Music to Die For (18 page)

Margaret shut her eyes once more, and, once more, tears crept from under the parchment lids. “Elizabeth’s name’s not bin mentioned in this fam’ly fer many-a-year, ‘cept she’s nigh me...” She put her hand over her heart. “She’s allus nigh me here.”

Margaret opened her eyes to look at the ceiling again, but Carrie could tell her thoughts were back in the present when she said, “If ye hafta know more, they’s a boy Tracy growed up with, name o’ Farel Teal. Purhaps he kin tell ye more. He’s still ’round here, I know ’cuz my boys does business with him. Maybe he...but why’s hit matter now? What matters is Tracy’s chile. We must git her back with her momma, ’n’”—she sat up and turned toward Carrie—“we gotta think o’ how to do hit a’fore Hab comes back.”

Now, why did Hab matter...?

Then, all at once, Carrie thought she understood. Dulcey Mason
had
been taken from Farel by a Culpeper, and
Margaret knew all about it.
The only thing she hadn’t known was the identity of the child.

But she must have known about the kidnapping all along. Had she condoned it, or even taken part? Was she only concerned now because she had learned who the child was?

Maybe, just maybe, if she’d had so little power to help her own daughter, she also had no power now to help her great granddaughter.

So, it didn’t really matter what Margaret Culpeper herself thought of the kidnapping. It was obvious the men in this family called the tunes.

Still, there was the gowerow story. Why had she told it? And...who killed Farel? Margaret didn’t seem to know about his death, and she certainly couldn’t have heard news about it on her radio.

Swallowing her own anguish, as well as sorrow for the pain they were awakening in this woman, Carrie said, “Farel Teal cannot help us now. He’s dead. He was murdered last night. Farel had kidnapped Tracy’s little girl, then we think she was taken by the person who killed him.”

She was watching Margaret closely, and what passed over her face this time wasn’t sorrow. It was fear.

“No! They couldn’a kilt Farel, no, no, they couldn’a. Oh, no, oh, no....”

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Margaret turned toward Henry. “Who aire ye? Not a Culpeper. Lawman? How do ye fit in here?”

“No,” said Henry, “I’m not a Culpeper, nor law, and”—he glanced at Carrie—“we’re sorry for the lie. My real name is Henry King, and I’m a good friend, though not a brother, of this lady. Our main concern all along has been for the child. The gowerow story brought us here. We had to find out...”

“Ahhh,” Margaret said. “Didn’t ken ’zactly why I

spoke like thet to...”—she waved a hand—“...to Carrie

here. Now mebbe I do ken, jes mebbe I do.”

Once more the room filled with silence.

Carrie’s thoughts were wandering, detached—as if they could take in no more worry or fear. Instead of thinking about Dulcey Mason, she was thinking about Margaret’s manner of speech, realizing that some of it seemed to be based on medieval English. She knew many hill settlers had come to the United States from the British Isles and, partly because of isolation, there were still pockets of the old language patterns in both the Appalachians and the Ozarks, though they were fast fading. Margaret’s conversation was a mixture of old English and modern hill speech.

Suddenly, in the silence, Carrie heard a creak behind the door in the room’s back wall.

Margaret Culpeper held up a warning hand.

No, there sure wasn’t anything wrong with her hearing.

“Wal, then,” said Margaret, “seems as if’n yer grandpa ’n’ Robert E.’s pa wuz cuzins. Now, thet’s sumpin’ I’m mighty glad to know. Robert E. allus did hanker after findin’ whut happened to thet part o’ the fam’ly. Too bad he ain’t here to meet ye. Now, I recall...”

The door in the back wall opened, and Micah Culpeper, without any gun visible this time, stepped into the room.

Carrie wondered how much he had overheard and was sure his mother wondered too. She seemed relaxed, however, as she greeted her eldest son, who must be, Carrie decided, at least seventy-five years old.

“Howdy, Micah,” Margaret said. “Turns out these folks is long-lost cuzins o’ Robert E. We’re havin’ a fine time tryin’ to match up old family stories.”

Carrie was deciding no Culpeper male ever smiled. Micah’s eyes were as icy as they had been when Carrie and Henry first arrived in the clearing. She hoped it wasn’t because he’d heard any of the conversation about his sister Elizabeth or the kidnapped child.

“Yer pa woulda bin glad to learn whut happened with the Culpepers who went over to Oklahoma...”

Margaret paused, studying her son.

“Did ye need somethin’, ’er aire ye come to sit and chat with us a spell?”

“Ma, I think it’s time I escorted these... cousins... to the path. I wouldn’t want them to lose their way. It’s getting late, and I’ll need your help over at the house before long.”

“My gracious, how time does go on! Well, thankee fer the courtesy, son, but no need to bother. I’ll guide Carrie ’n’ Herman to the path as soon as we finish our chat. I ain’t gone out yet t’day, ’n’ I’d like the air. Ye kin go on back to yer house, son. I’ll take care of ever’thin’ here.”

Micah turned to leave, and Margaret went back to her monologue about long-dead relatives. As soon as the door had shut behind her eldest son, she stood and walked to the window overlooking the clearing, but her voice kept rolling on.

As far as Carrie was concerned, the woman might as well have been speaking Greek. The heavy dialect was becoming increasingly difficult to follow, and, since Carrie knew nothing of the people or events Margaret was talking about, there were no familiar islands to help make sense out of the sea of words.

It was hard for Carrie to quell the impatience that was fizzing inside her. For garden seed, why didn’t the woman just shut up and get on with telling them what all this was leading to?

Finally the drone of voice sounds stopped.

“Micah’s gone in his house,” Margaret said, turning to face them. “We’re safe to talk.”

Still, she remained standing by the window, glancing out every few moments as she began speaking again. This time Carrie, now ashamed of her impatience, understood each word perfectly. In fact, the first four words Margaret spoke made Carrie want to leap out of her chair with a whoop of joy and rush to hug her, then Henry. But instead she sat, quiet as a statue. She was afraid to move—to do anything at all—that might stop this new flow of words.

“The chile is here,” is what Margaret said.

Their quest had succeeded!

“She’s over in the big house. I don’t fer certain know how Zeph got her, but he tol me he see’d her asleep all by herself in a car at the worker’s parking lot. It’s hard to think she’d be left alone like thet, but he said she truly were. Zeph said he kenned right off she belonged to some famous music stars, though he niver tol’ thur name to me. He reckoned she were worth money, big money, so he tuk her. Hit were easy as slippin’ in a fresh cow pie, he said. No one were watchin’ over her, no one in the lot anywheres. He picked her up sleepin’ ’n’ brought her to Micah’s house—jes like thet.”

Margaret paused, reflecting. “He’d a knowed Farel’s car, if’n thet’s where she were. But he said nuthin,
nuthin
, ’bout Farel Teal, nur ever meetin’ him last night. He tol’ me he found a chile’s paint set with paper ’n’ color-brush things thur with her. She’d been playin’ with hit, waitin’ by herself a’fore she fell asleep, I su’pose. Anyways, Zeph made a ransom note outa thet paint set ’n’ left hit in the car.

“I didn’t hear ’bout the chile bein’ here ’til this mornin’. When Zeph come to tell me whut he’d done, he asked me t’ help care fer her til the ransom were paid, so I went over with a doll Elizabeth had when she were little ’n’ a toy bear she’d made fer her baby a’fore it come. I’d kep ol’ teddy bear, ’cuz it were meant fer Elizabeth’s chile ’n’ were all I had o’ hers. But, I thought mebbe this chile...she had to be wantin’ her mama, so I tuk her the doll ’n’ ol’ bear.

“When I got there she were frozen quiet; looked at me with them big, dark eyes. I sat near, gave her the doll ’n’ bear. She hugged ol’ bear ’n’ by and by leaned agin’ me. I asked her name. She said somethin’ too soft to hear ’n’ put a thumb in her mouth. I niver thought o’ Tracy. Why should I?”

Now Margaret lifted her chin and spoke defiantly. “I know my boys wouldn’a hurt her, jes usin’ her to get money.

“See, Robert E. before ’n’ the boys now—all ‘cept Nahum, o’course—likes money, ’n’ the boys’ wives sure does too. Hits like a sickness inside ’em, and hit shames me. All they see in this chile is money. But they wouldn’a hurt her!”

Margaret paused for a minute before she continued. “I bin thinkin’ ’bout gettin’ her back t’ her mama. The boys’ll be powerful mad, but cain’t he’p it. If they find out hit’s me tuk her, they’d hardly mess with me anyways, ’n’ I think I kin fix it so they don’t ken. Now, here’s whut we mus’ do.

“Micah ’n’ Hab’s set fer a Little Rock run tonight, ’n’ Zeph’ll be over at the Folk Center, drivin’ the bus ’til late. Hit’s good thur women aire gone, as I’m to stay with the chile while all the men’s away.

“Should be clear here by ’bout nine, ever’ one gone. Thet’s when I kin bring the chile down to you at Nahum’s house. He’s differnt. He ain’t in on the others’ do’ins. Dulcey’ll be safe at Nahum’s fer a short piece, ’n’ you kin meet me thur to pick her up.

“Now then, I’ll go git my shawl ’n’ walkin’ stick. We’d best leave a’fore Micah gets itchy ’n’ comes back over here to see whut’s keepin’ us.”

In bonnet and shawl, Margaret led the way across the clearing. It was easy to see why the intruding briars and weedy undergrowth didn’t bother her. She had halted a moment on the porch steps to twist the fabric of her long skirt in a rope-like coil, and now she held it above her knees with her left hand. The prickly brush along the path didn’t seem to catch on her tightly woven cotton stockings, and she swept heavier branches out of her way with her walking stick as Carrie had done coming up.

At the edge of the clearing, Carrie looked back and, once more, saw Micah Culpeper leaning against his porch pillar watching them. This time, though, the shotgun was held loosely in his left hand. Thank goodness he was making no attempt to come with them. For a moment she wondered if he might follow, but then decided if his mother wasn’t worrying about that, she wouldn’t either.

Margaret reached the top of the ridge in record time, and, as soon as they were over the edge and the clearing was out of sight, she cut sideways, leaving the path. In a few moments they came to another path, marked only by compressed leaves and patches of bright green moss. Margaret followed this at an angle down the hillside, while Carrie and Henry raced to keep up with her.

They came to the sewage treatment plant fence, and Margaret veered right, heading deeper into the woods behind the plant. Then, suddenly, they were in a tiny clearing where someone had been preparing a garden plot. Carrie heard a quick hiss of breath from Henry, and she glanced up at his face. His expression was grim. What on earth was the matter?

Margaret seemed not to have heard him, and she plunged back into thick woods on the other side of the garden patch. In a minute they came to the small stream that flowed toward the treatment plant.

Margaret never hesitated or even paused to catch her breath. There was no doubt she knew exactly where she was going.

Finally the forest opened up again, and they were in a larger clearing, one that was as clean as if the forest floor had been swept. A carpet of wildflowers— pink-striped spring beauty and tiny bluet—covered the ground. The yellow cottage in the center of the clearing looked like something out of a fairy tale.

Now, for the first time, Margaret paused. She called, “Nahum? Hit’s Ma. Brung comp’ny.”

A tall, pale man, very like his brothers, came out of the house. His almost colorless hair and beard were neatly combed, his jeans and shirt clean and pressed. His movements were slow, and when he walked across the porch his body rocked slightly sideways, favoring a shortened right leg and twisted foot.

Margaret met her son at the steps, put her arm around him, and turned toward Carrie and Henry. “This here’s Nahum. Nahum, meet Carrie and Henry, friends of mine ’n’ yers. We got a story t’ tell ye, ’n’ we need yer help tonight.”

She told him a shortened version of Dulcey’s kidnapping, and, finally, the identity of the child. Nahum, who seemed more unlike his brothers with every passing moment, smiled sweetly and said, in a voice full of emotion, “Oh, Ma, oh, Ma,” when she got to the part where Carrie and Henry had told her who the little girl was.

“Hit’s a blessin’,” he told his mother. “We’ll go to meet Tracy. She’s our kin. We should meet her. She should know who we aire.”

“We’ll see, son, we’ll see.”

Carrie and Henry stood by, unnoticed during this exchange, and Carrie wondered at the fact Margaret was trusting this one son with her secrets, and with Tracy’s. Yes, indeed he was different from his brothers. She also noticed that, while the two Culpeper men she’d met so far spoke conventional English, Nahum’s speech sounded more like his mother’s, and she wondered why.

Now, Nahum put his cheek against the top of his mother’s head, and Carrie looked away, turning toward Henry. She was embarrassed to be seeing such a strong and private affection, but when she looked up into Henry’s face, she saw that he was watching the two intently, and, for the first time since they’d left their room at the Folk Center Lodge, he looked happy.

As Nahum raised his head, Henry moved forward, stopping just short of the steps, and looked up at the pale man on the porch. “We’ll be here when your mother says,” he told Nahum. “You’re very kind to help us.”

The responding smile lit Nahum’s whole face. “She’s my kin too. Of course I’ll help.”

Margaret stepped off the porch and walked to Carrie. “I’m gonna stay here with Nahum a bit,” she said. “I read the Bible aloud to him—some ever day.

He’s like his pa in thet he cain’t read fer hisself. But if’n ye go straight thur a short piece,” she pointed, “ye’ll come out on the sewerage plant road. Head towards the sunset on thet ’n’ ye’ll find yer way back easy enough. Ye kin drive it tonight if’n ye wish, but don’t come too close. Best leave the car at the fork. Ye’ll see. Come when the moon’s there.” She pointed. “Thet’ll be about 9:30.”