Chapter 4 | le plat principal

Cuisse de Nymphe Émue, deglazed and reduced, served in white sauce with wild rice pilaf, paired with petits pois à la Française.

It was autumn 1848. After my pa’s death, things changed. Without his income, we were forced to sell off our land a piece at a time. Even so, it was not enough.

I apprenticed with Judd Angstrom, my pa’s deputy. Old Judd taught me a lot, things my pa never got the chance to. My pa taught me to ride, but Judd taught me how to sit a saddle while aiming a rifle. My pa instilled in me respect for firearms, but never let me touch more than our old shotgun. Judd loaned me his old trade gun to use as I wished and even let me fire his Colt Walker to practice.

Judd paid me what he could, and in turn, that went to put food on the table and to keep the taxman at bay. It was meager pay for long hours of work, and I was away from home a lot, sometimes days at a time. I was to rue that fact later, but at the time, it seemed the only choice.

Burned Creek wasn’t the same after the fire. It swept out of the west, devouring everything before it: farmsteads, cattle, people. It ate and ate and ate, and when it was done, near a third of the town was naught but cinders.

My ma changed, too. She grew distant and could hardly stand to be in the same room as me. I told myself it was my resemblance to my pa that troubled her, but deep down, somethin’ didn’t sit right. She got queer spells sometimes. The vapours, Doc Ely called them. One minute, she’d be laughing fit to bust, and the next, she’d take to her bed for days. It went on like that for a while. Preacher Perkins and Doc Ely came by from time to time, but my ma refused to see them, preferring the ministrations of Pastor Goodman, who insisted they be performed behind closed doors. In the end, she would see no one but Goodman, and I became a ghost in my own home.

In rebellion and pain, I stayed away for even longer. In addition to my duties with Judd, I took odd jobs where I could, anything from splitting fence rails to riding range. It kept me away from home and, more importantly, the anger that flared up every time I saw Goodman’s smirk. It seemed to me that his shadow had befouled the very heart of my life. Staying busy kept me distant, both physically and mentally. It was just easier that way.

Not all of my self-imposed exile was so bleak. I began mastering more skills and making friends. I also saw Alys Lawless and her ma more often, although not nearly so often as my secret heart would have preferred.

One day, I was working for Widow Jonas, and I happened to spot Alys coming down the road, a covered basket in one hand. Remembering the kiss she’d bestowed on me, I wanted to be the one to surprise her. There was not much around, save a handful of oaks for the beeves to shelter ‘neath, but I did spot a stand of long-leaved asters, their delicate lavender petals dancing in the breeze. I cut a bunch with my belt knife, then strode down to the roadway as bold as you please.

“Mornin’, Kit,” Alys said as she got near.

“Mornin’, Alys,” I returned, tipping my hat with one hand and holding the flowers behind my back with the other.

“You workin’ for Sarah Jonas now?”

I nodded. “With Herbert dead and her son not yet grown, she needed help putting up that new fence.”

“That’s mighty kind of you.”

I felt bad for Widow Jonas, but kindness didn’t really enter into it since she was paying me for the work. It might be in kind rather than in cash, but she baked the best apple tart west of the Mississippi, and she’d promised me two if I could get the fence done afore the first frost. I didn’t need to tell Alys all that, of course. As she neared, I pulled the flowers from behind my back and thrust them toward her.

“These— these are yours. They’re so pretty, they made me think of you.” My face felt hot, and my stomach was doing somersaults. Even my palms had started to sweat.

Alys’s eyes lit up, and she graciously accepted the flowers. “Thank you,” she whispered, holding them to her face so she could smell them. “Walk with me a ways?”

I fell in beside her, careful to keep a proper distance between us, even though all I could think of was the touch of her lips on my cheek and burned to feel it again. “Where ya off to today?” I asked.

“My Mam’s sitting with Hank Cantrell over at his place. I’m bringin’ her some lunch.”

“Hank’s got consumption, ain’t he?”

Alys nodded. “Mam says he’s not got long and he’s asked her to be there at the end.”

“Bet Preacher Perkins didn’t like that much.”

She shrugged. “He’s not a bad sort and doesn’t raise a fuss most of the time. I think he kens that sometimes even God-fearin’ folks want a little more reassurance than what a man of the cloth can offer.” She glanced around as though afraid we’d be overheard. “Not like that Pastor Goodman,” she added.

“Does Goodman give your ma trouble?”

Alys hesitated, touched my hand absently. “Not directly, no. I think he’s afraid of her. Of what she could do. But he’s turned folks against her. Elias Shoemacher wouldn’t let Mam near his daughter, even though he was the one who invited her to the funeral. Esmara Headly near had a fit just passing her on the boardwalk in town. Called her the Whore of Babylon and shrieked so it drew a crowd. Deputy Angstrom had to break it up.”

“He calls on my ma,” I admitted.

“Goodman?”

I nodded.

She shuddered despite the sunshine and moved a little closer. “Watch out for him. I don’t know what, but there’s something off about him. He’s got him a heart full of hate and wants the world to burn.”

We walked in silence for a moment, then, “How does your ma do it?” I blurted. I’d not realized the question was bubbling up within me until it burst forth.

Alys laughed softly. “She’s a sin eater, didn’t your tad tell you?”

“Tad?”

“Your father, your pa.”

“Oh, ayuh, he told me that the first day I ever saw you. And I saw what she did with Old Man Schein right enough.” The memory of the black ooze and smoke was as horrifying as it had been on that day. I looked in Alys’s green eyes, marveling at their depth. “But that don’t tell me what she does. Is it really their sin she takes on? Don’t that stain her own soul? What happens to your ma when she dies if she’s walkin’ around with other people’s sins?”

Alys’s smile faded. “I’m not sure you want the answers to those questions.”

If it would help me understand Alys’s ma better, then surely it would help me understand Alys better, and that was something I sorely desired. “I do.”

Alys stopped in the middle of the road, set down her basket, then took both my hands in hers. “I can’t tell you here. Daylight, the middle of the road…it’s not fit for such things.” She bit her lip. “You know the old Spanish mission?”

I did.

“If you’d truly know, meet me there after moonrise tonight.” She released my hands, picked up her basket, and hurried down the road, leaving me standing there bemused.

I finished my work for the Widow Jonas and made for home, my thoughts tumbling over one another. I rolled each word of our conversation around in my mind, like stones down a creekbed, as if by mere dint of effort I could wear them smooth. I was unsure why there was such a need for secrecy, but I was certain of one thing: I would be there tonight. My heart would suffer no other decision.

Returning home, I spotted a familiar horse tied up outside the house. Pastor Goodman there to minister to my ma once more. Opening the door, I was temporarily blind as my eyes adjusted to the lower light. Something moved in the dimness. I heard a woman’s moan and Goodman’s ugly laugh. Then I saw. My mother was on her knees before the pastor, her back to me, the man of God buttoning up his fly before her. He reached out one hand and patted my mother’s face, but his eyes and that wretched burning smile were for me.

Goodman brushed past me on his way out the door, his shoulder clipping mine. Unthinking, I lashed out, but my fist found only air. His mocking laughter echoed through our house.

“Think you’re man enough, boy? Why don’t you try it? You’ll learn the same truth that your pa did.”

I stood there, stuck to the spot by his admission and the force of his gaze. Impotent rage boiled up, but all I could do was clench my fists.

He laughed again. “I’ll call on ya Sunday, Edie.” Goodman mounted his horse and, with a kick, urged him away from our home.

“Atticus, I didn’t realize you’d come home,” my mother said. She’d risen from the floor and was standing woozily, holding onto the table for support, her other hand on her forehead. “I’ll put some supper on for you soon, hon. I just need to lie down for a moment. My head’s all a’whirl.” She stumbled to the bedroom and collapsed on her bed.

I took my horse, Astrid, and fled into the growing dark, Goodman’s laugh trailing behind me like a curse. Dark clouds mounded up behind the mountains, interlaced with flashes of lightning, but I paid them no mind. We raced down the road, away from my home and Burnt Creek, away from my ma’s betrayal and the bitter scent of sex. I had no thought to go anywhere specific. I only knew that I could not remain under that roof for a moment longer.

Out in the desert night, the storm winds ripped at my clothing and hat, sand scouring away the tracks of my tears. I came to my senses somewhere along Fountain Creek’s course, although the creek itself was little more than a trickle with the drought. Glancing up, I saw the clouds scudding by and realized I had made two terrible errors. First, I had ridden too far west and would now need to backtrack considerably to reach the mission and my rendezvous with Alys. Second, the stormclouds covered the sky so thoroughly that no hint of moonlight could penetrate. Was I too late? My heart dropped at the thought of Alys waiting alone, only to depart, thinking that I had abandoned her. Wheeling my mare, we galloped for the mission.

The place was dark when I arrived. A pit in my stomach opened at that, but I counseled myself that Alys would not risk attracting attention with an obvious light. I squinted against the wind and spattering of fat raindrops. This would need to be quick. If Alys had left without me, I would need to make all speed to ensure she got home safely, although how I would find her in the dark and wind I did not know. I tied Astrid in what was left of the mission’s stable, then found the doors, one of which was ajar. A sign? I entered, wondering belatedly why I’d not had the presence of mind to bring a weapon.

The interior of the mission was dim, the pews mere ghostly outlines arranged in orderly rows. Lightning cracked outside, and thunder echoed through the mostly empty building. Red-orange light flickered within the sanctuary at the far end.

“Alys?” I called out, but heard no answer. Creeping closer, I found that the light came from a handful of candles scattered around the sanctuary, their melting wax pooling on books large and small. Reaching the sanctuary and stepping up into it, I found them to be copies of the Bible, as well as what looked to be devotionaries. Lightning split the night, blazing into the interior through cracks in the shutters. A chill ran up my spine.

“Kit.”

She was there, seated on a stool just outside the ring of candlelight. My Alys. She stood and held her hands out. I took each in my own.

“Alys,” I breathed, my eyes devouring the lines divulged by flickering fire.

She looked up into my eyes, and I saw something in hers, not the eager match of my own anticipation, but something else. Alys glanced away. “You came,” she said. I could not tell if she was happy or fearful.

“What’s wrong?” I glanced around, worried I’d missed some threat, but found nothing. “Is it the storm?”

She laughed a little then. “No, the storm is… well, it’s fitting for what we’ll discuss this night. For what we’ll do.”

Do? The thought sent a thrill of heat surging through me.

“Come, sit.” She pulled away and sat on her stool, patting an overturned barrel beside her. “First, we must talk of things you may not want to believe, but you must understand. If we’re to be anything to each other, you must know.”

“You can tell me anything, Alys. I’ll believe you!” I meant every word, unable to tear my gaze from her eyes, the swell of her lips, the soft hollow of her throat. Her smile carried a touch of sadness.

“Very well.” She stood and touched the side of my face. “Do you love me?”

My heart caught in my throat. Couldn’t she see my answer shining out of my eyes? “I think I have since that day at Old Man Schein’s.”

“But how can you love me if you do not know me?”

I frowned. “But I do know you, Alys, have done almost my whole life.”

She shook her head. “You know a fiction, a phantom woven from moonbeams and wishes.”

“I don’t understand.”

Thunder growled outside, and the wind whipped debris against the mission’s walls as though to tear it down. Still, the sky withheld her blessing.

“You will.” She stood, but when I made to follow suit, she gently pushed me back down. “Hush, now.” She stood tall then, head back and shoulders proud. “My mam is a sin eater and… I may choose that path, as well. But there’s more that you must know. To eat others’ sins is a part of what we are.” She muttered a word, and then the world went all off-kilter. I say ‘the world’, but what I really mean is Alys. Even after all these years, I can’t find just the right words to convey to someone else what happened. She lit up and shimmered like I was seeing her underwater in a sun-drenched stream or maybe covered up with a million diamonds. When it faded, she stood there still, but she was changed. Her brown hair had turned black. Her skin had darkened to the color of a hazelnut, and her face looked subtly different.

“We are of the tylwyth teg, the fae folk. Perhaps the last of them.” She bowed her head. “The church folk say that we’ve got no souls to stain.”

I stood there, dumbfounded for a second at the change in her, but something in her voice demanded that I act. Stepping forward, I cupped her chin and gently raised her head. Those deepthless green eyes looked back at me from above her smattering of freckles.

“I see you, I love you,” I said, but what I wanted to say was that I saw her and her lineage reaching back into the mists of time, and I loved her the more for her truth, but the words would not come out.

She held my gaze, searching for something, then smiled when she found it. Maybe it was the words my mouth was too tongue-tied to utter. Whatever it was, it was enough. She pulled me toward her, and then her mouth was on mine, and I lost myself in the heat of her kisses, the softness of her tongue, and the feel of her body pressed so hard against mine. After a moment, I eased her back onto the stool, then knelt before her. Running my hands up her legs, I raised her skirts and then kissed the insides of her thighs. As the heavens finally unleashed their pent-up fury, she moaned and opened before me, hands entwined in my hair, guiding me forward to taste her.