Angel Sister

by Ann Gabhart

  “I don’t know, Graham. I was hoping you could tell me. Lorena ran away from the Baxters’ house, and my father came looking for her, thinking Kate had something to do with it. Then while everybody was yelling at everybody else, Kate took off.”

  “Are you sure she’s here in the woods?” Graham frowned a little.

  “So you haven’t seen her.”

  “Nope, but then I was over at the big house for a spell. I can’t hear what’s going on so good when I’m over there. And fact is, when we went back to the cabin a bit ago, Poe was doing a powerful lot of sniffing around. Could be she came by and we missed her.” He touched the hound’s head, and Poe flapped his tail back and forth. “I should’ve paid more attention, but the girl don’t ever come this close to dark so I figured it was a coon or a possum that had his ears perking up.”

  “Do you think he could track her down?” Victor looked at the coonhound.

  “Hard to say. He might run down a coon instead if one crossed his trail. But we could give it a try if you’re a mind to.”

  “It’s a big woods. She could have gone in any direction. We need some help.” Victor looked back over his shoulder toward his house. He couldn’t see anything through the trees, but he could hear the men in the distance. No words. Just excited babble. “And not that help back there.”

  “I saw them gathering. Looked like a couple of them were carrying torches.” Graham shook his head. “It’s not a good time to be carrying torches around in here. Everything’s awful dry. Hot like it’s been and with no rain.”

  “I told Nadine to tell them to go on home. If they’ll listen. Somebody said something about tramps in the woods and got them all in a stir.”

  “No tramps around here. They mostly stay to the road.”

  “I know that and you know that, but they’re not thinking straight. And my father’s not helping. It’s like he wants to stir them up, but heaven only knows why. He’s talking strange today. Even talked about Fern maybe hurting the girls. I don’t know why.”

  “Your daddy hasn’t ever found a way to forgive himself. You keep poison like that inside you long enough, it eventually comes out and does damage to your thinking.”

  “What do you mean? What does he have to forgive himself for?”

  “For it all,” Graham said sadly. “For it all. But we don’t have time to worry about that right now. We’ve got to find Kate. And you say the little girl is missing too?”

  “According to Ella Baxter, somebody came in her house and let Lorena out of the closet she’d locked her in. She was punishing the poor child for something.”

  “Somebody ought to lock Ella Baxter in a closet.” Graham’s voice was close to a growl. He walked on without saying anything for a minute before he asked, “And was it Kate that let the girl out?”

  “No. She was with Nadine all afternoon. It couldn’t have been her.”

  “Then I don’t guess we need to depend on Poe’s nose. We just need to find Fern. She’s been practically obsessed with the little thing ever since she saw her fishing over at the pond. Said Lorena looks like her when she was little. She’s been watching her some, but I didn’t think there’d be any harm in that.”

  “If she let her out of the closet, she wasn’t hurting her. She was helping her.”

  “But will anybody believe that?” Graham looked worried in the dying light of the day. “Your daddy hasn’t ever liked Fern.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Sometimes in Rosey Corner, all the difference.” Graham turned and cut through the woods away from his cabin. “We better hurry. It’s going to be dark as spades soon.”

  38

  ______

  Victor pulled in a long breath to steady himself as he tried to quell the nervous worry ballooning up inside him. He didn’t know why he was so worried. Kate was a sensible girl, and she knew the woods. Hairs on the back of his neck had no reason to stand on end, but it was happening, as every inch of his body braced for danger.

  Dusk was stealing the daylight, but there was nothing fearful in Lindell Woods. Day or night. No wolves. No mountain lions. A skunk or fox might cross their path, but that was all. Victor liked the woods. As a boy he spent many happy days with Graham and Bo in among these very trees.

  Then after he got home from the war, a walk under the huge first-growth trees in the heart of Lindell Woods helped him get a peaceful silence back in the center of his thoughts instead of the unending echo of exploding shells and the screams of dying men. He never should have let his busy life pull him away from the spiritual refreshing he found in the woods that he couldn’t find sitting in a church pew. But the girls had come along, and every minute not spent at the forge shaping horseshoes was needed to tend the garden and his bees, or cut wood for the stove and keep the roof from leaking. Besides, he thought he had found his peace with his beautiful daughters and loving wife.

  But somehow he’d lost sight of that peace. Money got scarce. The pain in his shoulder got worse with every swing of his striking hammer, and the hard memories had come edging back in his dreams to haunt him. Instead of looking to his family or to the Lord for help, he’d tried to drown it all out in a bottle of whiskey.

  It hadn’t mattered how many times Nadine said she loved him, how many times Aunt Hattie assured him the Lord loved him, he could never quite believe it could be true. Not when he knew how weak he was. Not when he knew how scared he was. Not when he knew how often he’d failed. It was better to keep his head low and hope the Lord might not notice that the wrong men had died. The stronger men—Bo and Press Jr.

  So Victor hadn’t prayed. He hadn’t laid his burdens down at the Lord’s feet. He’d kept trying to shoulder them all alone, and always failing. At least until a few nights before when he’d asked Nadine to pray for him.

  Nadine would be praying for him now. And for Kate. She had that kind of trust in the Lord. She would be reaching for his mighty help, and knowing that made Victor feel better as he followed Graham. Then he wondered if it was wrong for him to always lean on her prayers. So he let the words whisper through his mind as they hurried through the trees. Please, Lord. Protect my Kate.

  They found Fern’s cedar palace, but even before they crawled through the opening, Graham was muttering under his breath. When they stood up inside the walls of cedar, he shook his head and said, “This isn’t it. I guess it’s been longer than I thought since I’d been over this way. She must have a new one.”

  “Maybe she’s just not here.” Victor looked around and then up at the sky. Stars were coming out. But no evening dew was falling and the cedars smelled dry.

  “No, Fern always has flowers or what passes for flowers even if it’s nothing but the fuzzy ends of grass. She used to help Mother keep flowers on the table. Big bouquets. In the winter they brought in cedar branches to keep the house smelling good.”

  “I remember.” Victor had liked going in Graham’s house where there was laughter and flowers and teacakes, but even then Fern hadn’t shared in the laughter. Her father had treated her for melancholia, but she’d always seemed withdrawn and sad even before the influenza fever burned through her and destroyed whatever part of a person it was that reached out for the companionship of other people. Or maybe it wasn’t completely destroyed. She must have felt some kind of connection with Lorena.

  They crawled back out of the piles of cedars. Victor brushed against the side of the opening, and cedar needles showered down in his hair and on his neck. The things made him itch. Always had. He tried to brush them off his sweaty skin as he asked Graham, “Which way from here?”

  “Give me a second to think where I last saw her chopping cedars.” Graham rubbed his forehead as if that would help him remember. He was still thinking when his dog pointed his nose back the way they’d come and started baying.

  Victor turned and caught the flicker of light through the trees. “I guess Nadine couldn’t talk them into going on home.”

  Graham reached down an
d put his hand on Poe’s head. The dog fell silent at once. “No need barking, boy. They aren’t going to run from us.” He straightened up and listened a minute before he went on. “Sounds like a herd of buffaloes.”

  Back through the trees a man let out a yell. A second later a gunshot echoed through the woods. “Worse than buffalo,” Victor said. “I don’t like the feel of this.”

  “Me neither, Victor. Me neither. And this might scare Fern silly. She doesn’t like strangers in our woods.”

  “They’re not strangers. Just some of the neighbors. And Father.”

  “They’re acting strange enough.” Graham sounded worried. “We need to find the girls and get them out of here.”

  “You think you can find them?” Victor could barely make out the features of Graham’s face as night began falling over them like a curtain.

  “I’ve an idea where they might be.” Graham pointed west where some fingers of pink still colored the sky. “Fern was over that way a piece a couple of days ago.”

  “Then you go get them. I’ll head off the men.”

  “You’re liable to get yourself shot for your trouble,” Graham warned. “Might be best you just come on with me.”

  Victor hesitated a second but then said, “No, I need to stop them before they do something foolish. You go. Take the girls back to my house. Fern too.”

  “If she’ll go. Fern hasn’t done much she didn’t want to do for a long time now, but could be she might listen to me.” Graham touched his dog’s head again and turned away from Victor. “Fern, Poe. Go find Fern, boy.”

  The dog stuck his head up in the air for a moment before he put his nose to the ground and took off through the trees. Graham trotted after the dog as they headed away from the sound of the men crashing through the trees. The searchers were coming straight toward Victor, obviously homing in on the sound of Poe’s barking. The dog was running silently now. Victor didn’t think it was possible to teach a hound to run without baying, but then the bond between Poe and Graham wasn’t normal.

  Nothing seemed normal this night. Victor caught a whiff of the whiskey that had spilt on his shoes, and all at once his hands felt shaky. He squeezed them into fists and shut the thought of booze from his mind. He was through with the bottle forever. He didn’t care how many demons he had to fight. The Lord would help him. Had already helped him. He’d wipe that lingering desire for the bottle right out of Victor’s head.

  What was it Nadine used to tell him all the time? Her God was able. That he’d saved Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace. That he’d parted the Red Sea. That he’d brought Victor home from the war. Her God was his God.

  The men were closer. Victor shouted out to them. As he made his way through the undergrowth, he was again pushed back to that night so long ago when Press Jr. had died. There’d been men with torches that night. They’d gathered in clusters on the riverbank before the man with the boat had come. Victor had wanted the men to go away, for all the torches to go black. He’d wanted the river edge to be the way it had been before he came out of the trees and found his brother on the wooden dock.

  There’d been a girl there with long black hair. Press was kissing her. That was why Victor was there. His father had sent him to spy on Press Jr. The girl turned away and started crying when they heard him in the shadows. He had a cold and couldn’t keep from coughing. Press was so angry. Victor had never seen him so mad. Not at him. Not at anyone.

  Not even at their father. Press had always laughed whenever Victor complained about their father. “You just have to know how to get along with him, kid. That’s all. It’s not so hard as long as you remember a few rules.”

  “Yeah. Be biggest and strongest and best. At everything.” They’d been walking down the road toward the house after a baseball game in the schoolyard. Victor had hung out behind the plate to chase down foul balls. Press had hit two home runs and would have had a third if Bo hadn’t made a great catch to steal it away from him. Victor kept his eyes on the ground as he said, “But me, I’m scrawniest and worst at everything.”

  “You’re going to get bigger. Why, look at those feet!” Press pointed at Victor’s bare feet on the dusty path. “You grow to those feet, you’ll be bigger than me or Dad, either one.”

  “I don’t think so. Nobody could be bigger and stronger than you, Press.”

  Press laughed and mussed Victor’s hair. “Don’t forget handsome. The girls like handsome.”

  “You got a girlfriend, Press?” Victor peered up at him.

  His brother’s smile flickered a little as if he was having trouble holding on to it, but then he was laughing even more. “I got dozens of them, kid. Dozens.” He put his finger over his lips and added, “But don’t tell Dad. He says girls just mess a man up. Hold him back. Dad doesn’t have to know everything, even if he thinks he does. Last time I read my history book, every governor we’ve had in our great state had a wife. Of course our father would say they had to have the right wife.” And this time Press didn’t hold onto the smile.

  Two weeks later his father had ordered Victor to follow Press. It was a Saturday night. Press left the store early, said he was meeting some friends down by the river. He told Victor to tell their mother not to worry if he didn’t come home till morning. His friend had a camp down there, and they’d probably fish all night. Victor made the mistake of telling their father first.

  Press hadn’t been gone from the store long when Jack Price came in the store talking about fishing. Victor liked Mr. Price because he always had a kind word for him. It seemed a natural enough thing to say Press Jr. had gone fishing too. Victor’s father grabbed him by the collar and propelled him to the back storeroom.

  Once away from Mr. Price’s eyes and ears, he got right down in Victor’s face and demanded to know exactly what Press had told him. Victor was so afraid he couldn’t keep from stammering a little as he said, “He went fishing. Said he might fish all night.”

  “Fishing.” Victor’s father snorted in disbelief. His breath was hot on Victor’s face. “You’re lying to me. Press doesn’t like to fish.”

  “That’s what he told me. Honest.” Victor wanted to jerk free of his father and run, but instead he stood still and braced himself for whatever his father was going to do to him. Later he wished his father had given him a licking and sent him home the way he usually did when Victor did something to upset him. That would have been better than having to chase after Press through the trees as night was falling. Victor didn’t like being alone in the dark, but he had to do what his father said. All his life he’d had to do whatever his father told him to do.

  Victor couldn’t find Press in the woods, so he just went to the only camp on the river he knew about. Graham’s grandfather owned it. Victor had been fishing there with Bo and Graham. He never planned to spy on Press and go running to their father with tales. He’d rather take a beating than do that, but if he could find Graham and Graham could help him find Press, then Press could tell him what to do. Press would know.

  But it wasn’t Graham at the camp. It was Press and the girl in an embrace. Victor stepped back into the shadows. And then he coughed. The girl started crying, and Press started yelling.

  “What are you doing here?” Press reached for Victor, but Victor edged away from him across the dock. He’d never been afraid of Press, but he’d never seen Press like this. “Have you been down here spying on me every night?”

  “No, no,” Victor said. “I’m looking for Graham.”

  “You’re lying. Father sent you, didn’t he?”

  Victor hung his head as tears pushed at his eyes. He didn’t want Press to hate him. “He said you weren’t fishing, and that I had to find out what you were really doing.”

  The girl turned toward them. “It’s no use, Press. Your father will never let us marry. Never.” Her face in the shadows was beautiful and tragic.

  Press looked at the girl. “Once I’m out of school, it won’t matter what he says.”
r />   “You could tell him now. If you loved me enough.”

  “It’s not so long until I’m out of school. Just a few years. We can wait that long.” Press put his hands on her arms.

  “I can wait, but will it matter?” She stared at Press for a moment before she said sadly, “You won’t ever go against him. I don’t think you can.” She jerked away from him and ran toward the wooden steps that led up to the small house on the bank above the river.

  “Wait, Maia,” Press called, but the girl kept running up the steps. “I do love you. You have to believe me.”

  Victor should have run for home, but instead he stood frozen in his spot on the dock. They’d had storms the week before and the river was up. In the dying light of the day, the brown water bounced against the underpinnings of the dock and splashed up on the wooden planks and over his shoes, but he still didn’t move. He’d ruined things for his brother, and he had no idea how to fix it.

  Press turned back toward him, his face almost unrecognizable with the anger flooding it. “You rotten little sneak. This is all your fault.” He ran toward Victor and slammed him down on the dock. Victor scrambled to his feet to get away from him, but Press caught him and shook him so hard Victor’s teeth rattled.

  Victor didn’t fight. He couldn’t fight Press. He loved Press. Then there were more footsteps, running down the steps and across the dock. Graham was yelling at Press. “It’s not the boy you want to kill.”

  Press whirled to face Graham, and Victor fell backward off the dock. The water swallowed him up and carried him away.

  39

  ______

  Another gunshot jerked Victor back to the present. He gasped as if he really had been swallowing the river water and drowning. But that was years ago. This was now. He shouted again and waited for the men to come to him.

  There were five of them. All good men, but they’d let their imaginings push them down panic’s path until now they seemed to have lost all common sense. Victor blamed his father for that. His father could have stopped them. He knew Fern wasn’t dangerous. He knew Kate was sensible and would come home eventually. And yet he was egging the men on, encouraging their foolishness for some purpose of his own.