Рита Браун - The Tell-Tale Horse

“Of course.” Charlotte agreed readily. “I’ll wait for you or Ben to give me the all clear.”

“Please excuse me. Staff has a chore to do, and I don’t know when or if we’ll get to the breakfast.”

Gray and Sam were at Sam’s trailer, one of Crawford’s.

“Gray,” Sister called out, “will you help Lorraine? Walter needs to get Ben’s people back to the ravine.”

Gray nodded. “Yes.”

Sister watched Val run to Walter’s stable and then walk back toward to the millrace. The water moved along, which meant if Cabel jumped in near the mill itself, her body would already be hung up in the paddles, slowing the wheel or slipping under. Since the huge wheel turned easily, if Cabel was in the race, her body hadn’t yet drifted down. In her heavy frock coat, she’d be at the bottom. This gruesome thought pushed Sister onward. Drowning must be a painful death; one’s lungs burst. She thought as she walked along the race in its swift course toward the mill that perhaps there were few easy, painless deaths. Best not to dwell upon it.

The millrace itself originated in a deep hard-running stream a mile from the mill. The hands that cut the race back in the late 1790s had turned to dust, but their excellent work bore testimony to their skill, as did the stonework lining the cut waterway. The expense of duplicating such a feat today, if one could even find the artisans, would spiral into a couple of million dollars, to say nothing of interference from local and state agencies.

Shaker soon joined her, as did Sybil and Betty, who moved much farther up toward the stream.

Tootie, finished with Lafayette, headed toward the house just as Val emerged from the barn. The two met on the wide bridge over the millrace, the mist from the spray enveloping them.

Tootie looked up through open patches. “Sky’s changing again, pushing this down.”

“Feels like snow.” Val grinned. “I love it when it snows. The whole world is new.”

“Guess we’d better get to the breakfast. Everyone’s supposed to gather in the house, and I think they have.”

“Mrs. Merriman hasn’t.” Val tilted her head in the direction of Ilona’s trailer. The woman sat on her mounting block, head in hands, sobbing, as Ramsey attempted to comfort her. They had some sort of exchange, and Ramsey reluctantly left her for the house after kissing her on the cheek.

“Better not go there.” Tootie wondered how anyone could find comfort, given that your best friend was coming apart at the seams.

The young women didn’t know why Sister, Shaker, Betty, and Sybil walked the millrace, but they certainly noticed the staff members peering intently into the running water, the mist coming farther down now and skimming the water.

“Tootie, I have a terrible feeling about this.”

It dawned on Tootie that the day’s dreadful events might not yet be over. “Should we help?”

“If Sister wanted us, she’d ask.” Val looked up at the large wheel turning.

The small wooden door near the middle of the wheel suddenly opened, the hinge squeaking. Cabel Harper leaned out, looked around, and closed the door.

Val ran across the bridge, Tootie in her wake. She opened the large door at the base of the mill and entered.

Tootie’s instincts told her not to go in but Val was already through the door, so she cupped her hands to be heard over the turning wheel. “Master, Master!”

Sister looked in her direction as Tootie pointed to the mill and then disappeared through the door. “Shaker, Betty, Sybil, come on!”

The four were running along the slippery millrace when they heard a shot. This spurred them on. Shaker was first through the door.

“Don’t move!” Cabel called. She was standing next to one of the enormous slow-moving gears, each tooth catching the tooth of its mated gear.

Tootie, still as a mouse, was half obscured by a heavy shaft. Cabel could see her but couldn’t get a clear second shot. She held the .22 to Val’s temple, the barrel opening slightly warm from the fired bullet.

When the girls saw her, Cabel had rushed down the wide wooden stairs and grabbed Val as she came through the door. When Tootie lunged, Cabel had fired, but Tootie rolled and the bullet missed.

“Let her go, Cabel.” Shaker kept calm, making no attempt to protect himself, but he didn’t move. Neither did Sister, Betty, or Sybil.

“What do you take me for, a complete idiot? Val’s my passport.” Cabel grinned. “Now, if you all have the silly idea of rushing me, I have five shots left, one for each of you, and I’m not a half bad shot. Even if one or two of you don’t get hit, I have plenty of time to reload.”

“Then I’ll get away,” Val vowed, bold as she was on a horse.

“Oh, my pet, I’ll shoot you first. Look at it this way: It’s my Christian duty; I’m sparing you a life of pain, at the mercy of evil men.”

Sister stepped forward, pushing past Shaker. “Cabel, swap me for Val. I’m old. Let her go.”

“Spare me your nobility. I’m not letting any of you go. I know what you really are, Jane Arnold. You slept with my husband.”

“For God’s sake, Cabel, that was twenty years ago!” Sister exclaimed.

Sister hoped to create a diversion, as Tootie crouched and then crept toward Cabel, who grasped the collar of Val’s coat and hauled her backward, toward the steps and up them.

Cabel ascended to the first landing, giving her better sight lines. “Val, if you don’t struggle, I might let you go.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harper.” Val sounded ever so polite as her mind feverishly sought an escape.

Shrewdly, Betty moved next to Sister. “Cabel, what’s happened? This isn’t like you.”

“Oh, it is. I am walking into my house justified.” Cabel used the old southern expression.

Sister answered with another one. “What you’re doing, Cabel Harper, is coming home by Weeping Cross.”

“Oh, do shut up, you old bitch!” Cabel laughed uproariously. “I’ll give you credit, though. You’ve shown good sport and you can ride. Yes, you can. ’Course, I’m not half bad myself.” She laughed again.

“Cabel, please let her go. I’ll put my hands behind my head and come up the stairs. Please don’t harm that girl.” Sister wanted to scream but kept her voice as modulated as if she were playing bridge.

“No. We’re all going to heaven together, although if Val is a very, very good girl, I might spare her so she can tell everyone else what happened. There should always be one person left to tell the tale after a massacre.” She looked upward at the next level. “I can see the coverage on TV now: Massacre at Mill Ruins. Cabel Harper, upstanding member of the community, lost her shit and killed five people. Guess they wouldn’t say lost her shit would they?”

“And why are you saying it? You never used to be crude.” Sister baited her.

A flash of anger illuminated Cabel’s pretty features. “What does being a lady get you? You do as you’re told. You marry well. You work hard. You participate in volunteer organizations. You vote. What does it get you? Nothing. It’s a façade, a lure, so people like you or me don’t look too closely at how things really work. At who really controls the world. We’re cogs in the wheel just like these cogs in here. Eventually you get ground down.”

“Was that Clayton? Is that why you ran off screaming?” Shaker stuck next to Sister because if Cabel fired he was going to jump in front. He had no more desire to be hurt than the next guy, but he never lacked courage and he would defend someone he loved. His feeling was “Why live if there’s no one you’d die for?”

Sybil picked up the line. “You shot him, didn’t you?”

When Sybil rode in to hold hounds she’d looked down into the ridge and thought she’d recognized Clayton’s maroon windbreaker, although under the circumstances it was difficult to be certain.