Hard Twisted (7 page)

No, Daddy! No!

Again, again, again. Lottie kicked and cried, gouging tracks in the dirt as she backed, balling herself under a tree. Her father stepped forward and raised the belt again.

All the men jumped at the second crack of the pistol.

That's enough, Palmer said evenly. Put it down.

Garrett lowered his arm.

Lucile, you grab your pants and get. Go to the cabin and lock the door.

Lottie scrambled to her feet and ran careening past the leering men and the raking branches and the patchwork curtain of clothes. She gathered up her pants and boots and she kept on running, her heart pounding and her ears ringing, past the chicken coop, past the tents and the truck, past the old car, all the time listening for the sound of the third gunshot that never came.

Inside the cabin, sprawled on the bed, she finally wept.

Her tears came at first in great gulps of pain and anger, but soon softened to a torrent of bitter shame, until, at last, clutching at the blankets, she convulsed soundlessly at the injustice of a world in which she herself was but a thing adrift, like some speck of flotsam on the windblown lake that rose or sank at the whim of forces beyond human sense or reckoning.

The first sounds she heard were angry voices rising from the
woods. Next came the slam of a car door and the sound of an engine sputtering and catching and of gears rasping as the old Overland flivver limped from camp like a man on tender feet. Then, at last, a hard rap at the door.

She looked to the windscreen, where Palmer's face was cupped to the glass.

Figures he'd get that thing runnin now, he said without preamble, brushing past her in the doorway. He crossed to the sideboard and wrapped the gun in a dish towel and carried it to the chifforobe, where he knelt and with his pocketknife levered up a floorboard.

Where's he goin? she asked, smearing her face with a sleeve.

To find him a shotgun, would be my guess.

Palmer stood and looked about. He swept some coins from the table. He crossed to the door and lifted his hat from the peg.

Where are you goin?

I got a notion he's headed for the sheriff, Palmer said, setting his hat. Has he got any gas in that thing?

I think so.

Shit.

He paused, his fingers drumming the doorframe.

Okay, here's what's what. You lock this door and don't let nobody inside, understand? I'll try and find him and talk some sense to him. And if the law comes by, you ain't never seen no gun, you got that?

She nodded. He studied her face before turning, then stopped again on the threshold.

Just remember one thing, he told her. Only damn fools and soldiers stick their necks out for nothin.

She had paced at first, and then, when she'd tired of pacing, she'd lain in bed and cried again, and when she'd finally slept, it was a fitful sleep of terrors vaguely imagined.

When she woke, it was to blades of moted sunlight slicing through the crumbled chinking of the cabin. She'd sat up blinking, taking in the half-light. Then she stood and paced again, until, tired of pacing, she busied herself by making the bed and sweeping the floor, taking care to avoid the windscreen or any shadow she might make upon it.

Now she sat at last in full darkness and ate the stale shortbreads with the last of the tepid house water, listening to the sounds of the men as they gathered at the cockpit.

When she'd tilted the tin and shaken the last crumbs into her mouth, she fumbled for the washbucket below the sideboard and set it on the floor. She lowered her pants and squatted and, in the ringing darkness, felt her leg welts tighten, tracing their swollen outlines with her fingertips.

You didn't have no cause, she whispered to the darkness.

She leaned at the window and watched the backlit men at the cockpit shifting and swaying like pagan supplicants at some red and heretic mass. As though in the blood of the contest, some greater truth might be divined. As though truth itself were the thing exalted, and blood but its base and corporeal attendant.

She didn't realize she had dozed again until she was startled awake by a crashing sound at the door. Palmer cursed and stumbled heavily into the room, the bucket clanging against the chairleg where she sat.

Holy shit!

Are you all right?

Light the goddamn lamp.

He hung unsteadily by the doorway as she felt for the match-box and lifted the blackened chimney, and the walls when they appeared out of darkness were to her in her lingering somnolence as the ribs of the whale, and she inside was as Jonah cast out and saved and waiting to learn her fate.

Where is he?

Palmer removed his hat and tossed it toward the pegs, from which it caromed and wobbled, circling back to where he stood. He stepped over the hat and lifted a chair and straddled it backward, his chin resting on his arms and his arms resting on the hard ladderback.

It went just like I thought, he told her. He run straight to the sheriff, and he made 'em call down to the sheriff at Sulphur Springs. What all did you tell him, anyways?

Nothin, I swear.

Palmer leaned and spat on the floorboards. That stiff-necked son of a bitch done shat in every nest I got.

What happened?

Nothin happened. I told Cross he was a crazy drunk is all. Then I tracked him into town and by God got him drunk. I told him he was all wrong about you and me, and that ol' dead-eye was a born troublemaker who could spin a yarn longer'n a whore's life story, which is the God's own truth.

Did he believe you?

He smiled wetly. Did he believe me? Come here, darlin.

He tilted in his seat and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

What matters now is that we be careful till I get this sorted.

Sorted how?

He stood and turned the chair and carried his hat to the pegs.

You'd better scat. Your pa's in his tent, and you'd best be in yours when he wakes up.

But—

But nothin. Go on.

He held the door and waited. Outside, a pale fluorescence bathed the empty clearing.

Lottie rose, righting the pail as she passed and pausing beside him where he stood in the open doorway. The outside air was cool and fresh, and a lock on Palmer's forehead twitched in the gentle night breeze.

Thank you, she told him. If you hadn't of come along—

Forget it. He brushed her cheek with his fingers. Oh, but there is one thing. You get a chance tomorrow, could you take a mop to this place? I think a cat done pissed itself in here while we was out.

Lottie's tent sagged under the twin burdens of morning dew and a cold, gnawing dread. The risen sun burnished the thin scrim of canvas that shielded her, like the cloak of Elijah, from the judging eyes of the camp. Inside, her body rigid, she lay breathing the mildewed canvas and listening to the morning calls of roosters and the murmur of distant voices. Then a shadow passed across the tent wall, and she heard the clack of stacking kindling.

When she crawled forth into daylight, she found her father hunched before the cookfire. Beyond his crouching form, the camp was awake and in motion. He lifted his head.

Coffee? He lifted a cup for her approval.

She smoothed her hair and joined him on the log, feeling the prying eyes on her back.

Yes, sir. Thank you.

They sat looking into the half-distance, at the Overland jalopy and at the slumbering lake beyond it, barred yet in the muted blues and grays of morning light and shadow.

I was thinkin we'd take us a little walk this mornin, her father said. Just you and me. He passed her the cup by the rim. Careful, she's hot.

She glanced toward Palmer's cabin. It alone remained dark.

I hear they's a trail runs clear around the lake. I never been to the other side, have you?

No, sir.

Well, there you go then. I'd call that a plan.

They followed the narrow path through alternations of dark forest and bright clearings, catching and losing sight of the lake. Her father carried his Bible with him, first in his hand and then, farther along, snugged in the belt of his trousers.

There were bees in the meadows, and butterflies, and the fragrant scents of mallow and sweet gum adrift on the morning air. At a glade on the northern shoreline her father stopped and stooped to gather stones, which he flung sidearm onto the water, watching their skip and splash with a stern demeanor alien to the endeavor.

Lottie sat, watching as he paused and weighted the stones in his hand.

I'm gonna ask you just the one time.

Sir?

He turned to face her.

Did you lay with that man?

She looked away.

I ast you a question.

No, sir.

Do you swear it?

Yes, sir.

Say it.

I swear. I ain't never done such a thing in my life.

He turned again to the lake. He tossed another stone and watched its coruscating ripples spread and intersect. He wiped his hands on his jeans and took a seat in the grass beside her.

Let's you and me pray together.

He rolled onto his knees, and she followed his example. He drew the Bible from his waistband and opened it to a page that he'd flagged. He set the book on the ground beside him. Then he unlooped his belt and doubled it and set it beside the book.

They were face-to-face then in the open meadow under the open sky and fully revealed to God in his terrible omnipotence. Her father's eyes closed, his hands paired before him. Lottie posed in like fashion, save that her eyes were asquint, and that she was watching him carefully. And that she had already started to tremble.

Thus sayeth the Lord God, he began, glancing askance at the page. Because you poured out your lust and revealed your nakedness in your harlotry with your lovers and abominable idols, and because you sacrificed the lifeblood of your children to them, I will now gather together all your lovers whom you tried to please, whether you loved them or loved them not; I will gather them against you from all sides and expose you naked for them to see. I will inflict on you the sentence of adulteresses; I will wreak fury and jealousy upon you. I will hand you over to them to tear down your platform and demolish your dais; they shall strip you
of your garments and take away your splendid ornaments, leaving you stark naked. They shall lead an assembly against you to stone you and hack you with their swords. They shall burn your apartments with fire and inflict punishments on you while many women look on. Thus I will put an end to your harlotry.

He licked his lips and closed his eyes again. Dear Lord, he continued, protect this innocent child from the wickedness of men that she not be made to suffer the punishments of the flesh that are your commandment. And please, Lord, give me the strength to do thine will should she fail to heed the word of God and stray from the path of the righteous, amen.

He eased back onto his heels. His eyes opened.

You got anythin you'd like to add?

No, sir.

You sure about that?

Yes, sir.

He nodded. He looked to the water for a long time, then back again to the girl.

Lucile, I know you had your period already. You talked to Miz Upchurch about that.

Her face flushed.

You need to understand that once a girl gets to a certain age, then boys commence to take notice. Men too. Thinking revelry a delight, they are stain and defilement as they share your feasts in a spirit of seduction. Constantly on the lookout for a woman, theirs is a never-ending search for sin. He sniffed. That there's from Peter, Second Epistle.

Yes, sir.

Now a woman who couples with a man such as that commits the sin of adultery. You understand that, don't you?

She nodded.

I'm talkin to you.

Yes, sir.

Good, he said. That's real good. He gathered up his things. I'm glad we had this little talk.

What about that man?

What about him?

Ain't you gonna do nothin?

What do you expect me to do?

I don't know. Call the law.

The law? Let me tell you the law. Men are men, and any girl runs around half-naked like a goddamn whore gets exactly what she deserves. That there is God's law.

Palmer was late in returning that evening, and after supper the two men sat outside for a long time, their faces coppered by the fire, their voices quieting whenever Lottie passed. Come bedtime her father read aloud to her from Psalms, and as she lay awake, she watched his solitary fireshadow on the canvas tent wall as he sat and smoked and stared off at the cabin, smoking and staring until shadow and darkness became one.

The next day at breakfast, her father wiped his mouth and stood up from the fire and announced it was time to pack.

Pack for what?

Pack for Texas.

Texas?

That's right, he said, bending and scraping the last of his plate onto hers.

What all's in Texas?

Work, for one thing. Me and Clint, we got ourselves what you might call a business opportunity. Anyways, the question ain't what's in Texas, but what's not. He nodded toward the ragged men in the distance, laughing and passing a jar. This lot here for instance.

What about the roosters?

I got my share of burdens in this life, Lucile, but Clint Palmer's roosters ain't one of 'em.

They spent the morning disassembling their tents and bundling their tools and clothes and loading it all back into the truck. A few men from the camp drifted over to shake her father's hand. Palmer, once he'd emerged from his cabin, led one of the men to the coop with a hand on his shoulder.

When the truck was fully loaded, Palmer reappeared from the cabin with a canvas bedroll and his valise, both of which he tossed through the passenger window.

Go slow, her father told him. And keep an eye out behind.

Palmer locked the cabin door and pocketed the key, pausing on the stoop for a final look at the camp and its people and the shaded lake beyond. The truck started with a bluish cloud and a stannic rasping of gears. Father and daughter followed in the Overland, which shuddered and backfired a parting shot at the ramshackle habitants of Roebuck Lake, Oklahoma.