Lorna stepped from the bus, confident that Jim would be waiting for her with the flashlight, but as the bus lumbered away into the darkness, she stumbled up the trail and paused. All was silence and darkness about her. She called to him tentatively, but there was no answer. After a moment, she went, puzzled and annoyed.
When she reached her cabin and there were no welcoming lights, her annoyance deepened. She unlocked the door, found the light switch and touched the room into soft-yellow light. The place was exactly as she had left it a week ago, and she went about lighting the oil furnace, making herself comfortable.
When she had had the drink for which she had been thirsting since she had left Atlanta in her car, she prepared dinner. She ate it alone, read for a while and as there was still no sign of Jim, she had a few more drinks and went on to bed eventually, feeling her taut nerves loosen beneath the silken caress of the strong liquor.
####
Storekeeper greeted her heartily next morning when she came in, and looked puzzled when she asked about Jim.
“Why, I thought he wus goin’ t’ Atlanta to see you, Miss Blake,” he said.
Lorna stiffened, her green eyes cold. “What made you think that?”
“Well, seems like you an’ him got to be right good frien’s,” said Storekeeper cheerfully. “So when he come in hyer t’other mornin’ an’ said he was lightin’ a shuck fer town, reckin I jest kinda took it for granted-like he was goin’ to see you.”
“When was all this?”
“Well, now lemme see,” mused Storekeeper with maddening deliberation. “This hyer’s Sattiday, ain’t it? Reckin it must’a been last Wednesday, er mebbe Thursday. I don’t rightly know, but it weren’t Monday ‘cause that was the day the drug man come. Yeah, I reckin it was Wednesday or Thursday.”
Lorna was frowning. “Had anything happened? I mean anything to make him suddenly decide to leave?”
“Well, now, not as I’d know ‘bout,” Storekeeper assured her. “Y’ know he ain’t one to do a heap o’ talkin’ ‘bout hisself. Leastways not to me or Marthy. Always been awful shut-mouth and say-nuthin’ like. He went to Marshallville the day before. Stayed all day. Plum night when he got back. Me an’ Marthy wuz jest settin’ down to supper. He come in and et. Seemed like he was right excited-like, but he didn’t say nuthin’ ‘bout whut. Anybody ‘cept him, I’d a said he was likkeredup, but o’ course, he don’t drink. Leastways, not corn-squeezin’s.”
Lorna was thinking fast, and there was a dawning excitement in her eyes. “He’s finally got sense enough to go back to his job,” she said.
Storekeeper was watching her shrewdly. “Er else he foun’ the Injun gold,” he said softly.
Startled, Lorna caught her breath. Her eyes flew wide as she met Storekeeper’s shrewd gaze.
“Why do you think that?” she demanded.
“Well, the day ‘fore he went to Marshallville, he spent mostly the hull day up at the Grady cabin with Cindy,” he said softly. “He been goin’ there real often, y’ know. Reckin mebbe it weren’t too hard fur a likely-Jookin’ feller like him to get Cindy to talk.”
Lorna tried to mask her angry astonishment, but there was a gleam of laughter at the back of Storekeeper’s shrewd little eyes.
“Oh, that’s nonsense! You don’t really believe that old legend about Indian gold being hidden somewhere on the Grady place,” she scoffed, but despite her efforts she could not quite keep the question out of her voice.
Storekeeper grinned dryly. “Course, I be’n livin’ hyer all my life, an’ I heard a sight o’ yarns ‘bout Injun gold bein’ foun’ ‘round these parts,” he said quietly. “Don’t know fer true anybody foun’ it, but they’s been a right smart o’ folks suddenly seemed to have more money, ‘n they coulda made workin’ fer it.”
“It’s been almost a hundred years since the Indians left these parts,” Lorna scoffed. “Any gold they hid has been found a long time ago—if they hid any, which I never really believed.”
“Well, mebbe you’re right, Miss Blake. Mebbe you are,” Storekeeper agreed placidly.
Lorna turned and walked out of the store into the golden sunshine of a day that hinted that it might not be too long before the brush of spring would be seen over the mountains. It was one of those deceptively mild days that sometimes come in the middle of winter, and those wise in mountain ways and weather learn early not too take the signs too literally, for all too often such a day is followed by a night of snow and blizzard-winds.
Lorna turned towards the trail to the Grady cabin, knowing quite well that Storekeeper was watching her and no doubt laughing his damned head off to see her heading so purposefully towards the Grady property. But let him laugh, damn him. She had to see Cindy, and see if she could discover the reason why Jim had so suddenly headed for Atlanta.
When she had said goodbye to him a week ago, nothing had seemed farther from his mind than a return to Atlanta and his work. What could have happened, between one night-fall and the next to have made him change his mind? A trip to Marshallville, from which he had returned in high spirits, keeping his thoughts to himself; the following morning, he had in the mountain phrase “lit a shuck” for town, meaning he had departed fast and without explanations.
If Cindy had revealed to him the hiding place of the gold, that would explain everything. In fact, Lorna could think of no other explanation, and as she climbed the trail, her hands jammed deep in the pockets of her jacket, her mouth was a thin and ugly line.
If Jim had learned the location of the Indian gold, then he must be forced to share with her, because it was through her that he had first learned of the treasure. If he thought for one thin moment that he was going to hog it all for himself, then he damned well had another thought coming! She was a bit vague as to how she would force him to hand over what she felt was her rightful share, but she was not at all vague about her determination to demand it.
She passed the Haney house without glancing toward it, not caring whether Jennie Haney saw her or not, not caring about anything except reaching Cindy and somehow forcing out of the girl the truth about Jim’s sudden flight. In Lorna’s mind, there was no doubt at all that it was a flight. She was convinced that he had not returned to Atlanta to his job, but to dispose of the gold Cindy had turned over to him.
Lorna came to the plateau on which the cabin huddled and shouted Cindy’s name. There was silence, and then the cabin door swung open. Cindy stood there, waiting for her, unsmiling, her face pale, great circles beneath her eyes.
“Why, Cindy, you’ve been sick, haven’t you? You look ghastly,” Lorna blurted in surprise as she came up the steps and across the narrow porch.
“I’m fine, Miss Blake,” said Cindy, her voice colorless, tired. “Come in and set.”
Lorna came in, smiled tentatively at the dog who merely regarded her without wagging his tail or growling, not yet sure whether she was friend or enemy, just reserving judgment, a watchful eye on her ready for whatever she might do or say.
“But, Cindy, you do look ill,” Lorna insisted.
“No’m, I’m right pert,” said Cindy. “Won’t you set?” She motioned towards a stout rocker beside the fire.
Lorna was casting about in her mind for some way to lead up to a demand for knowledge about Jim when her eyes fell on the weaving frame in a corner. She put her hand in her pocket, smiling at Cindy with great warmth as she held out a ten-dollar bill.
“I brought you the money for the other rug, Cindy,” she said. “And I’ve got orders for more of them. Some of my friends would like to have several of them, but I didn’t tell them you let me have mine for ten dollars a piece. I made them promise to pay you twenty-five a piece, and I’ve brought you deposits for three. I didn’t know how fast you could turn them out so I wouldn’t accept orders for more than three.”
“Thank ye, ma’am. I’m right obliged to you,” said Cindy and accepted the proffered money, as though doubtful of its real importance.
Lorna lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and said lightly, her eyes sharp on Cindy, “I was surprised when Storekeeper told me Jim McCurdy had gone.”
She saw Cindy catch her breath and her dark eyes go wide. She looked as though Lorna had struck her a savage blow, and for a moment she was dumb with pain.
“You didn’t know he had gone, Cindy?” Lorna asked after a moment, when it seemed the girl was unable to speak.
“No’m, I didn’t know.” Cindy’s voice was husky.
Lorna was watching her shrewdly, and now she fired a shot in the dark. “Taking your gold with him,” slit said softly.
Bewildered, Cindy’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown above the hurt in her heart.
“My gold? Miss Blake, you’re funnin’. He didn’t take no gold o’ mine, ‘count of I didn’t have no gold,” she protested. There was utter and convincing sincerity in her bewilderment.
Lorna said lightly, “Oh, I thought maybe you might have shown him where the Cherokees hid their gold before they started west, and he had confiscated it.”
Cindy smiled very faintly. It was little more than a grimace, touched with scornful amusement. “Miss Blake, you don’t believe them old tales about Indian gold being buried ‘round here, do you?”
“Well, a great many people do,” Lorna argued.
“Oh, I reckin so, but you been comin’ here long ‘nough to know better’n to believe them kind o’ yarns. Mountain folks dearly love a tale, and they spread ‘em just to make flatland furriners do fool things,” Cindy derided. “They ain’t no Indian gold on this place. Ain’t never been. My grandsir wouldn’t ‘a’ let the Indians bury nuthin’ here, ‘count o’ my grandma’am, her bein’ a Indian and him havin’ to fight so hard t’ keep folks from drivin’ her off. When the Indians wanted him to keep their gold ‘til they could come back and git it, he tole it would be dangerous for her, an’ he made ‘em bury it in one o’ their buryin’ mounds, ‘stead o’ here where him and her lived.”
Lorna listened with complete fascination. “Then they did bury a lot of gold somewhere around here?” she asked swiftly.
“Yessum, I reckin they did. Lije Purcell foun’ it an’ used it to build him a fine house an’ buy him a shiny car an’ a big poultry business. Leastways, I allus thought that was where he got him the money to buy all them things. They wus allus tenant farmers. Never had nuthin’, then all of a sudden, he built him a fine house an’ paid spot cash on the barrel head for ever’ livin’ thing ‘bout the place. An’ paid cash fer all the rest, an’ folks say he’s still got a heap o’ money in the bank. Reckin they’s still more gold left in the mound, too.”
“I see,” said Lorna softly at last and flung her finished cigarette into the fire. “Did you tell Jim this? That there was no gold here?”
Puzzled, Cindy met her eyes, and a wave of deep crimson swept over her face. “Well, I reckin maybe I did, only I don’t just remember,” she admitted.
“Then why did he take off at a dead run? Just because you convinced him there wasn’t any gold?” demanded Lorna.
Cindy tried to evade Lorna’s sharp eyes as she spoke. “No’m, the gold didn’t have nuthin’ to do with him leavin’ like that,” she said faintly. “Reckin maybe he left ‘count of he found out I ain’t no good.”
Lorna stiffened. “Cindy, are you trying to tell me that Jim made love to you?”
“He ast me to marry him,” said Cindy, and despite her shame and misery, there was pride and exultation in her voice.
“The hell he did!” gasped Lorna, and added swiftly, “You’re sure he meant marry?”
“Oh, yessum, I’m sure.” Cindy seemed not to resent Lorna’s frank doubt. “He’d been to Marshallville, an’ he brung me a lot o’ purties. An’—an’—well, I been hankerin’ for him since the first time I seen him an’—well, we taken to bed together. It was all I wanted, all I could ever want. Then he ast me to marry him, so I had to tell him I wasn’t fitten to marry no man. Not never!”
Lorna watched her in amazed disbelief.
Cindy put her face in her hands, and through her broken weeping, stammered, “So I reckin that’s why he left—so’s he wouldn’t never have to look at me ag’in.”
Lorna lit another cigarette, frowning at the fire, giving the girl time to pull herself together, before she asked gently, “Just what have you ever done, Cindy, that makes you such a terrible creature?”
Lifelessly, after a long moment, Cindy told her. The words came slowly, painfully, so that Lorna listened with shock and a deepening pity. When Cindy told her of the tiny grave beneath the apple tree, Lorna swore furiously under her breath.
“You told him all that, Cindy, and then he just walked out on you?” she demanded at last.
Cindy lifted a white, tear-ravaged face, and her eyes were dark with surprise. “Well, what else could he ‘a’ done? I would ‘a’ lived with him, slep’ with him and been proud. I couldn’t marry him ‘thout tellin’ him the truth. But when I did, he—well, he just left.” She caught her breath on a sob.
“And who the hell is he, to despise a girl who’s been through such an experience? Didn’t he have brains enough to realize it wasn’t your fault? Any of it? And believe me, baby, he’s several million light years away from being a saint—and I ought to know!” blazed Lorna.
Cindy offered no answer. She was so sunk in misery that she could not find one. Lorna got up and walked the brief length of the cabin and back again, smoking furiously, her brows furrowed with thought.
“This is all the truth you’ve told me, Cindy?” she demanded sharply. “You’re not keeping anything back? This is really the reason Jim left?”
“I reckin so. I don’t know nuthin’ else that would make him go sudden-like,” Cindy told her.
Lorna said suddenly, “You know what we’re going to do, Cindy?”
“Well, no, ma’am, I reckin not.”
“You’re coming to Atlanta with me, and I’m going to get you all done up, show how lovely you can be, and then I’m going to give a party, and invite Jim and fling you straight in his teeth! We’ll show him a thing or two, maybe three or four.”
Cindy shook her head stubbornly. “Thank ye kindly, ma’am. That’s real kind of you, but no ma’am, I couldn’t go. No, indeed, Miss Blake, I couldn’t do that.”
“And why the hell can’t you?” Lorna snapped.
“Well they’s Seth, an’ Bessie, an’ Sadie-May to take keer of, an’ nobody to do it but me,” Cindy pointed out. “An’ they’s the fire to keep a-burnin’. I wouldn’t dast let it go out. It’s the same fire folks brought to my grandsir and his wife the night they was married. It come from the Indian village, and it ain’t ever been let go out. It’s ‘most a hundred year old, an’ effen I was to let it go out, the old folks would purely come back and ha’nt me. It’s awful bad luck to let a fire go out.”
Lorna stared at her. “Well, I’m damned,” she said. “Look here, this Haney lug who’s supposed to be so crazy about you—wouldn’t he come and look after the animals for you and keep the fire burning for a few days?”
“No, ma’am. His maw wouldn’t let him,” said Cindy.
Lorna’s eyebrows went up. “Wouldn’t let him? For Pete’s sake, I thought he was a grown man!”
“Yessum, he is, but his maw keeps him right tight to her apernstrings, ‘count o’ she raised him when his paw run off an’ left ‘em. She ain’t got no use for me, an’ you can’t blame her, the kind o’ girl I been,” said Cindy. “I reckin maybe some day, when she’s dead and gone, me and Enoch might live together. It’ll be right lonesome for him when she’s gone, an’ I know ‘bout bein’ lonesome. So effen he wants me to, I’ll let him come here an’ live with me when his maw is gone.”
“You’d marry him then?”
“Oh, no ma’am, I wouldn’t marry him. I ain’t fitten to marry no man,” said Cindy with a bleak, desolate humility. “But effen he was as lonesome as I’ve been, an’ us likin’ each other since we wus childern, I’d let him come an’ stay here effen he wanted to.”
Startled, Lorna studied her for a moment. “You think having Enoch here would keep you from missing Jim?” she demanded.
Cindy looked up and her eyes were bleak and terrible. “I ain’t never missed nobody like I miss Jim,” she said quietly. “I missed Granny, but Granny was old an’ tired an’ all wore-out, an’ I knowed she needed her rest. I got used to bein ‘thout Granny. Me an’ Seth, we kinda got used to just bein’ here by our own two selfs. Then Jim come.”
Her voice broke in a ragged sob, and for a moment she was unable to go on. At last she said through her teeth, “I dunno why he had to come. I dunno why me an’ Seth couldn’t just ‘a’ been left alone. But now I ain’t never gonna know no more peace ‘thout Jim. It’s gonna be so lonesome.”
Lorna walked to the window and stood looking out with unseeing eyes at the landscape that spread out below her. Her hands were jammed hard in her pockets, and her face was set and grim. At last, when she could trust herself to speak, she turned to the girl.
“I’ve got news for you, baby.” Her voice was harsh because she was trying so hard to be her usual flippant, brittle self. “Missing one man is something you can never wipe out by taking another man. Believe me, I know!”
Cindy lifted wide, tragic eyes and studied Lorna’s set face. “You missin’ somebody like that?” she asked.
“Since I was nineteen, and that’s more than ten years ago, baby,” Lorna said. “And believe me when I say that no matter how many men you take into your bed, it doesn’t help, not one single tiny damned bit! Nothing helps, Cindy. Nothing!”
Cindy’s small, ravaged face was twisted painfully, with her effort to control the bitter tears. “Then what am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?” she wailed.
“That, pet, is the sixty-four-dollar question, and I have never yet heard of a woman who had managed to work out an acceptable answer,” said Lorna grimly. “I get drunk.”
Cindy gasped, “You, Miss Blake?”
“Who else?” Lorna’s voice was thin and anguished. “I admit it only helps for a little while, but if you drink yourself into a stupor, you have a few hours of freedom from memories. Of course, you also have one hell of a hangover when you wake up, and a mouth that tastes like the bottom of a bird cage, and a headache five times bigger than you are.”
Cindy was wide-eyed and appalled.
Lorna said dryly, “That wouldn’t work for you, I’m sure, with your conscience.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t reckin it would,” admitted Cindy. “Granny allus had such a feelin’ about likker. She purely hated it.”
“Granny had a point,”Lorna said dryly.
“Yessum, Granny was right smart.”
Lorna stood thoughtfully for a moment in silence, and then she said briskly, “Promise me something, Cindy?”
“Yessum,” said Cindy without hesitation.
“Promise me you won’t do anything you’ll be sorry for?”
“Like what, Miss Blake?”
Lorna hesitated, and then she blurted, “Like heaving yourself down the mountain side, like one of the Indian gals the legends are always yapping about.”
“You mean kill myself?” Cindy was horrified. “Law me, Miss Blake, I couldn’t go ag’in Granny’s raisin’ like that! Why, she’d purely ha nt me!”
“So would I,” Lorna assured her firmly, deeply relieved that no such thought had occurred to the girl, despite her bleak bitterness. “You just be a good girl and keep your door locked, and sic Seth on Enoch or any other man who comes snooping around. I’ve got plans for you, Cindy, and they don’t include any such foolishness as your sharing your bed with a man, believe me!”
Cindy was scarlet with shame, but her eyes held a warm gratitude that was very touching. “Reckin maybe wouldn’t nohow, Miss Blake,” she confessed. “I just feel so kinda lost, knowin’ I ain’t gonna see Jim no more.”
“Well, you keep your chin up, my girl, and you leave everything to me, you hear me?” said Lorna firmly.
“Yessum, and I sure thank ye, Miss Blake.”
As much to her own surprise as to Cindy’s, Lorna bent swiftly and brushed her lips across the girl’s cheek, and took herself off. When she reached the curve in the trail, she turned to see Cindy standing in the open doorway, the dog beside her. As Lorna waved and went down the trail, there was a mist of unaccustomed tears in her eyes.