Black Noon

by Andrew J. Fenady

  But suddenly the sky crackled and was lit up by a crooked bolt of lightning, then darkness again, and a spatter of rain . . . more lightning, then thunder and a heavier shower burst.

  “Summer storm,” she said. “Let’s get inside.”

  Deliverance lit two large candles that were on the workbench and glanced at the two wax images now covered with damp cloths, then she turned to Keyes who stood shirtless, his body glistening from the rain.

  “Jon, you’re drenched.”

  “So are you,” he smiled.

  “Yes, but you’re half-naked. There’s a towel right over here.”

  She reached on the table, picked up a towel.

  He started to take it from her but instead, Deliverance began pressing it gently on his arms, chest, neck, and face.

  He stood stiff at the touch of the towel and the occasional touch of her fingers against his body.

  “That’s fine, Deliverance. Thank you.”

  “Jon, sitting out there you seemed . . . pensive . . . actually, melancholy . . . and there was something you were going to tell me.”

  “Now I don’t know whether I should.”

  “Please do, Jon. Maybe, just maybe I can even help you a little, though not like you helped me. I want to try.”

  “The mirror in the bedroom.”

  “What about it?”

  “Sometimes . . . when I look into it I see . . .”

  “Yourself.”

  “No. A man, burned, blistered, bleeding . . . and he’s chasing me . . . why, I don’t know . . . whether it’s to harm or to warn me. I don’t know . . . but I don’t want him to catch me . . . and then there’s Moon . . . standing between me and . . . you, Deliverance . . . he’s alive and I shoot at him again and again while I hold you in my arms . . .”

  “But that’s just a dream, Jon, a bad dream,” she paused and smiled, “except for the part where you hold me in your arms . . . but a dream, nevertheless.”

  “Deliverance, you dream while asleep in bed . . . not looking in the mirror.”

  “There are different kinds of dreams. Good and bad. Asleep and even awake . . . day dreams . . . shadows of the soul, they’ve been called . . . tricks of the mind . . . puzzles within puzzles.... There is no earthly answer, any more than there is an answer to the riddle of the Sphinx. No earthly answer, Jon. Your sermons, which have helped so many are all based on a book called the Bible. If there is an answer, perhaps it lies hidden somewhere in there. I want to show you something.”

  She walked to a corner of the room and pulled back a curtain revealing a cot against the wall.

  Keyes did not quite contain his surprise.

  Deliverance smiled.

  “I use it to sleep on when I sometimes spend the night here. That’s why it was dark inside tonight.”

  She reached down and picked up an object near the pillow.

  “Come over here, Jon. Sit down next to me.”

  He hesitated but not really.

  As he sat, she moved even closer to him and held up the Bible.

  “This Bible belonged to our last minister, Reverend Courtney Joyner. It was inside the church when it burned down. And it was a miracle, because, miraculously it was the only thing in the church that didn’t burn. Ashes all around it, but it lay there untouched by flames. I had read it many times since then, but until you came, until that day when you ridded us all of Moon, could I speak any of the words I had read. And even if I could, I had no one to speak them to. Would you like to hear me speak some of those words to you?”

  Keyes looked at her and nodded.

  She opened the Bible without even looking at the page and began to quote in a soft, intimate voice as the rain accompanied her with a rhythmic pulsation against the roof above.

  How long he sat and listened he could not tell. From the time she began, it was as if he were spell-bound by the cadence of her voice, the effect of her fragrance, her nearness . . . the structure of her face and form.

  The voice of my beloved!

  behold, he cometh leaping

  upon the mountains, and skipping

  upon the hills.

  Keyes, who had been looking straight ahead, slowly turned his eyes toward her.

  Arise my love, my fair

  one and come away . . .

  for sweet is thy voice

  and thy countenance is

  comely.

  Her countenance was more than comely, refined, yet intimate.

  Take us the foxes, the

  little foxes, that spoil

  the vines . . . for our vines

  have tender grapes.

  There was a tenderness about her, but still a feline stealth.

  Awake, O north wind

  and blow upon my garden . . .

  Let my beloved come

  into his garden, and

  eat his pleasant fruits.

  There are gardens and gardens, depending upon the dwellers, there is the Garden of Eden, the Garden of Evil.

  I am my beloved’s and

  his desire is toward me.

  Come, my beloved, let us

  go forth into the fields . . .

  Let us lodge in the villages.

  In which village would he lodge? San Melas or Saguaro. Which was the lily of the desert?

  Let us get up early to the

  vineyards; let us see if the

  vines flourish, whether the

  tender grapes appear . . .

  there will I give thee my love.

  The steady splatter of the rain was followed by the rumble of approaching thunder, then the crack of white lightning framed through the curtained window. Her face turned, almost touching his.

  Kiss me with the

  kisses of thy mouth; for

  thy love is better than wine.

  She held out her slender white arms to him.

  “It’s from . . .”

  “Yes, I know.”

  It was as if he was not quite certain whether this, too, was a vision within a different mirror, or if she was there in the flesh . . . until she reached out and took him in her arms in an embrace . . . then, it became more than an embrace . . . as they kissed and dropped together back onto the cot.

  The Bible fell to the floor. Its pages now opened to the Book of Proverbs:

  My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.

  CHAPTER 50

  The night was stunningly clean and clear, having been bathed by the sudden summer shower, which had quit as abruptly as it had commenced, leaving behind a washed-off night with wet leaves, branches, tree trunks, and soaked desert carpet.

  And there was only the occasional droplets that fell from the rim of the shed as Jonathon Keyes opened the door, stood looking back inside with a tarnished expression on his face, as the cat scrambled through the door, returning from a nocturnal rendezvous of its own. Keyes closed the door and moved across the yard toward the Hobbses’ house.

  Somehow, Lorna had managed to make it to the window after observing the unslept part of their bed. Even through the darkness of the night she could make out the familiar figure of her husband as he left the shed and approached.

  But just then she was seized by a terrible pain that struck within her head. Both her hands grasped at her temples as she staggered and was barely able to make it to the bed and fall there unconscious.

  Deliverance was now at the workbench, her naked shoulders gleaming by candlelight as her supple fingers applied pressure, then withdrew from the wracked temples of Lorna’s wax image.

  Keyes managed his way through the darkened Hobbs house, up the stairs to the shadowy hallway and into the bedroom.

  As stealthily as possible he approached his side of the bed and lay next to, but not too close, to Lorna’s inert form.

  But he couldn’t help thinking of another, more perfect form—of what had happened and how the elements all conspired to make it happen—the visions and events in the mirror with the tortured man, Moon, and Deliverance, the
need for fresh air, the appearance of Deliverance in the yard, the sudden summer rain, the Bible salvaged from the ashes of the church, Deliverance quoting in that sonorous voice from the Song of Solomon and then, he, himself unable to resist the song of the Lorelei.

  As he lay in the bed next to his wife, Reverend Jonathon Keyes vowed to himself that what happened with Deliverance would never happen again, but still, deep within, there was not complete demurral that it did happen.

  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was an inward struggle between conscience and enticement.

  Reverend Jonathon Keyes resolved to win that struggle . . . if it wasn’t already too late.

  CHAPTER 51

  Last night’s rain did not in the least discourage the good citizens of San Melas from going about their voluntary task of reconstructing their church.

  But evidently Caleb, Joseph, and Deliverance believed the work could, for the time being, go on without them as they sat in the kitchen partaking of a quiet breakfast being served by Bethia.

  Upstairs in the bedroom things were not as quiet.

  Lorna looked worse than ever. Her movements and speech were strained and jerky. Her voice shrill.

  She stood by the window leaning against the sill, facing her husband across the room.

  “Your time is up tomorrow,” she spat.

  “My time?”

  “Tomorrow! We’re leaving your playground . . . this devil’s sandbox.”

  “Lorna, what are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t you think I know what’s going on?”

  Keyes half sat on the dresser, took a deep breath, and was prepared to confess and beg for forgiveness, to promise . . . anything. But before he could bring himself to speak she tore at him verbally.

  “Sneaking back near naked in the dark of the night from her shed, smelling of her perfume, creeping into bed next to me after . . .”

  “Lorna, I am sorry . . .”

  “Reverend Sorry . . . well, never mind! We’re leaving! We’re getting out of here! Do you hear me?”

  Their words tumbled out from both of them against each other.

  “Everyone can hear you. Listen to yourself. You’re . . .”

  “You don’t like the way I sound, do you? Or the way I look—is that it? You’d rather look at . . . someone else. What else would you rather do with someone else . . . ?”

  “Lorna, please . . .”

  “I said we’re leaving tomorrow!”

  “I heard you, but, please, Lorna just wait until Sunday. Those people . . .”

  “Those people . . .” she mimicked, “. . . those people . . . damn those people!”

  “. . . have worked awfully hard. The church, it’s nearly finished, and I promised them . . .”

  “. . . Them! . . . Them! . . . Them! That’s all you care about. I’ve had enough of them and this place!”

  “You’re not well enough to travel.”

  “I’ll never get well here! Never! Can’t you see that?!”

  “Lorna . . .”

  “If you’re such a miracle worker like they think you are . . . like you think you are . . . then heal me!! Go ahead miracle man, heal me ! ! !”

  “I want to help you. I do.”

  “Do you? Or do you want me to die? Isn’t that it?!”

  “Lorna . . .”

  “Then you could stay. Yes, you could stay then. Couldn’t you, Miracle Man!? Stay and go back to your Candle Lady!”

  “Lorna, I love you . . . please listen . . . I love . . .”

  “With, or without you, I’m leaving. I’ll walk across that desert alone if I have to . . . either that or we’re leaving together . . . TOMORROW!”

  “Tomorrow. I’m sorry Caleb, but that’s the way it has to be.”

  “But the sermon, only a few days, can’t you wait?”

  “I can, but not Lorna, she’s intransigent.”

  “I don’t believe she can make it through the desert all those days and nights.”

  “She doesn’t believe she can make it here after the next day or night. She’s adamant. She says she’ll walk across the desert alone, and I believe she’d try.”

  Caleb looked at Deliverance, then at Joseph.

  “Well, in that case, we have no choice but to do everything we can to make it easier for the both of you.”

  He rose and tapped the ashes out of his pipe into the ashtray.

  “Joseph and I will go to the church and let them know so some of them can help make preparations for your departure. Come along Joseph.”

  “I’m walking behind you, Caleb.”

  Deliverance looked at Bethia, who interpreted it as a signal to leave the room and she did.

  The room remained silent, but only for a moment as Deliverance gazed at Keyes, and her eyes brimmed with remembrance of last night.

  “‘I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.’”

  “Deliverance, what happened last night, it shouldn’t have.”

  “But it did. Are you sorry it did?”

  “Lorna knows.”

  “Is that why you’re leaving?”

  “That’s one reason why I’m not staying. It must not happen again.”

  “Tell me, is that why you’re leaving, because Lorna nows . . . or so it won’t happen again? Are you afraid that it will if you stay? Do you want . . . ?”

  “It was wrong! I’m married!”

  “And so was David. He even sent Uriah to be killed in battle so Bathsheba would be free.”

  “Deliverance, you’ve got to understand this once and for all . . . Lorna’s alive, and I’m married to her, and it’s going to stay that way . . . from here to Saguaro and as long as we live.”

  “I do understand, Jon,” she smiled cryptically, “I understand perfectly.”

  Keyes started toward the door.

  “I think I’ll go by the church for just a few minutes.”

  As Keyes walked out the door, Bethia came back into the room having listened to what Keyes and Deliverance had said.

  “He seems determined, Miss Deliverance.”

  “So am I.”

  “Oh . . . I know.”

  “He thinks Saguaro is his destination,” Deliverance said matter-of-factly, “I think San Melas is his destiny.”

  Keyes stood unseen behind a tree but close enough to hear what Caleb was saying to the citizens who had ceased working and stood listening, eyes lowered in disappointment.

  “. . . and so, my friends, I must conclude by informing you that our great friend and benefactor, the Reverend Jonathon Keyes and his beloved wife, Lorna, must leave our community tomorrow . . . I repeat, tomorrow . . . not after the planned service . . . but tomorrow. I know how hard you’ve all worked and how disappointed and sad you must feel, for I share your disappointment and sadness at his unexpectedly early departure. But so it must be. The work of reconstructing the church will go on but not until after his departure tomorrow. But we’ll need some of you to volunteer your help in preparation for his journey. Sam, double check the Conestoga; Mr. Bryant, make sure they have the necessary supplies; Joseph, Jacob, and some of the rest of you help with the luggage and other possessions. If there is anything that any of you . . .”

  Caleb Hobbs went on, but Keyes could bear to hear no more; he turned and started to walk away. However, he had been seen by one of the spectators, who ran up to him and called out.

  “Reverend Keyes, just a minute, please, sir.” The boy was breathless.

  “Hello, Ethan.”

  “Is it true, sir? That you’re going away . . . tomorrow?”

  Keyes nodded.

  “I wish you wasn’t.”

  The reverend smiled . . . tousled the boy’s hair.

  “My legs are as strong now as they ever were. Did you see how I ran all the way over here?”

  “Yes, Ethan, you’re doing fine, just fine.”

  “I just wanted to . . . thank you, and . . . I’ll
always remember you.”

  Keyes nodded, turned slowly, and walked back toward the Hobbses’ house.

  Keyes spent most of the rest of the day with Lorna in their room. She said very little and rarely got out of bed. He did his best to reassure her that everything was in order: the wagon, luggage, supplies, and that Caleb had notified the citizens to stop work on the church until the two of them had left for Saguaro.

  She stared straight ahead.

  “You understand what I’ve said, don’t you, Lorna? It’s just as you wanted.”

  “I understand . . . Jon, would you hand me our wedding portrait?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  He went to the dresser, picked up the framed portrait and couldn’t help looking at it, his eyes unable to conceal the shame of what happened last night.

  He handed her the picture.

  “Best looking couple in Monroe,” he smiled, “and that includes the Custer Boy and his bride.”

  She gave no sign of agreement or disagreement, just kept looking at the picture.

  It was after the sun set that her eyes closed and the picture dropped from her grasp. Still she was conscious but barely.

  “Jon . . . take my hand . . . the way you used to.”

  “Yes, Lorna.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed holding her hand for what seemed most of the night but actually was less than an hour as she slept, stirred, but didn’t waken. Once or twice she murmured unintelligibly, then fell back into a deeper, more troublous sleep.

  In a way Keyes, though awake, was just as troubled. He couldn’t help remembering last night . . . the words from the Song of Solomon . . . “The voice of my beloved” . . . “Arise, my love” . . . “our vines have tender grapes” . . . “let us lodge in the villages” . . . “thy love is better than wine” . . . and what happened afterwards . . . then this morning . . . “Deliverance, it shouldn’t have happened” . . . “but it did” . . . “Lorna knows” . . . “Is that why you’re leaving?” . . . “I’m married” . . . “So was David” . . . “Deliverance, you’ve got to understand” . . . “I understand perfectly” . . .