. They's all edjumicated. Real smart fellers.”
“That's right. Sometimes too smart.”
“Well, must be an awful 'portant case to bring ya all the way down south to Savannah. What kind of crime is it? Rape? Kidnappin'? Murder?”
Tom runs a hand through his short blonde hair. “Nothing of the sort. It's, ah, an inheritance. I'm to tell a certain young lady she's inherited a fortune from her dead aunt. She has to sign some papers to make it legal.”
I give an appreciative whistle. “Money case, huh? You carryin' it in that case? How much is it? Like a million–billion?”
“I don't have her inheritance with me,” Tom says. “It's not cash… it's mostly property. She's getting a house, some land. Any money she's to receive is waiting for her in a bank account in Buffalo. I don't travel with much cash, just enough for expenses.”
“In case of robbers?”
“Yes, and because I usually don't need very much.”
“Oh.” I let things get quiet while I think on what Tom's said. Well, not think so much as fantasize. What if I was the girl Tom was comin' to see? What if I had a rich relative what left me a house and money and all them things a Rockefeller has? Wouldn't I look fine paradin' around Niagara Falls in silk dresses!
A plan forms in my mind, and it shames me I'd think this way, but an opportunity's an opportunity. Ya got to take 'em when they come or you're a damn fool. That's the real law of this world, and won't nobody'd hold it against me less'n they find out…
“Tom,” I say, “do them people up in Buffalo know what this inheritin' girl looks like?”
“No, all they have is her name and address.”
“So ain't nobody gonna recognize her when she comes?”
“I shouldn't think so.”
“Then how they gonna know it's really her?”
“Because I'll vouch for her.”
“That's awful nice. I bet this girl'd be real grateful.”
“Maybe,” Tom says, “but she gets the money whether she's grateful or not.”
“I dunno… Seems to me the money ought to go to a gal who'd be grateful, but that ain't the way the law works, is it?”
He laughs. “No, it's not. The law doesn't care about people in need. Believe me, I know.”
“How, Tom? How you know?”
He seems startled by my question. “Just, er, from past clients, cases. The law's just as happy to hang an innocent man as a guilty one, so long as that keeps the rope swinging.”
“Ain't that the truth. Seems to me that when the whole world's turned against you, ya got to bite back.”
“Some folks do,” Tom admits. “Most of 'em get caught.”
“That's 'cause they try to go it alone, or with the wrong people. But if a body knew a body he could trust… one with just as much to lose as him… they might go far together. Purt near forever! 'Specially if'n they was clever and didn't get too greedy. Only did it once.”
“Only did what, Lordy?”
“Whatever they was fixin' to do. One bite of the apple. Then they put their teeth away and enjoy themselves.”
There's a splash off to my left. Big Gertie slips into the murky brown water. That damn gator sure does get around.
“Good God!” Tom shouts. “That looks like a dinosaur.”
“Ha ha! That's just Big Gertie. She's as big as she is mean, but she ain't pre–hysterical.”
“Prehistoric,” Tom says. “Can't you pole any faster?”
I bite my lip. I don't like bein' corrected nor told what to do, 'specially not on my own raft, but I reckon I might have to get used to it if'n I'm ever gonna fit in on dry land.
“Don't get yer guts in a knot,” I tell him. “Gertie just likes to show off. Thinks she's the Queen of this here swamp, and maybe she is. Mind you, keep your limbs from the edge so as not to tempt her.”
Tom scrambles to the middle of the raft, dragging his suitcase with him. Gertie dives under the surface. There's a bump that splashes water over the wood, then she's surfacin' up ahead. “She don't mean to swamp us,” I tell Tom. “We was just in her way, is all.”
Just like Howphil's in the way of me and Jeb makin' a love–match. Just like the world's against me amountin' to anythin' more'n I am now. Ain't no two ways 'bout it… I got dinosaur–size problems and human–size teeth. I can take a bite, but can't see fit to chew my way clear.
Might be Catfish was right, and I belong here in the swamp. But my belly says I'm destined for somethin' better. I can feel the hunger in me, a gnawin' at my soul, and it's only getting' worse. I got to do somethin' 'bout it, and soon.
I look down at Tom. He's got be the key to this whole thing. I tried Jeb, and that lock don't turn. But Tom might.
Chapter 7: IF THE GODS HEAR
My home's on an island like the one Catfish got. Same kind o' raggedy cabin up on stilts, only we got an extra couple rooms. Pappy's got his, and I got mine, which is pretty much luxury livin' for Swampers. Pappy built it out of stolen lumber back before I was born.
“This is where you live?” Tom asks.
I nod. “Ever since always, but I aim to get out soon, see the world. This place… it's been lonely since Ma died of the Sickness a few years back. I don't think I can stand it no more.”
“I don't blame you,” Tom says, then quickly adds, “I mean, everyone should travel. I've had to do a fair bit of it myself lately, and trust me, I've never felt more alive.”
“Ya don't say? Well then, I got a notion to go with ya to Savannah. I'd pull my weight and make sure no robbers get ya. How'd that be?”
“Uh, I don't think that'll work,” Tom says. “No offense.”
I feel boot–stomped. Lower th
an low. I done messed it up with Tom Thatcher the same damn way as Jeb Malone. I know a feller's s'posed to make the first move, and I'd say that'd be just fine by me, 'ceptin no guy never made no move with me. Not first, last, nor in–between. and it makes me anxious it ain't never gonna happen, so maybe I got to force it. Make 'em see me as a growed woman with wants and needs and all them things.
It's not like I ain't got love to give…
“It's my lazy eye, ain't it? You think I'm ugly. Go on, say it!” I fold my arms across my chest and stare him down as best I can. I can feel my bad eye wanderin' off, but there ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it.
Tom looks toward the cabin, knowin' Pappy's inside, then back at me. “You got it wrong, Lordy. I don't think that. You're a fine, lovely girl.”
“Woman.”
“Woman,” Tom agrees. “But it still won't work.”
“Why not? You got a gal you's sweet on back in the honeymoon capital? Is that it? Don't you lie to me!”
Tom glances toward the cabin. “Keep your voice down.”
I can tell he's half–'spectin Pappy to come bustin' out the door with a shotgun, but that ain't Pappy's way. I lower my voice anyway. “I'm goin' to Savannah,” I say. “Maybe not with you, but I'm a–goin'. How you like that?”
I don't wait for Tom's answer. I tie the raft to the dock and hop up on the rotting boards, takin' the pole with me, just to be sure Tom don't decide to run off and leave me. I walk just as slow as I please to the cabin, rolling my hips and hopin' it shows through the shapeless rag of my dress. I don't look back, not even once. But I want to. I want to see Tom watchin' me. Want to see if he's desirin' me the way I'm desirin' him.
Inside, Pappy's sleepin', but not in his bed. He's all spread out on the floor, bubblin' and losin' shape. He's got the Sickness in him. Just like Ma.
“Pappy!” I kneel beside him, take his leathery tentacle–hands into my own, and squeeze my love into him the way he used to squeeze his love into me.
Pappy opens his yellow frog eyes, but they're watery and dim. “Lordy,” he gasps. “I'm sorry, darlin'… ”
Pappy ain't been well, but he weren't this bad yesterday, nor the day before. How long did he know he had the Sickness and hide it? No wonder he's been pushin' to see me married. He won't be 'round to take care of me no more.
I'll be all alone.
I kiss his bearded cheek. “I love you. Go on to the Old Gods now. They'll take care of you, the way they took care of Ma and all the rest.”
“My poor, sweet baby girl… whatchu gone do?” Pappy's voice goes paper–thin as his veins flatten out.
“I'm goin' to live,” I tell him. “I'm goin' to love!”
Pappy's dead. What was once a good man is now just a sludge of biscuit–colored gravy seepin' through the floorboards, minglin' with the swamp. Pappy's goin' home, and I hate myself for thinkin' it, but I won't have to worry 'bout him no more. Won't have to hate myself for leavin' him behind. It's like the Old Gods is lookin' out for us both, in their strange and terrible way…
I get down on my knees and pray to the cold stone idols of Mother Shub and Father Az, to Nyarl the Trickster, and Yog, the Way. I pray for Pappy to die soon without pain, and to be reborn, and for me to find a new life with Tom.
If the gods hear, they don't answer.
Chapter 8: CHANGE IN DIRECTION
“You get everything sorted with your Pa?” Tom asks as we push off from my island.
“Yeah,” I say. “Everythin's fine.” I have to turn away so he don't see the tears. I swipe at 'em with my sleeve, tryin' to force the hot salt away.
This ain't no time to lose it, Lordy, I tell myself. Lose it now, and you'll lose him, then this'll all be for nothin'!
Tom looks back at the island. At the smoke and flames pouring from the windows. “Lordy, what did you do?”
“Burnt it.” I'd set the fire after I loaded the last of the stuff we'd need for our journey onto the raft. Bedrolls and food, Pappy's favorite killin' knife, some 'shine for Tom. And the idols of course. It'd be disrespectful to leave those.
“Did you… did you just kill your father?” Tom asks.
“No. He was already dead. Had to burn it so you'd know I was serious. And you know what else? I had to do it for me too. So we'd both know there ain't nothin' left for me.”
“Lordy,” Tom says. “I told you… ”
“And now I'm tellin' you! We's goin' to Savannah. Together. You don't have to like it now, but you better by the time we get there. You better like it a lot, Tom Thatcher, or you won't wanna know what happens!”
Tom sits there, lookin' done in and altogether miserable. I let him be. He needs some time to take it all in, and frankly, so do I. What was just my fantasy is now reality. I don't know how that should make me feel, but I'm not sure it's like this.
“Your people will come looking for you, Lordy,” Tom says. “For us.”
“I know. I ain't stupid, but I reckon we can outfox 'em.”
“They're going to blame me,” Tom says. “I'm an outsider here. Did you think of that?”
“So I'll pole faster. Ain't that what you wanted?”
“I'm not going to Savannah.”
“Yes, you are. We both is, and you know what else? You is goin' to make me that girl from the will. You can give me lessons in city girl manners or whatever it takes to pull this swindle off.”
“Lordy—”
“I ain't done talkin' yet. You let me say my peace, then I'll let you say yours. Agreed?”
Tom shrugs. “I don't see as I have much choice.”
“It's like Catfish said: ‘Choices come, and choices go.’ Right now, you got a choice to be rich. The way I got it figured, you do me a favor, I'll do you one right back and give you half my inheritance. We can sell up the house and land, and split down the middle. How's that for generous?”
Tom opens his mouth to say something, but I don't let him. I stoop down and fill his mouth with mine. He smells like soap and tastes even better. His tongue's a wrigglin' fish tryin' to swim away from me, but I catch it and reel it in, then let go with a wet smacking sound.
“And I'm gonna do you one better'n that,” I promise. “I'm gonna give you half my fortune, and all of me.”
Tom, well, I don't know how he looks. Not the way he should, like there's somethin' more on his mind than me and money. But what else is there?
“Kiss me,” I say. “Kiss me again and you'll see. I'm goin' to make you a happy man, Tom Thatcher, and that's a fact!”
“We can't go to Savannah, Lordy.”
I stomp my foot. “What you mean, we can't? I just told you we could, and we are. Or don't you believe I'm serious yet? What else you need to prove my love?”
“It's not that. I was never going to Savannah. I'm heading back up north, and you're coming with me.”
“Huh? You best not be trickin' me.”
“No trick. And I—I'm not a lawyer. I'm not anything, really.”
“Then what are you?”
“I was a bank clerk. I robbed my own bank. I had to let everyone think I was going to Savannah so when the police came looking, they'd head the wrong way.”
“So where are you goin'?” I ask. “And what you got in that case?”
Tom opens his suitcase. It's stuffed full of cash money. I bend down to grab some, but he closes the lid faster'n Big Gertie can bite. “Not yet. I need your help, Lordy. Can you give it to me?”
“Hell yes! I ain't no greedy guts, so I'll offer the same deal as before: Half the money and me, which is like you keepin' it all so long as you keep me. Fair 'nuff?”
“OK.”
“OK.” I repeat the word to make sure I heard him right. “Then shake on it.” I spit in my hand and offer it to him.
He spits in his and we clasp hands. Closer'n before, with nobody watchin' but the Old Gods. We gaze into each other's eyes—gaze into 'em deep—and it's like somethin' 'lectric passes between us. It's a man–woman thing. A love thing.
&nbs
p; “There's something about you, Lordy Murch,” Tom says. His voice is real husky and low, and his hands are all wound through my long black hair.
“Then show me! Prove I'm beautiful.” I set the pole down and take him in my arms.
Tom's hands tug at my rough–spun dress, trying to pull it down, and he's breathin' heavy and whisperin' how hot and sexy I am, how much he wants to make me his woman here and now. Only I can't let him. It's still daylight, and we ain't even married, and a whole bunch of other reasons. Some I know, some I don't. But they all scare me. So I push him off and tell him, “No, Tom. Not like this. Besides, Catfish 'n the rest'll be lookin' for us… ”
Tom stops when I mention Catfish—like I knew he would. “All right,” he says. “We need to head north. That's the direction I was going to tell you to take me after we got done with your last… visit.”
I appreciate him not saying Pappy's name, nor what happened. It marks him the considerate type. But I don't understand why he wants to travel north. “Why go that a–way? Ain't north where you runnin' from?”
“Yes, but they'll never think I'd double back. And they'll be looking for a single man, not… newlyweds. Can you do it, Lordy? Can you give your people the slip and get us out of this swamp?”
I nod twice: once for him, once for the Old Gods. “I can put us out by Racepond,” I say. “Otherwise, it's the Dixon Forest, then up to Waycross or Nahunta.”
Tom scratches his chin. “We could get lost in the forest. How much food do we have?”
“'Nuff for nigh on ten days. Two weeks if we ration it.”
“And how long will it take us to get out of the swamp with the change in direction?”
“'Bout a week—maybe less, maybe more.”
“I thought you said it was only two days to Trader's Hill? Why so much longer up north?”
I shuffle my feet and sigh. “I was tellin' a fib. I didn't want you to say no. I figured if I could get you on this raft knowin' I had them extra days, well, that'd be all the time I needed to make you fall in love with me.”
“Damn it,” Tom says, and I don't like the harsh tone he's takin'. “What else haven't you told me?”
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