“It took a while for me to even move, or think what to do, but, of course I couldn’t leave the knife. I, uh...pu-pulled it out and took the scissors, and, I, uh...I...oh, oh, dear God.”
“Tracy, who was the man?”
“No, I won’t answer that. He thought he was saving my life, Carrie. I can’t ever say who he was. It was my fault he did what he did. If I hadn’t...oh, if I hadn’t...done any of this!
“So then, I wrapped the knife in some cloth scraps from the wastebasket there in the shop, put it in my pocket, and I buried it under a bush at Mama Brigid’s when everyone thought I was in bed.”
“You were never really in love with Farel.” Carrie was making a statement, not asking a question.
Tracy was quiet for a long moment. “No...no,” she said, her voice almost a whisper as her words followed her thoughts. “Oh, maybe a little, kid-dream stuff, when we were in high school, like I said, but really, I couldn’t have been. I did think about it some more after Farel told me I was adopted, but then I realized if things had been good between Chase and me, I wouldn’t care whether Farel was a cousin or not. When he came to see me in Branson, he talked about me leaving Chase and marrying him, but it was all talk. I really knew that, and I think he did too. We were good friends, very good friends, but marriage? No.
“So, see, Carrie, all of this is my fault. I’m a terrible mother, a terrible person.”
“No, Tracy, you’re not. You have made some bad choices, and things have gone horribly wrong, but you know inside yourself that you are not a bad person. You couldn’t have foreseen any of this. And if you made the wrong choices, well, Farel sure did too, and so has Chase. But none of you intended evil. You just got caught in a terrible, terrible trap that all three of you helped make.
“And, Tracy, we are going to get out of this. We’re going to survive and get out of this somehow, and then you are going to your husband, and you are going to tell him every single thing you’ve told me. The whole story, how you feel, everything. Do you understand?”
Tracy murmured, “Yes,” and said no more.
Carrie wished she felt as confident as she was trying to sound. But no matter what, it was also time for her to tell the truth. Being tied to beds in the dark, it seemed, was making it very easy for her and Tracy to, at last, speak the truth.
“Now,” Carrie said, “it’s my turn to tell a story, and this is a true story too. It’s about your mother, the mother who gave birth to you, and about her family. It’s also the story of your song, ‘Lying to Strangers.’
“The story begins with a woman named Margaret Culpeper...”
Chapter XXI
Tracy was so still during the telling of the story that Carrie thought she must have fallen asleep. She didn’t attempt to awaken her. The story could be re-told, and sleep would be good for Tracy. Carrie kept talking, holding her voice to a low, smooth flow—the same tone she’d used for reading bedtime stories to Rob.
But, finally, she ran out of words, let her voice lower and fade into silence. Then she lay there in the quiet, praying, telling God how grateful she was for life and for the fact her head had almost stopped hurting.
“Carrie?”
The small voice out of the darkness was as startling as a booming shout would have been.
“Yes, Tracy, I’m here.” Again, she could have laughed. Tied as she was, where was Carrie McCrite going? Laughing, however, did not seem appropriate at the moment.
“That lady, Mad Margaret they call her, she’s my granny?”
“Yes.” Carrie held her breath.
“Ummm, well, I’ve never had a real granny before.”
Quiet returned, and Carrie began breathing again.
“Ah...”
And, then, she slept. While she slept, she dreamed she heard Margaret’s dulcimer, playing “Lying to Strangers” over and over and over.
Bang!
Door? But...she could still hear the music. Was she awake? She could hear the music that Margaret played...
Carrie opened her eyes just as an overhead light glared, and she shut them again. The music stopped.
She had to see. A moment passed. Silence. Finally, blinking painfully, she opened her eyes and squinted toward the door. Habbakuk stood there, and Margaret, like a black shadow, was just behind him.
Margaret’s voice was low and commanding as she pushed past her son and came into the room. “Calm yerself, son, neither of ’em’s any good dead, jes extra trouble, bring the law down upon us. Don’t know how the chile got away, but niver ye mind, I’m glad she’s gone, hit’s God’s honest truth! She were trouble, and she’s too small to do or say anything sensible ’bout where she’s bin, specially since she’ll be wanderin’ in th’ woods fer a spell a’fore she comes out. She won’t be eny worry.
“Takin’ chillern means trouble, son, don’t fergit that. Zeph shoulda thought more. Besides, ye got the big money right here, don’t ye? That’s what ye got!
“Now let me care fer yer guests. We gotta keep ’em healthy—fer now.”
“Ma...” The big man’s voice sounded fierce, but his mother interrupted him.
“Son, this ’un’s hurt, her head’s bleedin’. Go on now, bring me them clean strips o’ wore-out sheet from the chest in the bathroom so’s I can fix her up. Bring thet brown stoppered bottle too—the potion I made fer Tootie when he fell outa the tree—and them silver scissors. Then ye can be about yer bizness, ’n’ leave me here t’ tend these two fer ye.”
Habakkuk went.
The bed creaked and tilted as Margaret sat next to Carrie. “Ah, thur, lady, kinda bad, ain’t hit? Kin ye see right? Everthin’ look straight?” She moved her finger back and forth in front of Carrie’s face. “Look at my finger...foller it. Look here now. How’s thet?”
Carrie considered, looked up at Margaret, and tried to nod, but decided saying, “Um hm,” would be easier.
“Wahl, guess I shoulda put yer glasses on first. They’s a little bent...um, mebbe I kin fix...ah, thur, straighter now. See me okay? Good. Now, kin ye turn yer head t’ this side? Here...I’ll lift. Thet’s hit. Hurt some?”
Margaret began to explore the side of Carrie’s head with gentle fingers. “Cut ain’t deep, just bled a lot. Got a bit of a bump thur.”
Carrie said, “Bathroom,” and Margaret said, “Shhh.”
Habakkuk was in the room again, but all he did was put a brown bottle, scissors, and a roll of sheeting on the table.
“Thankee, son. I’ll fix this ’un up, then I reckon these ladies would like ter relieve thurselves. Kin ye untie ’em, one at a time then? I’ll stay with ’em, prob’ly haf t’ steady this one enyways. Thet okay? Or, would ye rather tend ’em in the bathroom yerself? Don’t matter t’ me none.”
After saying this, Margaret—facing Carrie instead of her son—winked.
Hab, who had remained quiet during his mother’s spout of conversation, shook his head and said, “It’s okay, you take ’em. I’ll stand watch outside the door while they...uh... I’ll check on some other things now, be back in a bit.”
After Habakkuk had disappeared and his footsteps were gone from the hall, Margaret turned back to Carrie. She splashed something from the brown bottle on a piece of sheet and began dabbing at Carrie’s head.
“Thur now, thet’s better, but think I’ll snip just a bitty piece of hair off...right...here. Ah, ye won’t miss thet if’n ye comb this top hair over the spot. Now then...”
Margaret went back to the gentle dabs with her cloth.
The liquid from the brown bottle smelled spicy, but what spice? It was different from anything Carrie had encountered before. Cool and weedy too, maybe a bit like old wine. And now she noticed that her head’s last little bit of hurt was gone.
After she’d finished swabbing, Margaret folded a fresh pad over the wet spot on Carrie’s head and secured the dressing with a ribbon of sheeting, which she tied in a bow, hat fashion, on the opposite side.
Margaret leaned back, eyeing Carrie.
“Thur, ye look right smart!” She smiled, obviously pleased with her work. “Don’t think the wound’s serious, cut’s dryin’. Ye may feel tippy fer a spell.” She leaned closer for a moment, whispering, “When Hab’s back, act real tippy, hear me?”
Then, erect again, she said, “Ye jes rest easy whils’t I see t’ this other one.” The bed springs under Carrie creaked, and, in a moment, a matching creak came from the bed across the room.
Carrie, with her head now turned to the side, could watch as Margaret sat, looking down at her granddaughter. Tracy had been right. She did have a runny nose and looked a mess. One eye still had bits of tape stuck around it, and her other eye and mouth were outlined in red streaks where the tape had been.
Margaret took some of the clean rag that Habakkuk had brought and, as if she were helping a tiny child, held it against Tracy’s nose while supporting her head. “Blow,” she said.
Tracy blew, then immediately began crying again. “Oh, Granny.” The words were jerky, but clearly identifiable.
Margaret raised her head and looked back across the room at Carrie, who pushed her own head up and down, nodding. The whispered words, “She knows,” came out just fine.
Margaret reached down and put her arms around her granddaughter, who was sobbing in earnest now.
I think, Carrie mused, that we’ve got to get out of this soon so Tracy can stop crying.
Margaret was holding Tracy to her bosom, bending low over her, since Tracy was, after all, still tied to a bed. Carrie shut her eyes. Some kinds of love were almost too much to look at. Eyes still shut, she pictured Margaret and Nahum together and Henry’s tender look as he watched them. Henry would have enjoyed seeing this sharing of love too.
She wished Henry could see it.
And then, Carrie McCrite fought back tears of her own.
A door slammed. After wiping Tracy’s face once more,
Margaret went to the hall and looked out.
In a moment, Habakkuk was beside her.
“I called the auditorium,” he said. “Show was just out. Zeph’ll not be long now.”
Margaret nodded. “Thet’s fine. Now, help me get this ’un up. Ye do the knots.”
Carrie didn’t have to pretend dizziness, but with Margaret’s support she was finally seated properly in the bathroom. Margaret gave her a drink, and then continued to run water, saying loudly, “I’ll wipe yer face, Missus.”
Instead, she leaned close to Carrie. “Now, kin ye manage to walk by yerself? Ye got t’ git away. Dasn’t risk what might happen when Zeph puts his head t’gether with Hab, ’n’ Hab finds out the whole story of ye bein’ at my house this day. Tracy’s safe fer now, but I ain’t so sure thet ye aire...”
Margaret shook her head, paused a moment, turned the faucet off, then back on again, and went on talking. “I see ye got the bedroom winder loose. I’ll help ye both ter git out if’n I kin send Hab off fer an errand.”
Carrie whispered, “Where’s Nahum? Is Dulcey safe? I told Tracy she was.”
Margaret nodded. “I give her t’ yer man on the path. They’re away safe, ’n’ we thought ye were safe, too, hidin’ in the woods by the clearin’. When we found ye were gone, he were undone but had t’ git away with Dulcey ’n’ bring help. Then I found ye here. Hab sed he’d tricked ye into comin’ into Nahum’s house. He knows nothin’ ’bout yer man bein’ there, ’n’ he thinks Dulcey got away by herself.
“I only learnt Hab ’n’ Nahum traded places jes a’fore comin’ t’ meet ye. I saw t’was Nahum in the truck, goin’ t’ Little Rock with Micah. Nahum wuz so proud to have new fam’ly...he musta said sumthin’ ’bout hit ter Hab. Enyways, the boys insisted he ’n’ Hab trade places ternight. Nahum were fussin’ ’bout goin’ away, but I guess he figured when his brothers learnt who Tracy really were, they’d be mighty pleased too. Nahum, he sees good in most ever’thin’. I allus hate ter spoil thet, ’n’ I tol’ him less ’n’ I shoulda.”
Carrie nodded.
“Now, we’ll go back. Keep actin’ tippy. When ye git ter thet bed, kinda fall in a faint. Thin mebbe Hab’ll not tie ye back right away. I’ll send him off ter write up a ransom fer Tracy, ’n’ if he goes, I’ll untie her too, so’s she kin he’p ye walk. Ye two git out th’ winder, head off from the back o’ the house—thet-away.” She pointed. “Hit’s rough fer a bit, but keep in the same direction ’n’ ye’ll end up at th’ Folk Center. Go as fast as ye kin, since Hab could git Micah’s dogs. If’n ye hear them dogs, walk in the creek if’n ye kin git thur.
“Mebbe Hab’ll stay away from the room ’til Zeph’s come—give ye some time. Hit’s chancy, but I don’ know whut else t’ do. If’n they do come after ye—if’n they git close—let Tracy distract ’em best she kin, ’n’ ye get away. I kin pertect her fer now, but not ye.”
That said, Margaret turned off the water, flushed the toilet, and, supporting Carrie, opened the bathroom door.
Carrie wobbled back into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, moaning. She shut her eyes, jerked once, then stayed motionless and silent, hoping she hadn’t overdone it.
Margaret was talking, “Son, how about ye go figure whut yer goin’ t’ say fer the ransom? Write it all out so ye’ll remember. Yer good at makin’ words like thet, so best ye do hit now, a’fore Zeph comes.
“Ye kin see this un’s out o’ things fer a while, ’n’ that ’un’s still tied. I’ll holler if’n I need ye. I want to watch this ’un enyways. She’s purty bad, son. I hope she ain’t gonna die on us. Go now, don’t worry. I’ll keep watch.”
Habakkuk left, and the second he was out of the door, Margaret was cutting the cloth tying Tracy’s hands and ankles, speaking softly to her, assuring her Dulcey was safe, explaining that now was the time to escape, to run to the Folk Center to be with her daughter.
Carrie got to her feet by herself, still woozy, but able to stand, and in a moment Tracy was standing too. Pushing Tracy in front of her, Margaret went to the window and shoved it up, then came back to help Carrie.
A truck’s rumbling noise vibrated through the window, and Margaret paused, dismay clouding her face. “No, no, hit’s Zeph’s truck. He’s early, what we gonter do?” She stood motionless by the window, fingers locked around Carrie’s arm.
Then the thunder of a shotgun interrupted all thought. Tracy screamed, and Carrie stared toward the door, feeling separated—as if she were part of the audience at a play.
In an instant, Habakkuk Culpeper was back in the room, shotgun raised, but he hadn’t been shooting at them. His gun was pointing down the hall, and a sharp crack came from that direction. Simultaneously, Carrie heard a bullet hit the doorframe next to Habakkuk. Finally she moved, dropping to the floor, pulling Margaret down beside her.
Habakkuk grabbed Tracy, who was still standing, and yanked her to him. He stood sideways in the door with Tracy as a shield and faced down the hall, shotgun pointed. Tracy looked frozen—unable, even, to scream.
Another shot came, this time from the black rectangle of the open window behind Habakkuk, and as he toppled to the floor, all Carrie could think was, no, no, it’s not fair. Henry’s come, and he had to shoot Margaret’s son.
She rose to her knees and crawled toward Margaret, who had lifted Habakkuk’s head into her lap and was pulling his bloody shirt away from the wound in his side. Margaret put her hand over the wound and leaned into Carrie, who touched her gently on the arm, feeling utterly miserable. She couldn’t even manage to be frightened and simply could not look toward the window.
But Margaret looked. She gasped, and, at last, Carrie looked too. A man Carrie recognized—not Henry, praise God, not Henry—was climbing over the sill. He went immediately to Tracy and pushed her behind him, ready to protect her from any coming danger. He, too, had a gun.
Margaret stared, her hand still against the wound in her son’s side. “Benjamin? Benjamin Calhoun?” she said. “Is it ye? Aire ye come back?”
Then Carrie understood. It had not been Henry who fired at Habakkuk
through the window. It was the man called Ben Yokum, and she knew who he must be. Tracy’s father had, after all, come back to be closer to his daughter, and he’d been close enough to kill for her... twice.
Tracy was alert now, moving quickly around Ben, ignoring everyone but Habakkuk. She stamped her heel on Habakkuk’s hand as it slid across the floor toward the gun.
Guess he’s not very dead, after all, Carrie thought, because Habakkuk had definitely howled as Tracy’s heel ground into his hand.
Tracy bent to pick up the gun and raised it to shooting position. “No, Uncle,” she said. “No more.” She stopped and addressed her next remark to her grandmother. “Don’t you worry, Granny, I’m not gonna shoot him... unless he moves.”
Footsteps were thundering down the hall. This was too much. Carrie realized her wooziness had gone and just in time. Henry stood in the doorway, and a man in uniform was behind him, peering to see in the room. They both had guns, but now Tracy was the only one pointing a gun at anyone.
Henry’s eyes swiveled around the room, stopping briefly on each person there. Carrie could almost see his mind working, taking it all in. Then he said, “It’s all yours,” to the man in uniform and came to wrap Carrie in his arms.
No matter how she felt about tears, hers began to soak the front of his jacket.
Chapter XXII
Once more Margaret Culpeper was serving tea in her home, though, this time, it was three A.M. instead of three in the afternoon. Carrie doubted anyone there really wanted tea—what she wanted was her bed—but tea-making gave Margaret something to do. All of them, including the sheriff, seemed to understand that, so they were drinking tea.
During tea preparation the sheriff had been surveying each of them, sometimes thoughtfully, sometimes with the look. Carrie recognized the look, she remembered it from her childhood. Back then, the familiar glare had come from her father, and the misbehavior that caused it was less serious than failure to report a kidnapping or share information about drug dealing and murder.
Music to Die For Page 20
