Charlaine Harris - An Ice cold Grave

I'd never heard anything like that before. What it must have cost the man in pride to do that…I couldn't even imagine. Tolliver was less impressed. "Now he's confessed and asked for forgiveness," he whispered. "Can't anyone point fingers at him anymore; he's paid his debt."

A member of each family spoke, some briefly, some at length, but I heard very little fire and brimstone. I expected some homophobic stuff, given the nature of the murders, but I didn't hear any. The anger was directed at the rape, not at the sexual preference of the rapist. Only two family members spoke of vengeance, and then only in terms of the law catching the responsible party. There was no lynch talk, no fist shaking. Grief and relief.

The last speaker said, "At least now we know this is at an end. No more of our sons will die." At that, I saw a sudden movement in the Bernardos' pew. Manfred was gripping Xylda by the arm, and her face was turned toward his. She looked angry and urgent. But after a few seconds, she subsided.

We might as well have left then, for all I got out of the rest of the service. I was drowsy and uncomfortable, and I wanted nothing more than to lean my head on Tolliver's shoulder and fall asleep. That would clearly be the wrong thing to do, so I focused on sitting up straight and keeping my eyes open. At last the service was over, and we sang a closing hymn. Then we could go. I stepped out of the pew first since I was on the end, and a grizzled man in overalls took my hand. "Thank you, young lady," he said, and then began making his way out of the church without another word. He was the first of many people who made a point of touching me: a light hug, a grip of the hand, a pat on the shoulder. Each contact came with a "Thank you," or a "God bless you and keep you," and each time I was surprised. This had never happened to me before. I was sure it would never happen again. Doak Garland embraced me when we reached his spot at the door, his white hands light on my shoulders so he wouldn't hurt me. Barney Simpson, towering over me, reached out to give me a light pat. Parker McGraw said, "Bless you," and Bethalynn wept, her arms around her remaining son.

No one asked me a single question about how I'd found the boys. The faith of Doraville seemed to hinge on the acceptance of God's mysterious ways and the strange instruments he selects to perform his will.

I was the strange instrument, of course.

THERE were a couple of cars behind us on the long road out to Pine Landing Lake. Of course, the little hamlet of Harmony was past the lake, and there were other people in residence at the lake itself, so I told myself not to be crazy. After we turned off, the other cars continued on their way. Tolliver didn't comment one way or the other, and I didn't want to sound paranoid, so I didn't say anything.

We hadn't left on an outside light—in fact, I wasn't even sure if there was one—and I tried to mark the location of the stairs before Tolliver cut the ignition. We had a few seconds before the headlights turned off, so I hurried as much as I could to start up while I could see my way. There was a noise from the underbrush, and I said, "What the hell is that?" I had to stop and look, and then I saw a lumbering small shape scoot across the driveway and into the thicket between ours and the next vacant cabin, barely visible through the thick growth of trees and brush.

"Coon," Tolliver said, relief clear in his voice. Just then the headlights cut out and we made our way up to the cabin in an anxious silence. Tolliver had gotten the key out, and after some fumbling he managed to turn it the right way. My fingers scrabbled on the wall, trying to find the light switch. Contact! In a split second, we had the miracle of electric light.

The fire had died down in our absence, and Tolliver set about building it back up. He was really into being Frontier Man, and I suspected he was feeling very macho. Not only was his kinswoman wounded (me), requiring his care and attention, but he had to provide fire for me. Soon he would start to draw on the walls about hunting the buffalo. So I was smiling at him when he turned around, and he was startled.

"You ready for bed?" he asked.

"I'm sure ready to put on my pajamas and read," I said. It was pathetically early, but I was exhausted. He opened my suitcase and got out my flannel sleep pants and the long-sleeved thin top that had come with them. He'd given the set to me for Christmas, and it was dark blue with silver crescent moons on the pants and silver sparkles on the top. I hadn't quite known what to say when I'd opened the box, but I'd grown to like them.

"Are you going to need me to help?" he asked, trying hard to keep any trace of embarrassment out of his voice. We were pretty matter-of-fact about brief glimpses of each other that sometimes occurred when we shared a room, but somehow his assisting me with my clothes was a little more personal.

I ran through the process in my head. "I'll need help getting my shirt off," I said, "and unhooking my bra." A nurse had helped me get it on that morning.

I went into the very rudimentary bathroom, which was several degrees colder than the main room since it was farthest from the fireplace, and began the unexpectedly complicated task of getting my clothes off and my pajamas on. My socks defeated me, though. We'd put out some towels before we left, and I scrubbed my face, which would just have to do for tonight. After a few groans and some cursing, I had my pajama bottoms on, my shirt half off, and I backed out of the bathroom so Tolliver could help with the rest.

There was a long moment of silence. Then he said, "There's a lot of bruising on your arms and ribs," and his voice was tight.

"Yeah, well," I muttered. "When someone hits you with something big, that's what happens. Get the bra, okay? I'm freezing."

I barely felt his fingers as he took care of the hooks. "Thanks," I said, and scurried back into the bathroom. When my mission was accomplished, I gathered up my discarded clothes and brought them out with me, shoving my shoes ahead of me with my foot. I'd kept my socks on. It was just too cold to take them off.

Tolliver had turned down my sheets and blankets for me, and propped up the pillows. My book was on the bedside table; but my bad arm would be toward that side. I hadn't thought about that when I'd picked the usual bed.

He held the covers up while I maneuvered myself into bed. Then he covered me up. Oh, even on this lumpy old bed, being on my back felt divine.

"I'm all tucked in," I said, already feeling sleepier. "Gonna read me a story?"

"Read your own damn story," Tolliver said, but he was smiling, and he bent over to give me a kiss. "You've been a real trouper today, Harper. I'm proud of you."

I couldn't see what I'd done that day that had been so outstanding. I said so. "It's just been another day," I said, my eyelids drifting shut.

He laughed, but if he said anything in response, I missed it.

When I woke up, it was daylight. I hadn't even had to get up to use the bathroom during the night. Tolliver was still asleep in the bed to my left. There weren't any curtains up over the big windows in the cabin—maybe they'd been taken down for the winter, or maybe the family just dispensed with them out here—and I could see trees outside. I turned my head and looked over the hump that was Tolliver to peer out the glass doors onto the big porch outside. Was it a porch, or a balcony? It was on the second floor of the structure…. I decided it was a porch, and I could see that it was no weather to stand outside on it. The sky was clear and beautiful, and the wind was blowing; it looked cold, somehow. If the weatherman had been correct, this would be the high point of the day.

Maybe we would get to leave today, start up to Pennsylvania. It would be just as cold there, if not colder; but maybe we could dodge the predicted winter storm. I would never see Twyla Cotton again, probably. Maybe I would see Chuck Almand again on the news in a few years, when he got arrested for killing someone. His dad would cry and wonder what he'd done wrong. After we left Doraville, the town would get back to its business of mourning its dead and accommodating its media visitors. The funeral directors would have an unexpected surge in profits. The hotels and restaurants would, too. Sheriff Rockwell would be glad to see the last of the state boys. They'd be glad to leave Doraville and return to wherever they were based.