Kathleen Kent - The Outcasts

May, however, seemed unaffected by the incident, or at least undisturbed by it; she used every opportunity to revisit the events with Lucinda, talking about it in hushed and eager tones, as though she were discussing a bolt of fabric she’d been forbidden to buy. The constant talk of the shooting was fraying Lucinda’s nerves, and she hoped May’s troublesome excitement would soon diminish.

Lucinda smiled at Jane, who ducked her head closer to her sewing. “Jane,” she prodded, “you look pale. Come with us.”

Bedford asked Jane, “Have you not been feeling well?” He sounded surprised; his daughter’s anguish had gone completely unnoticed.

“I’m well,” Jane murmured. She frowned, but she put her sewing aside and stood.

After gathering up her hat and shawl, Lucinda took Jane’s hand and led the sisters out onto the porch. The late-afternoon air was chilled, and Lucinda pulled her shawl higher around her shoulders.

They walked for a while in silence, moving towards Red Bluff Road and away from the bayou. It was an unspoken agreement among them that they would not return to the clearing by the water.

They crossed the road and walked onto the adjoining stretch of prairie grasses, the remaining shafts yellowed and fragile under their shoes. The feeble smell of marsh water threaded the breeze. They slowed their steps only when a snake crossed their path. Its tail thrashed against the dry vegetation, making a vibrating sound, and Lucinda thought it a rattlesnake. But Jane shook her head and declared it a king snake, harmful only to the rodents that burrowed in the fields. She turned and leveled her eyes at Lucinda. “Don’t worry, Miss Carter. It’s just a pretender.”

Three herons lifted their heads in unison to watch the women approaching, their feathers blue-gray under the slanting sun, and May exclaimed, “That will be us in thirty years: skinny-legged and stoop-shouldered.” Raising her shawl like a flag, she shrieked and ran, chasing the birds into flight.

Lucinda smiled and turned her face to catch more of the sun. “Such a pleasant day. I almost hate to begin the week at the school tomorrow.”

Jane hugged herself tighter with her crossed arms. “I don’t suppose you’ll have to be teaching much longer.”

“Jane, look at me. Look at me.” When Jane raised her chin to return the gaze, Lucinda asked, “Haven’t I always been kind to you, and to your family?”

Jane hesitated but answered, “Yes.”

“Then why have you become so sour towards me?”

Jane exhaled sharply but said nothing and turned to stare across the field.

Lucinda placed her hand on Jane’s arm. “That man would have killed me.” When there was no response, she dropped her hand, and they watched May chasing grasshoppers from their hiding places.

Jane took a few breaths and turned to Lucinda. “When that man attacked you, he said, ‘Where is it?’ What did he mean? What was he talking about?”

Lucinda looked at her blankly; her main recollection of him was of his hands closing around her throat.

Jane impatiently drew a strand of hair from her face. “He wanted something back that you had taken from him, didn’t he?”

Lucinda felt her face redden and she turned away, trying to veil a sudden burst of anger.

Jane clutched at her hand. “You’re only after the gold, aren’t you?”

Lucinda looked at the work-worn girl in surprise, realizing she should have known all along that Bedford would have told Jane, his closest ally and confidante, about the treasure, although he never would have revealed his discovery to his unpredictable younger daughter.

She gathered her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of. And the only thing I took from my attacker was myself. That you should question me in this way distresses me no end. It will distress your father as well.”

There was an edge of a threat at the last, and Jane flinched, but her eyes narrowed.

May approached them, flushed and breathless, her eyes alert to the tension between the two women. She looked at her sister calculatingly and then linked her arm through Lucinda’s. Pulling her back towards the house, May said, “Don’t mind Jane, Miss Carter. She’s just jealous that you’re getting Father now. She’ll have to find her own man soon.”

In the last hours of daylight, Bedford walked Lucinda back to the Wallers’, but she sighed and frowned, and when he asked her what the matter was, she would only shake her head. He invited her to linger on the porch but she pulled away, her hand on the doorknob.

“Lucinda, dear, what’s wrong? Is it something I’ve done?”

Lucinda gave him the back of her head. “It’s rather what you haven’t done. You don’t trust me, Bedford, and by your example, neither does your family. Jane was very cold and thoughtless with me today.” She opened the door, but he put his hand over hers.

“Of course I trust you. And as to Jane, I can’t imagine why she would be cold with you, but I’ll speak with her.”

Lucinda turned to face him. “Speak with her all you like, but you must lead by example.”

She walked inside, closed the door, and listened to him pacing and then retreating down the steps. She could play the slap-and-tickle game as well as anyone, and tomorrow she’d greet his anxious looks and reticent air with warm smiles and gentle encouragement. She had let him only kiss her cheek so far, his hands restrained by hers over the stays cinching her waist. But beginning tomorrow, she’d start to bring the pot to a full boil.

There were too many threats of discovery now, too many chances to be thwarted by Jane, by Tobias, by the Wallers; she had to move more decisively. If she had to pour whiskey down his throat (something he’d been doing on the sly himself more and more in recent days) and dance naked, she’d get Bedford Grant to reveal to her where the gold was hidden.

The following morning, she left for the school early. She made her way to the greenhouse first to write another letter, but as she approached the structure, she smelled the familiar odor of lit tobacco. She walked to the far side and saw Tobias seated in his usual place, his back against the wall.

She approached him slowly, careful not to alarm him. “I wanted to thank you for carrying me to the Grants’.”

He looked at her for a moment, one eye closed against the smoke, and nodded. “I had a cousin who had the shakes.”

She moved a few paces closer. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had any tobacco.”

He took another deep drag, let the smoke curl out between his lips, and then held it out to her. The smoker’s end was wet and glistening from being in his mouth, and in his one open eye was a challenge. She hesitated for only a moment, then stooped down and took the cigarette between her fingers. She drew deeply on it once and handed it back.

She looked around, laid the shawl on the ground, and sat next to him. She stared at his profile for a while. “Are you going to tell anyone about me?”

He looked her full in the face. “Who would I tell?”

“I don’t know. Whoever is most likely to reward you for the information.”

A slow creeping smile brought his lips apart, showing the tips of his teeth. “No one will thank me for that bit of news.”

She took the cigarette from him again. “How did you know?”

He let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. “You ever walk along on a hot day and smell honeysuckle? You can’t always see it, it grows underneath sometimes, but you can sure smell it. It hits you sudden-like, and it stops you dead in your tracks.” He opened his eyes, turning his head to her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the presence of a come-hither woman.”