Black Cat

  "But why was he so friendly? Wasn't he still angry about my not telling the police when I had last seen Elliot? You remember how angry the police were at me."

  "No, no, nothing unpleasant came up in the conversation, except of course, his problems with that dreadful young girl."

  "What do you mean?"

  "His daughter. Betsy. You know what I mean. Noble. You know what kind of a girl she has turned out to be and how she has brought her father nothing but heartache. I actually felt sorry for the man. A man needs the sympathetic ear of a woman when he wants to confide in someone about the troubles he has with his children. If he has no wife, as Mr, Fletcher doesn't, he will look for the first sympathetic female face.

  "And besides," she continued. "we can comfort each other for we have both lost a child.

  But this was Dave Fletcher she was talking about. Elliot's father. I wanted to blurt. This was the man and the family you often told me were

  surrounded by dark evil. These were the people you had forbidden me to speak to, to know. This was the man you told the police was at fault for the problems of his own children. How could she say and believe one thing for so long and just as suddenly change?

  More important. why?

  "Don't look at me like that. Noble. It's sinful not to have compassion for others who are in pain. Besides. I never really met the man before, spoke to him long enough to appreciate his wit and

  intelligence."

  I glanced at Baby Celeste. What about her? What about the fact that she was Dave Fletcher's granddaughter, a granddaughter he had no idea existed, a granddaughter we were keeping from him?

  "He's a very polite man. too. He was so concerned about my walking back in the dark that he insisted over every objection that he drive me home. He practically begged me to permit him to do it.

  "I can't imagine why his wife deserted him. You would have thought a man like that would have found another woman by now, wouldn't you?"

  She made her eyes smaller and leaned toward me. "Why do you suppose he hasn't, Noble?'

  I tried to swallow, but couldn't. I shook my head. "I don't know, Mama."

  She nodded, smiled, and sat back. "I do. I do."

  She looked off her eyes drifting toward someone else.

  "What do you mean. Mama?"

  "What do you mean. Mama?" she mimicked. "The first Celeste was so much brighter than you are, Noble. I used to be surprised at her insights and how fast they were coming as compared to your own, but I'm not surprised any longer. You don't concentrate enough. You question too much."

  Tears came to my eyes, tears that were so confused they didn't know which way to travel on my face. Was I crying as Noble, his feelings hurt by the comparison, or was I crying for myself, lost forever in Mama's mind, buried forever in that grave?

  "I don't mean to question too much, Mama. I just... don't understand."

  "You don't have to understand. Just do what I tell you to do and accept what I want you to accept," she snapped, and stood. "Take the baby into the living- room. I want to be alone." She began to clear the table.

  I rose slowly, scooped up Baby Celeste, and carried her out of the room quickly. While she played. I listened and heard Mama's murmuring. At one point I heard her laughing and then grow quiet. When she was finished in the kitchen, she went upstairs without even looking in on us. It was very unusual. Even Baby Celeste realized that something was very different by now. She stopped playing and came to me, lowering her head on my lap and then raising it to look into my eyes.

  I listened for Mama's return, but she didn't come back down the stairs. so I picked up Baby Celeste and went up. Once again. Mama was in her bedroom. This time the door was closed. I stood there listening. She was talking softly. I knocked and she stopped.

  "What is it?"

  "Should I put Baby Celeste to bed?"

  "Yes. yes. Make sure her face is washed," Mama said impatiently. She didn't even mention that she would be out to tuck her in as she would do every night.

  I went ahead and prepared Baby Celeste for bed. then I tucked her in myself and kissed her goodnight. She clutched one of her dolls, her favorite one actually, in her arm and smiled at me.

  "Celeste," she said.

  "What?" I asked her, my heart stopping and starting. "What did you say?"

  "Celeste."

  I thought she meant me. I thought she was breaking through a cloud so thick and dark that no one could pierce it. What a wonderful thing. It was truly a message from beyond. My heart filled with joy and then she lifted the doll and said. "Celeste."

  She didn't mean me after all. She had named her doll after herself.

  "Oh," I said, my voice dripping with

  disappointment. I smiled through it. "Yes, Celeste."

  I touched the doll lovingly and she embraced it again and smiled. I kissed her forehead, fixed her blanket, said goodnight. and left her.

  For a moment or two I stood in the hallway undecided as to where to go and what to do myself. Then I returned to Mama's door and knocked again. This time she opened it.

  "What?"

  I was speechless. She was wearing an aqua blue, form-fitted light sweater blouse and a matching skirt, but the skirt was far shorter than any she had worn since Daddy's death. I also noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra and the V-neck of the sweater revealed more of her cleavage than she had ever revealed. With her hair back, the teardrop gold earrings with a tiny ruby in the middle of each were visible. They were her mother's. She had made up her face with rouge and eyeliner and a bright red lipstick.

  "What is it?" she demanded. "Don't stand there gaping at me like that when I ask you a question, Noble. Well?"

  "Baby Celeste is in bed," I told her.

  "Oh. Good, Very good, Noble." She started to close the door.

  "Why are you so dressed up?" I asked.

  She paused and looked as if she was deciding whether to bother to answer. "Fin going out," she said.

  "What? Where? Now?" I fired at her. Her Glare made me feel uncomfortable. but I wouldn't just turn away.

  Her face softened a bit. "I decided to accept an invitation. He had asked earlier. He wanted to take me to the Lodge, a small hotel on a lake in Greenfield Park. I was there once with your father years and years ago, and I remember the restaurant and the bar had windows that looked out on the lake. On an evening like this it should be very pleasant. I just called him."

  "Him?"

  My mind was reeling. Did she mean Daddy? Who had asked her earlier?

  "Mr. Fletcher. Dave. He's feeling particularly low tonight. His troublesome daughter, Betsy, has run off again. The best thing would be if she would stay away for good, of course, but she doesn't do that. She goes off with one worthless man or another and returns when she has exhausted her interest in him or has run out of money." She paused and smiled. "I knew that was going to happen today, of course. It's what I would call a moment of opportunity.'

  I was as speechless as someone who had just been struck in the head with a rock. "Opportunity for what?" I finally managed to ask.

  She shook her head. "Go to sleep. Noble," she shot back, and, before I could say another word, closed the door in my face.

  I went to my room and sat on the edge of my bed, dazed and confused. About ten minutes later. I heard her come out and descend the stairs. Rather than follow her. I looked out my window. Sure enough, I saw a car coming down our driveway. The front door opened and closed below and Mama was visible. As soon as she approached the car. Dave. Fletcher got out and hurried around to open the passenger's door for her. She got in and he got in and they drove off, the taillights diminishing and then disappearing around the turn at the entrance to our property.

  I had no idea why but my ribs felt as if they had turned into a cage of ice. I heard voices clamoring inside me, one in particular complaining.

  I thought it was Noble.

  "She's not even thinking about me at all anymore. She's not," he said. Or was it my own voice?
/>
  After all, we were both dead and buried. He was in a grave outside. And I was in a body no longer permitted to be my own.

  She wasn't thinking of either of us anymore.

  3

  Baby Celeste's Gift

  .

  I waited up for Mama for as long as I could. but

  I kept drifting off and finally fell into so deep a sleep. I never heard her come home. My eyes snapped open before dawn and I sat up in bed realizing I had fallen asleep in my clothes. I was surprised Mama hadn't looked in and woken me to ask me why. Could it be that she was still not home?

  Practically tiptoeing out of my room. I saw Mama's bedroom door was open. She usually left it open so she could hear Baby Celeste if she called out during the night for any reason. She rarely did. In fact, I rarely saw her cry and complain. She, was born contented. Mama says.

  I approached Mama's doorway as quietly as I could and then peered in and was relieved to see her in bed. However, her clothes were cast sloppily over a chair and it looked as if she had simply kicked off her shoes not caring where they fell, which was quite unusual. She hated anything to be out of place in the house because it would upset the balance of energy. She looked dead asleep so I returned to my room and tried to go back to sleep myself. I tossed and turned and went in and out of dreams filled with people I had never met. Was our home a haven for all wandering spirits? Mama never spoke about any but our own family, and those I saw when they wanted to reveal themselves to me, I had seen before in a picture in our house.

  The morning light startled me like a bell rung right by my ear. I rose just as Baby Celeste was calling. To my surprise. Mama hadn't risen, and when, with Baby Celeste in my arms. I looked in on her. I saw Mama was still in a deep sleep.

  Baby Celeste thought it was funny and laughed. Mama stirred, but didn't awaken. She didn't get up even by the time I had washed and dressed Baby Celeste. I took her downstairs and made breakfast for the two of us. Mama came down while we were at the table eating.

  "I can't believe I slept so late," she said. "It's been a long time since I've been out on a date. Dave wanted me to try his favorite cocktail. Something called a cosmopolitan. It made me a little giddy. I can't recall laughing as much for years, or at least since I was with your father."

  She kissed Baby Celeste and looked at me. Mama never drank alcoholic beverages, except for some elderberry wine. Why had she done so now and why was she acting so casual about it? Imagine if I had done such a thing. I thought. She would lock me in the turret room for days.

  "My God. Noble, speaking of your father, you have his any face on this morning. It's like a mask you found among his old things in the attic."

  I looked down, then raised my eyes at her slowly.

  "Why are you doing this. Mama? Why now and why with this man?" I asked timidly.

  She sighed deeply, thought a moment, looked into the right corner of the room, then nodded.

  "Haven't I told you many, many times that nothing happens to us without a reason, without a purpose. Noble?"

  "Yes, but what does that have to do with this?"

  "Sometimes it takes a while to understand, but nevertheless, we do finally understand. Sometimes it happens with the help of our family, which was what happened in this case."

  "What were you told?" I asked as boldly as a police investigator.

  "I was told, as you so bluntly put it, that the Fletchers were brought here for a purpose."

  "The Fletchers? What purpose?" Did she mean the birth of Baby Celeste? She stared so hard at me I didn't think she would answer, but she did. "To protect us."

  "Protect us?" I shook my head. How could she even think such a thing considering all that had happened between me and Elliot Fletcher? "I don't understand. Mama."

  "You will," she promised. "Be patient and cooperative and you will, Now I'm going to make myself some soft-boiled eggs and then start on a rhubarb pie. That's Dave's favorite pie. I don't suppose you remember me telling you rhubarb pie was my grandfather's favorite, too, do you?"

  "No." I felt sure she never had told me and I didn't want to permit her to lead me away from the topic.

  "Well, it was. So you see, everything means something. Noble. Nothing just happens by

  coincidence. I've been teaching you that for as long as you could hear. I think. What you have to imagine." she continued, turning to her teacher's persona (she could take it off and put it on like a coat), "is the world is full of lines, invisible strings, all intersecting, connecting, running parallel for a while and then touching. Every action, every word spoken, every birth and every death, is another line, even every thought, and when you can understand that and you have the ability to see that, you will know what to look for. as I do. You simply have to have more faith in me and yourself and try harder. Then it will come to you just the way it came to me. I can remember the exact moment."

  She paused, closed her eyes, and then with her hands over each other and pressed to her chest, breathed in the way she would over a bed of wildflowers. When she saw how I was staring at her, she stiffened like someone caught doing or thinking something illicit.

  "It looks like it might rain this afternoon. Noble, so get to your work as soon as possible," she ordered, and went into the kitchen,

  I rose. lifted Baby Celeste out of her chair. and watched her hurry to join Mama, Then I went out to the garden.

  I was troubled all morning, convinced that somehow what Mama was now doing would eventually lead to a disaster that would hurt Baby Celeste more than anyone else. Every once in a while. I stopped working and searched the dark corridors of the forest hoping to see a vision, to get a message from Daddy or hear his voice offering me a solution or an understanding that would calm my taut nerves.

  Everything I did, every move I made, caused me to vibrate inside as if some invisible hand had reached into me and strummed those nerves. From time to time. I realized I was holding my breath so long, my lungs ached.

  "Oh. Daddy, where are you?" I whispered, and looked for him in the pockets of

  darkness here and there in our forest. but I saw nothing, felt no one's presence near me.

  Finally, just before lunch. I heard the front door open and the screen door slap shut. Mama hurried down the steps toward her car. She was carrying her pie. When she opened the car door to put it Gingerly on the front seat, she turned to call to me.

  "I have to be gone awhile, Noble. I want to bring this pie over before Mr. Fletcher starts his shift at the drugstore. Go inside and look after Baby Celeste. She's in the living room. Make her lunch. Everything you need is set out on the kitchen counter, and don't make a big mess for me to clean up when I return," she warned.

  She got into her car and drove off

  The sky had become fully covered with clouds promising rain, just as Mama had predicted. An unexpected cold breeze rubbed across the back of my neck like a hand that had been dipped in ice water first. I spun around.

  Without the sunlight now, the gloomy, dark places in the forest that surrounded our property deepened. Even the songbirds were blanketed and hooded like hawks. An eerie stillness fell about me. It was so quiet I could hear the pulsating throb of my own heavier heart. My vision blurred and then I thought I saw Fletcher's face take form under the branches of a sapling. It was a face I had seen many times in dreams these past two years. It formed, faded, and reformed like a face rising and sinking in the water, just the way I imagined it had that dreadful afternoon.

  I could barely hear him at first, but his whispering imitated the rhythm of the thumping that rose up my body and settled in my head. His voice grew louder. stronger. He was calling out to me. I wanted to turn and run into the house. but I was mesmerized by the sound of his voice, by that undulating cry that rose and fell with the wind.

  "You never told her the truth," he said. "You never told anyone the truth about what you saw and what you knew had happened to me."

  I stepped back, shaking my head.

  Was he s
peaking to me or was my own conscience rising like a thick-skinned bubble out of the inky depths of my troubled soul.

  "You'll drown in the lies just like I drowned in the creek. The deceptions are too heavy. They'll bring you down. They'll bring you both down. I'll see to it. I will... I will .."

  "No!" I shouted, or at least I thought I had. The sound reverberated through my bones like some trapped explosion.

  Mama's too powerful. I thought with

  confidence. Our family is too powerful. His spirit can't come here and harm us. He could never touch us. We won't give him the opportunity. We won't weaken our castle of faith.

  "You're forgetting the lies,," he whispered like an eavesdropper on my thoughts. "The lies are like cracks in your great wall of protection. If she doesn't let my father be. I'll come. I'll come. I will," he threatened. From the very first time Mama had mentioned Mr. Fletcher, I had been afraid of such a thing.

  I turned and ran to the house, charging up the porch steps and then stopping at the door to look back. The first drops of rain had begun, an almost invisible drizzle, intensifying with every passing moment. Fletcher's image was gone from beneath the branch of the sapling. Surely, it had all been in my active imagination. I caught my breath and was now ashamed of my fear and cowardice.

  Mama was too smart to permit anything serious to occur between her and Dave Fletcher anyway. I thought. She was just doing what she said, being compassionate, commiserating with someone who had suffered a similar loss in his life and who needed a sympathetic ear. It was nothing more. It could be nothing more. Our spiritual protectors would surely warn her, dissuade her against going too much further. My fears were silly and selfish.

  I hurried into the house and discovered Baby Celeste had crawled up and onto Grandpa Jordan's chair. She sat there with her Celeste doll in her arms and looked at me with a face that seemed to age before my eyes into the face of an old woman, one of the elderly aunts captured in a sepia photograph in one of the family albums.