Dead of Winter (37 page)

Tom jotted notes in his journal. “When Kunetay killed several tribe members, was he feeding the windigo?”

Anika nodded, sipping her tea. “It normally hunts alone, but this year it has turned others into cannibals. I believe the missing people from Manitou Outpost are hunting with it. If Kunetay wasn’t eaten, then he may also be among them. As long as there is prey, the windigos will hunt as a pack.”

Tom said, “Last night a soldier saw shadows just outside the stockade. They left behind footprints and scratches on the front gate. Will they keep trying to get in?”

“Their hunger never stops, so they seek food day and night. The more they eat, the hungrier they get. If the windigos run out of food, they turn on each other. Some will split off on their own and travel far away. I have spoken with Huron and Cree who have their own windigo stories. Eventually, the windigo of Makade Lake will eat all the smaller ones and return to its island. But we have a long winter yet. I’m afraid that eventually the windigo will find its way in.”

Tom pictured the open gate to Manitou Outpost. The blood on the snow. The ghost village. “How do we kill it?”

“Spirits cannot be killed, they can only be sent away. The only people who have the power to banish evil spirits are a group of Ojibwa shaman known as the Grand Medicine Society. The Mediwiwin.”

“Where are they?”

“A half-day’s journey down river. I wish there was a way we could get to them.”

Tom considered this. “No, it’s too risky.”

Anika said, “I know a place not far from here where some canoes are stored. We could get there in less than an hour.”

“I’ll suggest it to Master Pendleton. Speaking of which…” Tom checked his watch. Eleven o’clock. He closed his journal. “I need to report back to the officers.”

Anika walked with him to the door. Before he knew it, her arms were around his waist. “I wish you could stay longer.”

The feeling of her against his chest brought back the tingles. Tom hugged her back. “You keep safe tonight.”

She brushed his lapels. “I hate this coat.”

Tom looked down at the gray overcoat that had been his father’s. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s too thin. It can’t possibly keep you warm.”

“Well, no, but it’s the only one I own.” Tom opened the door, and a frosty gust blew into the cabin, chilling him to the bone.

“Wait.” Anika went to a wardrobe and pulled out a thick parka and mittens made of brown fur. She handed the coat to Tom. “This used to be my husband’s. It’s made from caribou and rabbit. I want you to have it to keep warm.”

Tom slipped on the parka, pulling the bushy hood over his head. The inner lining was made of soft rabbit fur, the outer layer caribou. The mittens were equally soft. “What do I owe you for these?”

“Nothing. They are gifts.”

“Thank you.” As Tom stepped out into the cold night, he discovered the coat and mittens were the warmest he’d ever worn.

144

In the back bedroom of the chapel where the Jesuits resided, Father Xavier turned another page of Brother Andre’s journal:

The nightmares torture me still. If I do not conquer these feelings of lust, I fear I may grow mad from desire. I keep wondering if I am fit to be a priest. I fear deep down I am just a common sinner like all the rest. And yet I question what is truly sinful. Entering the priesthood has been my greatest passion, and now every day a part of me asks, why I am giving up all that life has to offer? Especially the touch of a woman. How can a man stay sane in the presence of such power that the woman wields? Willow’s scent, her laugh, her bright eyes and smile fill my body and heart with so many heavenly sensations. How can it be a sin to desire to kiss those lips and hold her close, naked and vulnerable as Adam and Eve? Why does the Church insist a priest deny himself the bond of a woman? Is her feminine essence really the plague of the Devil? Surely Willow, the most radiant angel I have ever met, can’t be the embodiment of evil.

Father Xavier heard footsteps and looked up as Andre entered the room. His jaw dropped. “Why are you reading my journal?”

Father Xavier stood, towering over his apprentice. “Why didn’t you tell me you have feelings for Willow?”

Andre’s cheeks flushed. “I… She is my friend.”

“Don’t lie to me. Last night I saw the two of you in the nave.
Kissing
.”

“It was a moment of weakness. I’m sorry. I was going to confess—”

Father Xavier raised his palm. “You have lied to me and kept secrets. And last night you broke one of your most sacred vows. This behavior is intolerable. I’m afraid you and I have reached a crossroads. I don’t think you are fit to be a priest.”

“No, please, Father. You have to forgive me. I want to be a priest more than anything.”

“Then you must honor
all
vows. Kissing a woman will only lead you down a dangerous path. And as an exorcist, you must always question if the Devil is leading you to sin, and his most powerful deception comes from the temptations of a woman.”

“I won’t let her tempt me again, I promise. I’ll spend all evening doing excamen. Whatever you ask of me, I’ll do it. Just let me prove that I am worthy to be your apprentice.”

Father Xavier studied the young missionary’s eyes to see if he was speaking with conviction. “Andre, if you truly desire to be a priest, then you must devote yourself to God, above all people.” He pointed to the wall at a small painting of the Madonna. “And
she
is the only woman whom you should hold sacred in your heart.”

“
Oui
, Father.” Andre’s eyes teared up.

“To be my apprentice,” Father Xavier said, “you must confess every temptation, every sin. Exorcists hold no secrets from one another. If you and I are going to survive a holy battle, then we must form a bond that Satan can’t break.”

145

At Noble House, Pendleton entered his fourth-story home and was startled by the sound of hammers pounding against wood. He hurried into the parlor, where several Indian servants were gathered. They all seemed spooked. From down the hall, the hammering changed to grating sounds, as if someone were pushing furniture across the floor.

“Who’s making all that bloody racket?”

The butler came over, holding up an oil lamp. “Lady Pendleton, Master.”

“Everyone wait here.” Pendleton took the oil lamp and marched down the dark hallway to his wife’s boudoir. As he reached the door, it slowly swung open, the hinges creaking. “Willow!” The bedchamber was pitch black, except for where a few blades of moonlight slashed through the curtains.

The scraping stopped.

“Willow, darling, what’s happening?” He eased across the threshold, holding out the lamp. The flickering flame offered a small circle of light. Torn pillows and feathers were strewn across the floor. White down floated in the air like snow. The four-poster bed was turned at an odd angle. The tall wardrobe had somehow slid out from the wall. Had there been some kind of earthquake?

The shelves that had displayed all the dolls were now empty.

“Willow?” Pendleton raised the lamp to her bed. She was in her nightgown, sitting cross-legged with her back against the headboard. Her
 
long hair, frosted with pillow feathers, hung over her face. She rocked back and forth, her hand rubbing the face of an Indian doll in her lap. Willow whispered a phrase over and over. “
Fais ce que tu voudras. Fais ce que tu voudras. Fais ce que tu voudras…”

Pendleton approached her. “Darling, what’s happening?”

Above the bed came a strange knocking. He raised the oil lamp. A hundred porcelain faces with bejeweled eyes reflected the candlelight. The dolls were stuck to the ceiling, their little legs kicking the wood.

Pendleton gasped.

A doll flew down from the ceiling and struck his shoulder. Willow giggled. More dolls came down, floating over her bed. The room filled with whispering voices.

Pendleton backed away. The candlelight blew out. “Shit!” He fumbled through the darkness. Another doll smashed into his back. Another shattered against the doorframe. As he left the room and bolted down the hall, he heard a chorus of snickering little girls.

Part Fourteen

The Devil’s Plague

146

Father Xavier and Andre each carried a black case as they followed Lt. Hysmith into the parlor of the Pendleton home. Master Pendleton was gathered at the fireplace with the other officers. Inspector Hatcher and Dr. Coombs were also present.

Father Xavier tensed at the sound of a door banging from down the hall. The air felt thick and oily with the presence of evil.

Pendleton said, “What the hell’s happening?”

“A demon spirit is present.” Father Xavier pulled out a silver cross. “Andre, seal off the room.”

The apprentice drew chalk lines on the floor along every threshold to the parlor.

“Everyone stay within the chalked lines.” The exorcist splashed holy water on the walls and whispered a prayer.

From down the hall, Willow moaned and wailed like a woman in the throes of sex.

Pendleton paced in front of the fireplace, cursing. “Damn it, do something, Doc!”

Dr. Coombs held up a syringe. “She needs a sedative.”

“We need to strap her down,” Inspector Hatcher said.

Pendleton shouted at the butler to fetch some rope.

The noise from the slamming door was maddening. Father Xavier tried to concentrate on his ritual, but the men in the room were frantic, talking all at once.

“I need everyone to stay quiet!” Father Xavier continued praying and dousing the walls.

The butler returned with some rope. Inspector Hatcher took it and gave some to Lt. Hysmith then turned to Father Xavier. “Okay, you lead us in there.”

Father Xavier glanced at his apprentice. “Are you ready for this, Andre?”

The young man’s eyes were wide. “I’m ready.”

“Remember, keep your mind clear and your thoughts on God.” Father Xavier crossed himself and stepped into the narrow hallway. He flicked holy water across the walls. The pink paint sizzled and flaked off. The door slammed at the end of the hall. Shrill screams came from Willow’s boudoir. As he reached the bedchamber, her shrieks turned to giggles. The door stopped banging and slowly creaked opened to a void of infinite blackness.

This demon wants to play
, Father Xavier thought.

Stretching out an oil lamp, he entered the room first. His shoes crunched over broken porcelain. On the floor, dozens of dolls lay across one another, their faces jagged holes, their arms and legs shattered. A massacre only a little girl’s tantrum could cause. White down floated in the air like dandelions ushered in by an evil wind.

Father Xavier stepped deeper into the long, narrow room. He saw his fragmented reflection in a cracked mirror. The furniture was in disarray. The four-poster bed was now positioned in the center of the room. Willow was missing. The Indian doll was propped against the pillows, its head spinning. From the darkness behind the bed, a little girl sang, “I am the secret keeper, I know all your little secrets…”

Father Xavier motioned Andre and the other men into the room. “Demon, come out and face us.”

Willow crabbed out from behind the bed, her body arched in a backbend, walking on hands and feet like a carnival contortionist. Her head twisted at an odd angle. She looked at the men with solid black eyes and grimaced. “Do I smell the fear of eunuchs?”

“I cast out this demon in the name of God!” Father Xavier splashed her face with holy water.

She screeched and scuttled spider-like toward a corner.

Father Xavier yelled, “Grab her!”

Tom, Hysmith, and Dr. Coombs rushed Willow, seizing her arms and legs. She thrashed and snarled, bucking and kicking, as they tossed her onto the bed. Father Xavier and Andre stood at the foot of the bed, chanting prayers as the men tied her to the four posts. Dr. Coombs jabbed a needle into Willow’s arm. She cried out, her eyes once again blue. Her face returned to that of a young woman with undeniable beauty. For a brief second she stared at Father Xavier with pleading eyes, and he saw her face shift into Mirabelle.

An illusion
, he reminded himself and continued exorcising Willow’s demon until the sedative took effect and she passed out.

147

In Pendleton’s study, Tom tossed the Indian doll into the fireplace. The flames engulfed the deerskin dress. The leather face peeled back and the wood skull beneath caught fire. The single green eye popped out of the socket with a spark of embers. Tom had first seen this hideous doll the day Zoé arrived. She had brought it from Manitou Outpost. After Zoé’s death, Willow kept it on her bed. Tom later found the doll on the altar at Hospital House. He’d left it there to burn. How it found its way back to Willow’s room, he didn’t know. But seeing the Indian doll on her bed with its head spinning round and round made Tom wonder if he was going mad.

Now he watched the wooden figurine burn like a pagan’s sacrifice. Its face was solid black, staring back at Tom with hollow sockets. Had the doll come with a hex? Tom had been told that many of these backwoods tribes had an Indian witch. He imagined an old medicine woman stitching leather skin over its wooden skeleton and then waving a burning root over her creation, chanting a curse. The crackling fire made the fiery doll move. Tom stepped back, half expecting it to hop out of the fireplace like a miniature demon and leap onto his leg.

Tom rubbed his stiff neck.
Maybe I am going mad
.

No, just in shock.
He felt saddened that Willow was now infected. While he had tied her wrists to the bedposts, her face once again resembled his wife’s, stirring up snakes of pain that knotted inside Tom’s chest. She had looked at him with pleading eyes, whispering in Beth’s voice,
You love me, don’t you? Please, Tom, tell me you love me.
Then Willow laughed as her face turned sickly pale and sprouted blue veins.

She’s turning windigo like all the others.

In a day or two, she would have to be put down and burned on a pyre like this wretched doll. Tom looked across the study at Master Pendleton. The fort chief was facing out the window. Tom felt a mixture of hatred and sympathy for his boss. The womanizing letch had whipped Anika. For that, Tom wanted to push Pendleton out the fourth-story window. But Tom also knew the pain and suffering of losing a wife, and his aching heart couldn’t separate the conflicting emotions.