~*~
“No, Mr. Charlie, it isn’t like that at all.” Ruth blew out a breath. She needed him to understand. This wasn’t how she expected the Monday conversation with her friend to go.
“You aren’t afraid of Mr. Joseph, but you want to avoid him. I’m just an old man, but it seems someone you dated should bring better memories than the ones you want to forget.” His eyebrows rose. “And what of Mr. Nate, the cousin?”
“Did you know all along?”
“That Mr. Nate had a cousin? Of course I did. Most folks in town know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. Some things are destined to happen.”
The crows sat in thick groups on the courthouse lawn as well as dotting the tall grass in the churchyard across the street. Nate’s church. After a couple of weeks of neglect, already the place looked deserted and empty. Would the city eventually mow the lot or would the grass simply grow until it became a field more suitable for cows than the middle of town?
“You think you chose Logan, but that’s not the case.” Mr. Charlie had lowered his voice. “Logan was your destination long before your car ran out of gas.” He turned sightless eyes toward her. “Long before you left the safety of your mama’s home, before running to Wilmington to keep the secrets you were hiding, your destiny was Logan.”
Mr. Charlie’s philosophical thoughts felt like fingernails on a chalkboard. This talk of her destiny had started when the crows came, and the feathered blight was still growing, more every day. Her words came out hard. “I told you why I was in Wilmington.” She fingered the chain around her neck.
“I know what you told me.”
A man rushed up the stairs; another followed. Cars backed up at the light. It was closing time for local businesses. For the first time Mr. Charlie’s empty eyes unnerved her.
“And what did you tell your mama?” he finally asked.
Ruth didn’t want to talk about it. “I told her what I told you.”
“That you moved to Wilmington for a job, and the job ended, so you headed home only to run out of gas.”
“Yes.”
“And now Mr. Joseph has shown up and can destroy your well-rehearsed story.” It wasn’t a question.
“Please, can we just forget it?”
“Of course.”
A man and woman walked down the sidewalk toward the crosswalk. Deep worry lines etched their faces. The same couple passed every day, usually laughing, heads tipped together. The change from upbeat to worry unnerved Ruth. She had seen too much of it in the past few days, including the shift in her personal life.
“How many birds are there now?” Mr. Charlie asked.
She sighed. “Same as Friday. They’re all over the place. I’m surprised you don’t trip over them when you walk.” She turned sharply, searched his face, and glanced at his elbows and the worn fabric over the top of his knees. “You don’t, do you?”
“No, the birds let me alone. For the most part.”
She wondered what he meant by that but was too drained to ask. “When will people stop expecting Attorney Dunlap to fix the town’s problems? A couple stopped by this afternoon angry because their road hasn’t been paved yet, and the dust is getting on the wash she hangs on the line. They want to sue the churches. Who hangs clothes on the line anymore? And earlier a man, he didn’t have an appointment or anything, I was straightening the waiting room, and he just barged in and expected Mr. Dunlap to see him. I thought Kathleen might call the police, but finally, the man stormed back out, as mad as when he came in.”
“It will get worse.”
“I don’t know how it can. People are at each other’s throats all the time. No one is happy. Surely, you’ve noticed it, sitting here. Well, the anger, at least.” She wiped sweat off her forehead. “Why don’t you sit somewhere else in the summer? It’s so hot here.”
“I need to be here.” He smiled. “It feels nice to be worried about, little one. It’s been a long time since that has happened.”
For once, Ruth felt grateful for Mr. Charlie’s blindness. He could not see the tears that puddled in the corners of her eyes. She left Mr. Charlie sitting alone on the step, just as she did every Monday through Friday. But today, instead of turning right she turned left. She wasn’t going home just yet.
~*~
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Stewart Gleason folded the evening paper and placed it on the footstool. As he opened the front door of his sprawling ranch house, his face hardened. “Why aren’t you at the golf course or sitting on a fancy yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean?”
Joseph Ackerman stood in front of him, smiling as though the two were best friends rather than living on opposite sides of the moral train track. Joseph didn’t ask to come in, and Stewart didn’t offer. “This is a courtesy call. I thought it would be polite of me, as a fellow legislator, to let you know I’m working with your mayor.”
Stewart scowled. “This is my town. If Mayor Bloom needs help, all he has to do is call me.”
Joseph flipped his hand; a heavy gold ring sparkled in the light. “It’s nothing political.” He picked a piece of invisible dirt from beneath manicured fingernails. “This is business. Your mayor wants help structuring a plan to utilize the revenue from the new tax. I’m his man.”
“As far as I know, there hasn’t been any revenue to utilize.” Stewart wondered about Ackerman’s real game. The rich, young playboy didn’t need the work. Any dollars he earned in Logan would be piddling compared to what he was worth. “Doesn’t your own district need help?”
Joseph grinned. “They decided to delay implementation.”
Stewart didn’t miss the irony. “Well, thanks for informing me.” He turned to close the door.
“This isn’t personal, Stewart. There’s more going on than you can see, power that shapes the future. You have to know where to look, my friend.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Too bad about these crows; they’re making a mess of your town.”
Stewart Gleason shoved the door, blocking the face of the man he hated most. Rumbling sounds came from his stomach. He thrust a hand into the pocket of his shorts in search of antacids.
~*~
Ruth hadn’t expected it to be this dark, but thick clouds hid the stars and moon. She caught the toe of her sandal on a broken edge of the sidewalk and flung her arms outward to regain her balance. She settled the satchel of books back on her shoulder and continued walking.
Already upset from the horrific day of work, Ruth had felt worse when Mr. Charlie second-guessed her story about arriving in Logan. Well, it was true—at least part of it.
Stupidity kept her at the library too long, but she wanted to stay until after dark to avoid being seen by Joe—if he was watching. He didn’t know where she lived, and she wanted to keep it that way.
Her footsteps sounded too loud in the semi-quiet. A few cars remained in the parking lot at Jerry’s Diner, their owners most likely lingering over dessert and coffee. The smell of grilled meat spilled out the vent, and memories of the burger she had eaten with Nate only a week ago made her mouth water. Peanut butter didn’t taste as good as it used to, even if she toasted the bread.
Darkness became more complete as she rounded the corner, leaving behind the lights of the business district. The first residential streetlight lay a block ahead, and it was the last before she reached her house. Fishing in her purse, she touched the hardness of her house key and held the point poking out between clenched fingers. Why did she keep forgetting to check about a cellphone?
Disembodied sounds that normally would not have bothered her developed ominous overtones. A barking dog, banging doors, someone’s television. Her own breathing was too fast and too hard.
Footsteps tapped behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. A breath of air disturbed the shadows from their sleep causing motion all around her. Surely, the sound had been nothing more tha
n the bend of limbs. She stepped into a puddle of light that lay beneath the tall pole and lingered, hesitant to return to the dark. “There’s nothing in the dark that isn’t in the light.” Her mother’s voice. Ruth wasn’t sure she believed it.
Her house waited only a block away. Most of the windows she passed were covered with dark cloth. About a year ago, after Mrs. Walters was attacked, Ruth learned to keep her eyes straight ahead, her mouth closed and her thoughts to herself. The woman called the police on a neighbor having a pot party. Someone else lived in Mrs. Walter’s house now.
There was no mistake. Rhythmic sound of footsteps followed her. She tensed, ready to run. Her fist grew clammy around the house key, but she gripped it tighter. Hair swirled around her head as she turned right and left, panic seeping into her core as she searched for a place to hide: a house with a lit window, a thick-trunked tree, anything. The footsteps drew closer. Her house was next, dark and quiet. She never let a light burn when she was gone.
Overcome by fear, she ran.
~*~
Ruth shoved the door closed behind her. Her lungs struggled for air. She slid to the floor, never hearing the footsteps pass. But with her heart thundering so loudly, the person could have stomped by and she would have missed him.
She waited. When no sound penetrated the door, she hastened through the living room, into her bedroom, and then the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. Finally, with every light burning, she slumped into a folding chair at the kitchen table. She had missed dinner, but the thought of food made her queasy.
Something hit the kitchen window and she jumped. Not a rock; the sound was too soft. The window over the sink glared, black and faceless. Anyone in the neighbor’s driveway could see her sitting inside. She reached behind her and switched off the overhead light. The room filled with misshapen shadows.
She remembered the crow. Most likely she could explain the sound if she tried. She thought about the day. Mr. Charlie had upset her; she had come home late, walked in the dark, imagined footsteps. Her heart rate began to slow.
Another sound against glass: this time from the living room window. Ruth darted toward the refrigerator. She crouched beside the humming behemoth and pressed her back to the wall.
After a few seconds of silence, Ruth crept across the cracked linoleum floor and pulled open the drawer. Not wanting to stand and be seen through the window, she walked her fingers blindly among the contents. Her breathe wheezed in the silence as she searched. Finding the knife, she wrapped her hand firmly around the worn handle.
She distinctly remembered locking the front door, but the latches that held the windows were rusty. Squirreled back beside the refrigerator, she watched the beam of light coming from the bedroom. Anyone walking across it would leave a shadow. She stared at the light and waited. The plastic clock above the stove ticked off the seconds.
Pounding erupted all around. Horrifying sounds, hitting every window over and over.
With hands clamped over her ears she pulled herself into a ball. The urgency of the pounding increased. Her body would soon explode from the terror. She waited for the glass to break. Pounding. Pounding.
Screams pierced the kitchen and ricocheted off the walls. Her screams; her terror. The horror continued until her strength was gone.
11
Thursday, June 6
If the rowdies who had tried to frighten her the night before were watching as Ruth walked to work, she refused to give them the satisfaction of showing fear. With her head high and her back stiff, she walked down her street, all the while anticipating what might await around the next corner, behind the shadow created by the overgrown bushes or in the car that moved a bit too slowly toward her. Logan had become her home, and she would not succumb to pranks. She would not be driven out by someone else’s cruelty.
She should call the police and make a report. She could use the office phone, but what would the police do? The windows weren’t broken; they had left no footprints. The only oddity had been the number of black feathers lying around the house. But then, crows were everywhere.
Exhausted from the lack of sleep, she wondered how she would get through the day. More than that, what would she do when the sun finally set? Every attempt to shake off the feeling of evil met with defeat, and the tightness in her chest remained.
Reaching downtown, Ruth stopped.
Across the street, the two stained-glass windows that flanked the front doors of the church stared like vacant eyes, black and sightless, their red, gold, and blue colors gone. The doors that had been chained for two weeks stood open.
Ruth crossed the empty street and moved up the cement walkway that led to a wide covered porch. She stopped outside the open door. Should she walk in? Was there a procedure to gain entry? Someone had taken the time to use red spray paint on the cement floor. Wrinkling her brow, she tried to focus on the graffiti.
“Pay to Caesar what is Caesar’s.”
Ruth jumped at the sound of Nate’s voice.
His tight mouth showed the anger that his empty eyes denied.
She pointed to the floor. “Who did this?”
“No idea.”
“The windows?”
He grimaced. “Black spray paint.”
“I’m so sorry.” She ached to comfort him.
“There’s more,” Nate said.
He led her through the unlocked doors and across the vestibule. Beyond was a large room with splintered wood and shredded royal blue fabric thrown into three large piles.
“They used to be our pews,” Nate said.
Streaks of red paint scarred the pale blue walls. Books lay bent among the rubble. Ruth put a hand to her throat and turned her head, needing to hide her horror. Only then did she realize that their hands were clutched in a tight grip, a refuge among the confusion.
She met his eyes, her shock contrasting with his pain.
Nate loved his church. He had talked about it the first time they were together—the night he bought her a hamburger at Jerry’s Diner and then again at the picnic in his yard. Many of those attending told her how Nate spent hours at the church painting, replacing broken posts, mowing the grass. Whatever needed done, Nate was the go-to man. And now, the center of his life looked as if the devil himself had destroyed it. No one would be more hurt by the vile actions than Nate.
Pastor Clark and Police Chief Bill Stafford walked through a door in the front of the sanctuary. Pastor Clark rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t seen such aggression toward Christianity or houses of worship since I was in Haiti.”
“You were in Haiti?” the Police Chief asked.
“A long time ago. My parents were missionaries in Haiti when I was a kid.”
“Bet you saw an eyeful.”
“A lot like this but with chicken feet and splattered blood.” The pastor shared a narrow smile. “No, this isn’t voodoo. This mess belongs to angry men.”
The chief eyed Ruth and then turned to Nate. “Anything missing?”
Nate pulled a sheet of paper from his jeans pocket. “Most everything electronic that could be carried out is gone.”
“How in the world did they do this right in the middle of town?” The chief rubbed his jaw and stared at the mangled pews. “We have a cruiser passing through this area at least every hour.” He shook his head and turned to Pastor Clark. “You have insurance?”
Pastor Clark nodded.
“That’s good.”
A deep sadness settled over Ruth. Everything came down to money. Had it always been this way and she had never noticed?
“I’ll make a report,” the chief said. “In the meantime, let’s get this place locked up again.”
Pastor Clark turned a heavy gaze to the chief. “Thanks for notifying me. I appreciate it.”
“Soon as I got the call, I headed over. When I saw the mess, I phoned you.”
“Who called it in?” Pastor Clark asked.
“Some man at the courthouse. Said he was going to work early an
d noticed a couple guys creeping behind the hedges. He yelled, and they ran. By the time we got here, well, this is what we found.”
Ruth felt Nate stiffen. “Man have a name?” he asked.
“Yeah, Joseph something.”
Ruth and Nate shared a quick glance. Please let this be a coincidence. Nate said Joe would seek revenge any way he could. Was this her fault? Too much had happened too quickly. She was drowning in its immensity.
12
Thursday, June 13
Ruth settled into the seat of Nate’s truck with a comfort she would not have expected three weeks ago. She wore her best summer dress, the yellow sleeveless one with white flowers running the length of the fabric. She had pulled her fine hair into a knot.
Exactly a week ago today, Nate’s church had been vandalized. He had invited her to the dinner at Chet and Betsy’s as she’d left him that morning to continue to work. She had agreed but had believed the dinner would be cancelled when Chet and Betsy found out about the trouble. But Betsy made Nate promise to come, and Nate said if he had to go, so did she. The trip to the Ross’s took less than five minutes. Ruth smelled the pasta sauce as soon as she stepped onto the front porch.
Nate told her she would love Betsy’s house, and he was right. As she looked around the living room, it was hard not to feel at home when the décor looked a lot like hers. The upholstered furniture was draped in pale blue fabric. Two end tables had their origins as boxes and crates. She grinned when she spied the lamp Betsy had obviously created from a castoff ceramic vase.
“Welcome to the Ross’s,” Chet said, giving her a gentle lopsided hug as he leaned slightly toward the heavy cast. He smelled like soap and aftershave.
A small wiggling bundle of boy streaked through the room, pulling behind him a green balloon tied to a string.
Nate caught Chip around the middle and spun him off the floor. Amid giggles, Nate hugged the child and set him back on the floor. “Say hi to Ruth before you run off. You remember her from the picnic at my house, don’t you?”
Light of Logan Page 9
