He looked backward to gauge how far he needed to drag her. Perhaps another six feet. Still looking that direction, to make sure he didn’t take himself over the edge, he took another laborious step backward. Then another. Four steps to go.
And suddenly he stopped. He could pull her no further.
Charles had awoken, stood, and grabbed Mama’s ankles. He had a hazy, hate-filled look on his face. One eye had swollen shut. Blood poured from his nose down into his fat, deformed lips.
“I won’t let you do it,” he said, his words half-slurred. He yanked on Mama’s feet.
Thomas felt his grip loosen. But he pulled back. Mama lifted off of the ground, stretched between her two sons as if on a rack. Her head tilted backward as if she stared at Thomas upside down. Her mouth dropped open, making her look surprised at the entire affair. Or horrified.
“She doesn’t want to come back,” Thomas said.
He pulled harder. His hands slipped a little more on the blood.
“Not to you,” Charles said. “Not to the ingrate you are.”
They stood in that morbid tug of war, glaring at each other, pulling harder and harder. Grunting.
Thomas could smell blood. He could taste it. It felt cold on his face as the wind touched it.
His hands slipped. They slipped on the blood on his hands—his own and Charles’s.
Mama’s head hit the ground first, with a dull thunk. Then Thomas’s rear hit the ground. He threw his hands backward to keep himself from falling further. One found ground, and the other air. His momentum nearly carried him off and over the edge. A glance back showed him nothing but open space sliding up against black and red rock for more than a thousand feet, and trees at the bottom.
It struck him just how high up he was. Everything below him seemed miniature. Fake.
Everything except for his one hand, spread out over the empty space.
Instead of dragging or carrying Mama to the altar, Charles let go of her ankles. Her feet dropped to the stone.
Charles jumped over her corpse toward Thomas, murder in his face.
* * *
Thomas started to scramble away from the edge, and while he managed to get both hands on stone, he couldn’t move fast enough. Charles landed at his feet and kicked him in the legs. Thomas fell back, his shoulders hitting the stone.
Charles swore and kicked again, making contact with Thomas’s legs. Thomas tried to wiggle away, but another boot in the legs pushed him further back. On the next kick, Thomas tried to grab Charles’s foot as it came forward again, but instead only got jammed fingers.
He couldn’t do anything against the speed and rage of Charles’s attack.
“Help!” he shouted.
He tried to look past Charles, up at his family, but could hardly see anything beyond Charles’s legs and body. The blood and sweat dripping into his eyes didn’t help.
Charles’s kicks had slid him further back, so that now most of his body hung over the edge. Wind pushed upward on him, rushing in his ears.
Charles’s profanity continued, and he kicked again. A strange peace descended on Thomas, a calm certainty. He would die very soon. It would all end. He wouldn’t have to deal with his family any more. Wasn’t that what he wanted?
He stopped struggling, stopped trying to block or absorb the impact of Charles’s kicks. He would let the end come. He closed his eyes as he slid back a little further, his waist nearly to the edge.
The next kick. The next one would do it.
Except—it never came.
Instead, he heard boots scuffling, and people struggling against each other.
“Let go!” Charles said.
Thomas opened his eyes. Franky had Charles by the arms, pulling him away. Charles struggled to get free, but also tried to kick Thomas—and failed at both. His boot missed Thomas by several feet. From Thomas’s right, Miss Sadie bounded over the rocks to him, her face solemn. She knelt, grabbed his feet, and pulled him back onto solid ground. Before he let his body relax, he considered grabbing Mama. She was just a few feet away, lying on her back, her arms extended over her head. It wouldn’t take much.
But he didn’t have much left. He hardly had anything inside him. He could only let his head fall back against the ground.
“I’m going to kill him,” Charles said.
“Ain’t nobody killing no one,” Franky said.
“He’s trying to kill Mama!”
“She’s already dead,” Franky said.
Franky dragged Charles to the far side of the altar. Charles fought every inch. Blood smeared his swollen face. He looked like he’d lost a fight. That made Thomas feel better. A little, anyway.
Mr. Milne had stood and come toward Mama. He stooped, picked her up, and carried her over to the altar.
“Cast the spell,” he said. “Get it over with.”
Thomas lifted his head to get a better look at Mr. Milne as he laid Mama on the altar.
Out of nowhere, Miss Sadie smacked Thomas. After the blows he’d taken, it didn’t hurt too much, but it surprised him.
She glared at him. Not even Mama had ever given him such a scathing look.
“That,” she said, “is for nearly killing my father.”
“What?”
“You nearly knocked him over the edge. He’d have gone over if it wasn’t for me.”
Thomas had no good response. He hadn’t meant to nearly kill Mr. Milne. But that wouldn’t make her feel any better. Besides, what had she said?
“Your father?”
She nodded, her lips tight.
Thomas stared at her, and looked at Mr. Milne. Then back at her. It made such perfect sense. Why hadn’t he realized it before? But how? How could it be?
Charles had returned to the altar and knelt in the same position as before. As he placed the rope around his neck, Papa came over, and from a leather bag withdrew a handful of seeds. He sprinkled them over her chest, like a priest sprinkling holy water. Franky retrieved the fish from the ground, and returned it to its spot on Mama’s belly.
Then everyone stood back.
Thomas forgot about Miss Sadie and Mr. Milne. He wanted to keep fighting. He wanted to stand up and make one last effort, but sitting up hurt far more than anticipated. About all he could have managed was to roll over off of the edge, and let the wind embrace him as he fell.
“You can’t do anything else,” Miss Sadie said. She placed a hand on one of his knees. “You’ve done everything you could.”
He sighed, long and heavy. He’d proven inadequate. He couldn’t save Mama from another life of slavery. He’d failed in his duty.
Charles lifted his face to the sky, and clasped his hands over Mama’s stomach. His voice rose strong and steady over the wind.
“By the powers of second life that fill my body, I sacrifice my years for the resurrection of my mother. Hear my petition, and bring her body back into the world of the living. Grant her a second life!”
The sound of wind that accompanied the words seemed to pull Thomas’s soul out of him. He felt like everything he’d ever worked for disappeared. His hopes and plans disintegrated, leaving him an empty shell.
He’d lost. He’d failed. Charles had proven triumphant over him yet again.
As Charles continued to speak, the sound of the wind that didn’t touch grew louder and louder. Within a few seconds, Thomas couldn’t hear Charles’s words, anymore.
“A day of my second life, I give for a day of her second life, and as fuel I . . . .”
Then all Thomas heard was wind. It consumed everything, placed a shroud over the world, and through the haze of sweat and blood, he watched Charles’s mouth move. After a minute it stopped. The touchless wind died, killed by a sucking sound and sudden thunderclap that shook Thomas’s vision.
Nothing moved. Not any of the few trees up on the top of Angel’s Landing. Not any of Thomas’s family. Not a chipmunk. Not Mr. Milne. Nothing moved. The very mountains around them seemed alive, waiting and watching. They s
eemed to lean in close around the altar atop Angel’s Landing.
Charles opened his eyes and looked down.
Mama’s body convulsed as she took her first breath in three days.
If there was anything the Life Vision taught me, it was how I went wrong with my children. That’s a hard thing to bear.
Chapter 31: Chosen to save
Mama’s countenance changed from corpse-like and dead, to vibrant and thriving. Life filled her face. Color returned to her flesh. Her hands, resting at her sides, twitched. She straightened one foot, so it pointed up toward the heavens.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she lay there for several seconds, just looking at the sky. Unblinking.
Charles, still kneeling next to her, with his hands clasped near the fish on her stomach, looked like he beheld the face of God, and in resurrecting her had done the greatest thing ever in the history of the world.
Her head titled just a little toward him. She lifted one hand, and batted his fists away.
“Don’t lean so close,” she said.
Charles’s expression changed to shock.
“What wall did you run into?” she said, gesturing at his face. “You look awful.”
Charles’s jaw moved, but words didn’t come out.
She lifted her head to look down at her belly. She picked the fish up from her stomach, by the tail.
“What in the blessings is this? It’s rotten!” She flung it to one side. “Franky! How many times have I told you that a fish can’t sit out for more than a few hours without going bad!”
Franky, standing off behind Charles, just gave a sheepish smile.
“Welcome back, Mama.”
She placed a hand on Charles's chest, and shoved him away. He fell backward, catching himself with his hands. He stared at her with wide eyes as she sat up. With a look of disgust, she brushed the seeds off of her chest.
“What, William, you couldn’t find fresher seeds? You had to use rotten ones?”
She stood up on the altar. Even though the life had returned to her face, her body still had no substance to it. She looked like a skeleton, how the clothes hung on her body. Her skin still looked stretched over her frame, too tight. The bones in her shoulders stuck out under her dress.
“Caroline,” Papa said, “we done resurrected you.”
She turned to face him.
“You worthless fool. You think I can’t tell what you’ve done to me? You think I don’t know that you brought me back? I knew you would do that. I knew you would do anything within your power to get me back so that I could do your work and make your bread. You worthless sack of jelly!”
“It’s just like you,” Papa said. “To berate us for doing the Lord’s work and bringing you back.”
“The Lord’s work! The Lord’s work! More like your work! Why in the heavens and earth would I even want to come back? That’s why I prepared before I died.”
Mr. Milne stepped forward, his face solemn. “Caroline, you didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.” An expression of maniacal pleasure crossed her face. “I cast a counter spell to your resurrection. I’m only going to live for a few minutes, here.”
Clara May, whose tears had already flowed freely enough, renewed her crying. Eli put his arms around her, put his head close to her ear, and whispered words Thomas couldn’t hear.
“But, but,” Charles said as he stood, “in the resurrection spell I transferred four years of second-life days to you.”
“Well, then you wasted them.” She looked down at him with a mixture of sadness and affection. “You should have checked with me first before wasting them.”
“You were dead,” Franky said. “Hard to check with you.”
She shook her head. “You should have known. You should have known I didn’t want to come back.”
Thomas smiled to himself: he felt pretty good. Sure, his muscles ached and he would’ve really liked a good meal, but Mama’s words vindicated him, proved he’d been right all along.
Charles stepped close to Mama.
“I thought," he said, "that you would want to come back. To me.”
She shook her head. “How little you knew me, then. No surprise. Always too worried about yourself.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows and nodded at Miss Sadie. In a quiet tone, he said, “Is that what you perceived about him?”
She nodded. Her mouth hung wide with shock.
“You know what I perceive about her?” she whispered.
Thomas shook his head. “What?”
“She’s a raving lunatic.”
As if hearing, Mama spun on the altar and looked down at Thomas.
“Of all the people here, I would have thought that you, at least, would have known I didn’t want to be resurrected.”
The satisfaction at being right disintegrated beneath that gaze. He struggled to his feet. Every bone and muscle ached. He spread his hands wide and lifted his chin.
“Look at me. Do I look like I haven’t tried to keep them from resurrecting you? It’s all I’ve been trying to do since you died. Since before you died!”
“Well, you must not have tried hard enough.”
That did it. That was all Thomas could handle. All his life he’d cowed before her. Done everything she wanted. And she treated him just like this. Well, he wouldn’t take it anymore. He drew himself up to his full height.
“I tried the best I could. It was me against all of them—and all of Hurricane and Gateway. I was the only one that said you wouldn’t want to come back to a life of slavery.”
She tried to speak, but he kept going. His voice rose just a little in tone and volume with each word.
“I’m the only one who loved you enough to know that, because I’m the only one who has actually done my duty to you. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked. You let them sit there doing nothing, while I do the work of three—not by my own choice, but at your command.”
He glared at her, his breath coming hard. Everyone around them stood silent and still. Surprisingly, so did Mama. She didn’t so much as open her mouth. And, in fact, even more unusual, her face had actually grown soft.
He’d never before seen her with such an expression. It almost bordered on pity. Maybe mercy. Or, the way she tilted her head to one side, maybe even love.
“What?” he said. “What is that look for?”
“You don’t get it?” She said it in an unusually soft voice.
“Get what? I’ve done everything for you. Everything that no one else would do for you. And I don’t know why. Why am I the one you hated the most?” He swept his arm in a gesture to encompass his entire family and Mr. Milne. “Why is it that you let them do whatever they wanted, and kept me at the farm, supporting everyone else?”
She shook her head. Tears glistened in her eyes. He’d never seen tears from her. Not ever. It made him look more closely at her, and he realized that during his tirade her shoulders had started to slouch. Her face had grown weary and tired.
The life had already started to drain out of her.
Well, good. It turns out he hadn’t had to try and prevent them all from resurrecting her. That would’ve been nice to know before he became an arsonist and horse thief.
“What?” he said. “What don’t I get?”
She shook her head. A look of unimaginable regret filled her eyes.
“You’re the one trusted with everything. You are the most important person in this family—in this nation.”
“Caroline,” Mr. Milne said. He came close. “What are you saying?”
She dropped to her knees. With every second the light seemed to fade from her eyes. Still looking at Thomas, she spoke to Mr. Milne.
“He was chosen to save this people.”
* * *
Thomas stared hard at Mama, trying to understand. With every instant, her skin become even more ashen. She seemed to die before his very eyes.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Save this people?”
�
�You idiot!” Papa said. “Why do you think we’ve wanted to resurrect her all this time? She’s the protector. She’s the one who’s been casting the barrier spell all these years.”
Thomas didn’t believe it. Not for an instant. Mama, the one who cast the barrier spell?
Charles stood there in silence, his mouth agape. So did Eli and Clara May and Franky.
“She’s the one?” Miss Sadie said from behind Thomas. “This frail old lady is the one who’s kept my entire nation at bay for twenty years?”
Mr. Milne stepped past Charles, to the altar where Mama knelt. He reached over and placed a hand on Mama’s shoulder, as if to comfort her. With an annoyed scowl, she shrugged it off. He gave her a look of sympathy.
He said, “Only someone with endless second-life days can cast the spell for so long, so many times. She was chosen and prepared for this purpose long before the barrier spell was needed.”
She placed her hands on her thighs and leaned on them. Her head hung down between her arms and she shook it.
“The Lord knows," she said, "I never would have volunteered for the miserable, thankless job.”
Thomas still couldn’t speak, but now understood why she'd needed resurrecting. Not because she'd used all her second-life days, but because those with endless second-life days didn’t get a second life unless someone else brought them back.
“Now,” Mr. Milne said, looking at Thomas, “you say he has been chosen to fulfill it, next.” He glanced at Mama. “You’re sure he can do it? He has endless second-life days?”
She nodded. Her hands slipped down off of her thighs, onto the sandstone altar.
"You're sure?" He seemed quite surprised at it, as if he thought maybe she was mistaken due to recently being dead.
She looked up at him, rolling her eyes. “I said yes!”
Thomas didn’t understand. He didn’t feel like he had endless second-life days. How did she know?
“Who chose me?” he said. “How do you know I have endless second-life days?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know who chose you. I don’t know how or why you have endless second-life days. I don’t know why I did. I don’t know who chose me. But you were chosen as surely as I was.”
Keep Mama Dead Page 28
