Bound by Blood and Brimstone (35 page)

“Do you know what ‘repent’ and ‘remission of sins’ mean, Caleb?”

“Yes sir, I do. I done already repented. I told God all the bad things I done, and I’m sorry

I done them. I don’t want to be the man I was anymore. I reckon ‘remission’ means to get rid of

something, so I want to get rid of all my sins.”

“Caleb,” Momma broke in, “how did you go about getting all your information about

this?”

He turned to her, his eyes wide. “Why, the Bible, Ma’am. I read it in the Bible.”

She didn’t want to embarrass him, but her disbelief was stamped plainly on her face. “Uh,

I didn’t realize you did all that much reading, Caleb.”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am. I been reading the Bible a lot. Sam showed me how.”

Her mouth flopped open and closed like a dying fish. “Sam? Why, Sam can’t read. He’s

not even four years old yet.”

Her surprise annoyed me, and I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice when I cut in.

“Sam’s been reading awhile now, Momma. I taught him. Your little boy’s quite advanced.”

Beside me, Sam nodded his agreement and spoke around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“I just showed him his letters, Momma, and how they go together. Caleb did the rest. He reads

the Bible real good, now.”

When all was said and done, Reese agreed to baptize Caleb. He made Caleb wait until the

next Sunday after services, to give him time to think it over, he said. I figured Reese was just

humoring him. As far as I was concerned, the jury was still out. I couldn’t believe the heart of a

person as damaged as Caleb Jacobs, could truly change. My theory was blown out of the water

one evening when he cornered me in the barn.

I was milking, my mind a million miles away, when movement caught my eye from the

stall doorway. Caleb stood there, twisting a dirty handkerchief.

He wanted to make amends, he told me. He was convinced he couldn’t be saved unless

Lorrie Beth forgave him for all he’d done to her. He believed that day at Crystal Creek had

shown him her heart was hardened against him, and he was certain fire and brimstone awaited

him unless her heart could be softened.

As his confession continued, his voice roughened and cracked. Glued to the milk stool, I

froze, my bucket only half full, when he suddenly broke down in violent, wrenching sobs. I was

so transfixed I forgot the most important element involved in milking a cow--the tail.

It caught me hard on the side of the face, the coarse hairs poking my eyes, tumbling me

off the stool into the straw on the floor. Maintaining my cool demeanor was out of the question.

There could be no room for dignity while sprawled on my backside with my face under the

working parts of a cow.

Quick as a wink, he helped hoist me off the floor, raking straw off my back with his big

paws. He made no effort to avert his wet, ravaged face. Gripping both my hands in his, he forced

me to look at him.

“I hate what I done to her. I hate myself for it. But you don’t know how mean Sue Lee

can be.” His throat convulsed, and his voice began to waver again. “I’m not saying I wasn’t to

blame, but I was always afraid of what she’d do to me.”

I yanked my hands free of his grasp and couldn’t resist wiping them on my jeans. Not

trusting myself to speak, I righted the milk stool and sat down to finish. He was behind me, his

voice above my head, and I gripped the teat harder so he wouldn’t see the tremor in my hand.

“Sue Lee’s bad,” he intoned. There’s nothing she won’t do if she gets mad enough. She

killed our mother, and I hope she never comes back!”

This path was one I didn’t dare set foot on. Dragging the nearly full bucket from

underneath the cow, I stood and kicked the stool in the corner.

“Look, Caleb. You and Sue Lee tormented my sister from the time she was a little kid.

You stole her childhood from her. I can’t say if she’s forgiven you or not, but if I were you, I

wouldn’t go and try to find out. I think the best thing you can do for Lorrie Beth is just leave her

be. As long as God forgives you, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

He shifted his weight and dropped his head. Thinking the conversation over, I stepped to

the doorway with my bucket. He blocked my path. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to look

but into his tortured eyes.

“It matters to me. I can’t sleep for thinking about it. I like your sister. She’s the nicest,

sweetest person I ever seen. I like her a lot. I guess I always have.”

“Yeah, and I bet it don’t hurt none for her to look the way she does, either,” I muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Now, listen to me, Caleb,” I said, striving for an even tone. I wasn’t about to

let him know how badly he’d rattled me. “Whatever it is you’ve got in that head of yours about

you and Lorrie Beth, you’d best be forgetting it, you hear? Lorrie Beth will never think of you in

that way. She can’t, don’t you see? She won’t ever be able to think of anything but all the pain

you and Sue Lee caused her. I’m not saying she hates you or anything. She just can’t like you the

way you’re talking about. You understand?”

Something hard and flinty rippled across his features, like the glint of a knife’s edge.

“Yeah, I understand. I understand real good.”

Caleb’s baptism went off without a hitch, and his walk with the Lord appeared to be a

calm one. He spent his spare time engrossed in the pages of his new Bible and never approached

Lorrie Beth to ask her forgiveness. Over time, a force far more powerful than his remorse would

overshadow his presence like a solar eclipse.

Summer draped its sultry cloak about us and kindled a flame destined to burn too hot. I

sensed its heat, and like a child tottering too near a hot stove, I feared getting burned.

I didn’t want to see the way Noah Lunsford trailed Lorrie Beth with his languid gaze, or

the way she swayed her hips when she walked by him. I didn’t want to see her get all breathy

and doe-eyed whenever he spoke to her, or the way her laughter made his eyes linger too long on

her lips.

When Noah was relaxed or laughing, his hazel eyes would flare out like the sun when it

dips to the sea on the horizon. Put him close enough to Lorrie Beth’s dimples, and the amber in

his irises would take over. At that moment, if I happened to speak to him and capture his glance,

it was like looking into a glass of aged brandy.

I didn’t want to see them deep in conversation, their eyes locked, shooting up the fine

hairs on my arms the way hot, charged air will do before an electrical storm.

I didn’t want to see any of it, but only a blind man wouldn’t have been able to, or a blind

woman, if Momma could be counted. As much as I didn’t want to see, Noah would force my

eyes open and rub my face in it.

It happened on a steamy August afternoon on the way back from Wonnie’s. He’d

convinced me to take him for a visit, claiming a fascination for Cherokee culture. He said his

great grandfather had been a medicine man, but it seemed a little too much of a coincidence for

me to buy into. In the end, I couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his feverish excitement, so I caved.

Noah greeted her in her native tongue and spent most of the visit charming her right out

of her moccasins. In turn, she spent most of the time bragging me up. She tossed him a few

crumbs about her past, but her motive was obvious. She was trying to play matchmaker, and it

mortified me into cutting the visit far shorter than I’d have done if I’d been alone.

He’d just stepped off the porch when she gripped my arm and pulled me back into the

doorway.

“I like your young man. I like him very much.”

I sighed. “He’s not my young man, Wonnie.”

“There is darkness around him,” she whispered, laying a calloused hand on my shoulder.

I forced a weak laugh. “What do you mean? You just said you liked him.” I couldn’t

reconcile the two ideas. How could she like him if she sensed something was wrong with him?

She touched my face with rough fingers, her black eyes drilling me. “I did not say the

darkness is
in
him.”

I was beginning to think we’d make it back home without passing a single word, when

Noah brought me to a screeching halt by grabbing my ponytail.

“Ouch!” I glared at him with my best imitation of righteous indignation, but I was no

match for his silly, sheepish grin.

“Sorry. Just trying to get your attention.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” I mumbled, untying my hair and rubbing my scalp.

“I was hoping we could find a spot to sit awhile,” he explained. “I’m not ready to go back

just yet, are you?”

I offered a nonchalant shrug and led him to a hollow log I’d often used as a rest stop.

“Never would’ve figured you for the wimpy type. Big old he-man like you should be able to run

ten miles in one breath.”

He refused to take the bait. “Yep, that’s me. The name’s Paul. Paul Bunyan. Got me a pet

ox back home. I would’ve brought her along, but there wasn’t room. Warren County’s a bit too

small. Her hind parts may fit, but what would I do about her front?”

“Very funny. Oh, I have an idea. Why don’t you gain a hundred pounds and get a goofy

little sidekick? You could pass for Jackie Gleason.”

He shot me another grin from his end of the log. How come I’ve never heard it mentioned

‘till today that you’re a published author?”

“Wonnie talks too much,” I retorted. “I’m her favorite subject too much of the time, I’m

afraid.” I wound a strand of hair around my finger and studied it. “It’s no big deal. A teacher of

mine submitted some of my stories to a magazine, and they got published.”

With everything Lorrie Beth and I had endured, my literary celebrity had died a quick

death, mourned mostly by poor Miss Hacker. Personally, I’d taken no particular joy from it, and

I resented Wonnie for dragging it out for display in front of this homespun Casanova.

“No big deal?” His eyes widened, and he scooted down the length of the log to sit beside

me. I didn’t like it, him being that close. It set up a peculiar ache behind my ribcage.

“I think it’s a big deal, having a talent like that. I love to write, myself. That’s why I’m

studying journalism.” He’d propped his arms on his knees, laced his fingers, and tilted his head

to look at me.

“That right?” I wanted nothing more than an excuse not to look at his face. I wished I’d

been a closet smoker or a juggler, anything to divert my attention from those eyes of his.

“Yeah, and I love history, too. Your Wonnie Dean is the most amazing person I’ve ever

met. It boggles my mind just thinking about all the stuff she’s seen in her lifetime. I want to

thank you.”

His softened tone lured me into making a near fatal mistake. I turned my head to find his

eyes seeking mine.

“Thank me for what?” Breathe, you idiot. Can’t think. Oh, my Lord, his eyes. I’m going

under. I’m going to drown if I don’t look away. Those little amber flecks are popping out the

way they do when Lorrie Beth is around. Oh, God. That isn’t supposed to happen!

“I want to thank you for today, for letting me tag along. For letting me get to know your

world a little better.” He leaned in closer, his face filling my vision. I could smell the scent of his

soap and the slight tanginess of his clean sweat. “I haven’t figured you out, you know. You’re

quite a mystery, Ember Mae.”

I dragged my eyes from his, letting them follow the path to his lips and a small scar on

his chin. I’d never noticed it before. “Not really. I’m elementary, my dear Watson.”

He laughed, his white teeth stark against brown skin. “That’s exactly what I mean.

You’re witty. Smart. You’re a talented writer. You’re studying to be a healer and a midwife.

And, on top of all that, you’re pretty, too. So, why is it a girl with so much going for her doesn’t

have a boyfriend?”

There was a warm tickling in the pit of my stomach, and my legs felt like they weighed a

ton. I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my voice. “I don’t know any boys I’d look at twice.”

Deep in his eyes something shimmered as he reached tentatively for a lock of my hair. He

let it slide through his fingers, watching the light play along its length before he spoke.

“Boys in these parts must be blind.”

That’s when I bolted off that log like I’d been shot out of a pistol’s mouth. “We’d best be

getting back if we’re going to make it by suppertime.”

“Wait! Don’t go!” He had me by the arm, his voice urgent. “Please, Ember Mae, I’m

sorry if I said something wrong. I wouldn’t offend you for anything. Look, sometimes I put my

foot in my mouth. I’m only good with words on paper. I was only trying to let you know how

special I think you are.”

He was breathing hard, his face flushed, and his voice was quavering as though he were

ready to cry. I decided that whatever had been about to happen a moment before, had been a

figment of my too-vivid imagination. That realization fired up my cheeks with such shame, I had

no choice but to avert my face.

To my dismay, his long fingers gripped my chin, tilting it to the waning sunlight and his

beseeching eyes. “Ember Mae, please don’t leave. I really need to talk to you. Look, I know you