Deirdre smiled. Giving pleasure was as much a reward as receiving it.
Downstairs, the gong rang. They lay together for a few more moments, tangled in the sheets, then rose and bathed themselves at the washstand. As she dressed for the day, the world seemed brighter to Deirdre. She glanced in the glass—noted the roses blooming in her cheeks. The fool smile etched on her face. How marvelous it was, to not have to worry about vinegar rinses, or bitter teas and babies, or anything but soothing this ache of fierce wanting with delicious, easy bliss.
It was an awakening. A revelation.
Esme had told her to think about Robbie if she felt guilty, but she hadn’t thought about him once. Instead, she’d imagined she saw darker eyes, watching from the shadowed corner of the room. Jealous eyes that witnessed and waited, like a snake coiled to strike.
NINETEEN
GRACELYNN
1931
Town feels different today. The people look strange. They shimmer around the edges, with colors haloing their bodies. Some glow red, others green or blue—like them fancy pictures of saints the Catholics are always handing out. Strangest of all, I can hear their thoughts as I brush past them . . . only they’re garbled, and cut in and out, like a staticky radio.
That hog’ll be . . . for butcherin’ come fall.
If . . . don’t . . . drinking all our milk, the . . . are gonna starve.
Sure wish it would rain . . .
This new power running through me is unsettling. I think of my encounter with Anneliese’s spirit and wonder if every day of life had been like this for her and will be for me, now that she’s touched me. Part of me hopes my heightened senses will be like a surge of electricity during a storm—something that will wear off with time and lessen, but I also wonder what else I might be able to do.
I lean against the corner post of the mercantile to catch my breath. The old men on the porch have their instruments out today. They’re taking turns pickin’ and grinnin’—a congenial war of sorts between their idle talk of the weather, the raucous chorus of mandolins, banjos, and fiddles sharper in my ears than it ever has been before. A thread of perspiration winds down my neck like a serpent. It’s infernally hot, now that the sun has climbed higher than Old Liberty. Part of me wants to run up the mountain to Abby and forget my troubles. I could lose every thought to the feel of her lips on mine. But getting lost in her kisses won’t help matters. Won’t take away this cursed drought or heal Granny.
I need to find that preacher.
I reach inside my dress pocket and rub two coins together. Enough to buy a Coca-Cola to slake the dryness in my throat. I push open the door to the mercantile and blink as my eyes adjust from the bright burn of outdoors.
Penny, the shopkeep’s teenage daughter, lounges against the counter, all daydreamy and doe eyed. She sees me and glares. Penny and her kin, like most of the rest of Tin Mountain, only speak to me and Granny when they have to, but they’re always happy to take our money, just the same.
“Afternoon, Penny. I was wonderin’ if you might have a cold Coca-Cola in the back?” I pull a nickel from my pocket.
“Yep. We just got a truck yesterday.”
“I’ll take one.”
“Yep,” she says again, wiping a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her forehead and sighing.
“Say, you happen to see that new preacher lately? Bellflower? I need to talk to him about something.”
Penny frowns. “I dunno. Saw him going toward the creek this morning.” She takes the money from me, and her fingers brush mine. A pinging shock buzzes through me as her thoughts land inside my head. What’s she want with Reverend Bellflower? She ain’t pretty enough to turn his head.
I roll my eyes. “I ain’t interested in him that way, Penny.”
The words leave my mouth before I think. Penny’s wide-set brown eyes go a little wider. If I can hear someone’s thoughts whenever I touch them, I’m gonna need to be more careful about what I say in front of people. She moves to the back of the mercantile and tosses a wary glance over her shoulder, like she’s afraid I’ll walk off with half the store while she’s in the other room. When she comes back, she uncaps the bottle and hands it to me. Our fingers brush again. Whole family’s nothin’ but a bunch of inbred corncob hillbillies.
I smile and choke back a laugh. If she knew what I knew about her family tree, she wouldn’t be so proud. Midwives hold more family secrets than a priest at confession. “Was Bellflower with anyone when you saw him?”
“He was with your aunt Valerie.”
“I think they’re courtin’。 Seems to be pretty serious.” I take a swig of my cola, enjoying the way it burns a sweet path over my tongue. It’s a rare treat, one I’d normally feel guilty about indulging, but seeing as I just gave Morris all my savings, I don’t feel too bad.
“Ain’t Val a little old for him?”
I smirk. “I do believe he’s much older than he looks.”
Penny huffs and crosses her arms. “You need any other groceries? You were just here the other day.” That’s her not-so-subtle hint for me to get on down the road.
“No, I sure don’t. But thank you anyway.” I raise my bottle and down the rest of the soda, slamming the empty bottle on the counter. “Mighty obliged.”
I step back onto the porch, ignoring the dry-leaf rasp of the old codgers in their rocking chairs, and barrel right into Harlan Northrup. Goddammit. The last person I want to tangle with today.
“Whoa there, Gracie. What’s your rush?” He grins at me with his crooked yellow teeth, steadying me with a hand on my arm. His thoughts tunnel through my brain, unbidden. Look at the sweat runnin’ between them little titties. Bet they’re pink as a pig’s nose.
I gotta figure out a way to control this mind-reading thing. Find a way to turn it off. There’re some folks’ thoughts I never want to hear, and Harlan Northrup is one of them. “What do you want now, Harlan?”
“I was just wonderin’ about your cousin. Heard he got into a fight the other week.”
I feel the color drain from my face. He’s taunting me. I think over my words, knowing whatever I say next could make the difference for Morris. I decide to go along with what I told the marshal. “I ain’t seen him. Last I heard he was headed to Blytheville. He’s seein’ a girl there.”
Harlan smirks. “A girl, huh?” His fingers squeeze my arm. She thinks I don’t know Morris Doherty’s queer as a two-dollar bill?
Bile crawls up my throat. Just then, I wonder if Morris got beat up because he didn’t give the Northrups their full cut of money from the still—or because he likes boys. One is just as likely as the other.
“You and me both know he ain’t in Blytheville.” Harlan grabs me hard by the elbow and marches me under the mercantile’s eaves. He boxes me in, hands on either side of the wall behind my shoulders. The cedar shingles dig into my back. My eyes frantically scan for help, but everyone has disappeared. I could scream, but it’s likely no one would come. Northrups get to do whatever they want in this town.
“You sure are pretty, Gracie,” Harlan hisses, his oily dishwater hair swinging forward as he leers over me. “But you’re stupid. I saw you put Morris on the train this morning. Can’t mistake the sound of Seth’s old truck. I was at the Bakers’ house. Heard it go past. Followed you.”