Devil''s Race

  “I’m sick,” Uncle Dave announced.

  10

  He sat down on the ground by the roadside, breathing hard.

  I stood there, not knowing what to do. Ann, however, immediately went to his side and knelt. “What is it?” she asked softly.

  Uncle Dave shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said faintly. “Dizzy or something.”

  Ann offered the canteen. At first he shook his head, but when she persisted, he took a swallow. I stood there not sure what was going on, only that something was very wrong.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have come,” said Uncle Dave, watching down the road.

  Ann glanced at me. “Take off your jacket,” she said. “Roll it into a ball.”

  I did as she asked; then she took it, and with a gentle push against Uncle Dave’s shoulder made him lie down, head resting on the improvised pillow.

  His face was an awful white, as if his blood had gone bad. His eyes were closed.

  Ann took off her jacket and put it over him. “Better to keep warm,” she said.

  Uncle Dave lay there perfectly still.

  “Want some GORP?” Ann asked him.

  He shook his head no.

  “He going to be all right?” I asked. I was feeling guilty, remembering how I had wished him dead.

  “I think so,” she said, with a quick look at her watch. “Let’s have lunch.”

  From her knapsack I pulled out the spread, a few sandwiches, fruit, some granola bars.

  “Feel like eating?” she asked Uncle Dave. “It’ll warm you up.”

  “Okay,” he managed to say, but didn’t move much.

  I appealed to Ann with a look.

  “He’ll be okay,” she said.

  Reassured, I looked to see where we were. Down the road I could see the bridge. On either side the trees crowded in. There was hardly a sound. Yet at the same time it seemed as if I were hearing something, something like a hissing sound, something slipping through the trees. But nothing moved. There was no wind. Everything was still except for the guns thumping at a distance.

  Uncle Dave sat up. Ann, giving support, knelt behind him. He sipped some more water.

  When I turned around, he was watching me closely. But when our eyes met, he quickly turned away.

  “Give him a sandwich,” Ann urged.

  I got one out. Uncle Dave took it, eating slowly. I gave another sandwich to Ann, took one for myself. Then I just stood there, eating, my eyes searching the area.

  There was another series of explosions from the military reservation.

  “How far away are they?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Those army guys.”

  “Oh, maybe seven miles.”

  “They sound closer.”

  She shrugged.

  We continued to eat in silence.

  “I thought I’d be able to walk it,” said Uncle Dave. His voice was firmer. “I suppose we’d better head back.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Didn’t you say it was only a little bit ahead?”

  “Yes,” said Ann.

  “Then why can’t we go?” I was angry.

  “I’m too beat,” said Uncle Dave with a shake of his head.

  “I’m not.” I turned away, frustrated.

  Ann stood up. “You stay here,” she said to me. “I’ll get the van for him.”

  “Ann,” I said. “I’m going to see it.”

  “You can’t leave him alone.”

  “Did the two of you plan this?” I yelled.

  “Plan what?”

  “That we don’t get there!”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “How long will it take me to get to the cemetery from here?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “Then you wait. I’m going to see it.”

  “What about him?”

  I gazed into the woods, down the road toward the bridge. I said, “He just doesn’t want me to go!”

  Her eyes widened.

  Uncle Dave beckoned her over. When she reached him, he held up an arm. She grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet, then fetched his walking stick.

  “I’m going on,” I announced. I didn’t care what happened to him.

  Uncle Dave turned quickly. “Don’t be a fool!” he said with strength.

  “Isn’t that why we came?” I shot back.

  “Don’t!” he said.

  “Which way is it?” I asked Ann.

  “John, we should get back . . .”

  “Do what you want!” I turned and left them, heading for the bridge.

  11

  Made of stone, the bridge was an old one, though it looked as if it had recently been repaired. It crossed a deep ravine, at the bottom of which was a small, bright stream.

  On the near side was a wooden sign with painted letters: APPALACHIAN TRAIL.

  My eyes followed the direction of the pointed arrow. A path led into the woods. Nothing more. As I stood before it, Ann and Uncle Dave came up, Uncle Dave moving fast.

  “Which way?” I wanted to know.

  “There,” said Ann, indicating the path. She was staring at me.

  “You two coming or not?” I asked.

  Ann looked to Uncle Dave. He was standing there, both hands folded over the top of his walking stick, watching me. “It’s a mistake,” he warned me.

  “Your idea,” I returned.

  His face became sad, tired. “Sorry I ever told you,” he said.

  I ignored that. “You?” I asked Ann.

  “I’ll stay with him,” she said.

  “Suit yourself,” I said, and started to walk along the trail without looking back. But I hadn’t gone more than fifty feet before Uncle Dave called.

  “John! Wait!” And he started to follow. Ann hesitated, trying to make up her mind what to do. In the end she came too.

  Not caring if they caught up, I continued to move down the trail. After our walk on the wide railroad bed it seemed very dark. Crowded by laurel bushes, the trees provided a thick canopy of leaves. With all that shadow, it was like walking a tightrope into a dark, narrow room.

  I came into a clearing. Here there was grass, like a lawn. But no cemetery stones. Just the deep-cut foundations of a number of old houses.

  Uncle Dave and Ann came up.

  “Where’s the cemetery?” I asked.

  “Down there,” said Ann. “This is the old town of Rausch. If you look carefully, you can find the remains of six houses.”

  Not caring at all about the old town, I moved toward the cemetery, only to find the trail split into two paths. By that time I was almost crazy with frustration. “Where?” I demanded.

  Ann pointed.

  I began to jog in the direction she indicated, my heart beating wildly. By the time I hit the cemetery, I was running full tilt.

  12

  It was a small area, some sixty by fifty feet, all grass, with the look of having been tended only rarely. There were nine gravestones, two larger than the others.

  They were scattered about in no particular pattern. The two larger stones were tilted, almost falling.

  I looked at the nearest stone, one of the small ones.

  ELIZABETH ROWAN

  47 Days

  God Held Her Too Dear To Give Her Up

  January 1853

  A child’s grave.

  My eyes were drawn to the largest of the stones. I stood before it, then squatted so I could make out the letters, which were partly covered with green lichens.

  JOHN PROUD

  August 1854

  R.I.P.

  My heart turned over. My own grave. My name. Standing there I felt split in two.

  But as I stared the feeling faded. In its place came disappointment. The stone itself was not in any way frightening, or even interesting.

  I went down on my knees to take a better look, then put out a hand and touched the chiseled letters. They were rough. The canteen got in my way. I took it off and laid it to one side. br />
  “Find it?”

  I jumped. Uncle Dave and Ann had arrived.

  I caught a questioning look from Uncle Dave, though exactly what he was asking I didn’t know.

  “What’s the big deal?” I said, standing up.

  Ann, arms folded across her chest as if to keep warm, gazed about. “I don’t like it,” she said.

  My disappointment increased. “This is his grave, right?”

  Uncle Dave nodded.

  Puzzled, feeling flat, I walked about a bit, looking at the other stones. They were severely weathered, almost impossible to read. One was for a married couple. They shared the same date of death.

  I turned back to Ann and Uncle Dave. They were already waiting for me to leave.

  “We can go,” I said, feeling cheated.

  Uncle Dave gave what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Suits me,” he said, and started to move out along the trail.

  Ann and I walked out side by side. “You people sure made a big thing out of nothing,” I said.

  Head slightly bowed in concentration, arms still folded, Ann didn’t speak.

  “I thought it would be spooky, or scary. Nothing. It’s better at the movies.”

  Ann looked up then and gave me a smile, a warm one. I let go with a grin of my own, wondering why I had been so crazy before. I had looked at a grave belonging to someone who had died more than a hundred years ago. Big deal! John Proud was nothing to me.

  We reached the point where the trail had split. Uncle Dave was sitting on the ground resting and waiting, looking much better than he had before. My bad feelings about him had vanished.

  For a moment we stood there as if undecided what to do next.

  “Got some water?” asked Uncle Dave.

  I reached for the canteen, only to remember that I had taken it off and left it in the cemetery. “Left it!” I said. “Be back in a minute,” I called as I started off.

  “Don’t!” I heard Uncle Dave cry. “Don’t!”

  It was too late. I was running down the pathway toward the cemetery, glad to be moving, to be free.

  In seconds I burst breathlessly into the cemetery. The canteen was there by John Proud’s grave. And sitting atop the stone was a boy, a teenager, fairly tall, somewhat on the thin side. He looked like anybody and nobody, a perfectly normal-looking kid. But he was oddly familiar, like someone I had met once, yet could not quite recall.

  “Hello, John,” said the person. “My name is John Proud. The first John Proud. Delighted to meet you.”

  With a shock I realized why he looked so familiar. I was staring at a mirror image.

  He was me.

  PART TWO

  13

  I stood there, trying to take hold of what I was seeing.

  “Who are you?” I found voice to say.

  “John Proud,” he repeated, extending an arm and offering to shake hands.

  I took his hand, except there was nothing but a touch as brief as the breath it might take to blow out a small candle. It was as if the only way he could demonstrate that he existed was to show me he did not.

  “When we get to know one another better, I’ll be more . . . there,” he said, as if reading my mind.

  I backed off a few steps.

  “Please,” he said, “don’t leave. There is a great deal to say and not much time.”

  “Who are you?” I asked again.

  He returned, echolike, “Who are you?”

  “John Proud,” I said.

  There was an easy laugh from him, along with a casual hand gesture. “Same for me. Don’t I look familiar?”

  I said nothing.

  “You’d be amazed,” he said, “how difficult it is for people to recognize themselves. Well, you’ve made a good start. You’ve noticed. I must say, I appreciate your uncle going to all this trouble getting you here.”

  “Uncle Dave?”

  “I admit it. I’ve used him, but it was you I needed.” The smile was gone.

  “Why?”

  “To give me shape, voice, being.”

  Not understanding, I shook my head.

  “Look here, John,” he said, as if reasoning with a child, “I am John Proud.” He patted the side of the gravestone on which he was still sitting. “The one who’s buried here. Believe me, not much is left. I need you.”

  “I don’t want anything to do with you,” I got out.

  “Oh, but you do,” he said. “You wanted to know all about me. Your namesake. Your relative. Your blood. That cousin of yours, that Ann, I tried to use her once. But I only managed to scare her away.

  “And I tried your Uncle Dave when he was here before. But look at him, getting sick, changing his mind. No, not strong enough.” He paused. “Didn’t he tell you he spoke to me?” There was a mocking look on his face.

  I shook my head no.

  “Well, why should he? All the same, it was through him that I gained a sense of you, and it was you I needed. I’ve waited a long time for you, John. But here you are.”

  “I won’t give you anything,” I said.

  “Say what you will,” he replied. “It probably makes you feel better. Only listen to me, John: I would not be here now unless you wanted me.”

  I had wanted to come. I knew that. But had I wanted to meet him?

  I swung about and started to leave.

  “Don’t you want to know what will happen?” he cried out.

  He had not touched me. I’m not sure if, then, he could have. Nor did he do anything, or say anything to make me stay. Yet, at his question, I paused and turned.

  “See?” he said, his voice gentle. “There’s lots to know, isn’t there? Why is this happening to me? you’re asking yourself. Is it true what he’s saying? Oh, you’ve a fine, fine inquisitive mind. Lots of questions.”

  I don’t know if those things were in my head before he spoke. When he said them, however, they seemed to become so. I did want to know. I faced him.

  “Good,” he said. “Now then, I want nothing from you, John, nothing other than what you want to give me. I don’t intend to haunt you. Nothing of the kind! You are in control. Never forget that. Not me. You. All that happens will be your doing. Your wanting. Don’t ever forget that, ever!”

  “What will you do?” I stammered out.

  “That’s all up to you. You didn’t want Ann’s father along on today’s hike. Done! Any thought of what I should do next?”

  “Go back to where you came from!” I cried.

  “How can I, John, when it was you who called me up?”

  Angrily, I shook my head.

  “I know,” he said. “You’d rather think otherwise. You’re a nice fellow. Considerate. Polite. Straightforward. Above all, honest. Everyone thinks so. Your friends. Your family. Ann. But somewhere in you, John, is something very different, isn’t there? And that shall be a secret between us. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “That’s not true,” I insisted, “it’s not!”

  “Too late!” he warned. “I am your secret, John. I shall never be a stranger to you again.”

  “I’ll get rid of you!” I cried, advancing on him, fists clenched.

  “There is only one way to do that, John, and you don’t have the courage to . . .” But suddenly he vanished, vanished completely, leaving not a trace.

  “John?” I heard. “John? Are you all right?”

  I wheeled about. At the edge of the cemetery was Ann.

  14

  It was as if I had been caught doing something wrong—discovered stealing or worse. I felt ashamed.

  “Did you find it?” she asked.

  “What?” I said, not sure how much she had seen or heard.

  “The canteen.”

  I had completely forgotten.

  “It’s right there,” she said, pointing.

  “Right,” I said, glad for the excuse to turn away. Moving quickly, I picked it up. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “You didn’t. I just wanted to tell you about Cousin Dave. H
e looks better but he needs to take it easy.”

  “Whatever you say,” I told her, relieved. I was sure she hadn’t seen or heard anything.

  We walked away from the cemetery in silence. My head was spinning, trying to grasp what had happened, at least what I thought had happened. It was all a jumble. Then too, I began to worry about Uncle Dave. What did he know?

  He was sitting on the ground as we emerged from the trail. When he saw me, he gave me a long look. I offered him the canteen.

  “We need to get you back home,” said Ann.

  “I’m fine,” insisted Uncle Dave.

  “Tell you what,” said Ann to me, ignoring him. “Take my pack. You two can sit, or walk, whatever, long as you go slow. I’ll run back to the van, then drive back in.”

  “Run?”

  “Jog. It’s only four miles. It’ll save a lot of time.”

  “I’m perfectly all right,” said Uncle Dave as he got to his feet. But Ann had given me her stuff and was already trotting off. For a moment Uncle Dave and I just stood there, watching her go.

  “Might as well start,” said Uncle Dave.

  I should have made him sit down and wait, but I felt almost panicky at the thought of being alone with him. Walking side by side would make things easier for me. If we had to talk, I didn’t want to face him.

  We started off, moving at a slow pace. From time to time he would glance at me as if expecting me to speak first. “What happened?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

  “Nothing.”

  “You went back.”

  “To get the canteen.”

  He stopped short and faced me. He put a hand on my arm to pull me around, forcing me to look at him.

  At his touch all my anger toward him returned. Sharply, I shoved his hand away. “What did he give you to get me there?” I asked.

  Startled, he opened his mouth. He gulped and stepped back. As I stood there watching him, he seemed to crumple. It was as if he was shrinking, becoming older.

  He started to say something, but stopped himself.

  We continued to walk on. I walked faster, making him work that much harder to keep up. Only once did he speak.

  “I made a mistake,” he murmured, but it was as much to himself as to me.