Ширли Мерфи - The Grass Tower

“Bett,” Uncle Jimmie said from under the reading lamp, “Bett, let her alone.” The light from the lamp reflected from his sweaty high forehead. “She’s got the job, so just let her be with it.”

And when she went to work the next Saturday morning, she pitched in with such vigor, starting the stalls, that little gray Molly snorted and pulled back and looked at her reproachfully. Finally, leading out the chestnut gelding to tie him by the water trough, she had settled into a quieter routine. She forked the manure from each stall into the wheelbarrow and piled the clean straw around the edges of the stall until it would come down again in the evening to make a bed. When she finished the last stall, she began to rake the alley, tired now on her first day, her muscles not used to it. By midafternoon when she caught Danny and began to brush him, she was half-asleep on her feet. “Danny’ll wake you up,” Reid said, saddling the tall chestnut for himself, “A quarter says you can’t get him out the gate.”

“Make it a dollar,” Bethany said, grinning, and tightened Danny’s girth.

When they were on the trail at last, headed for the beach, she collected the dollar. Danny was sweating but happy now, eager to get on once she had settled it with him. Her tiredness had gone, and she was inordinately pleased with herself. The sea wind came at them salt and cold, and she pulled her collar up. The horses snorted, and Danny pretended amazement at the breakers, sidling and watching them, and blowing softly.

The chestnut fussed, mouthing his bit, and would not settle. Reid talked to him gently, sitting steady and calming him until finally he was walking. Reid was good with a horse; he had worked at the stables ever since he was small. His mother did the menial work of the village, and Reid did any work he could get; his father had left them many years before, and Reid’s grandfather drank up a good share of Mrs. Young’s wages, Bethany knew. People said, in private, that Mrs. Young ought to throw the old man out, but how can you throw out your own father, and where would he go, Bethany wondered. Still, it would be easier for Reid not having to scrape pennies and do two jobs at once. She was ashamed she had taken his dollar and wished she could give it back. But how could she?

She’d always thought Reid was destined for better things than his mother had gotten out of life; there was something about him, a gentleness that made him different from other boys. Not that he was a sissy, she had seen him beat up three boys for hurting a little wild rabbit they had caught. He was tall and played basketball at school; she didn’t see him in classes because he was a year ahead. Anyway, his classes were all chemistry and woodshop and the kinds of math that drove her up the wall.

He said, of Aunt Selma’s church, “Your cousin Jack’s really into it. What exactly do they do there, Jack and the girls, when Claybelle gives them lessons?”

“They— I wish I knew. Jack started out hating the idea. It was Beverly Parker who changed his mind. I wish Colin wouldn’t go with them; he’s— well I don’t know, he’s not so sure of himself.”

Reid nodded.

“They go to McCaber’s barn and try to do seances and—well you can guess what else.”

Reid grinned. “I can guess. It’s the older people who are getting into it mostly, though, the lonely ones, the ones with nothing to do. My mom—they talk to her about it, the ladies she works for—they talk about giving donations. They—he has them thinking that once they find their Zagdesha, they’ll be cured of all their aches and pains, and almost be young again. That’s what angers Ma, that he’s told them it can cure their sicknesses. That’s why some of them give donations even if they can’t afford it—though I guess some of the weekend people can. What do you think, is it for money your Aunt Selma’s doing it, or does she really believe all that?”

“I keep wondering. She seems pretty gone on it. She’s always had a thing about astrology and tarot cards and things like that. She used to tell our fortunes, all of us, even Aunt Bett sometimes.”

“I wouldn’t have thought your Aunt Bett would have anything to do with fortune-telling. My mother says she’s always been against anything like that ever since they were children. Ma says they used to play with a ouija board and your Aunt Bett wouldn’t have any part of it. Your mother and her cousin Justin were younger, just little, but Ma says they were good at it. Anyway, the Church of the Zagdesha’s beginning to attract a lot of attention; it’s—well it’s like a place you’d find in San Francisco more than here, maybe.”

“Your grandfather, Reid, he’s pretty much against it, isn’t he? I mean, he’s been saying things about how evil it is.”

“Saying things! He’s been yelling them in the street.” Reid grinned and shook his head. “I’ve never seen him so worked up. He claims it’s the corruption of the devil, you know how he goes on. He’d have your aunt and Dr. Claybelle burned at the stake if he had his way.” Reid settled the chestnut again, then loosened the reins. “He says the whole village is responsible, that it’s letting evil flourish. Something about how demons have arisen again to tempt us, whatever that means.”

Bethany stared at him. Even old Mr. Krupp’s drunken rantings made her uneasy. What was the matter with her? She didn’t even believe in spirits, and yet this whole business unnerved her more than she liked to admit. Maybe she believed in evil though, maybe it was something touching her own mind from Aunt Selma’s pressing interest that had her so edgy.

“It isn’t a church, Reid. Sometimes I think if they called it something else, anything else, there wouldn’t be so much fuss about it. I wonder what Justin will think of it. She and Uncle Zebulon might be coming back here to live. They won’t approve of it, I know they won’t. It’s funny how much I think about Justin and Uncle Zebulon. Sometimes I remember things they said for no reason.”

She studied Reid. Under his joking about his grandfather, there had been a hard core of disgust and the laugh lines around his mouth had gone taut, as they did when he was angry. Reid’s grandfather had been the joke of the village for as long as she could remember, coming into shops periodically very loud and abusive, sometimes insulting people in such a crude way that the police would be called. People said he’d been like that ever since his boy John was killed in the fishing accident when Mr. Krupp’s boat burned.

Mr. Krupp kept his own small church congregation in constant turmoil with his drinking and his loud interpretations of the Bible. Bethany knew he embarrassed them, but most of its members felt it would be uncharitable to throw him out of the church. Now, with him criticizing Aunt Selma’s new venture, she wondered what kind of anger he’d stir up. Maybe some people would believe him.

“Do you go to church, Reid?”

“No. I never felt the need of it.”

Bethany waited, not sure whether to be pleased.

“I suppose with Grandfather the way he is, always spouting Bible quotations, it sort of turned me off. Anyway, I guess I think that whatever you believe—well, that you ought to work it out for yourself.”

“If you can work it out,” she said, admiring him. “But, what about people like Aunt Selma, what about the way she’s worked it out?”

“Grandfather says she was always a little peculiar that way. Lured toward darkness, he says.” He grinned at her. “He says it runs in the family.”

His humor was lost on her, and she stared at him in a strange, quick panic. “Why would it run in the family? I never heard that,” she said rather tightly.

“I don’t know. He’s a funny old duck, you can’t ask him anything. When I did ask him, he just grumbled something about your Uncle Zebulon. Like he hates him.”