Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
THE STRANGER
Dirt hissed against the outside walls of my upstairs bedroom.
I’d hung sacks over my two windows but dust still found its way in.
I pulled my blanket over my head and listened as the wind bullied the tin roof above me.
Was tonight the night it would give up the fight and lift from the rafters?
I pictured the roof flying east like an angry metal bird in search of green forests and calm, lazy rivers. I wished I could fly away with it.
Granma’s snores threaded through the whitewashed wall behind me.
How could she sleep through a blizzard this bad?
How could she close her eyes with a man like Raymond downstairs?
Couldn’t she sense the rot inside his mind?
I hadn’t needed the conjure to read the wrongness in Raymond Stanley.
But now that I had it, I knew more about him than was proper.
What was I supposed to do with this newborn gift?
Move from town to town like a circus tent preacher performing miracles?
If there were people like Granma in the world with the ability to feed the hungry, why weren’t they doing it?
Or were they doing it discreetly—conjuring the glory of God in secret, behind tightly locked doors?
Granma had mentioned people with dangerous gifts. Did they seek out people like us?
My skin tingled the way it did when a coyote came too close to the chickens.
I was starting to understand why Granma had kept the conjure a secret.
Mind-talking and loaves and fishes were useful skills.
How many people would want our help if they knew we had them?
How many would take them against our will?
Tingles turned to shivers down my spine.
A floorboard creaked on the stairs outside my bedroom door. Every nerve in my body woke up. I pulled my blanket higher. Why had Daddy insisted on no locks on our doors? I fought for the strength to call to Granma, but the strength didn’t come.
Another creak. This time so close it had to be the last step before the small landing that led to my and Granma’s rooms. Would someone know which room I was in and which was Granma’s? Just then, a loud snort of a snore rumbled out from Granma’s room removing the guesswork.
Maybe it was Harvey. Maybe he needed to use the outhouse and wanted someone to hold his hand. My entire body trembled.
Please, God, let it be Harvey.
The doorknob turned. The metal catch clacked. Granma snorted. The old hinges squealed as my door slowly swung open. I peeked from under my blanket. A figure too big to be Harvey stepped quickly in and, to my horror, closed the door behind him.
Some nights I had laid awake with shadowy thoughts of someone stealing into my room in the quiet of the night.
Sometimes they were good thoughts and sometimes not.
I’d prepared myself with those dark imaginings.
I’d made plans. I’d fight. I’d run. I’d call to Granma.
Would she hear me if I screamed? Of course she would.
She heard everything, even what wasn’t spoken out loud.
I filled my lungs to cry out, but no sound came forth.
The figure took a careful step forward. And another. His eyes must have adjusted to the dark. Could he see me hiding under my blanket? Could he hear the bed shaking with my fear.
“Mercy.”
That one word froze me like a winter wind.
Scream! Call out!
My throat tightened. Trapping my breath.
“Mercy Girl, I won’t hurt you.”
The fact that he’d chosen those words to be his first made it clear what he intended. And it would hurt.
In the time it took for me to fight another breath in, Raymond had crossed my small bedroom and lowered himself onto the side of my bed. The weight of him pulled me sideways. I clung to the mattress, trying to keep our bodies from touching.
“I came here tonight to ask for your hand.” His voice shook. “Proper.”
The mattress shifted as he turned toward me.
“Think about it, Mercy. I got the granary. I got the house. I got money in the bank. You wouldn’t have to live like this.” His accent came crashing back. And with it came a sliver of my pride. A splinter of anger. It wasn’t much but it was enough to loosen my throat.
“Get off my bed.”
“Mercy…”
“Quit saying my name.” My voice rose above a whisper. The sound of it gave me a salting of courage.
“There ain’t no one left for you in Charity. Unless you want Harvey.” He leaned in until his foul breath kissed my cheek. “You want Harvey?” His words darkened.
“I don’t want anybody. Get out.”
I freed a shaky hand from the blanket and reached for the far edge of the mattress.
That’s when it happened. Raymond’s moist hand clamped onto my shoulder pushing me down.
I felt his weight moving over me. I couldn’t let him trap me.
His weight would bury me so deep Sooty would need ten shovels to find me.
Sooty.
Sooty.
My mind spoke to the ghost of a man—always present, never close.
Granma.
Her snoring had stopped. Was she awake?
“Granma,” I wailed as Raymond’s dripping hand snaked under my night gown.
“No!”
I was scared, but I wasn’t weak. The conjure had kept me strong. I flexed healthy muscles and pulled myself to the edge of the bed.
Raymond’s hand came with me, groping for my courage, my flesh, my boundaries.
“Get off me!”
I struggled to a standing position. Grit stuck to the soles of my feet. I wrestled with the heaving darkness. Arms closed. A chest pressed me to the wall. The feed sack fell from the window. Storm light filtered through the dust of my room, glinting in Raymond’s eyes.
Granma! Help!
I threw my weight at Raymond’s gripping, squeezing body.
He tipped backward. His shoes scraped the floorboards.
Arms flailed. His hand caught me by my sachet.
He twisted his fist, turning the necklace into a collar.
Blood thumped in my ears. I saw a life—a horrible life—flash before my eyes.
Me trapped in his house, broken, cut off, chained to him.
“No!” I yanked away from his suffocating grip. The thong around my neck broke.
He took a step back and kicked my globe.
Its cover fell off. The antique sphere painted with pale oceans and faded green continents tore free of its base as Raymond’s foot caught in its armature.
He went down like a tangled tree. I leapt for the door, ripped it open, and raced for Granma’s bedroom.
I gripped her door handle and turned. It fought me.
“Granma!” I pounded on the door. “Granma, wake up!”
Nothing. No sound. She was safe behind a lock Daddy had not allowed me to have.
“Harvey!” I raced down the stairs. Grit on the steps threatened to pull my feet out from under me.
With the rugs over the windows, I could hardly see, but all the living room held was silence.
Had Raymond paid Harvey to leave? Outside, dirt hissed across the porch.
The wind howled, rolling its angry knuckles over the tin roof.
Something clanked above me and Raymond appeared at the top of the stairs. I was out of options.
Or maybe not. The barn door had a latch. I could tie it closed—wait like a hen until the danger passed.
I raced for the kitchen door.
Free of the globe’s stand, I heard Raymond take the stairs two at a time. Wind ripped the doorknob from my hand and threatened to sweep me down the outside steps. Inside, I heard a series of thuds followed by a loud curse. Had Raymond slipped on the dust?
I didn’t wait to find out. With arms thrown out in front of me, I charged into the storm. A few burning breaths later, I reached the barn, but the wind pressed its door closed. I pulled hard on the iron latch, but it refused to budge.
The kitchen door slammed against the house behind me. Grit stung my eyes. Dirt filled my nose. I could barely see the house. If I hid behind the barn maybe he wouldn’t see me. Maybe I wasn’t worth the effort it would take for him to fight the wind.
I found a spot at the back of the barn, next to the coop, but my movements startled the chickens. Their fearful clucking rode the wind.
“Shhh. Shhh.” I tried to calm them.
“Mercy!” Raymond’s voice called too close. I had to move.
Ahead of me, Daddy’s fields had turned into a monstrous crawling thing.
Debris sizzled across the dunes, scraping the last remnants of his wheat from the earth.
I pushed aside every warning I’d heard about walking a storm and plunged into the blinding fury.
I covered my mouth and nose and pushed through the sinking sand.
A figure appeared ahead. Or was I turned around and looking at the outhouse?
“Mercy!”
Raymond.
I flung myself in the other direction. I felt my way across the field and down into the riverbed.
Copper Creek had been dry for a long time.
Its rocks tumbled loose and punishing in the gusts.
I did my best to turn my back to the wind.
If I could just make it to the other side, I could find my warren and wait out the storm with the jacks.
I hit the cliff hard. The impact knocked me to my knees.
Was I already beyond the warren? My eyes were past seeing so I searched the crumbling ravine wall with my hands.
Some parts were rocky and studded with boulders, other parts were smooth and disintegrating.
I just needed to find the spot where the dried grass hung low.
I reached a hand up to the loose tufts of sod above me. The brittle prairie grass broke and whipped away from me. Finally, I came to a bit of turf protected somewhat by a jutting chunk of rock. I reached frantically into the open space beneath it, praying a rattler hadn’t moved in.
“Thank you, God.”
I leaned in and waved my hands again. If a snake bit me at least the bite would be on my hand, not my face.
My fingers met nothing but empty space. I opened my gritty eyes and scrambled up and around so I could back into the small space.
I’d done this many times before, but never during a storm and only half-dressed.
Was the warren smaller than before? I backed in until my feet touched fur.
Squirming bodies fluttered against my toes.
I bent my knees and gave the rabbits some space.
My body was blocking their escape. The least I could do was not kick them.
No sooner had I gotten my torso wedged into the hole than a pair of sliding footsteps crunched along the creek bed in front of me. A man grunted.
I held my breath and tried to tuck my head and shoulders deeper into the opening of the warren, but my long hair had caught in the low-hanging grass.
As quietly as I could, I picked at the strands, moving with the louder gusts so as not to draw attention to my hiding place.
Could Raymond see me through the darkness and dust? Was he coming straight for me?
“Girl.” Raymond’s growl cut across the wind.
“I know you’re here.” His hands waved close enough for me to see his hooked fingers through the grass.
Anger rolled inside him. And greed. He stank of it.
I’d known what kind of man Raymond was before, but now, with the conjure still clinging to my insides, I could hear his hateful thoughts.
I quaked at the plans he had in store for me.
I should run. I shivered like the rabbits behind me. Raymond reached through the grass. My hair pulled, snagged on his ring.
A scream built inside me and something clanged. Raymond buckled. His hands scraped at the cliff, taking strands of my hair with him. Behind him, another figure loomed tall and thin and burning black. I blinked through sandy lashes as the figure resolved into a man.
I yelped as a rough hand reached through the grass. I knew those battered fingers.
“Sooty!” Our hands locked and he pulled me from the warren. Dirt blasted us as we fumbled along the creek bed.
“Here,” I shouted over the wind as we reached a low point on the bank.
It was our chance to crawl free of the ravine and try and make it back to the house.
I shielded my eyes and watched as Sooty shook his head.
He pointed in the direction of my house.
Did he want me to leave him out here in the storm?
Why? What was the thing that kept the digger apart from everyone?
What kept him out here, alone, when the world was tearing itself apart?
And why…why couldn’t I leave him to it? I searched his eyes for an answer and then an arm fastened around his neck. Sooty was yanked off his feet.
“No!” I wailed at the bloody vision of Raymond as he clambered over Sooty, pinning him down. Hands gripped Sooty’s neck. I scrambled toward the lip of the ravine. Raymond would strangle Sooty, then come for me. I needed these precious seconds to get a head start back to the house.
A gust of wind threw me off my feet. I went down on the bruising river stones.
I can’t do this.
I couldn’t leave Sooty to this fate. I had to help him.
My fingers found a large rock. I dug it from the earth and pushed to my feet.
I’d made it only a few steps when I looked up and saw Raymond dangling in the wind.
An impossibly tall, painfully thin man stood in the spot where Sooty had fallen.
Long strands of hair whipped in the wind.
A tarnished breastplate with strange markings glinted in the brutal darkness.
The stone fell from my hands.
The stranger turned to me with emotions swimming in his ghostly eyes like deep sea creatures.
He lifted a shovel. Sooty’s shovel. I backed away and cupped my hand to keep the dirt out of my lashes.
As I did, the shovel lost its shape. Particles swam.
Mass moved. I sucked in a dusty breath as the thing resolved into a shining set of scales.
Debris rang against the two pans as they danced in the wind.
The fulcrum and weights swayed in the man’s grip.
Was this Death himself? Did he wait in the storm for mortals like me too stupid to stay inside? Was this how I would end?