It wusent til supper that I reely thot bout bitin that caff – when I kudden get down no chops an waxbeens. I membert how that gal had bit us, lik I bit the caff. It sure made Zeb mad, all her bitin wile we helt her down. It lef sores lik skeeter bites. I kep tryin to eat, an so did Carl but I felt so sick I hadda stop. An Pa lookt at me agin, an I think he new then that I had sumthin to do with that gal we put inna churchyard. He dint say nuthin. Pa never wus one fur talkin.
I told Carl bout suckin the caffs blood, an how it fillt me up good, and his eyes went all roundy. He lookt reel pail in the lite from our candel. An we both just layed their on our bed that nite, an a lot o nites afters. He musta tol Jacob, caus he askt me a lot of kweshuns after church the nex Sunday. Every fuw days Id sneek over an suck on that caff, an feel better. But that hunger kep ot me, so I lookt at my sisters necks funny, an even at Pa an Ma.
That caff, it sickened a littel, an fell over ded one mornin. It wur a sore loss. We wusent dirt poor like sum folks, caus Ma cum well dowert from her folks down in Richmund, but we wusent so rich we kud los our caff ezy. I member Pa a standin by that pur beast, his brow all puckert, an a shakin his hed. We burned it, an the smell made me reel sic. I felt reel bad bout that caff, an bout the bitty gal agin.
Zeb, he got reel wild bout then. His Ma was long gone, an his Pa had got a new bryde, womman nama Polly White from over by Kovinton. She was rite fine – purty an sweet an not much oldern Zeb. I member she had this dimity dres she wor on warm days – she give my sister Betty suma the skraps fur a kwilt – an alwus lookt tidy an kul. Ma sayd she was a reel lady, an Ma new bout that, cummin from Richmund like she done. Polly wus alwus smilin or laffin, and she made Unkel Jethro smile to.
Well, Zeb he got sum kinna fit, an one day he jus tore that dimity dress offen his new Ma an thru her onna floor and did like we did to the bitty gal. He lef her half ded an all biten an nekkid. Jethro fownd her, an he went after Zeb an shot him inna belly. Zeb got up like nuthin happen an beat his own Pa to deth with the stock a that gun. He tol us after church on Sunday. In a day his belly wur fine, an no one fownd out rite aways. Zeb gave out that Jethro had gon down to Richmund a sudden like, an Polly was abed with sum womman thing. He had got reel kunnin from the hunger. No one got to nosy, and he tuk his Pa's wagon over to the Crossin an burned it an lef Jethro's body in the woods, like a robber had kilt him. I dint wanna no, but Zeb made us lissen. He seemt to be reel prowd of hisself, an Carl an me jus went away. At first we thot he wur yarn in sum bout that belly shot, but then I kut my hand onna scyth, an the kut stopt bleedin reel fast, an the kut was gone inna mornin. We talkt to Jacob, an he sayd the sickness dun made us strong sumhow.
Polly, she got well after a bit, but she dint smile no more, an folks started a tawkin that maybe her an Zeb dun away with Jethro. The wimmen gossipt, but no one dun any thin. Zeb he went sparkin after every gal in town, an the tawk died down sum. Polly, she jus sat inn a rocker an lookt inna corner, an sum ol biddy sayd she musta lost a child an was greevin sumthin fyerce. But pur Polly had the hunger an she had it reel bad. Jacob figgert it out an tol us. We wus fulla sikeness, an we new it now.
Ma sikent that winter, as wus tuk off by the kwinzy, so she never hadda find out what her sons hadda dun to that there bitty gal. She never saw that ol' hunger goin round the town, goin to an fro, like the Devil. I be glad she wus spared, an onlee wisht I cudda ben spared to.
Cum spring, haf the gals an summa the fellers hadda got that ther hunger. Sum died with the sikeness of it, and sum cum thru just fine. I don no why, an Jacob dont neether. Then Zeb he tol what we dun to sum gal, how we hadda kilt that bitty gal. Preecher called a meetin at the church, to decyde what to do with us. Everyone came cept me an Zeb an Carl an Jacob. Pa tol us to stay away, an Preecher tol Zeb the same. Those what had the hunger sat on one side, and them without sat on the other, an Preecher callt fur order. Preecher wus rite powerful – he wus the bigest man I ever saw, cept Zeb – an he hadda voyce lik thunDr. He tol everyone we kudent let this here hunger get loows, an we better not be tell in anyone frum the Crossin or Frowst what we got, or theyd cum an kil us. I wisht they hadda.
They jabbert all nite. Carl an me kud see the lanturns burnin in the church. When they wus dun, they decydet that them who din't have the hunger should le eve and move away, an them what had it would stay in Wulf Creek. They come an tol us that they wus good Christians, so they wusn't gonna hang us, but we kudent cum to church no mor, an we kudent marry no gals, a caus we wus defylt. Then they tol us no one in town wus ever gonna spek to us agin – that wus hard. Preecher convinced em to let the Good Lord do the judgen when we died. So, most of those what we rent sick went over to Leroy or the Crossin, but a few like Pa stayed in Wulf Creek.
I'd ruther theyd a hung us, to say the trewth, caus the hunger kep us livin an livin. But no one new or gessed, not even Jacob who is reel smart, that we got no way to die less we do it ourseffs. Ma and Pa wus lucky – they died naturel. Them as got the hunger an died frum it rite off was lucky to. But the resta us go on an on, for forevers as neer as we kan tell. Only good thing is we done get us no babies, even them that wus married. That wus a sore greef to the wimmen, not to hav the comfort of a child. We don get hurt an we don get no older, lik we is froze by the hunger. We keep up a good herd a cattle and sum goats fur food, an never see no one from one yeer to the nex. Sum boys in brown kum thru bout 15 summers back, an we all watcht them til they went off into the woods. They wus singin and wearin bags on theer shoulders. Jacob says they wus Boy Scowts and that they go offen the woods fur fun. I think the wirld mus be very strange now.
Sum a us has gone plum crazy. Caleb Smith he kilt his wife an son, bout forty years back, then hung hisself. My brother Carl been a sittin in our Pas room, a starin at the walls, for ner on sixty yeers. He don tawk no more – just drink his blood when I carry it up tos him. The rest – them as aint crazy or hasent kilt theirselfs – go on, mindin the stock an hatin us. I don spose it will ever end.
Sumtimes, at nite, I sit on the porch an look at the moon and wonder what things wudda been lik if I hadent got drunk with Zeb. An I wonder what happent to him, when he went offen to the War. I sur hope he got his hed blowt offen with a cannonball or wus hung. But mosly...
VISITING THE NEIGHBORS
JANRAE FRANK
ICE-CRUSTED TREES – mostly pines and mountain ash – splashes of green filled the view from the black Cadillac's windows. I refused to sit up for a clearer view, though usually I liked to watch the trees flash by. But I felt as furious as the snow that flurried in angry swirls among the trees. I curled into a sulky ball against the soft black velvet seat, my knees drawn up against the car door, my waist still cinched by the seatbelt though I had evaded the clutch of the shoulder harness. I pictured myself as a cat – a large, sinuous orange tabby just the color of my hair, an indignant tabby. Mama was abandoning me again to go hunting in Europe – though she wouldn't call it that when she talked to the neighbors. No, she would have a perfectly good excuse for dumping me on their doorstep, such as: my delicate health, my asthma, my allergies, she simply couldn't take me into all those awful pollens (I'd never been sick a day in my life); or she had enrolled me in Summer School-camp and I was SO counting on it. Ich!
The car picked up speed. The tires grinding and sliding despite the heavy chains: The chains weren't made for these speeds and the car wasn't built for this kind of weather. But Mama feared neither men, machinery nor nature. The caddie, although beautiful, was terribly old-fashioned in these days of soaring gasoline prices – just like Mama. She bought it when she was living in Heidelberg and visiting the professors. The caddy would go back to Europe with her if it survived. Just then I wanted more than anything to scream how I hated the car, hated Mama, and especially hated going to visit the neighbors! I loathed these trips. Every time she decided to go hunting in Europe she dumped me on a new set of people – usually ones I hadn't even met before! I was determined to force her into admitting I had a legitimate grievanc
e.
"Oh, Mama! "I protested, staring now at the ceiling and door. "I really wish you would quit dumping me on strange people!" My next words were lost as the racing caddie lurched suddenly against a deep rut. The wheels ground for a moment, then Mama shifted the transmission into reverse and backed up.
"Melisande!"
I flinched. Her sharp, whip-like tone stung: Mama could be simply savage at times. I tilted my head and regarded her from the corner of my eyes. Mama's dark blue eyes flashed angrily in a pale face with her heavy black hair swept up into a delicate lacy pile of curls. I wondered briefly how I would look wearing my chestnut locks in that style – I would try it when she wasn't around.
"Melisande! And where would you have us live? The village is gone, the schloss is in disrepair!" Mama threw me a quick indignant glance "Would you have us live in tents?"
I winced at her tone, but refused to yield the point. "No, but we could fix the roof. Or stay at the ranch. I like the ranch."
"Melisande, the hunting is poor at the ranch. We haven't caught anything worth eating in weeks."
"It's not Melisande, it's Melissa! I hate Melisande!"
"Melisande is a family name! My great-aunt Melisande, your namesake, was a countess in the Old Country."
"The Old Country! I'm absolutely sick of hearing about it. I've never been there. I don't want to go there. And you're not listening to me! You don't know how humiliating all this is… Besides you don't make Alexandra go visit the neighbors! Why should I be the only one who goes to visit the neighbors?"
Mama kept looking angrily back at me over her shoulder as she answered. "Now, Melisande, you know I can't do a thing with your sister since your father left. She runs off every time the subject comes up."
Mama yanked the wheel furiously around almost sideswiping a big pine tree. "Mama, watch the road, please! You're scaring me!"
"Oh, Shut up, Melisande! I know what I'm doing! You are going to stay with the neighbors. And that is the end of it!"
Just then I saw a disintegrating stone fence half buried in the snow. We had drifted off the road in the unplowed white brilliance and that stone fence just seemed to rise up as suddenly as the devil's own.
"Mama! Look out! You're going to hit it!"
Then she saw it too and swerved so sharply the caddie began to spin. Round and round the car went – it seemed forever – then we smashed into a tree.
I must have struck my head, because I woke up in bed with a plump, pleasant faced woman, her long brown hair twisted into a conservative bun, bending over me. She held my hand, patting it solicitously.
I didn't have to ask to know: Mama, car and all were gone.
A handsome middle-aged man with an old-fashioned square clipped beard, stood beside the woman. "My dear child, we are relieved to see you are feeling better. We've all been concerned about you." he said in a refined Southern voice. "I'm Joseph Andrews. This," he added, indicating the plump woman, "Is my housekeeper, Mrs. Lafontaine. You'll stay with us until your mother can return for you. We're neighbors you know. Our ranch is are only about twenty miles south of yours."
I sat up in bed and Mrs. Lafontaine immediately shoved pillows behind my back. I settled against them, chewing my lower lip, thoughtfully. I remembered Mama talking about Mr. Andrews over the last year and a half since we'd come to live in Montana. He was a member of one of those fundamentalist Survivalists groups that were scattered through the state. "Um huh. Mama talked about you."
Mr. Andrews bent closer to me with a solicitous smile on his face and I could smell rancid maleness beneath the layers of deodorant and Old Spice. It took a real effort not to gag. "You'll be just fine here, Melisande, my dear."
"Melissa, please. Not Melisande, it's so pretentious. It's…" I groped for the right word, one that would strike just the proper note with this strangely old-fashioned man. "It's just not American, if you know what I mean, Mr. Andrews?"
Mr. Andrews smiled. "So be it then, Melissa. My daughter Emily is just your age. It gets lonely at this ranch. I'm sure she will enjoy your company."
"Yes, Mr. Andrews." I managed to smile. "I'm sure I will too," I said. But silently I was cursing the fate called Mama that had me visiting the neighbors again.
Mr. Andrews, an expatriate Texan, owned the old Von Heidenstram ranch. Mama's car had overturned practically on his front lawn. Needless to say, I was not at all happy about the situation. Not only were they strangers to me, but they were Fundamentalists! It was worse than I had dreamed possible. The whole situation was an absolute nightmare! And knowing Mama, she had probably convinced him that we shared his beliefs completely. Gawd! Why did she keep doing this to me?
Mrs. Lafontaine clicked off the lamp on the old fashioned claw-footed nightstand as they withdrew. Just before they leached the door, I glimpsed a slender blonde girl outlined in the doorway. Like Mrs. Fontaine she wore her hair pulled tightly back in an unfashionable bun that made her face look pinched and plain. I suspected that a little make-up and a more flattering hairstyle would make a big difference. I guessed that must be Emily. But Mrs. Lafontaine whisked her away before I could tell any more about her. Nevertheless I found something disturbingly attractive about the girl.
I worried all night about whether or not I could manage to fit in among the Andrews! I was also intensely distraught over the possibility that Emily might not like me. That I might not meet her expectations. I know that makes no logical sense – she was only a shadow glimpsed in a doorway – but I did.
I woke in the early morning, hours before my accustomed time, in response to a tentative tap on my bedroom door. "Come in," I said.
Emily pushed the door slightly open and smiled uncertainly around the edge of the door, wavering a moment as with some desperate indecision.
"Come in," I called. "I'm not going to bite you, you know,"
"I didn't think you would!" Emily blurted, then clapped her hands over her mouth, blushing deeply as she stepped into the room. "Mrs. Lafontaine sent me to tell you breakfast is ready."
I smiled, thinking Emily was so beautiful and young and fresh. Such a soft, sweet girl! Rather like spun sugar, hair like butter frosting and a hint of strawberries about her lips and lovely cheeks. I would always remember the taste of sugar, butter frosting and strawberries when I thought of Emily years afterward. That was definitely how Emily tasted to me.
"You're not afraid of me, surely not?"
Emily shook her head. A wisp of blonde hair escaped its bounds slid around the left side of her face. For just a moment her expression was so appealing that it quickened my pulse. For just a moment I forgave Mama for making me visit the neighbors: this particular visit might prove enjoyable after all.
Then Emily, with an almost frightened abruptness seized that loose strand of hair that so attracted me, snatched a bobby pin from her pocket and secured it to her bun. Something in that gesture made me feel uneasy and uncertain. There was something about Emily that I just couldn't interpret – I'm very good at reading people or I would never have survived so many visits – but for me she was both disturbingly unreadable and mesmerizingly attractive. The more I looked at her, the more I wanted Emily to like me.
We simply stared at each other for several minutes. The silence was swiftly reaching the point of rudeness on Emily's part – she being the hostess – when she finally spoke again.
"I am sorry, Melissa. I don't mean to stare," Emily apologized. "You remind me of someone."
"Who? I hope she was someone you liked!"
"Jemina... I … I liked her." Emily's mouth twisted into a tight line and a glint came into her eyes as if tears lay just below the surface. "But I shouldn't be talking about her. Father would be angry."
"Why? Didn't he like her?"
Emily looked down, hesitated, and sounded evasive. "I'm surprised Father let you stay here ... you look so much like her."
"You miss her? Can't you write or call?" Emily never so much as raised her head and I could see by the way her eyes narrow
ed and her teeth pressed into her lower lip that she had been holding something back until she was ready to explode.
"Father never lets anyone mention her. Promise me you won't say anything to him about my mentioning her? Please!"
I patted her warm, pulsing hand, smiled "Word of honor."
Emily forced an uneasy smile "We're so isolated here. You're the first girl my own age I've spoken to in over a year. Father doesn't cotton to outsiders. People who aren't quite right – not true believers."
That startled me, but I couldn't think of any reply. It was just such an odd thing to say.
Emily settled into the big overstuffed wing-backed chair near the vanity. I pulled out the vanity's stool and we sat for a while without talking. The long silence must have made Emily feel insecure again because the pink returned to her cheeks. I'd never met anyone so innocent and unsophisticated before.
But then my experiences with these odd isolationist sects had been limited to seeing them in the grocery and department stores. I wondered if all their daughters were this way. If so I might just go visiting them on my own. The lovely way the blush transformed her face made me laugh delightedly which only made her blush deepen more.
"Will you come down for breakfast?" she asked.
"If you want me to. Though I'm not very hungry. My head aches a little."
Mr. Andrews and Emily's siblings were already at the table. There must have been a dozen of the little ragamuffins – all boys unfortunately – it isn't that I hate boys. It's just that their frantic boisterousness was so ... jarring. And this crowd was no exception. They kept jostling each other – and me – until Mr. Andrews intervened. They just seemed to be everywhere at once, reaching in every which direction, touching everything at the table. Back when I enjoyed such food it would have stolen my appetite to have dirty little boy hands handling every biscuit on a platter before deciding which one they wanted.
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