Silk and Stone (5 page)

Sarah groaned. “Mrs. Big Stick, I had a cesarean twelve hours ago.”

“I can’t help that.
Sit up.
”

She nodded wanly. Clara and Rachel helped her scoot back and lean against the pillows. They smoothed her frilly cotton nightgown, and Clara made a satisfied mental note of the stains on the front. “You’re feeding them yourself?” she asked.

Sarah chuckled. “Oh, yes. They eat like horses. The nurses think I’m being peculiar, but I don’t want bottles.”

“Nurses are crazy.” The poor, abused girl had the courage to smile at her. “See my beautiful babies?” She pointed to a pair of bassinets beside the bed. Clara nodded brusquely and went to them, shaking her head in disgust when she saw how many clothes they wore. Goodness, the spirits would think these two couldn’t survive at all.

She removed their tiny shirts, their caps, their diapers, then sighed with relief. One boy, one girl. A good
balance. “What do you think?” Rachel asked, peering over her shoulder worriedly. She spoke only in Cherokee, as Clara had instructed. Best that the spirits think these babies belonged entirely to the people. “Big, with clear eyes,” Clara noted approvingly. “Strong genitals.” She peered into their eyes and stroked their fine black hair. Their skin would be awfully pale, she feared, and their light eyes would undoubtedly be green, like their mother’s.

“They have it,” Rachel said proudly, laying one gnarled hand on each of their heads. “Like me. They have the gift. I can feel it.”

“Are you certain?” Clara looked at her, impressed but worried. This complicated things. Extra precautions would be necessary.

Rachel nodded. “They’ll know how to find things.”

“You must teach them how to go along carefully, then.”

“I will.”

Clara quickly moved vases of flowers off a little table, and rolled it near the bassinets. She set out a black pottery bowl that had been made by her great-grandmother in Oklahoma, then broke dried tobacco and herbs into it. “What are their names?” she asked Sarah in English.

Sarah smiled wider. “Jacob, for Hugh’s brother, and Eleanore, for my grandmother.”

“Strong names. You did well.”

Sarah’s smile faltered. “No, I almost died during labor. But I love them so much. Please do your best for them. I don’t think I’ll be able to have any more children.”

“I had only two,” Rachel Raincrow said. “Two are plenty if they’re the right two.”

Sarah’s face brightened. “I agree. And Hugh said the same thing.”

Clara struck a match and dropped it in the bowl. Seconds later, fragrant smoke wafted up. Clara stroked it with both hands, urging it to spread and purify the room. She concentrated on the bowl, chanting sacred prayer formulas. When the time was right, she would hold each newborn baby over the smoke, enveloping
the new souls in a cocoon of goodwill from the spirits.

“My God, what’s going on here?”

Clara jerked her head up, appalled at the damage this intrusion might do, and its rudeness. Two people stood in the doorway—a young blond woman with disrepect in her eyes, and an older man whose red hair signified some relation to Sarah. The woman was dressed in high heels, a straight skirt, and a flowing maternity blouse with a soft white bow at the throat. Her belly made a distinct mound under the expensive-looking material.

Sarah’s brother frowned. He was the one who had spoken.

“William, what are you doing here?” Sarah asked, leaning forward with painful urgency. “Don’t interrupt. It’s a ceremony.”

“Sarah’s brother,” Rachel whispered darkly. “And his wife. The one who stole the ruby.”

Clara drew back in alarm. Oh, this was a terrible sign. “I’m working,” she said as calmly as she could. “Please, stay out.”

The man fumbled with a large, wrapped present he held in both hands. “I don’t intend to interfere, sister. I merely wondered what this is all about. I brought”—his face flushed, he held out the package—“
we
brought the babies a gift.”

Sarah cupped a hand over her mouth. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “I can’t accept it.”

“Please.” His tone had a sad urgency. He set the package on a chair by the door. “Please take it. I’d like your children to know their uncle cares about them. No matter your disagreement with me, please don’t shut me out of their lives. They’ll be welcome at Highview.”

Sarah looked away and swallowed hard. “They’ll make up their own minds about you. Hugh and I won’t raise them to hate their own uncle.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice ragged. He went over to the babies and looked down at them tenderly. “They’re perfect, sister. Absolutely perfect.”

Smoke billowed from Clara’s pot. William stared at it curiously but said nothing. Clara fanned the fragrant
cloud and kept one eye on his wife, whose pretty face had grown darker. A shiver crept down Clara’s backbone. A shiver—and the intuition that made her such a good medicine woman. There was danger here. Her eyes widened, and her hands froze in the blue-white smoke. She scrutinized the wife with unrelenting concern. “What about me, Sarah?” the wife asked coolly. “Will you raise your children to hate me?”

“I’ll tell them the truth,” Sarah shot back. One of the babies sneezed. Sarah’s brother scowled at Clara, but took his wife’s arm. “Let’s leave them to their ceremony,” he said firmly.

His wife covered his hand with hers and looked from him to the babies with a meaningful nod. “They’re probably catching a cold. And this smoke can’t be healthy for them—my eyes are beginning to water. Think what it’s doing to them.”

“Well, I don’t think—”

“William, is this the kind of, well,
bizarre
ritual you want performed for
our
baby? It makes me nervous.”

“No need to be alarmed,” he answered quickly, patting her arm. “It’s a Cherokee custom. No harm in that.”

“Sarah’s lying here looking exhausted, and the babies are having trouble breathing.”

“They’re
fine,
” Sarah interjected. “And so am I.”

The wife gazed at her sympathetically. “You’re trying to honor Hugh’s family customs, I’m sure. But, Sarah, this is primitive and, well, unnecessary.”

“There is something unnecessary in this room,” Clara announced loudly. “But it’s
you
, not my smoke.”

Sarah’s sister-in-law drew back with a wounded expression. Her eyes shifted to her husband. “I’m concerned only for your nephew and niece. Don’t let me be insulted for feeling that way.”

Her husband shifted uneasily to Sarah. “Perhaps she’s right, sister. This kind of ceremony, no matter how well-intentioned, doesn’t belong in a hospital room. You’ll set off the sprinklers.”

Sarah was sitting upright now, rigid, her eyes glittering. “Leave. Just leave, before you ruin it.”

“Your sister’s glassy-eyed from pain medication,” the wife whispered. “Do something, William. She’s not thinking straight.”

His mouth moved in silent distress. He was plainly caught between two hard walls, Clara thought. Rachel Raincrow waved her hands. “Judge, you let us finish. We know what we’re doing.”

“
William,
” Sarah added, her voice slurred but full of warning. She scrubbed a hand loosely across her perspiring face. “Don’t meddle. Don’t let your mealy-mouthed wife cause more trouble.”

Sarah’s brother stiffened. Clara sighed heavily. Sarah had said the wrong thing. Never provoke a man to take sides against his wife. “Alexandra’s right,” he told his sister. He looked at his wife. “Call one of the nurses.”

Sarah yelped. “No, Alexandra, wait—” But she had already pivoted on her high heels and hurried out. Clara stood in furious silence. Rachel wrung her hands together. “Judge, you fool. You blind fool.”

“I’m doing what I think is best,” he said, a muscle popping in his jaw. “Sarah, you have to believe that.”

Sarah sank back on the pillows, gaping at him. “That’s what you said when you gave our family’s heirloom to her.”

“There. Look at what these two characters are up to.” His wife appeared in the doorway again with a starched nurse glowering beside her. The nurse said swiftly, “Mrs. Vanderveer, I swear I didn’t know what they were doing.” The nurse barged in, grabbed a cup of water from the bedside stand, and dumped it in Clara’s bowl.

Rachel Raincrow gasped. “Clara, fix it.”

“It’s too late,” Clara announced in Cherokee. She stared in horror at her bowl. “The spirits have been insulted.”

“No, oh, no—”

Sarah pounded her fists on the bed. “Get your meddling tramp out of my room.”

Her brother turned anxiously, his hands out. “Don’t talk that way. Please—” His jaw worked spasmodically. “Alexandra, apologize.”

His wife raised her chin and looked at him. “I’m sorry for trying to take care of your sister and her children.”

“Dear, I didn’t mean anything like
that
. I meant—”

“Enough,” Clara said. She knew this was a lost cause. She emptied her bowl in a sink in one corner, then packed her things in her bag. Rachel Raincrow huddled over the babies as if she had the power to undo the harm. Sarah Raincrow said other things to her brother and his wife, bad things, not what family should talk of.

Clara shivered. Still speaking Cherokee, she said, “Rachel Raincrow, we must go. I’m getting dirty. Come on, please. We need to discuss this alone.”

“Rachel, I’m sorry,” Sarah cried. “Tell Mrs. Big Stick I want her to come back later. Or she can come to the Cove next week—”

“No.” Clara faced the poor girl and shook her head sadly. “This is not like giving a shot of penicillin. There is a time for it, and when that time is past, well—you’ll have to do the best you can. I’ll pray for you and your children.”

Clara hoisted her bag and marched out of the room. She waited in the lobby, grim-faced, until Rachel Raincrow joined her. Rachel’s hooded eyes were terrified. “Tell me the truth,” Rachel said.

Clara stared at the floor. Giving bad news to people was the only unpleasant part of her work. She stalled. Maybe Rachel wouldn’t pressure her. “Tell me,” Rachel repeated, grasping her arm. “I have to know.”

Clara lifted her head. Her eyes met Rachel’s. “I’ll try to help you with the children. I don’t know how much good it will do. For now, I need to know all you can tell me about that woman.”

“Oh, Clara, why? I’m already worried about her being a witch.”

“It’s worse than that.” She could barely say the word, it was such a horrible threat. She whispered it furtively. “
Ravenmocker.
”

Rachel Raincrow moaned. Bowing her head, she shielded it with both arms.

Ginger Monroe Flemming had done even better in marriage than Alexandra, a fact Alexandra secretly loathed. Her old schoolmate had married into the South Carolina Flemmings of Flemmings Pharmaceuticals.
Very
old money, very big money, very much the epitomy of Charleston society. It galled Alexandra when Ginger arrived for a weekend visit driving a Rolls Royce sedan and accompanied by her own maid.

William and she had only a grumbling housekeeper who served double-duty as a cook. William was devoted to the furtive black creature and her equally recalcitrant husband, who kept the gardens up as well as caring for the two Arabian mares Alexandra had brought to Highview after their marriage.

Alexandra couldn’t convince him to fire them and let her staff the house with people of her own choosing. Since the birth of his sister’s children, and that bizarre incident at the hospital, William had been moody with her. She was treading lightly, coddling him these days, as she waited out the last two months of her pregnancy.

Ginger’s visit only made the frustration worse.

“It’s absolutely lovely here,” Ginger said, leaning back in a white wooden chair on the lake dock to catch the spring sunshine. Behind them, crickets droned sleepily in the grass of the back lawn; before them a secluded inlet of Pandora Lake stretched to steep hills covered in giant firs and rhododendron.

Sipping iced tea, Alexandra lay on a cushioned lounge beside her, feeling bloated and encumbered by a belly that was growing more enormous every day. “You live in paradise,” Ginger continued heedlessly, stroking wavy brunette hair back from her forehead with one hand and rubbing suntan lotion on her face with the other. “No humidity, no gnats. I can work on my tan without sweating and swatting at things. The air is so clean. My sinuses haven’t bothered me since I got here. And the scenery—oh, Alex, I can’t believe the views you’ve shown me outside town. And
town
is the
cutest
place, right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. I envy you.”

Alexandra scowled behind black sunglasses. “We have five churches and no movie theater. The owner of our only restaurant thinks yeast rolls and overdone sirloin are haute cuisine, and the best clothing shop we have stocks dungarees next to the dress rack. Once you drive off the main roads, nothing is paved, and the electricity went out for an entire week last winter. Deer eat the shrubbery, and last month the postman totaled his new pickup truck when he ran into a bear. It made the headlines for two weeks in our newspaper.”

Ginger laughed. “Don’t you see? That’s why this place is so fascinating to lowlanders. It’s quiet and unspoiled, tucked up here in the top of the mountains.”