The Devil's Beating His Wife (11 page)

Pushing away, Mother stared into my eyes. "I love you, Baxter. You know that, right?"

"Yes, Mama. I know. I love you, too."

"You have always been a good boy. I'm so very proud that you are my son."

I leaned forward and placed a kiss against her brow. "I'll be back," I whispered.

She stared at my face. A sad smile tugged at her lips. Her mouth opened but then closed sharply. Instead, she nodded and patted the side of my face. "I know you will, baby," she murmured. Her thumb tugged at my lips before she turned away and left the room.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the hallway. The sound of a door opening caught my attention, and I turned towards the sound.

Father stood at the front door, leaning against the screen. As I walked closer to him, he watched me and opened the door wide so I could step out onto the porch. "I guess I should ask you not to do anything stupid," he said.

Cocking my head to the side, I briefly considered returning to my room, but I dismissed the thought. I couldn't hide in my room as long as Spicey was out there.

"It would do no good," I said.

He nodded at me and pulled the door closed. We stood staring at each other, the screen separating our faces. He reached up, hooked the latch, and stepped back, shutting the door.

I climbed down the stairs and walked to my father's truck. As I slid into the cab, I pulled the gun from my waistband and placed it on the seat beside me. I wanted it to be handy in case I needed it.

Turning the engine, I glanced towards the house and caught the movement of curtains. As I drove down the lane leading from the house, I noticed the lights being turned off from room to room. I pulled onto the county road and drove into the main part of town.

A bright red outline lit the sky. House after house sat engulfed in flames. I slowed my truck as I noticed a colored man running across the street, a child in his arms. A colored woman, maybe his wife, ran behind him with another child holding her hand. The man loaded his family into their truck. Hardly a second ticked by before he had whipped the vehicle around and drove off down the road.

People were running up and down the streets, screaming out names. Periodically, I could hear gun blasts over the screams. Some people sat in the road, sobbing at the destruction of their homes. Others ran to vehicles, hoping to escape the violence. Two bodies lay on the sidewalk, and judging from the blood pooled around them, they weren't running anywhere else.

I drove past Della's store. Or at least the burning remains of it. I sped down the lane that led to her house. The sun had already set, but there was enough light from the fires that I could maneuver around the fleeing people.

A flash of white darted in front my truck, and I slammed on the brakes. I looked through the windshield and stared into Spicey's face. Her eyes widened with terror as she stepped back from the truck.

I grabbed the door and pushed it open. Leaping onto the street, I paid no attention to the clenching sensation in my leg. As I neared Spicey, I could hear her muttering.

"Don't touch me. Don't touch me," she said, placing her hands between us.

I took her hands into mine and I pulled her close. She balled up her fists and struck at my face, connecting with my mouth. I ignored the sharp pain as I tried to wrap myself around her flying arms. "Shh. Shh. I'm not going to hurt you."

She relaxed in my arms and I lowered my head to her shoulder. Before I could get us off the street, she reared back her head and smashed it against my face. I stumbled back and fell to the ground as she turned and ran into the darkness.

It took me a moment to get my bearings. I shook my head, trying to clear the ringing in my ears. She had really rung my bell with that one.

I got to my feet and looked around the small block of homes. For generations, the colored residents of Allentown had called this neighborhood their home. Some of the houses were burning to the ground as the residents ran for their lives, leaving behind family possessions. Other homes remained dark and silent with no hint of movement inside.

The night was filled with terrible yelling. As my body rocked with shivers, I noticed the whiteness of Spicey's dress as she ran. Behind her were two men, chasing her. Mocking her.

Taking off after them, I willed my damaged leg to work with me. The skin and muscle pulled tightly as I trotted across the ground. One of the men had caught Spicey, wrapping his hands around her waist. He whipped her around and tossed her onto the ground, laughing with his accomplishment.

He looked up at me, and I recognized his face. Richard Moran. While his attention was on me, Spicey pulled her leg back and kicked him in the groin, causing him to double over in pain. The other man, a stranger, grabbed her hair and punched her in the face.

I leapt at his back and wrapped my forearm around his neck. We fell onto the ground. He struggled in my arms as I tightened my hold. His hands slapped my face, but I kept my grip, until his eyes closed and he fell to the ground.

"You kill him?" Spicey said, staring at me.

"No. I put him to sleep." I walked over to her and offered my hand. She looked back at Richard as he moaned in pain. She glanced at me and I knew she was considering her options. Finally, she reached out and placed her hand into mine.

We ducked low and ran back to the truck. Richard yelled after us, but I couldn't make out the words. I had opened the passenger door and helped Spicey into the truck when I heard the sound of glass shattering. Slamming her door shut, I walked to the front of the truck and noticed one of the lights had been shot out.

A body appeared before me, and I noticed a gun aimed at my head. "Didn't you say that one shouldn't hold a weapon unless they were willing and able to use it?" came Carver's voice. The sound of a gunshot barely registered in my mind before I felt the sharp sting tear across my cheek and nick my ear. The bullet broke through the windshield. I heard Spicey's shriek, but I couldn't look back to see if she was hit. My eyes were locked on my brother as he stepped closer to me.

"That was just a warning shot. The next one will be right at that bitch's head." The gun wavered in his hand. "You held a gun on me. How could you do that, big brother? How could you?" He shot again and I flinched. I heard Spicey drop down on the seat, and I wasn't sure if she had been hit.

It wasn't until I heard her pleas for Jesus that I knew he hadn't shot her. I asked him, "What are you doing, Carver?"

"I'm purging this town of its dark presence. What are you doing, Baxter?"

"I'm leaving town."

"With that bitch, huh? You finally got her. Damn shame that she probably ain't going willingly."

I inhaled sharply and stepped towards my brother. He raised the gun and pressed it against my forehead. "You don't think that I'd pull the trigger."

"I know you won't," I said, confident that he wouldn't.

His jaw tensed as he pushed the barrel against my skin. I could see his finger caress the trigger. One small twitch and my brains would be blown all over the truck.

A small hiccup erupted from his mouth as he dropped his gun. "You son of a bitch. You should have died over there. It would have been less painful than this."

"Why are you doing this, Carver?"

His shoulders sagged in despair. His head hung low. "Get out of here, brother." When I didn't immediately move, he lifted the gun and pointed it at me. "Leave!" he roared.

I stepped away from him, never turning my back. I lifted my hand and felt for the door handle. Pulling the door open, I climbed into the cab and damn near cried with relief when I noticed Spicey crouched down with open and seeing eyes.

Turning on the engine, I backed away from my brother standing in the road. The flames in the background framed him. As I drove away, I knew that more than physical distance separated us once again.

Spicey sat up in the seat. She stared out the window, watching the town burn. I reached out and tapped her thigh. She brushed my hand away and wiped at the skin where I touched her.

"I have to find my mama," she said.

I had forgotten about Della. "Where was she last?"

She turned towards me. "At the store," she finally said.

We had put some distance between ourselves and town. I couldn't turn back at this point. I wouldn't turn back. "We'll look for her in the morning."

"No, we need to go back."

"Are you insane? Carver, that bastard, could have killed us. The others probably would. We will go back tomorrow. And hope that cooler minds have prevailed."

We sat in silence as I drove down the dark county road. I could take us to the next town and then come back to search for Della. Maybe I could appeal to the sheriff there, and he could bring some peacekeepers to settle the town.

Unexpectedly, Spicey opened the door and hurled herself from the truck. I stomped on the brakes, screeching to a stop. I pushed open my door and ran back to where she had fallen.

She wasn't where she should have been. I ran to the side of the road and realized it sloped down into a ditch. There she was, struggling to get to her feet.

"You goddamned fool. You could have killed yourself," I said, grabbing her arm and pulling her up.

She whimpered in pain and clutched her left leg. There was raw, exposed skin on her arm, and a deep, bloody gash on her forehead. Stones were embedded in her skin.

I ran my hands over her body, feeling for any breaks. I was surprised she allowed me to touch her. She didn't make a sound, even as my fingers skimmed over her breasts and buttocks. "Where are you hurt?"

"We have to find my mama."

"We will. I promise we'll return for her in the morning, but right now we need to find someplace safe."

Spicey stepped down onto her injured ankle and winced. She limped around me and tried to climb the slope. Her leg collapsed beneath her and she slid back down to my feet.

Knowing the damned inconvenience of a lame leg, I leaned down and offered my hand. She slapped it away, so I stepped back. She struggled to her feet and tried to climb the slope again. This time, she bent closer to the ground. Moving more slowly, and using her hands and feet, she was able to make it up to the road. I stayed behind her the whole time in case she slipped and started to slide back down the slope.

At the road, she glanced back towards the town, then at my truck, and finally at me. Shaking her head in resignation, she began to limp towards the town. I staggered behind her, waiting for her to collapse in exhaustion. We had walked nearly a quarter of a mile when I heard hollering and loud jeers. A hunt was on, and we had no more time to waste on this road.

"We have to go back to the truck and get someplace safe," I said.

She had stopped when she heard the same sounds. She peered over her shoulder and her back stiffened. "I'm not leaving her."

"And we won't leave her. We'll return for her in the morning."

Laughter floated out from the dark woods. I wasn't sure if people were peering at us from the darkness, and listening to our conversation. Silently, I walked up to Spicey and wrapped my hand around her mouth. Her eyes widened and I could feel her tense beneath my fingers.

I lifted my finger to my lips and nodded my head towards the trees. "There are people out there. We have to get back to the truck."

Her body tensed as she looked towards the woods. I wrapped my arms around her, lifted her up, and carried her back to the truck. I was pushing my leg to its limits. If I kept up this pace, my leg would eventually fail me.

She fought for a moment as I opened the door and pushed her inside. But the sound of movement in the trees silenced her struggles. I slammed the door and ran to the driver's side of the truck. I climbed in just as bodies burst through the trees. I drove off down the road, glancing at the rearview mirror. Three men stood on the road watching the truck speed away.

My leg was strained. My mind numb. Spicey was hurt and her injuries needed to be tended to. I needed to stop someplace. I didn't think that we could make it to town.

It was like a honeysuckle bush had bloomed in the cab. I could smell it filling my nostrils. Colsen's farm.

We continued down the road until I took the turnoff to the small abandoned farm. She raised her hand and placed it against the dashboard as she peered out the shattered windshield. "Not this place."

"This is our best bet for the night. No one is going to come out here."

"Those men in the woods. You don't think they know about this place? Everybody knows about Colsen's farm."

"But no one wants to come here. We will be safe here."

I drove around the house and pulled into the old barn, hoping it would hide the truck. I turned off the engine and glanced toward Spicey. She looked back at the house, and then turned to me with dark frightened eyes. "I hate this place."

"Maybe the others do, too," I joked.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

I didn't answer her. I felt around on the seat, trying to locate my gun. It wasn't where I had left it. I climbed out of the truck and felt under the seat. The gun must have fallen into a corner. As much as I might need it, I needed to get her inside the house even more.

Grunting with frustration, I walked to the edge of the yard. Above our heads, the trees thinned enough that the moon's light illuminated the farmhouse. Without a word, I walked to the house and stepped through the back door.

Spicey stood outside the door and eyed the house. She looked frightened. I held the door open and beckoned her inside.

She pushed the door wide and stepped into the kitchen. "I think I'd rather take my chances in the woods." There was a loud banging sound against the house. Her eyes widened and she jumped. "What was that?"

I pushed aside the curtain and peered out the window. I waited and watched, expecting to see my brother's golden hair appear on the other side of the glass. I didn't hear a sound or see any movement. I let the curtain fall.

Our eyes had adjusted to the darkened house. I offered my hand, and she glanced down at it and then at my face. "Why did you stop for me?"