Thomas Tryon - The Night of the Moonbow

Risking discovery, he ventured from the icehouse, creeping around the doorframe and wriggling through the grass to get closer. Reece was sitting up now, and he had Honey lying, on her back across his thighs; his fingers were unfastening the buttons of her blouse. As she murmured protestingly, one by one he undid them and then slipped the blouse down, baring her tanned shoulders, drawing it away little by little until her pink brassiere was exposed. “No, don’t, we mustn’t,” Leo heard her murmur.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because my mother wants me to be a good girl.” She tried to do up the buttons.

He fussed with her hands. “You are a good girl,” he said huskily. “But listen, what did we come here for?”

“We came to have a nice time. You said you wanted to talk.”

“I do, dreamgirl, I really do. Only you got me so darned excited. You really send me.”

“Then suppose you just come back from wherever I sent you. I think we should be going, honest. We can’t sit here all day, can we?”

“I don’t know why not.”

She started to get up and he reached out and pulled her down again, clasping her to him. He cupped his palms behind her head, gripping it while he kissed her hard on the mouth, kissed her until she began to struggle, until, as if she were drowning, her arms began to flail about, her fists to beat helplessly at him. At last their lips parted and, pulling back, she stared at him in shocked surprise, then tried to break away from him, but his hands gripped her shoulders. With his mouth buried in her neck he forced her back onto the blanket, and, in a quick move, rolled on top of her, tearing at her blouse. Now he had his fingers entangled in her hair, his face buried between her breasts. Her features were half-hidden by locks of hair plastered across them, and she moaned and called out as she thrashed about under the weight of his torso sprawled across her.

“Oh, no, don’t!” she cried in a frightened voice. “Please don’t! You’re hurting me!” She began sobbing so hard that he released her. Then, when she had got to her knees and was struggling with her torn clothing he took her by surprise and dragged her down again.

“Hey, not so fast,” he drawled, “Daddy’s still got some thing coming to him.”

He pinned her down as before, working at her with his whole body while she struggled to free herself.

“Help! Help!” she called out. Leo caught a glimpse of her face, pale and and terrified. Saw Reece’s face too; he was panting like an animal. And then, suddenly, Leo was watching him smash the doll, seeing the broken pieces on the ground. Was this what he planned for Honey, to smash her, too?

“Damn you, Reece Hartsig!” Suddenly Leo was on his feet, running across the grass, hollering at the top of his lungs. Without stopping, he flung himself onto Reece’s back, pummeling him until he rolled off of Honey, carrying his assailant with him.

“Jesus! What the hell!”

Twisting around, Reece got a look at his attacker – Wacko Wackeem – then he peered dazedly about for the rest of the ten-man powerhouse that must have struck him as Leo continued the assault, striking out blindly wherever he could land a blow. Finally, one wild punch connected with Reece’s nose. He howled in pain, and there was a sudden burst of bright red as he began to bleed. Leo stepped back; groping in his pocket, Reece pulled out his bandanna and clapped it over his face, his eyes tearing from pain – effectively prevented from making any counterattack on his assailant.

As Reece threw his head back to help reduce the flow of blood, Leo turned to Honey, who was on her feet now, sobbing and covering her exposed breasts with her crossed arms. Her hair hung over her eyes, and her shorts were stained. Then, still sobbing, she grabbed her blouse and fled toward the beach, where she clambered into the speedboat, started the motor, and sped away, while I t*o turned to face the wrathful, blood-spattered Reece. Standing now, his feet planted well apart for balance, he stared furiously at Leo.

“What the hell is this all about?” he growled. “Where did you come from?”

Leo pointed at his hiding place. “I was in there! I was watching. I saw it all. I saw what you were doing to her!” “What are you talking about? I wasn’t doing anything.” “You hurt her!”

Reece’s look was scornful. “Why, you lousy little shit, I ought to brain you! You don’t know what you’re talking about. We were just having some fun.” He patted his nose with the bloodied handkerchief. “You keep it up, Wacko, just keep it up. One of these days you’re going to get it good.”

He turned on his heel and stalked back to the blanket. “What am I supposed to do with this crap, anyway?” He looked at Leo. “Okay, camper, let’s have a little clean-up detail here. Pack up this gear and tote it back to camp. On the double.”

“Clean it up yourself.”

“What did you say?”

“I said clean it up yourself. You tote it, it’s your stuff.” And while Reece, arms akimbo, watched him with sullen fury, Leo turned on his heel and headed for the icehouse to get his paraphernalia. When he reappeared – the counselor was nowhere to be seen. The lake-shore was empty, the waters of the China Garden quiet once more, and for a moment Leo thought he must have imagined the violent scene. But he could still hear Honey’s cries in his ears, and suddenly, again recalling the broken doll, he felt afraid.

During the warm forenoon of the following Saturday, Leo stood in the blinding July sunlight, gazing out from the parapet of the tall stone tower at the Castle. The view was dazzling. Six miles off, across the billowing treetops, he could just glimpse a wedge of glittering water that was a reach of Moonbow Lake, and intermittent sections of the Old Lake Road winding through the countryside. Above his head the Stars and Stripes snapped at the white-painted flag mast, casting its shadow across the worn slates beneath his feet, and the tower itself, girdled by its crenellated fortifications, seemed to him like the forecastle of a medieval galleon plying a dark-green sea.

Nothing he had yet heard from Fritz or Tiger about the Castle had prepared him for all that he had discovered here. Designed by an architect known for his advanced ideas, built of local materials – oak and pine, fieldstone and quarried slate – the house had been constructed in tiers against the mountain, out of whose side it seemed to grow. The tower where Leo stood had been built almost single-handedly by Dagmar’s husband, Knute, the thousands upon thousands of stones making up its walls, staircase, and crenellations gathered from fields all around the countryside or dug out of the earth of Mount Zion itself, to lend a touch of the European past to a country that had never known it.

Leo, who had climbed to the summit with a group led by Fritz Auerbach, reveled in the feeling of airy spaciousness, in the astonishing sense of freedom and glorious release. Only if he stared straight down at the gallery and terrace, where numbers of Harmonyites sprawled about on the redwood furniture, luxuriating in the sunshine while under the vocal supervision of Bullnuts Moriarity the collapsible lunch tables were being carried from the camp truck and the food pans readied, did he become prey to the sensation of vertigo. He blinked, shut his eyes, to get himself under control; today was no time for that sort of nonsense. Today was high adventure, the fulfillment of his hopes of getting a look at Dagmar’s treasures, the impossible somehow come true. Nothing must spoil it – not even Reece Hartsig, who mercifully had not yet put in an appearance on the scene.

Leo had replayed in his mind the scene at Kelsoe’s icehouse a thousand times in the days since it had occurred, and always it had a different, uglier, more tragic end, for in his thoughts he never got to Reece in time, never did save Honey. Of course, he knew that wasn’t what had happened at all, that Honey was safe: on the pretext of visiting her friend Sally down on Cape Cod, she had removed herself from Moonbow without a word to anyone except her family. Not even Peewee was able to predict when she would return, and her departure from Friend-Indeed had left an undeniable hole in the fabric of the summer. Perhaps, Leo thought, it was the fact that she was gone, while Reece remained and went on as before – thus far not a word appeared to have been circulated about what had happened – that made him replay the scene as he did. For nothing was changed, yet everything was changed for Leo where the counselor of Jeremiah was concerned. Reece might pretend – as he did so well, and craftily – that nothing was wrong; in front of others he was equable, even friendly, but from a steely look, a frown, an unspoken word, Leo knew that Reece was now his enemy and there would be no making up. Not that Leo much wanted to make up; for him the hero was fallen, and his once admiring view of his counselor had become one of scorn and disapproval. And fear. Of course, Leo now saw, the awe in which Reece was held at Friend-Indeed had always contained an element of fear – of what would happen when a camper lost Reece’s favor, when the clouds of anger gathered about that Herculean brow. And the fact was, Leo, in defying him, had now stirred him to a rage that would be unrelenting. Though in front of others he smiled and played his Mr Nice Guy game; though, between the two, not a word had been uttered about the icehouse, about Leo’s bruises, about Honey’s sudden departure, Leo knew, and Reece knew that he knew, and Leo knew… It was like the girl in the Land O’Lakes carton, an infinity of possibilities.