“I wish I could be more like you, Jack. You know I can’t.”
“Oh you could—you’re just too dang thick. You don’t want to.”
“If you had seen it, how she died...”
“Yeah, I know. If it had been my wife, I’d be doing the same thing. But at some point, well, you…”
“Let her go—that’s what you’re not saying.”
“Yes, I didn’t say that!”
“Right. You didn’t say it,” the Ranger chuckled.
“Let’s call it a night. Come on, I got rabbit stew tonight, and one of your nutty disciples left me some honey and bread by the Dooley shrine.”
“Left you some bread, eh?”
“They leave it. I snag it. It’s a regular business deal I got going. Hero worship has its benefits,” Jack said. “I’m keeping a list of things I’d really like. Something better than the flowers and beads your petitioners drop off. How about a new rifle or a kerosene lantern? That’s the kind of loot a real avenging angel should get.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
The two men turned and moved deeper into the woods.
The Ranger could not reason why Opal Summerfield was being hunted—so much dark power leveled at a mere child. The truth was he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to care. But at the same time, he was haunted by the promise of the old woman. The child was a key. But to what?
38
The next day in Grigg’s Landing, it didn’t take long for word to spread that Opal had survived the fire. The attack on the Summerfield farm had been horrendous news. This despicable assault had been more than the typical harassment of the Hoods—this was a new level of terrorism. They had shot Bree and lynched Hud. Since there appeared to be no direct connection between the attack and the peace-loving, hard-working Summerfields, every family in Hookrum felt they might be next.
Roe and Franklin Summerfield, Opal’s two grieving uncles, had gone into hiding, but they sent word that they would come to Opal as soon as possible. Opal’s return was good news to most, but some people whispered that the blue-eyed rummer girl with the brazen attitude and smart mouth might be responsible for the whole thing.
“Apparently, all resurrections have their detractors,” Thomas Oliver said when the gossip circulated his store.
Thankfully, Opal was not privy to this nonsense. She woke delighted to find breakfast waiting for her next to the bed. The tray had a fine china tea set and a plate with fresh buttermilk biscuits. Blackberry jam, butter, and three strips of thick salty bacon were included. There was even honey for the tea, but Opal poured it instead on her biscuits, which she devoured with the bacon.
After her breakfast, she put on a beautiful cotton sundress, which she found carefully laid out on chair in the corner. It must have been one of Jenny Oliver’s dresses. It was so soft from years of wear that Opal thought it felt like silk. It was old, but as nice some of Opal’s best.
Opal thought she would feel more comfortable in her own clothes. Then she remembered that she had no clothes. She had no possessions at all—except the necklace.
After she dressed she wandered the halls of the Oliver house looking at daguerreotypes of the family, charmingly arranged on the walls. Here was one of Nan and Thomas opening the store for the first time. No other structures surrounded the building. The general store and the family residence above it must have been one of the first buildings built in Grigg’s Landing.
At the end of the hallway, she found a stairway and descended into the back of the general store. It was obvious that the bulk of the supplies in this room were stored and ready for stocking. She squeezed past large burlap bags of cornmeal and dried beans. Crates marked fragile, some already opened, revealed carefully packet items like porcelain figurines and china plates. Another crate seemed to be full of men’s hats and leather belts. A stack of well-crafted brooms leaned against a corner, and sacks of coffee beans filled the air with a smell that reminded her of Sunday mornings.
Opal finally made her way into the main room that was the general store. She found herself right behind the counter. Thomas Oliver was trading news with Roy Morgan while hanging up some new tools for display. Roy laid his money out and a collection of pharmaceuticals: Dr. Killmore’s Swamp Root Tonic, Miner’s Blood & Nerve Pills, and a stack of Sulpho-Lac Soap. Thomas eyed the man curiously and started making change.
Opal saw Nan Oliver arranging bolts of cloth in the corner of the store. Rebecca Foster, the wife of Franklin Foster, the town surveyor, tried to corral her two youngest children as she inspected the newest Blocksom & Weaver Mechanized Butter Churn.
Nan rushed over to Opal as soon as she saw her.
“How are you feeling this morning, young lady?” Nan asked.
“Good. Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Oliver. And…the dress,” Opal replied.
“Of course. Come with me for a moment.” Nan directed Opal back to the storeroom. They convened near an enormous shelf of canned goods. “Listen Opal, I’ve got some good news. I’ve talked to Beatrice Worthington. Well, she heard about your predicament, and she has invited you to live at her house. Just until we can figure out a new home for you.”
Opal had not considered that she would need a new home. The whole idea hit her wrong. She became irritated immediately. Her eyes wandered toward the corner of the storeroom as she considered the offer.
A set of stairs descended into the cellar. Opal saw Doc Trimble coming up the stairs. He seemed off guard. He waved awkwardly when their eyes connected. He turned nervously, shut the cellar door quickly, and went out the back.
“Yes ma’am. That’s a nice offer,” Opal said halfheartedly. She was curious about what might be in that cellar.
“Opal, look,” Nan said. “We are going to make sure you are okay. Do you understand? This doesn’t mean you have to live there forever. It’s just a place to start over. The Worthingtons have means. They have a lot to share, and they are willing to help. They know you and your mother.”
“You mean they knew Bree,” Opal said. “My aunt.”
Nan nodded, acknowledging the point. “Yes, Bree. Bless her dear soul.” She patted Opal on the back and returned to her work.
Opal was now keenly aware that her mother was another distinct person, someone who had her own hidden history. She wanted to make sure she didn’t let that go, and she wanted Mrs. Oliver to see it straight, as she did.
The Worthingtons seemed like decent people, but she preferred her own kin, maybe even her real mother’s curious, magical world.
I still can’t believe what I saw. The witch. The monsters. It just doesn’t seem real. But this necklace is magic—I’ve seen it do things.
In her mind, she saw Luka. She felt a stab of emotion. He had given his life for her. She assumed he had been taking her to the place he called Fallmoon Gap. Maybe that was where she should be going, she thought, not the Worthington’s estate.
39
Tirian was horrified. He stood over the bodies of two dead men. He found them hidden in some overgrown vines near their camp. They had been tossed like ragdolls into the forest. Their faces were smoke gray and their mouths were frozen in contorted screams.
They were new wardens he had trained. They had agreed, just a few days ago, to help him scout for Luka Turner.
He felt the sting of guilt in his heart. He tried to figure out how the young men had died. Puncture wounds and acidic green ooze covered their bodies. There was no blood left in either of the corpses.
The conclusion was obvious. Feratu had found a more appetizing food source. They were no longer hunting firehorses—they were eating humans as well, and that meant everyone in Arcania was in serious danger.
40
The next day, Nan Oliver escorted Beatrice Worthington through the store and out the back. Opal sat on a discarded pine crate watching a dove peck for seeds next to an old hickory tree. The bird looked like a tarnished silver kettle bobbing its spout in and out of tufts of clover. Opal chewed on a long bundle
of Blackband’s. The candy melted away to red sticky-sweet nubs.
“Opal? Opal?” Nan Oliver called out. “Mrs. Worthington is here.”
After the formality of proper introductions, Opal reached out to shake hands with Mrs. Worthington.
“Well it’s good to see some of the manners I taught Bree have found their way to you, dear child,” Beatrice Worthington exclaimed in an annoyingly superior tone.
“Good to see you kind of have them as well,” replied Opal. It was all she could think to say.
Beatrice glared at Nan Oliver, then back at Opal. Opal was looking away. She was engrossed in shredding her last legless-lizard, and intent on ignoring the awkward interaction.
Beatrice began a soliloquy worthy of her husband’s sermons. “I understand you have had a hard time of it dear. God’s will is hard to understand. Lord knows it can be a struggle to comprehend, and for a child like you, it must be nearly impossible. If you set your mind to working for your keep, and if train your heart on doing God’s bidding, you will fit right into our house.”
Opal looked up. She didn’t like what she was hearing. Mrs. Worthington sounded like she was hiring new staff to tend house.
Is this what the generous Worthington offer is all about?
Opal couldn’t let it lie. She pulled a strawberry snake through her lips with a great sucking sound. She waved it like a bright red baton, pointing it straight at Mrs. Worthington.
“Let me get this right. Are you hoping I’ll replace Bree?” Opal said.
“Child, how terribly insulting. We are offering you a temporary home. It is simple charity.” She was incensed.
“I don’t want your charity, and I’m no one’s servant,” Opal said.
Opal twisted up her face and stared at Beatrice, then Nan, and then Beatrice. Opal settled on Nan and glared at her. Nan took that as a cue to smooth things over.
“Well now Beatrice, Opal has been through a lot these past few days. Got hurt as well, but she heals fast. She will fit nicely at your place. I know she’ll do everything as best she can, just like Bree taught her.” Nan smiled feebly.
“Well I should hope so!” Beatrice Worthington said as if insulted. She twisted her nose into the air and turned to leave.
Nan Oliver leaned down and whispered, “Opal, remember, it’s not forever. Just until things are sorted out. Besides, that estate is a fortress. It’s the safest place you could be right now. Come see me if you need anything. I’ve got a lot of clothes and other things all packed up for you in her wagon. It includes a good supply of Blackband’s. Now hurry up!”
She decided she would go along with the plan, for now at least. It would give her time to plan her next step. The Olivers had been the kindest white people she had been around in a very long time. There must be something good in this arrangement.
Opal ran to catch Beatrice, but she was already outside climbing into her horse-drawn cart. Jupiter Johnson, the Worthington family’s liveryman, gathered the reigns and readied the team of horses. He gave Opal a knowing glance and a wink, and motioned her to get on the back of the wagon. Jupiter clicked the reigns and the cart began to move just as Opal hopped onto the wooden tailgate.
She held on tight and watched the Olivers’ store fade into the distance.
Pastor Worthington’s house was known for the massive fence that surrounded the entire residence and its grand gold-leafed gate. Black wrought-iron bars, shaped at the top like ancient hunting spears, nine feet in height, made up the wall. All of them were anchored in stone pulled from the riverbeds. It created a formidable stronghold. The wall had gone up after the Worthingtons’ daughter died. The grand effort was too late to save Abigail, but it gave the family a sense of security.
In reality it had turned what had once been a warm gathering place for the whole community into a tomb-like fortress. The estate was cut off from both the bad and the good of Grigg’s Landing.
Jupiter steered the team of horses through the massive gate and up to the house. As she climbed down from the wagon, Opal saw Pastor Abner Worthington waiting. He was a tall, handsome man with long black and gray hair. He was dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit. He wore a silver pin on his coat and held a gold pocket watch, which he checked and replaced in his vest.
His voice, which had once called Abigail in for dinner, now called to her. His tone was formal and oddly hollow—different than her memory of him. He walked up to Opal and embraced her, a bit stiffly, but also grandly, as if a lost child had finally been found.
“Welcome to our home Opal. I’ve been so eager to have you back. It’s been such a long time since you ran these halls. What a blessing to have you!”
Beatrice walked right past the two of them and went into the house without a word.
Buried in the chest of Abner Worthington, Opal peeked through his arms to see the face of Jupiter Johnson. He watched the two of them with a weak smile plastered on his face.
“Most of all, I want you to know I will do everything I can to make sure you are safe. You have the protection of this place, our family, and of course, the gracious Lord. Jupiter, help Miss Opal get settled. We’ll see y’all later,” Abner said.
“Thank you,” Opal said.
“I want you to know, I feel Abigail’s presence in this,” Abner said. “My little angel, she must be watching out for us. She would be so happy.”
Opal watched Abner as he regarded the heavens with great interest, as if he did see his dead daughter, shining with angel wings, dangling her feet from the side of a cloud.
Opal saw Jupiter turn away, no wink, no smile. She followed him around the house, past the barn, and through the apple orchard. She knew where Jupiter was taking her.
Of course, why expect anything else? I’m not here to get help; I’m here to give it.
Opal slouched reluctantly toward her new home: the servant cottages.
41
It didn’t take long for Amina to find Opal. The power poured out of that ancient stone like a signal fire. It lit a path to itself like it wanted to be found. Perhaps it enjoyed being chased? Maybe it wanted Amina as its new owner—someone who could truly wield its magic?
Amina had arranged the death of Jane Willis, so the necklace was no longer shielded by the clairvoyant’s spells. There was a new problem, however. The old female servant had conjured a blue bottle tree on the Worthington Estate.
It didn’t matter though. Amina had made a special pact with Worthington, and her wraiths were moving that part of her plan along. Soon there would be nowhere for the girl to hide.
42
By late spring Opal had made her place in the Worthington home. She lived in the servants’ quarters near the back gate, close to the edge of the woods. The blue bottle tree swayed outside her window. Mornings, she would go to the schoolhouse and visit with Ms. Trudy Freeg before leaving to do her chores—her “God-given work,” as Beatrice Worthington called it.
Still wary, Franklin and Roe Summerfield stayed in hiding, but they would come for secret visits. They met at dark, after Opal’s long day of work, near the back gate. They brought Opal small gifts, like Blackband’s Legless Lizard Licorice, and tried to get her to laugh. The Olivers checked in on her as well. Even Mattie made her way around for short visits. They shared stories of Mattie’s love life, her new crush of the week, and sometimes Mattie left clippings from the Gazette.
Her host family was a different matter. The Worthington’s rarely talked to Opal. She believed it was because she reminded them of Abigail. She was expected to go to church each Sunday, however. She was even allowed to sit near the family, where she patiently endured the orations of Pastor Worthington by thinking about Luka, her necklace, Fallmoon Gap, and what waited for her beyond Grigg’s Landing.
Opal tried not to think of how easily Bree, Hud, and Abigail had been erased. Then there was Luka Turner. His death was one more painful memory for her already-too-full inner memory box labeled: preventable tragedies. It’s not right. It shouldn’t have
happened. Opal was overrun with such thoughts. Other people seemed to accept too easily what she felt was an obvious flaw in God’s great plan.
“Why do good people have to die?” Opal asked Sugar one evening while the two sat in the fading light. The air was humid and lightning bugs began to pop on and off around the yard. “I mean, it just doesn’t seem right, you know? Abbie and all?”
Sugar, who was smoking a pipe full of White Burley, just grunted her disapproval.
Opal asked, “Sugar, tell me the truth. What do you think happened to her?” It was easier to talk about Abigail than her parents.
Sugar took her pipe out and used it to point to the back of her dilapidated cottage. Outside Sugar’s bedroom window was an old gnarled and stunted maple tree. Dangling from each of the limbs were blue glass bottles of all sizes and shapes.
“Look here, you know how long it took Sugar to get them bottles? Well I’ll tell you it was a long time. But I started hanging them on this here haint tree the minute that baby girl didn’t come back from them woods,” Sugar said, blowing tobacco smoke through her nose.
Opal leaned in intrigued. It was rare that the old black crone even spoke, but on this matter she was coming to life.
“Yes ma’am, something awful done happened to that child. I knows it deep down in me. Something real, real bad,” Sugar said.
She took a long draw on her pipe and looked up at the Worthington’s house. The tobacco smoke hung between the women and the big house, and what they saw was distorted, but truer than what was actually visible.
The light of Abner’s study was dimly lit. Through the white lace curtains you could see what appeared to be the pastor leaning over his large desk.
The shadow was busy. Its shape changed from small to monstrous as it stalked the room.
“Something damn evil, that be the straight truth of it. Sugar is sure of that,” she said. The old woman curled her lip in disgust and spat in the dirt.
Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap Page 10
