Tucker’s Grove (12 page)

Elspeth whimpered, then gibbered, begged, and wept, until she finally collapsed so deeply
inside herself that she could do nothing but watch and listen.

“
Elspeth, hear me now. The time for violent rituals and bloody sacrifices is over. The Dark Ones have had to adapt to survive to the modern age. They
’
ve had to become more co
m
patible with manki
nd
’
s need, more accommodating to a civilized way of life.”
He smiled at her as she hung helpless, bound by shining barbed wire. “
But even so, They do still enjoy an occ
a
sional,
special
sacrifice.”

He bent down and picked up the broken altar stone as if it
b
e
longed to him and easily tucked the heavy fragment under his arm, though it had taken Elspeth ropes and a lever to move it.

The stranger turned and walked away down the lane without a backward glance.

From the fenceline the crows set up a loud, squawkin
g racket. The big crow, their black leader, joined them at last, but this time, instead of just watching, the birds flew down to feast.

Strange shadows accompanied the sunset, and galloping along with them came the black horse, hooves chewing
up the dirt
main street of Tucker
’
s Grove, leaving its imprint bold among the
crowded tracks.
A small figure crouched on the horse
’
s back, a dwarf dressed in a brilliant blue tunic and scarlet cap.

The dwarf held a rolled sheet of paper in the crook of one
arm as he guided the black horse with his other hand. Past quiet storefronts, past the saloon, past the three old men who sat on the boardwalk every afternoon at five o
’
clock to talk about the weather, the dwarf pulled his horse to a halt in front of the
town
’
s gallows. The gallows had never been used in Tucker
’
s Grove, though every town needed them, if only to scare away the rif
f
raff.

The dwarf unrolled the paper and
smoothed out the wrinkles then, without
dismounting, he tacked it to one of the wooden be
ams of the gallows. Finished, he spurred the horse into
motion again
, and was gone the way he had come.

The sunset continued without him.

People began to gather, led by their own curiosity and the three old men whose never-changing discussion had been so r
udely inte
r
rupted. They circled the gallows post, pushing closer to stare at the poster.

Collier and Black
’
s Traveling Circus

ONE NIGHT ONLY

Cameo sketches of clowns, tightrope walkers, trapeze artists, a fire eater, and a knife thrower formed a border a
round the pos
t
er, but the central image showed a tall mahogany-skinned woman dressed in flowing robes, her eyes staring out of the paper. Flowing lions surrounded her, snarling at something only they could see, dodging the caress of her whip.

From Abyssin
ia
—
Ramonza, Mistress of the Lions

As the crowd gazed at the poster. A fat man, who had moved to Tucker
’
s Grove from Chicago, muttered, “
A circus! About time we had something out this way.”

Isolated in the Wisconsin farmland, the town rarely drew a
t
tention
: a clump of people who had followed their dreams to vi
r
gin land, or maybe they had just lost their momentum on the way to somewhere else. Founded forty years earlier, Tucker
’
s Grove had never thrived, though it wasn
’
t quite stillborn.

And now a circus was coming to town….

The tents set up just outside of town. People gathered to watch, but the circus recruited no help from the locals. Someone sold pennants; stores closed as if it were a holiday; entirely u
n
necessary posters were tacked up around town. The Methodist minister cried out that circuses were evil, but nobody listened. The dwarf sold tickets; and people smiled. Tucker
’
s Grove had begun to come alive.

At nightfall the town was empty, but not the cir
cus tents. The people sat scattered among rickety wooden benches
—
not a big crowd, but Tucker
’
s Grove did the best it could.

The ringmaster stood before the audience and introduced the first act. A fire-eater performed to applause, then two tired-looking ac
robats, then a clown, but the audience had been captivated by the haunting picture of Ramonza and her lions that threatened to leap from the poster.

The ringmaster stepped into the center of the ring again.

“
Ladies and gentlemen! Collier and Black
’
s Trave
ling Circus is proud to present, from the heart of darkest Africa
—
Ramonza, Mistress of the Lions!”

Suddenly Ramonza was there, standing among her lions, the torchlight reflecting off her dark skin. The five lions, two males and three females, flowed around
her, unchained, snarling at the audience.

The crowd fell into a hush of joyous fear, then erupted with applause.

With a superior smile, Ramonza searched the faces, scrutini
z
ing the people of Tucker
’
s Grove. She snapped her fingers at the lions, and they
fell into a neat row like feline soldiers.

Turning away from the benches, Ramonza motioned to the cats, and her lions performed, first
jumping through a ring of fire, then they
made a pyramid of themselves. For a time they rolled large colorful balls about
and chased after the clowns.

Once again, Ramonza snapped her fingers, and the lions lined themselves up on the far side of the
ring; in unison they sat on their haunches,
keeping their slitted amber eyes on the crowd.

Ramonza stepped forward and coiled th
e whip in one hand. For the first time, she spoke to the audience, her voice thick and resonant inside the tent. “
For my final act, I require a volunteer from the audience.”

The crowd fell silent, frozen in time. Nobody dared move, afraid that any action m
ight be misinterpreted. Ramonza ran the braided leather of her whip through her fingers. Waiting.

Grunting to himself, the fat man from
Chicago lifted a chubby hand and stood,
swinging his girth as he pushed past people to descend the rickety wooden benche
s. “
All right, all right.”
He chuckled in embarrassment and looked at the faces around him, as if expecting to hear cheers. He reached the circle and walked out to meet Ramonza like a man about to sell livestock.

She regarded the man with her dark eyes, th
en spread her lips in a smile. “
Yes, you
’
ll do fine.”

“
What do I have to do?”
He gave a gentlemanly bow to her, then to the audience. “
I was in a play once, back in Chicago.”

“
Just stay where you are. The lions will do all the work.”

She backed away to sta
nd behind the neat row of lions. The cats tensed, gazing at the volunteer. Ramonza muttered som
e
thing that only he and the lions could hear.

“
Kill.”

Muscles rippling, the lions rushed forward. The smug grin on the fat man
’
s face dropped away, replaced with
disbelief. He turned to run, but the lions were upon him in an instant.

The crowd hesitated in an awed silence for a long moment, hearing nothing but the lions feeding. Then, slowly, they began to applaud.

Pinfeathers spurted into the air,
and the sparrow
’
s song fell silent. The wings continued to twitch after the bird struck the ground.

Clinton Tucker cracked open the shotgun and reloaded it with birdshot. He squinted in the afternoon sunlight but couldn
’
t see any more sparrows. Birds didn
’
t stay much by his farm anymore.

Tucker stepped off the dusty porch
—
no one bothered to sweep up around the house now that Angela had left him. He carried the shotgun into the yard where a few ancient box elders stood around the white farmhouse. The leaves
would turn color soon in the coming autumn, red and yellow and brown.

As a boy, Tucker remembered jumping into mounds of co
l
ored leaves in the farmyard. Joyful times, foolish times. He frowned at himself, then locked away the boyhood memories where he wa
s safe from them.

He looked down the long hill, tracing the path of the dirt road to the buildings and whitewashed fences of Tucker
’
s Grove. Though Clinton Tucker
’
s great grandfather had founded the
tiny town sixty years before, the townspeople scorned Clinton, and he scorned them right back. He didn
’
t have much good land and not much help to farm it, though harvest time was near. The big barn stood behind the house, snoring softly in the wind throu
g
h its cracked and peeling boards, empty except for some years-old straw in the loft.

Tucker spent many nights outside by himself, walking under the stars like some nocturnal predator. He had been lonely once, then bitter, but now even those feelings were d
ead. He could r
e
member a time when he might have asked for help from the neighbors and given it freely in return, but not anymore. He had no desire for false friendship, would never let himself be hurt again. Better to hold tight to his grim coldness after
what Angela had done to him. It was safest that way.

He had tried to love her, he had let down his wall for her
—
but she only used that to expose his vulnerable spots. And now she had deserted him. His face flushed, and his teeth ground together. Angela.
B
itch!

He fired his shotgun into the air and listened to the echoes bounce around the hills, reaching all the way to the town.

What had she been thinking of? How could she
dare
leave him?

Night. Angela pounds on the door to the parsonage, panicked. Where
is Mrs. Litch? Why is it taking her so long to answer the door? Angela
’
s legs tremble, unaccustomed to running.

—
Why, Angela! Malcolm, it
’
s Angela Tucker!

—
Help me! He
’
s so
cruel,
Mrs. Litch! He has fits! He hits me.

—
Come in, Angela. Come in. We
’
ll get yo
u a glass of warm milk. You
’
re in a terrible state!

She enters. The door closes. Safety. Safety? Clinton never cared for the Methodist minister personally, nor the church in ge
n
eral. Safety?

—
Tonight he slapped me, and I ran! He
’
ll know where I am! You hav
e to hide me. You don
’
t know how he
is!
He thinks he
’
s seeing wolves again.

—
There, there, Angela…
Malcolm, are you getting this poor girl some milk?

The minister
’
s wife pats her on the back. Comfort.

—
You know what they say about your husband, don
’
t you, d
ear? That he had a high fever when he was a boy? Made him wrong in the head. Uncontrollable.

The minister hands her a glass of hot milk.

—
Wolves? he asks, then shakes his head.

She sips the milk, burns her tongue, almost drops the glass. She is trembling.
Mrs. Litch takes the milk away.

—
You
’
ve had a bad fright, Angela. You
’
ll stay with us here t
o
night. No question about it. I
’
ll get some blankets out right now. Don
’
t you worry. Everything will be all right.