Angel Fire East

CHAPTER 10

Bennett Scott walked out of Nest Freemark's backyard and into Sinnissippi Park, head lowered, wincing against the brightness of the sun. A crystalline coating of frost lingered in shadowed patches of brittle grass and crunched beneath her boots when she walked on it. She watched Harper skip ahead of her, singing softly to herself, lost in that private child's world where adults aren't allowed. She recalled it from her own childhood, a not-so-distant past tucked carefully away in her memory. It was a world she had gone into all the time when growing up, often when she was seeking escape from Big Momma and the unpleasantness of her real life. She supposed Harper did the same, and it made her want to weep.

"Mommy, birdies!" the little girl called out, pointing at a pair of dark shadows winging through the trees.

"Robins," Bennett guessed, smiling at her daughter.

"Obbins," Harper parroted, and skipped ahead once more, watching the fluid movement of her shadow as it stretched out beside her.

Bennett tossed back her dark hair and lifted her face bravely against the sunlight. It would be better here, she thought. Better than it had been on the streets, when she was using all the time. Better than in the shelters, where she always kept her switchblade in one hand and Harper's wrist in the other. Better, even, than in the rehab units where she always felt used up and hopeless, where she went through the litany of recovery and still craved a fix all the time. She had tried to shield Harper, but the truth was, everything originated with her. There was no protection without separation, and she couldn't bear that.

But it had happened a few times, just because it was necessary if she was to survive. That was behind her now, so she could bear to think of it again, if only just. But she had left Harper in places rats called home and with people she wouldn't trust a dog with if she were thinking straight, and it was something of a miracle that nothing bad had happened to her baby. Coming back to Hopewell and to Nest was an attempt to set all that straight, to prevent any more incidents, to stop exposing Harper to the risks her mother had chosen to embrace. The men, the sex, the sickness, the drugs, the life— all rolled up into one big ball of evil that would drag her down and bury her if she gave it enough space in her life.

No more, she thought. Not ever.

They crossed the ball diamonds to the roadway fronting the bluffs and walked to the crest of the slope to look down over the bayou and the river beyond. Harper had found a stick and was dragging it through patches of frost, making designs. Bennett took out a cigarette, lit it, inhaled deeply, and sighed. She was a mess. She wasn't using, but her health was shot and her head was all fuzzy inside where reason warred with need and emotions fragmented every few days in a fireworks display that was truly awesome. She thought of her mother and hoped she was burning in hell, then immediately regretted the thought. Tears filled her eyes. She had loved her mother, loved her desperately, the way she hoped Harper loved her. But her mother had abandoned her, disappointed her, and rejected her time and again. What was left for her when it happened so often but to flee, to try to save herself? Her flight had saved her life, perhaps, but had cost her in measurable increments her childhood innocence and sense of self-worth and any chance of escaping her mother's addict life.

But it would be different for Harper. She had made that vow on the morning she had learned at the free clinic she was pregnant and had decided whatever higher power had given her this one last chance at something good, she wasn't going to mess it up.

So here she was, come back to where she had started, back to where a few things still seemed possible. She was dressed in another woman's clothing, and the clothes her child wore had been stolen from or discarded by others, but even so she felt new and hopeful. Nest Freemark had been so good to her in the past. If anyone could help her find a way back from the dark road she had traveled, it was Nest.

A train whistle sounded, distant and forlorn in the midday silence, echoing across the gray, flat surface of the Rock.

"Choo choo," Harper said, and she made some train noises. She shuffled around in a circle, dragging her stick, chuffing out clouds of breath into the sunshine.

lean make this work, Bennett thought, staring off into the distance, out where the whistle was still echoing through the winter silence.

"Hi, there, cutie," a voice behind her said. "You are about the sweetest little muffin I've ever seen."

Bennett turned quickly, shifting in a smooth, practiced motion to place herself between the newcomer and Harper. The young woman facing her smiled and shrugged, as if apologizing for her abrupt appearance while at the same time saying, so what? She was close to Bennett's age, tall and lanky, with wild red hair that stuck out. Her bright, green eyes fastened on Harper with an eagerness that was disconcerting. "Hey, you."

Then she glanced at Bennett, and the look cooled and hardened. "You are one lucky mom, to have someone like her. How are you doing? My name is Penny."

She stuck out her hand. Bennett hesitated before accepting it. "I'm Bennett. This is Harper."

Penny shifted her stance without moving her feet, loose and anticipatory. "So, are you from around here or just passing through, like me?" Penny grinned. "I'm visiting my granny for the holidays, but you can believe me when I tell you this place is in a time warp. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to see. I can't wait to get out. You?"

"I'm from here, back for a visit with a ... friend, an old friend." Bennett held her ground, watchful, the hand in her pocket fastened on the switchblade. "We're staying on awhile."

Penny sniffed. "Whatever. I'm outta here December twenty-sixth and good riddance."

She looked off into the distance as the freight train swung into view out on the levee, wheeling down the tracks with a slow-building rumble of iron wheels and pistons. They stood motionless, the three of them, staring out at the train as it bisected the horizon in a seemingly endless line of cars, a zipper motion against the still backdrop of water and winter woods. When it disappeared, the sound faded gradually, still audible when the train was several miles up the track.

"So, you having fun here in the park, Harper?" Penny asked suddenly, shifting her gaze once more.

Harper nodded wordlessly and edged closer to Bennett. She sensed the same thing about this woman her mother did, that something wasn't quite right. Bennett felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable, standing at the edge of the wooded slope, away from everyone and everything in the hard edge of the winter chill. Clouds had crept out of the northwest, obscuring the sun, and the gray sky was melting down into the backdrop of the skeletal trees.

"We've got to be going," Bennett advised, reaching down for Harper's hand, keeping her eyes on Penny.

"Oh, sure," Penny replied, smiling cheerfully, the light in her green eyes dancing, shrugging her shoulders and shifting away. "You go, girl, you need to. But, hey, you look a little uptight. Know what I mean?"

"No." Bennett shook her head quickly, not wanting to hear any more, already sensing what was coming. "I'm fine."

She started away, but Penny moved with her. "Well, you can say you're fine if you want, but you are most definitely not, you know? I can tell. And I don't blame you. I wouldn't be fine if I didn't have a little something to help me get by, let me tell you."

Bennett wheeled on her. "Look, I don't know who you are—"

"Hey, I'm just another victim of life, just another sister fighting to make it through another day." Penny held up her hands placatingly. "You don't need to worry about me. You think I'm the law? I'm not, girlfriend. Not hardly." She winked. "Hope you're not the law either, because I got something for you, you want it, something to make you feel a little better."

Bennett heard the blood pounding inside her head. She felt the familiar pumping of adrenaline, her body's automatic response to the possibility of a fix. Everything seemed to kick in at once, all the familiar expectancies, all the insatiable needs. She was surprised at how strong they were, even in the face of her resolve to put them aside.

Penny eased closer to her, eyes bright. "What I got, is a little white dust that doesn't take but a single whiff to sweep you away to la-la land, smooth and easy and cream-puff sweet. You can live on this stuff for days, girl. Keeps you sharp and strong and focused, but takes the edge off, too. I got it before I came to Dullsville, knowing what it would be like. I used it day before last, and I'm still flying high."

"No, thanks," Bennett told her abruptly, shaking her head, starting off again. It took everything she had to say it, to make her feet move, to keep her mind focused, but she managed. "We've got to go."

"Hey, wait up, Bennett!" Penny came after her quickly, keeping pace as she walked. "Don't be mad. I wasn't trying to jerk you around or anything. I was just trying to be nice, trying to make conversation. Hey, I'm lonely here, I admit it. You seem like me, that's all. I was just looking for some company." She paused. "I wasn't going to ask you for money, you know. I was going to share, to give it to you for free."

Bennett kept walking, trying to shut the words out, trying to make Penny go away. Even here, she was thinking. Even here, someone's got the stuff and wants me to use. She was walking faster, practically dragging Harper, needing to escape and not wanting to, both at once.

"We could meet later and do some together," Penny was suggesting, keeping pace effortlessly. "My place, maybe. You know, just the two of us. Granny doesn't know what's going on anyway, so she won't be a bother."

"Owee, Mommy," Harper was complaining, trying to pull free from her mother's grip.

Bennett shifted her hand on the little girl's arm and looked over at Penny angrily. "I can't—"

"What do you say?" Penny cut her short. "You want a little now? Just a taste to see if it's worth doing some more later?"

Bennett stopped and stood with her head lowered and her eyes closed. She wanted nothing more. She wanted it so bad she could hardly wait for it to happen. She felt empty and sick inside, and she found herself thinking, What the hell difference does it make after all the other drugs I've done?

Penny's hand was on her shoulder, and her frizzy red head was bent close. "You won't be sorry, babe, I promise. Just a taste to get you by until, oh, maybe tonight, okay? Come on. I know the signs. You're all strung out and uptight and you want a little space for yourself. Why shouldn't you have it?"

Bennett felt her defenses shutting down and her addictive needs sweeping through her with relentless purpose. The itch was working its way up her spine and down her throat, and she thought—knew—that if she didn't take what was being offered, she would self-destruct in spectacular fashion. Besides, a taste was not so much, and Nest could help her later, give her the strength she lacked now so she could start over again.

"Come on, I'll do a little with you," Penny persisted, whispering now, so close that Bennett could hear her breathing.

Her eyes were still closed, but now, on the verge of capitulating, on the edge of a hunger so intense she could not find words to define it, she opened them.

It was then she saw the Indian.

Nest Freemark opened her front door and found Deputy Sheriff Larry Spence waiting, his big hands clasped around his leather gloves. He was dressed in his uniform, brown over tan, and he wore a leather jacket with the collar and cuffs trimmed in dark fur. Bits and pieces of metal stays and accents glinted dully in the graying light, giving him that armored look that lawmen and the military favor.

"How you doing, girl," he greeted pleasantly.

She glanced past him to the empty sheriff's car. He had come alone. "Can I help you, Larry?"

He shoved his gloves into his coat pocket, eyes shifting away. "I'd like to speak with you for just a minute, if it's okay."

She studied him pointedly, waiting. He flushed. "It's business, you know, not personal."

She smiled, but held her ground. "Sure. Go right ahead."

He cleared his throat, looking past her for just a moment. "I wonder if we might speak inside?"

The last thing she wanted was Larry Spence in her house. On the other hand, it was rude to make him stand out in the cold and she couldn't come up with a good reason for not inviting him in long enough to tell her what he wanted.

She stood aside. "Sure."

He moved into the entry, and she shut the door behind them. He glanced around, nodding appreciatively. "You have a very nice home. Very warm. Sort of reminds me of my folks' old two-story."

"Would you like some hot tea?" she asked. "We can sit in the kitchen."

She led him down the hall and through the kitchen doorway. John Ross stood with his back to the sink, leaning on his staff, a mix of curiosity and wariness mirrored in his green eyes. But it was the look on Larry Spence's face that surprised her, changing from friendly to antagonistic and back again so fast she almost missed it. Something was very wrong, but she had no idea what it was.

"John, this is Larry Spence," she said. "Larry, my friend John Ross. He's visiting for the holidays with his son."

The men shook hands, a firm, measured sort of greeting that lacked warmth and advised caution. Nest put Larry Spence at the old wooden table and gave both men fresh cups of tea. Leaving Ross at the sink, she sat down across from Spence. "So, tell me what you need, Larry."

He cleared his throat and straightened. "There's been some rumors of drug dealing in the park, Nest. I'm making a few inquiries, just in case anyone's seen anything unusual this past week or so. You haven't noticed any strangers around, have you?"

This was the first Nest had heard about the matter. If there was any drug dealing going on in Sinnissippi Park, Pick would have noticed and said something. She frowned. "Pretty hard for anyone to hide out there in the park at this time of the year, Larry."

"Maybe. What you need to know is that these people are pretty dangerous."

She shrugged. "I haven't seen anyone."

He looked at Ross. "How about you, Mr. Ross? Do you know anything about this business?"

His tone of voice and the emphasis he gave to his words turned his question into an accusation. Nest was stunned.

John Ross merely shook his head."I just got here last night."

"Didn't see anyone out in the park when you drove up?"

"I came in on the bus."

"Are you from around here, Mr. Ross?"

"No, I—"

"Just a minute, John." Nest had had enough. She fixed Larry Spence with a withering look. "As a sheriff's deputy, you make a great Nazi, Larry. What are you doing? John is an old friend and a guest in my house. I invited you in out of kindness, not to give you a chance to practice your interrogation skills."

The big man nodded, a gesture intended to placate, as if anything else might invite further attack. He brushed at his mop of blond hair. "His name came up during my investigation, Nest."

"What?" She stared. "How?"

He shrugged. "Anonymous source."

"Anonymous source? How convenient!"

He took a slow, steadying breath. "I'm just doing my job, girl, asking these questions. And I'm concerned about your safety. Mr. Ross is a stranger, and I just want to be sure—"

She came to her feet abruptly, incensed. "You don't have to be sure in my house, Larry. You just have to be courteous. I think you better go."

He rose reluctantly, then nodded at Ross. "I apologize for any rudeness, Mr. Ross. I didn't come here to make trouble."

John Ross nodded back. "You don't need to apologize to me, Deputy."

Larry Spence looked down at the floor. "Nest, I'm sorry. But I worry about you. Rumors have a way of sneaking up on you, if you don't keep an eye on them. If there's drug dealing going on in the park, I don't want you to be associated with it."

Nest stared at him. For just an instant she sensed that he was talking about something else entirely, that he was trying to tell her something. She shook her head slowly and stepped up to him. "Larry, I appreciate your concern. But drugs have never been a part of my life and certainly not of John's. I promise you, if we see anything suspicious, we'll give you a call."

The big man nodded, turned, and started back down the hall. He caught sight of Little John perched on the sofa, staring out at the park, and turned back to Ross. "Your son?"

Ross nodded.

Spence looked at the boy, puzzlement etched in his rough features, as if he found the boy's presence difficult to accept. Then he continued down the hall to the front door, where he paused.

"The offer for Christmas is still open. Kids would love it."

"I don't think so, Larry," she replied, wondering what in the world he was thinking.

He nodded, opened the door, and went back outside. Nest stood in the doorway and watched as he climbed into his sheriff's car and drove slowly off. Her hands were clenched and her throat was tight with anger.

Larry Spence, she decided, was an idiot.

The Indian seemed to come out of nowhere, appearing amidst the bare trees in a wooded stretch behind the toboggan slide, all size and dark shadows in the graying light. He was big all over, dressed in camouflage pants, ribbed army sweater, mesh vest, and combat boots. His black hair glistened with a gunmetal sheen, braided and drawn tight against his scalp, and his coppery skin shone like orange fire. He carried a rucksack and a rolled blanket over one shoulder, and his eyes, even from so far away, were bright pinpricks beneath his heavy brow.

Bennett Scott forgot about Penny and the drugs and everything else, and simply stared at him as he approached, his slow, heavy steps carrying him steadily closer, until he seemed to take up all the space in her screen of vision.

At the last minute, Penny, still whispering sweet enticements and urgent pleas, realized something was wrong. She backed away quickly and turned as the Indian loomed over her. Bennett heard her gasp of surprise and shock turn an instant later to a hiss of warning.

"Afternoon," the Indian said, his copper face expressionless, his deep voice smooth. He was addressing Bennett and Harper, looking right through Penny. "Beautiful day for a walk in the park."

No one replied. The women and the little girl stood frozen in place, as if turned to ice. The Indian glanced from Bennett to Harper, unperturbed. "Ah, little one," he said softly to the child. "Do you wait for tonight's snow so that tomorrow you might go out and build a snowman with Mama?"

Harper gave a slow nod." Yeth."

The Indian smiled faintly. "Mama," he said to Bennett, speaking past a seething Penny as if she weren't even there. "Do you know a woman named Nest Freemark?"

Bennett swallowed against the dryness in her throat, so frightened she could barely bring herself to do that much. The Indians she had encountered had mostly been street people, drunks and indigents and welfare dependents, barely able to get from street corner to soup line. This one was a different sort entirely, big and powerful and self-assured. He had not threatened Harper or her, but he seemed capable of anything.

"Do you know Nest Freemark?" he pressed gently.

Bennett nodded. "She lives right over there," she managed, suddenly in control of herself again, her mind clear.

"She is your friend?"

"Yes. I'm staying with her."

"Would you go to her and tell her Two Bears is waiting in the park to speak with her?"

It was an odd request. Why didn't he just walk over there and tell her himself? But she didn't feel inclined to argue the matter, and it gave her the excuse she needed to get away from Penny. "Okay," she said. "Come on, Harper."

She reached for the little girl's hand, but Penny moved instantly to block their way, wheeling back on the Indian. "Why don't you just push off, Tonto? Run your own errand. We were talking."

For the first time, he looked at her. And Penny, well, Penny with her drugs and smart-ass talk, looked as if she might turn into a pillar of salt. She shrank from him as if struck, retreating into a protective crouch. Then something ugly and dark surfaced in her eyes, and she took on the appearance of a feral creature. She lunged at the Indian, snake-quick. There was a glint of metal, but the metal went spinning out into the gray, and Penny shrieked and dropped to one knee, holding her wrist and baring her teeth at Two Bears. A knife lay on the ground a dozen feet away, knocked free from her hand. Bennett had never even seen the Indian move.

"You should be more careful," the big man told Penny, then dismissed her as if she were already gone. He bent to Harper. "Come, little one," he said, taking her tiny hand in his. "I will walk part of the way with you."

Harper went obediently, saying nothing. Bennett followed, leaving Penny kneeling on the ground where the Indian had put her. She did not look back.