Night of the Candles (18 page)

“It feels as if it’s blowing up a cloud,” Nathaniel said, as he climbed up beside her and picked up the lines. “Do you think so?” Amanda answered. “It feels like a drying wind to me.” She took a deep breath. “Is that smoke?”

Nathaniel followed her example. “Could be. Long way off though. Somebody clearing probably. Hope they’re watching close, a day like this.”

Amanda nodded but did not speak, for Jason came trotting toward them on a black stallion from the direction of the stable, Theo and Sophia behind him on a pair of chestnut geldings.

Sophia, perched on her side saddle, cried, “Let’s go!” and the riders streamed down the drive.

Nathaniel slapped the reins across the horse’s back, clicked his tongue, and they began to move.

The hooves of the horses ahead of them stirred the white sand of the road into a powdery dust. It was not a problem for long, however, for they soon outdistanced the gig.

This cavalcade was not what Amanda wanted. She had thought perhaps she and Nathaniel could go alone. Once the plans were set in motion, however, she saw no diplomatic way to stop them. She thought, too, that she would see what there was to see and be back before the midday meal. She was foiled there also. First Sophia had not been able to come because of some vague household duty, then Theo and Jason had been called to the fields for an emergency so that now, when at last they were started, the sun was coasting down the sky. The dimness of the gathering evening lay thick under the trees overhanging the road, and there was a coolness in the air that made Amanda pull her shawl closer around her.

There was something wrong, like an intrusion, about visiting the cemetery when the shadows were lengthening over the tombstones something disturbing, too, in arriving at the cemetery breathless from the swift passage, with dust clinging to their clothes. The time of day could not be helped, but Amanda was content with the sedate pace Nathaniel set that allowed them to fall behind.

If Amanda had considered, she would have realized it could not be far to the cemetery. A private cemetery near the house was the usual burial place to make upkeep easier and to protect it from marauders, both two-legged and four-legged. Failing that, the graveyard next to a near-by church was chosen. As a small white chapel surmounted by a simple cross appeared around a bend in the road, Amanda touched Nathaniel’s arm to call his attention to the horses lining the hitching rack before the church doors.

He pulled the gig into the sandy drive, scattering sparrows that scratched, like small chickens, in the grain spilled from Sunday feedbags.

The cemetery was to the rear of the building. It was completely enclosed in an iron fence very like the one at Monteigne.

As Nathaniel pulled up, Jason walked to meet them, while Sophia and Theo stood talking near the fence, their heads close together.

Jason gave her his hand to descend from the gig as Nathaniel climbed out on the other side. There was something odd in his manner, and as she stepped down she glanced at his face to find it set in harsh, forbidding lines.

She was not left to wonder at the reason for long. Theo came striding toward them, his fists clenched at his sides.

“That damned Carl!” he exploded. “I could kill him with my bare hands.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Nathaniel asked, moving to loop the reins over the hitching rack before joining them.

“It’s desecration! There’s no other word for it,” Theo declared.

“We have no proof.” Sophia, strolling up, sent a sidelong glance to Jason.

“Who else would do such a thing? It’s the work of a madman!”

“I don’t understand,” Amanda said, looking from one to the other.

“You will have to see it to believe it,” Theo said, and turning on his heel, led the way back to the fence. Lifting the latch on the gate he stood aside to let them pass through. Reluctantly Amanda brushed past him with the others.

The cemetery was not large. Scarcely more than a dozen graves were scattered about in the long grass. There was no need to search for the desecration that had upset the others; it lay before her.

A great, gaping hole had been dug into the center of the caked, red mound of a fresh grave. The dirt lay scattered about as though the digger had been either deliberately malicious, or in a hurry. A large flower vase had been toppled to one side, spilling out its brackish, algae-filled water and the blackened stems and dead heads of the mass of roses it had held. At the head of the grave the white marble marker had been thrown from its pedestal to lie with a smear of mud obscuring the name. Still, there was no need to ask whose grave this was. Their consternation told her. It was Amelia’s.

“In all the years since our fathers donated the land and built this church,” Sophia said slowly, “there has been nothing like this. Why now? On top of everything else?”

The evening wind swept whining through the leaves of the trees that surrounded the isolated little chapel. No one bothered to reply to Sophia’s question. There seemed to be no answer.

“Can’t have been long ago,” Nathaniel observed.

“Oh? Why not?” Sophia looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Well, see for yourself. The ground is still a bit damp where the water from the vase soaked into it. And the soil in the bottom of this hole still has a darker color, hasn’t dried out quite as much as this on top.”

“You mean…” Theo began, then raised his head. Suddenly his gaze fixed on a spot among the trees and undergrowth on the far side of the church.

“I think … look, there!” He pointed in the direction he was staring.

“Yes!” Sophia cried. “It’s crazy Carl!”

“Come on!” her brother exclaimed, and pelted out of the cemetery, his face grim with determination.

Were the leaves rustling unnaturally there where Theo had pointed, or was it only the wind? Amanda could not tell.

Nathaniel had been holding Amanda’s arm as if he expected her to need his support. Now he dropped it, starting forward.

Jason looked at him. “Get her back to the gig first,” he said. “And Sophia…”

“I’m coming with you,” Sophia interrupted him.

He did not stop to argue with her but turned toward the gate, a frown drawing his brows together.

As Nathaniel hurried her from the cemetery, Amanda watched them over her shoulder. Theo, in the lead, was already disappearing in the deepening shadows of the trees. Jason followed, and then came Sophia behind him, the skirt of her riding habit draped over her arm, out of her way.

“Oh, Nathaniel, what will they do to him?” she cried, a terrible dread catching the words in her throat.

“You needn’t trouble your head over him,” he answered shortly as he held the gate for her to pass through.

“But he isn’t responsible, he didn’t know what he was doing.”

“He knows more than we think, if you want my opinion.”

“Nathaniel, you’ve got to go with them, now, before they find him. I’m all right, truly. Just go and do what you can to keep them from hurting him.”

“If you are certain…”

“I’m certain,” she said impatiently. “Just go!”

He swung away at once, hurrying after the others. She could hear the thrashing sounds of their progress through the woods, but though she strained her eyes into the dusk and moving shadows, she could catch no glimpse of them. Picking up her skirts, she turned in the direction of the gig.

As she neared the door of the small white chapel, a dark figure moved in the doorway. Amanda halted, her nerves jangling, before she recognized the cassock of a priest.

He turned from locking the double doors of the chapel, then gave a visible start at the sight of her. An instant later he moved toward her, a small, rotund man with graying hair and a sane and friendly smile.

“Good evening, my daughter,” he said as he drew near. “I thought once I heard voices without, but while at my prayers I am deaf to all else.”

Amanda returned his greeting, a slight frown between her eyes as she wondered if the priest might not be of help should Carl be caught.

“May I be of aid?” he asked, glancing about him at the same time, noting the gig and the lack of any one else accompanying her.

“Yes, I think you might,” Amanda answered, telling him who she was in a few short sentences, and what had taken place.

The priest gave a shake of his head when she had finished. “I regret you had to see the condition of the grave. I had meant to see to it this morning, but was prevented by a burial elsewhere today. This, you realize, is only one of several small churches in the parish for which I am responsible. To the best of my knowledge, the damage was not done today, but yesterday or perhaps even the day before … though the vase may have been blown over by the wind this afternoon. That poor creature, Carl, may have done it indeed, I could not say.”

Of course he had. Why had she not remembered? He had told them plainly only the night before that the box they had put his Madame in was still there. How else could he have known if he had not dug into the grave?

“I expect you are right,” she said after a moment.

“If you will accept my advice, you will not trouble your heart overmuch for Carl. He knows these woods, the trails, the hollows and ridges and swamp areas, as no other. He will be difficult to catch on what has become his home ground.”

“Yes,” Amanda said, a relieved smile slowly curving her lips. “I’m sure you are right.”

“You … are very like the late Madame Monteigne,” the priest said. “I spoke often with her before she died. She was a convert, you know.”

“I had not realized.” Amanda tried to visualize Amelia accepting the sober tenets of Catholicism and failed.

“She was afraid, poor child, as all of us are when we hear the wings of the death angel. She was always regular in her attendance at Mass, regardless of the hour celebrated, and it is often irregular, since I must go from church to church of a Sunday. Twice, no three times, she sent for me before the end. I am not certain I helped her, though I tried with all my being.”

The sadness in the voice of the priest marked him as yet another who had been drawn to lovely Amelia.

“Did she … did she ever talk to you about the people at Monteigne — her husband, and the others?”

“Often.”

‘Tell me, did she mention…”

“Forgive me, child, but I cannot discuss it. So much of what she said is protected by the seal of the confessional. You understand? You need not be troubled in your mind about her. I was with her on the afternoon before her death. She sent for me, knowing the end was drawing near. She died with her soul at peace and her sins forgiven, which is all that God’s children — the strong as well as the weak — can ask.”

“Yes, of course.” The reproof was gentle; still it could not be disregarded.

“I regret that I cannot stay longer with you, but my horse waits for me at the spring just yonder through the woods. I have been long already, making ready for the Mass of the Candles. If I am much longer, she may leave me here afoot while she seeks her stable in town.”

Amanda accepted the excuse though she thought the priest was just as anxious to escape the possibility of further questions. They exchanged the usual pleasantries of farewell, Amanda explaining that she would not be in the vicinity on the Night of the Candles and therefore could not attend the Mass. And so they parted.

Her brow knit in thought, Amanda made her way to the gig and climbed into the seat. In the time since they had arrived, the sun had set, leaving a gray-blue twilight. The air was cooler, and the wind had dropped so the leaves hung motionless on the trees. When the sound of the priest’s horse had died away, a dense silence descended.

Amanda glanced around her uneasily, drawing her shawl close about her shoulders. How much longer would the others chase after Carl, if it was Carl they were chasing and not some figment of Theo’s overwrought imagination?

One of the saddle horses impatient with standing, stomped a hoof and blew through his nostrils. Amanda frowned. She thought that in that second of noise she had heard something move in the underbrush near her. There was a flurry of wings, and a flight of crows, disturbed from their perch, rose with a raucous sound from the trees. Crows, the bird that outlives nine generations of men, or so the ancients thought. Amanda followed them with her eyes. At that moment something struck the side of the gig near her head.

It fell to the ground and she looked down to see a sweet gum ball in the dirt just rolling to a stop. There was nothing so peculiar in that; it was the time of year for the gum balls to fall. But then as she glanced above her she saw no sign of the shiny, maple like leaves of a sweet gum tree. The balls were much too heavy to have been windblown…

Suddenly a fusillade of the spiked balls showered upon the buggy. They stung Amanda’s face and arms and struck the sleek rump of the horse.

He reared violently in sudden fright at the attack, straining the length of the tied reins. The gig rocked back and forth as he plunged. Amanda clutched the brace and grabbed for the seat as another fusillade of balls were aimed straight at the horse. Once more he reared, neighing.

Abruptly the reins snapped in two. The maddened horse swerved, throwing the buggy against the hitching rail. For a moment the axle caught, then with a grinding noise they were free, and the horse was off, nostrils flaring, his eyes wide with terror.

The wind whipped her face, and her teeth clattered with the jolting, rattling ride. Her fingers ached with the tightness of her grip, and her knees, as she braced against the dashboard, felt as if they were on fire. The thought flashed through her mind that she should scream to bring help, but her throat was too constricted to force the sound from it.

Mercifully the horse broke into the open road. There was some possibility that he would run himself out, that the weight of the vehicle behind him would act as a brake as he grew tired, slowing him to a stop. She fastened her mind on the chance, knowing that with such a headstart, even if the others learned of her predicament, there was little other hope.

Then she saw flashing toward her a great, gnarled tree root snaking into the sand of the roadbed. She shut her eyes tightly.