Luis had been excited about coming to America; the best adventure their father could have chosen. Not only would they be searching for a piece of family history, but they would also have the chance to taste America. Luis had loved all the junk food his mother hated: the pizzas, the burgers, the steaks and fries, the hot dogs, the tacos. It was fabulous. In Spain there was nothing like that. The only thing stopping him from sitting down for a rest right now, was knowing that back in Hobson’s Valley he could get a huge bacon double cheese burger at Segar’s Cabin.
Warm saliva flooded his mouth at the thought of it.
Not even the apparition of a flame-grilled stack of meat was enough to stop him from worrying about Carla, though. He could understand why she might walk off in a mood but after all she’d said about being followed, he wondered why she would go on her own. Was she really going to try and make it back to the town alone or was she just trying to give mama and papa the scare she thought they deserved? The idea that Carla might actually be in danger, even the simple notion that she might be lost and unhappy, was enough to cause him some hurt. The emotion was raw and surprising.
Only when his mother turned around did he realise he’d fallen several yards behind. She didn’t stop walking to shout.
‘Luis! Please try to keep up. We have a long way to go. I really think that if we keep a strong pace we might be back by tomorrow night.’
‘Sorry.’
He ran to fall in with her again.
Luis heard the footsteps just before he saw the figure appear in front of them from around a sharper bend in the trail. When Maria saw the man she threw her arm across Luis’s chest in a defensive gesture. When she recognised the hiker’s face, she snatched her hand away in embarrassment. Despite this, her air remained one of forced politeness.
‘Mr. Kerrigan.’
‘Maria, Luis.’ He nodded to them, the exhaustion in his face plain even through his demure smile. ‘I’m pleased to see you,’ he said. ‘I was . . . concerned.’
‘What are you doing out here?’ asked Maria.
‘Looking for you.’ Kerrigan smiled at Luis and looked beyond him into the gloom of the rediscovered trail. ‘Where are José and Carla?’
He searched their faces for the answer and seemed to find it, at least in part, because his own expression changed from relief to fear. It shocked Luis to see it. He’d had such a sense of steadfastness from Mr Kerrigan when they’d first met. After what Luis took to be an embarrassed silence, it was his mother who answered.
‘José is by the great tree at the end of this trail waiting for Carla. She . . . she was up early this morning and we haven’t seen her since then.’
Kerrigan’s frown deepened.
‘She went for a walk alone? Why?’
‘I think she was upset,’ said Maria.
Luis stepped forward.
‘They argued last night,’ he said, careful to avoid his mother’s stern stare. ‘Mama threw away the necklace you gave Carla.’
Maria’s eyes flashed warnings. Luis ignored them. Let her shoot him all the dark looks she wanted.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she explained. ‘Maria fainted last night. I was worried about her —’
‘Did you really throw her necklace away?’ asked Kerrigan.
‘Yes. I did. She should not be wearing such things.’
‘I’ve got it in my pocket. Here.’ Luis pulled the charm from his walking trousers and held it out to Kerrigan.
‘You should hang on to that for her,’ Kerrigan said. ‘So you say there is a tree at the end of this trail? Just like on your old map?’
‘I have never seen a tree like it,’ said Maria. ‘I think it is the biggest living thing in the world.’
Kerrigan smiled at first
‘Really.’
‘It is enormous, Mr. Kerrigan,’ said Luis ‘and it looks like . . . like it’s made of flesh or something. Really strange. Carla touched it and it knocked her out.’
Maria took hold of her son’s shoulder.
‘Luis, for God’s sake.’
‘It’s true. I was there right beside her and I saw it happen. The tree shocked her and just before she touched it her charm necklace was glowing purple.’
‘That is enough, young man. Not another word from you.’ Maria turned to Kerrigan. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Kerrigan, he’s . . . It’s his imagination.’
Kerrigan wasn’t listening. He was intent on the boy.
‘It’s not a charm necklace, Luis. It’s called a binder, but you’re almost right. I give them to people for protection.’
‘That’s not what you told us before, Mr Kerrigan.’ Maria was upset now, close to losing her temper.
‘No?’ asked Kerrigan. ‘What did I say?’
‘You said they would make our time in the forest special.’
Kerrigan closed his eyes as if trying to remember.
‘Yeah? Well, that’s kind of the same thing. Where are you headed? Back to Hobson’s Valley?’
‘Yes. We’re hoping Carla is going the same way. José will follow us if she doesn’t return to the camp by morning. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is would you?’
Luis hit his mother’s thigh, disbelieving that she would be so challenging to the only person that had offered any help since they’d arrived in the town.
‘No, I don’t know where she is.’ Kerrigan’s tone was mild. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Carla thought we were being followed,’ said Maria. ‘She said she heard voices and laughter in the night. Later, I heard them too.’
At this, Kerrigan changed. To Luis it looked as though he expanded somehow. There was something wild about the man as he reached into the two side pockets of his pack. His hands reappeared holding two broad leather straps. He whispered to Maria in harsh tones while he laced the leather tightly to his wrists.
‘You need to keep to the paths in this forest. You need to hurry back to town and you need to wear the binders I gave you if you want to be safe.’
Luis was pale. When his mother didn’t respond, he said:
‘Will you find my sister, Mr. Kerrigan?’
The wild man looked him in the eye.
‘If she’s out here, I’ll find her.’
As she walked along the path between the pines, Gina tried to understand what it was that had happened to her. With so many gaps in her thinking it wasn’t easy. She’d heard her parents talking about calling the sheriff, heard what her father was prepared to believe about her and it had been enough to make her want to leave.
She still couldn’t remember what she’d done with the boys that night, but whatever it was she was incriminated now. Everything was going to change.
Gina didn’t want to face the questions and the accusations. She couldn’t even recall what they’d wanted to know. She was frightened she’d developed some kind of brain disease; maybe a tumour that was eating her memory before devouring everything else. But if she could walk away and forget about that, forget about everything, then there was a chance for happiness still; a chance to live the life she’d dreamed of.
This was a trail she remembered well. At least, she remembered that she liked being here. What had she done, gone for walks?
The trail was broad, but even out here in the forest where a little peace could return she was still trapped somehow. Her clothes felt tight and unnatural. She slipped off her leather jacket and let it fall to the ground. She felt a little better then, a little lighter. Things weren’t all bad. She was strong sometimes. Gina had a vague memory of using that strength to get what she wanted. There was a satisfaction in that.
She tugged her black Spandex tee shirt out of her jeans and pulled it over her head, letting it drag in the dirt for a while. As she walked she felt the air on her skin like a ghost trailing fingers over her. It felt so good she let the tee shirt go.
Her appetite had changed; her parents were right about that, although she hadn’t noticed it herself until they said something. She felt hungry
>
thirsty
almost all the time and nothing she could drink or eat could make the feeling go away. In many cases she’d forced herself to be sick because the food she’d eaten felt tainted
dead
and unwholesome. She’d thought it would help to talk, but it hadn’t. There was something else, something far deeper within her that she did not understand. It was a desire
need
to be in the forest. A summoning. A call.
The touch of clothing against her skin became unbearable. She had to feel the forest. Stopping on the path, she slipped off her scuffed motorcycle boots and socks, leaving them where they fell. The jeans came next and last her underwear. Finally she felt a tiny glimmer of freedom. Naked, her black hair cascading around her shoulders, she strode proud and determined along the trail, her soles welcoming the caress of the earth.
Chapter 26
Kath tutted to herself as she walked through the knee-high grass almost obscuring the paving slabs and made a mental note to call David Slater in for some serious mowing and weeding. The yard was a disgrace. Maybe now that she was just buying for one, she could afford David more often; make the place look smart again. It was something to look forward to.
As they walked along The Terrace, Dingbat matched her pace, not quite to heel, but not pulling either. Kath took her time, not knowing how much her legs could take and not wanting to pay for it later.
When she came to the corner of the block she turned right into The Grove and the gradient steepened a little. She was surprised and pleased to discover that she was still able to get around so easily. Burt’s frailty had really held her back.
His funeral was scheduled for the following Friday at the Baptist church where they’d attended until Burt’s legs began to let him down. He was to be buried in the Hobson’s Valley cemetery, where most of the residents ended up, regardless of their creed. Kath tried not to think about the service. All she knew was she wanted her boy there. They were only going to bury his father once; Jimmy had better turn up.
Maggie’s house was at the far end of the Grove and her property bordered the woods. The gradient took its toll on Kath so she stopped for a rest and Dingbat sat down to wait for her, as patient as if he’d been trained for the job. When she had her wind back they completed the stint in just a couple more minutes. With Dingbat wagging his tail in anticipation, Kath rang the bell and waited on the porch.
The smell of baking was strong even outside the house and when Maggie opened the front door the house exhaled a warm scent of oats and cinnamon. Underlying the sweetness of the smell was something savoury too, reminiscent of a joint roasting or sausages broiling. Kath was surprised when her stomach growled in response. She swallowed a rush of saliva.
‘My, my, Maggie. That sure smells good.’
Maggie smiled and ushered her in, not trying to conceal her pride.
‘I think they’ve turned out all right this time. I’ve been experimenting.’
‘Well, I’m a willing guinea pig for you.’
‘Come on through to the living room and make yourself comfortable.’
‘Is it okay for him to come in too?’
‘Sure it is.’
‘I thought you had cats.’
‘I don’t think they’ll be a problem. Come on and siddown.’
In the living room Dingbat lay down and rested his head on his paws as if he went out for afternoon tea every day of the week. Maggie disappeared out to the kitchen and Kath leaned over her well-mannered dog.
‘I sure am proud of you, boy,’ she whispered.
She took in the surroundings and decor a piece at a time, building a more thorough picture of Maggie. The profusion of quilts thrown over every piece of furniture gave a clue as to how she must have spent a good deal of her time, but there were other projects that were the result of deft fingers everywhere around. On the floor were rugs made from kits. Behind glass in picture frames were cross-stitch patterns and motifs in fine detail. Over some of the quilted throws were crocheted blankets of many colours. Displayed in the cupboards and on the pieces of furniture around the room were items of pottery, obviously home made, but which showed real talent. It all seemed kind of twee to Kath but she couldn’t deny the air of wholesomeness it projected. The room was welcoming.
As Maggie rattled the coffee pot and cups in the kitchen, another smell came to Kath’s nostrils, that of cat urine. No doubt the cats had gone into hiding the moment they’d got a whiff of Dingbat. Maggie must have had several cats for the aroma to be so noticeable over the smell of baking. She imagined them draped over the furniture in languid poses, completing the picture of a house where a homely older woman lived alone.
Maggie returned with a tray and on it were several types of cookies arranged on three tiers of an elaborate glass dessert display. Kath had never seen such a fancy way of serving cookies and coffee. Maggie used a triangular silver dessert slice to serve the cookies and Kath had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. When she’d been at home as a child, they had cookies with glasses of milk and when the cookies came out of the oven, the little fingers of grubby hands reached out to take them. She wasn’t about to reject Maggie’s hospitality, but she could see that if this kind of meeting were to become a regular occurrence, she’d have to say something and bring the formality down a notch or two. At this rate she’d be scared to drink her coffee in case she slurped it.
‘Try these first.’
Maggie handed her a side plate with a single cookie on it. It smelled wonderful. She accepted the plate and took a bite straight away.
‘Oh, that is delicious. What have you put in these?’
‘Well, that’s just the test run. Actually, I don’t think I like oatmeal and raisin much any more, but I thought you should try them anyway.’
‘That’s it? Oatmeal and raisin?’
‘Uh huh, and a little cinnamon and sugar, of course. Do they meet with your satisfaction?’
‘They taste great, if that’s what you mean.’
Maggie took the dessert slice and placed a different kind of cookie on Kath’s not quite empty plate. Dingbat sat up and stared at the coffee table between the women, making meaningful glances to Kath who ignored him.
‘Would the gentleman care for a little delicacy?’ asked Maggie. ‘We did promise you one, I believe.’
Kath was astounded to see that Maggie took a third china side-plate and used the dessert slice to place one of her oatmeal and raisin creations on it before placing the whole thing in front of Dingbat with a:
‘I do hope that this will be to sir’s liking.’
Dingbat wolfed the cookie in a couple of hasty snaps of the jaw, after which he licked his lips over and over. Kath began to think either that Maggie was having a bit of a joke with her or that she was losing a fundamental screw. Maybe it was so long since the woman had had company that she really didn’t remember the appropriate way to behave.
The coffee was good and the cookies were great. Kath decided to let it all slide in favour of a little sociability. She tried the new cookie that Maggie had placed on her plate and found it to be as good, if not better, than the first.
‘You’re going to have to give me the recipe for these if you want to avoid me moving in here, Maggie.’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased you like them. That one was oatmeal with chocolate and peanut butter chips. I’m saving the best for last, though. I’ll let you have a few moments to clear you palate before I serve them.’
Kath shook her head and sat back in the armchair to relax. The company wasn’t as good as the baking but hell, who cared? Dingbat sniffed the air and looked distracted. After a while he stood up and snuffled his nose into the carpet and along the furniture. Kath kept an eye on him and when it looked like he was following his nose out of the room she spoke up.
‘You stay here, boy.’
He stopped and looked back at her.
‘Oh, he’s okay,’ said Maggie. ‘Nothing he can get himself into
out there. You should let him wander and kind of get used to the place. He might want to come up and visit on his own sometime. He’s welcome to.’
The strangeness of the suggestion only hit Kath as Maggie scooped up the third cookie and dropped it onto her plate. She frowned. Was Maggie suggesting that when she died she would take Dingbat for herself? What the hell was the woman trying to say? She was about to challenge Maggie on it but she was pre-empted.
‘Now don’t take it the wrong way. All I’m saying is he can have a change of scene and you don’t have to come over if you don’t want to. I know I’m kind of an odd bird these days, but animals never notice do they?’ She smiled broadly as if it was the most natural suggestion she could make and before Kath could protest or question it, she handed back the newly laden plate. ‘This is the one I was saving ‘til last. My great experiment.’ She flapped her hands beside her face. ‘Hoo, I’m nervous. I sure hope you like them.’
Kath was tight lipped. Maggie was further gone than she’d thought. She was leaving after this cookie and taking Dingbat with her. The last cookie turned out to be the one with the savoury smell but there was still an aroma of sweet spice to it like nutmeg or cinnamon. She tried to pick the cookie up but it was so moist it fell apart and she ended up holding only a tiny piece.
‘Darn it,’ said Maggie. ‘Haven’t perfected the texture yet. Going to need more practise.’
Kath put the morsel into her moth and chewed, her tongue unable to discern the flavours. The dough was warm and chewy, more like stiff, dark porridge than a cookie. But the flavour was intriguing; she finished the cookie and took another.
Dingbat appeared in the doorway of the living room with something in his mouth. Clearly he’d been rummaging through the trash and stolen something. After all his good behaviour, now he’d let her down.
‘Dingbat, you fool hound, put that down right now. You can’t steal from friends.’ She turned to Maggie ‘Maggie, I am so sorry. I really thought he was going to behave himself. I don’t know what to say.’
Blood Fugue Page 17
