The Cradle Robber. E. Joan Sims
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“Yellow jackets?” echoed Mother as she came into the room carrying a small tray with a steaming bowl and a plate of crackers. “No wonder you were upset. Were you stung, dear?”
I winked at Horatio and accepted the dinner tray from my mother. No use upsetting her by letting her in on what I thought had really happened.
“And when was this,” she asked, “before, or after someone shot at you? By the way dear, try not to use vulgar terminology. It’s so unladylike.”
Horatio smiled and shook his head in amazement. I laughed and happily slurped Mother’s divine bisque. She was right. Something so delicate and delicious couldn’t be called simply “soup.”
‘Chapter Four
Horatio and I sat up until after midnight discussing the possibility that some poor misguided soul had, as Leonard would say, the desire to take me out. Horatio found it very hard to believe that I had an enemy with a murderous bent, and I had to agree with him. Since I’d returned to Rowan Springs, I had kept a very low profile. Mother was the social butterfly. My social life consisted of going to the drive-through at the Dairy Queen, with perhaps an occasional visit to the library and grocery.
Mother was always trying to entice me to the country club, the First Baptist Church, or one of her bridge games. She raved about the chicken and almond salad at the Rose Tea Room and extolled the artistic virtues of belonging to the Creative Guild, but thus far, I had managed to avoid being drawn into any of the social activities of our fair city.
People in Rowan Springs ask first what your husband does for a living, then what church you attend. Since I have neither husband nor church, I am a pariah. The only standard “little southern town” question I can answer with some assurance of being held in any regard at all is, “What was your name before you married?” The fear of this serial interrogation alone was enough to keep me off the social merry-go-round. And while I hadn’t bothered to make friends, I certainly hadn’t put out the effort to make any enemies.
Around one-thirty in the morning, I walked Horatio to his car. Thanks to our rational conversation and his reassurances, my fear of assassination had vanished. I was even relaxed and comfortable enough to let Aggie have a run in the orchard after Horatio drove away.
There had been a full moon earlier in the evening, but it had gone to sleep behind the tall cedars on the faraway hills hours ago. The night sky was dark and full of clouds that were darker still. I heard the dry whisper of leathery wings as scores of bats fed on insects and returned to roost in the eaves of the outbuildings when they were replete.
I strolled beneath the spreading limbs of the fruit trees enjoying the coolness of the night breeze and the privacy the darkness afforded. Aggie ran back behind the raspberry patch and I lost sight of her. Rather than call out and break the magic of the moment, I followed.
A bright flash of lightening, followed by a loud clap of thunder took me completely by surprise. I yelped and Aggie barked. We both jumped about a foot. The first thunderous explosion was quickly succeeded by a second, and an even louder third. The night was suddenly filled with unfriendly fire and a barrage of hard-driving wind and rain that stung my unprotected face and quickly drenched my clothes.
Aggie didn’t need any urging. She ran beside me through the orchard toward the house. By the time we crossed the driveway, hail the size of marbles was falling with bruising force against my shoulders and head. The backyard was already full of the icy little balls. As I ran across the patio, my feet slipped out from under me and I fell backwards. Stunned, I lay there until it ceased to hail with the same sudden abruptness and I could hear Mother’s frightened voice calling frantically over the wind and rain. I got to my feet and staggered to the back porch where she was struggling to hold the screen door open for me. The wind billowed the skirt of her housecoat up around her knees and pulled tendrils of silver white hair from the sleek French twist.
“Paisley! Thank God! Are you all right?”
“I…I think so. My head hurts like hell. What in the world is going on?”
“Tornado warning!” she shouted over the increasing roar of the storm. “We’d better get inside quickly and take cover.”
She grabbed my hand and led me through the kitchen. The house was in total darkness. All the comforting little lights that normally twinkled from the coffee maker, microwave, and refrigerator were gone, but Mother had a flashlight. I followed her quickly through the house to the utility closet under the stairs. She opened the door and pushed me unceremoniously inside.
We sat huddled together on the dusty floor like two terrified children while Mother Nature threw a fierce electric temper tantrum all around us. The old house creaked and shivered. The logs that formed the inner walls of the rooms in the front were more than a century and a half old. I was uncomfortably reminded of that fact as I felt them shift ever so slightly with the wind.
It was impossible to be heard over the fury of the storm, so we didn’t even try to speak. Suddenly it went dead quiet. It was an unnatural and unhealthy silence. A sharp pain in my ears told me the atmospheric pressure had changed. Then we heard something strange. Not the roar of a freight train, but the splitting of trees as the tornado passed over us. I had heard that sound before. One winter when I was ten, I quite recklessly walked across the thin sheet of ice on the pond at the end of the lane. The ice had cracked beneath my feet with the same hollow sound as I hurried, breathless and strangely excited, to the other side.
There was no excitement now, only terror. Mother and I held hands tightly and stared up at the cobwebbed underside of the staircase. Dust sifted through the cracks and floated like a cloud in the beam of the flashlight as the floor swayed and creaked loudly above us.
“Oh, my God,” breathed Mother, prayerfully.
“Amen,” I whispered.
There was a great rustling sound, like a mighty sigh, and as quickly as it had begun it was all over. The dust continued to fall, but the house was still and at rest once again. Mother dropped the flashlight and covered her face with her hands. For a brief moment I thought she was going to cry, but she straightened up and gave me a slightly crooked little smile.
“Wow!”
“You can say that again,” I laughed hoarsely. “You okay, Mother?”
“I think so, but we need to get you some dry clothes. You must be freezing.”
I sneezed right on cue, then got to my feet and helped her up. We had to bend over to avoid bumping our heads on the stairs. That’s when I noticed that Aggie wasn’t in the closet with us.
“Mother! Where’s the dog?”
“Why, I don’t know. Wasn’t she with you?”
“Damn! What if she didn’t come back in the house?”
Mother didn’t even correct my vulgar language in her distress.
“Oh, my goodness. I’m almost positive she did. Poor little thing! She must be terrified. We have to find her quickly.”
We found two more flashlights in the kitchen and some extra batteries when the original ones died. For two hours we searched every room in the dark house. We looked under all the beds and in the closets. Mother suggested that Aggie was so frightened she might not come when we called. I reminded her that Aggie never came when she was called.
“Oh, Paisley, don’t speak ill of the sweet little thing. Have you thought of what you’re going to tell Cassandra when you pick her up at the airport tomorrow without her puppy?”
“Rats! I forgot about having to pick up Cassie. I have to get some sleep or I’ll never make it.”
But I couldn’t.
I lay in the bed with my eyes closed while the sound of splitting trees played over and over again in my memory. Occasionally I heard the siren going off in town, but there was no sound of cars on the road. The electricity was still out, and I found that very disconcerting. There is a big difference