Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. The car went on, and she ran to the drug store. Even before reaching the parking lot she spied the boarded windows and locked doors. Taped to the window was a sign advertised a going-out-of-business sale.
A vehicle pulled to a stop in the parking lot behind her. She tightened her slumped shoulders. Had the driver of the car come back? Thoughts of what happened to women who wandered alone raced through her mind. Her mom had been right. Again. But here she was, and no one could get her out of the situation except herself. The vehicle door opened. She gripped her purse tight by the handle, prepared to whip it against the driver’s body.
“Ruth?”
Her knees weakened with relief. In spite of their differences, he wouldn’t hurt her. Surprised that he’d stopped at all, she turned. “Nate.” Her hand sought the chain around her neck.
“What are you doing here?” He frowned. “It’s good I decided to go home from work this way. This isn’t the best place to be hanging out, especially alone.”
“I can’t find Mr. Charlie.”
“And you think he’s here?”
“I’m looking for his house.” In her preoccupation, she had failed to notice that darkness had crept in. No street lights illuminated High Street. Not even a lightening bug blinked cheer into the desolate place.
Nate sighed. “You can’t go walking around alone. Do you have an address?”
Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t. Some dead-end street on the edge of town.
Nate smacked his neck. “These mosquitoes are eating me alive. Get in the truck. There’s a map of the city in the door.”
~*~
Nate wasn’t the least bit comfortable with Ruth sitting next to him in his truck. Their easy relationship ended when Joe revealed her past. And now, with her wedding tomorrow, what was he thinking, offering his help? He started the engine and let the cool air blow in his face. He breathed deeply and held the oxygen before releasing it.
The illuminated dashboard highlighted her face, making the hollows under her cheeks seem even deeper than on Sunday. He glanced at the side of her head, wondering if the cut had healed, and then turned away. Not his problem.
“Mr. Charlie told me he lived on a dead-end street. He said there used to be other houses, but they’re abandoned or torn down. He hasn’t been at the courthouse in two days, maybe longer.” She stared at his face. “I know you don’t believe me, but he needs my help.”
He should take her home, tell her to call Joe for help. But then, she didn’t have a phone. She could use his. But would Joe help her? Probably not. Most likely Mr. Charlie was fine, sleeping off a binge or something.
Nate put the truck in gear and pulled onto the road. “Ruth, I…” Even in the darkness he saw hope radiate from her face. A knife stabbed deep and hard into his heart. Why did she have to be so beautiful? “The map is in the pocket by your door, but I know a couple of places that fit his description.”
On Green Lane the old abandoned houses had been razed, so Nate drove to County Road Ten, farther out of town. The ruts in the pavement caused their bodies to bounce against the seatbelts like popcorn in a hot skillet.
“Might be a good place to bring the work crew from the church,” Nate said as he gripped the wheel tighter.
“I can’t imagine Mr. Charlie walking on this road.” Ruth’s head jerked back and forth, and her words came out like disassembled parts.
Nate stared at her. He couldn’t help himself. Seeing her hair fly and those huge eyes of hers bulge bigger with every bump set him crazy.
Ahead of them and off the road by about two-hundred yards stood an old farmhouse with a tin roof, a big barn, and a field with more beat-up tractors than Nate had ever seen in his life. Light glowed from the downstairs windows of the house. “Looks as if someone lives there.” Nate searched for the driveway among the knee-high weeds.
As he drove up the path toward the house, a collie bounded off the porch and ran toward them, barking. The yellow porch light came on and a man walked as far as the first of three wooden steps.
“I recognize him,” Nate said. “He was at the picnic at my house, remember?” He turned to Ruth. “He and his wife. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Maybe they go to one of the other groups.” She stared out the windshield.
“Not the house you wanted, is it?” Nate sensed her disappointment. “Maybe he’ll know where Mr. Charlie lives.”
“Chief won’t hurt ya,” the man called as Nate eased himself out of the truck. “He’s got more bark than bite now-a-days.” The man whistled. “Come on, Chief, get on up here.”
Walking up the driveway, Nate held out his hand and the man took it with the hard grip of a farmer. “I met you at the picnic at my house a few weeks ago.”
“Me and the missus thought we’d hear what the preachers had to say. Have to tell you though, we support the tax. Name’s Harry.”
“I’m Nate. Good to see you again.”
“Suppose you noticed those holes in the road.”
Nate rubbed a hand along his backside. “Hard to miss them.”
“Well, we were hoping to have them fixed with the tax money. The city’s out of funds for road work. Been out of funds for years, if you want my opinion. You come to tell me your church is going to pay their tax?”
Nate squirmed under the stare of Mr. Harry’s rheumy eyes. He glanced around for a shotgun and then felt embarrassed doing so. Did he think that everyone who disagreed with the church was out to get him? “Actually, I wonder if you know where a man named Mr. Charlie lives. He’s the blind guy who sits on the courthouse steps most days.”
Harry scratched the top of Chief’s head. “No, don’t recollect I’ve ever met him.”
“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.”
When Nate reached the truck, Harry called out to him. “Had a fella stop by here a few weeks back and wanted us to join a rally against the churches.” He chuckled. “Glad we turned him down. Sounds like you folks were greeted with some hog slop.”
Nate tightened his jaw. The situation had become less than funny. “Did you hear that someone threw a bomb inside the Sparks’ place and killed an old lady, Miss Hannah? And just last week a brick was tossed through the window and hit one of the church ladies. The brick would have killed a kid.”
Mr. Harry stared toward the left, as though he suddenly needed to check out his darkened field. “Things have gotten out of hand. More’s comin’, I’m afraid.”
Nate jerked. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing in particular. Just rumblings, you know. The kind of things you hear when you listen.”
“Do you know who’s responsible?” Nate gritted his teeth. God, calm me down. I’m no good if I go blowing off at this man. “What about my church, the one on First Street? Any idea who vandalized it?”
“Don’t really know. And I never saw the man before, the one that came here. Said he lived in town, though. I don’t want no trouble.”
“There won’t be any trouble. And if you decide to give God a try, there’s a phone number posted on the door of each church.”
Nate started the engine before turning to Ruth. He shook his head, and she fumbled with the map.
“The next street is Howard. It’s also the last one.”
Howard Street was on the opposite side of town from Attorney Dunlap’s office. It would take a man like Mr. Charlie over an hour to walk to the courthouse, so it seemed unlikely he lived there.
“Thanks for helping me.”
“I heard you’re getting married tomorrow.” The words spilled out.
She hung her head. “It’s something I have to do.”
When she finally looked at him, his heart broke all over again. “Getting married isn’t a duty, Ruth. It’s something you do out of love.”
“I’m marrying Joe because of love; maybe not the kind of love you want, but my kind.” A crystal tear slid down her cheek.
Kicking himself for upset
ting her more, Nate drove through town, past the courthouse illuminated by strategically placed spotlights, a sharp contrast to his darkened church across the street. At the edge of town, he turned right onto Garfield. Houses became less frequent, replaced by fields of corn and cotton.
Ruth glanced out the window. “What’s that building?”
“Used to be a cotton mill. The place caught fire fifty some years ago, I’m not sure when exactly. It was never rebuilt.”
“Mr. Charlie said something about working in a factory.”
“Well, he seems old enough.” The burned-out hull of the three-story brick building stood as a testimony to the past. Patchy islands of lanky stems, shining silver in the moonlight, supported seeded caps. “Kids come here and hang out. The city boards up the place, but the kids find a way in.”
“Why doesn’t the city tear it down?”
“Money, most likely. It costs to pull something like this down and then dispose of the brick. Another notch for the church-bashers, I guess.”
Ruth shifted in her seat to better look at Nate. “Tell me about the light of Logan.”
“Light of Logan? You mean a lighthouse? We’re too far from the coast to have one.”
“Mr. Charlie mentioned the light of Logan and then Joe asked me about it. I thought you might know what it is.”
The unexpected question seemed honest enough, and yet Nate found himself peering into the dark for some unexpected surprise. “If there is something around here called the light of Logan, I have never heard of it.”
“Just wondered.” Ruth continued looking out the front window.
A few hundred yards further, a disturbance in the weeds on the right showed in the headlights. Lacking pavement and heavy with weeds, it took tire tracks to identify the disturbance as a road. Nate turned and stopped. The headlights illuminated empty fields that backed up to the swamp on the left and several houses in various stages of decay.
Nate blew air from pursed lips, discouraged. He had wanted to be her hero one last time. “I don’t think this is it either, Ruth.”
“We’re close. I can feel it.” For the first time since he had picked her up at the pharmacy, energy sparked from her eyes like electricity in a storm. “Drive on up a little farther. Maybe there’s a house we can’t see from here.” She sat on the edge of her seat, gripping the front dash.
Nate pulled the truck slowly down the path, looking at each decaying structure as the headlights hit it. Good timber going to waste. Mr. Evans received at least two phone calls a month from people looking for recycled wood.
Toward the end of the road on the left, set back about fifty yards, stood a small, single-story house. The windows were dark. Weeds stretched tall against the worn siding. Passing the house, Nate drove to the end of the path where the road formed a circle. A foundation and brick chimney were all that remained of the house that once stood there.
“I can’t believe he isn’t here.” Ruth slumped against the back of the seat. “I feel like he’s so close.” She rubbed her arms.
Nate circled around and started back toward the highway.
“Stop!”
Nate punched the brake, forcing both of them forward.
Ruth stared at the intact dwelling. “It has to be his!”
“Ruth,” Nate murmured, “the house is dark. No one’s there.”
She gave him a look that he thought only mothers gave. “Mr. Charlie is blind.”
“Oh. Oh!”
Ruth jumped from the truck. She ran toward a path of trodden weeds that led from the road to the side door of the house.
He had missed seeing it.
“Mr. Charlie! Mr. Charlie, it’s me, Ruth!”
Nate followed behind her and shivered. The place felt secluded, dark, and quiet. Creepy. If he believed in haunting, it would be somewhere like this. As he came closer, he could make out details of the clapboard house. At night, everything took on the shades of black and white, the house darker, the roof lighter, the windows—
“Ruth, no!” She was already half way to the house. Sprinting, he caught her by the arm. “Look!” He pointed to the house. From the road, it had not been apparent. The windows were all broken. The house had been vandalized.
“Mr. Charlie!” her scream cut through the night air. She struggled to free herself from his hand.
“Ruth. Stop. This is not the place.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “Yes, it is.” She pointed. Beyond the house and barely visible in the dark was a clothesline with a row of shirts.
Even in the dark, Nate recognized one of the shirts as Mr. Charlie’s. His gut filled with dread.
Ruth pulled from his grip. “I’ve got to help him!”
A cloud drifted across the slice of moon, cutting off the little light it had given. The darkness felt blacker than night. A northern breeze shifted to the northwest, across the back of the house, through the vacant windows and toward the path on which Nate and Ruth stood.
Nate stiffened.
Ruth covered her nose. “That smell, what is it?” She turned toward the house. “Mr. Charlie!”
As her call echoed away, a bat flitted overhead. No cars. No voices. The air that just a moment ago had brushed across them, now held its breath.
Nate grabbed her arm and blurted out, “I think it’s a bear.” She did not need to see what was in the house.
She stared at the dark house and then turned to the yard behind it. “There are no bears around here.” Her voice quivered.
“Yes, there are. Black bears. Big ones.” He glanced toward the cypress trees at the back of the house. “It’s mostly swamp beyond this, until you reach the river.”
“It smells like something dead.” The clouds drifted, allowing the moon to reflect off her frightened eyes.
“Most likely the bear came while Mr. Charlie was away. The smell is probably the bear’s catch: a coon or some other animal he hauled into the house.” The words sounded like the lie they were.
“What if Mr. Charlie is in there? He could be hurt, or…”
He dreaded what he would find behind those aging walls, but no way would he let Ruth go inside. “Stay here. I’ll go check.” He pulled out his cellphone and flicked on the flashlight. The small beam cast a thin light on the path to the door.
“I can’t stay here alone!” Ruth clutched his arm with both of her hands.
“Listen, if the bear’s inside, there’s a good chance he’ll chase me.” Nate reached into his pocket. “Take the keys to the truck. Get in and get it started. If the bear runs, I’ll jump in the passenger seat and you take off. Keep the bear from turning my truck to scrap.”
“What if you need help? I won’t be able to hear you over the truck’s engine.”
“I won’t need help.”
She looked as though she might cry.
“OK, don’t start the truck. Just get inside it and stay there.”
“What if the bear chases you?”
Frustration sapped his patience. “Then the bear will make one huge dent in the side of the truck, and we’ll have a great story to tell.” He hissed the words between his teeth, wanting to get to the house, confirm what he suspected, and get Ruth away from this place of death.
She gripped the keys, gave a final look at the house, and bolted toward the truck.
Nate waited until the door closed behind her before he moved. The odor grew worse as he approached the house. He pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth, but it did little to stop the stench. At the side door, he turned the knob. Inside, the smell overwhelmed him. Gagging, he turned his head, thinking he might not make it more than a step past the threshold.
The darkness was complete. The light from his phone spread a thin beam. There was a flashlight in his tool kit in the bed of the truck, but if he went to get it, he wouldn’t have the nerve to come back. He stepped on something thin and his foot slipped.
Feathers. Lots of them.
His light caught the edge of a table. Under the dusting of
feathers lay an envelope. Written in large, block letters was Ruth Cleveland. He shivered: there must be more to the relationship between Ruth and Mr. Charlie than he knew. He picked up the envelope and stuffed it into his hip pocket.
Turning from the table, the beam landed on a body slumped in a recliner. A quick glance was enough to recognize what was left of Mr. Charlie. He ran toward the door, the nightmare glued forever in his mind’s eye.
~*~
Ruth remembered another time she waited as Nate entered a house. It was her house, and he had saved her from a crow. Now he searched for a bear.
There wasn’t a dead catch in Mr. Charlie’s house. It was Mr. Charlie. She had failed him. The ache in her heart was complete.
Nate darted out of the house, ran a few feet, and leaned over the grasses. He hunched his shoulders and heaved.
The shirts on the line hung limp. The gray silhouettes of grass remained motionless, perhaps in respect, perhaps from the pervasive death that clung to the air. The only motion was Nate’s shoulders and the sweat that dripped from Ruth’s body.
She should cry. Memories of her father’s death mingled with the pain of losing Mr. Charlie: policemen at the door, her mother’s moan, life out of control. She had not cried then, either.
The truck door slammed. “I’m sorry, Ruth.”
She should respond. Acknowledge Nate’s help. Thank him. Do something. But her life was locked in a house she had never been in, and now would never enter. All that she had been, all the good parts anyway, flew away on feathered wings into the house with Mr. Charlie, and would stay with him. What was left of her, the shell, sat empty in Nate’s car, breathing the scent of death that clung to him.
“We have to call the police.” His words registered but were meaningless. He made the call and gave the address.
He turned to Ruth and sighed. “I can’t take you home. They want to talk to both of us.”
~*~
He turned on the truck engine and ran the air conditioner. The air cooled, but the smell remained, an odor that would haunt him forever. He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
Light of Logan Page 21
