You prick, he thought. I’ll get you. And the old whore. Tonight. His hand slid around to the front of Priscilla’s jeans probing into the warmth, while she grinned, trying to ignore him, sipping her coffee and trying desperately to sober up.

24

CHAPTER 24

It was dark before Fern had strength enough to get up and get back to the house. She was cold, and walked hunched over, as if each hour on the barn floor had added ten years to her life. She quietly closed the barn door behind her and made her way achingly across the drive and up the porch steps. She must remember to tell Martha about the lifeline to the barn in the winter. That was silly. Martha wouldn’t go near the barn. She was afraid. Why was she so afraid?

Martha heard her mother on the porch steps and came out to help her. Her mother looked so old, so frail. In spite of her bulk, she looked sunken and loose. The bun in the back of the old woman’s head had come undone, and strands of gray hair trailed behind her.

They shuffled to the bedroom together, and Fern stepped out of her dress and got into bed.

“Whiskey,” she whispered to Martha.

Martha brought the bottle and her favorite little glass with mushrooms and birds and flowers on it, poured some, watching Fern’s eyes for instructions, and gave it to her. Fern drank it right down, then lay back on the pillows with an exhausted sigh. Soon she was sleeping, and Martha played on the round braided rug at bedside until late. Then she went to bed.

Martha and Fern both woke up with the crow of the cock outside their bedroom windows. Martha padded quietly into her mother’s room. Fern held out her trembling hands and quietly asked Martha to get into bed with her. She moved close to her daughter, every movement a chore. She ached all over. Martha was still nice and cuddly-warm from sleep. Fern was so cold.

This is it, she thought. God has given me one more chance. One more try. Please, God, if you’ve thought anything of my work down here, if I’ve helped you in any way by easing some of the suffering, grant this old lady one last wish. I’ll go in peace, God, if you’ll just let me unlock Martha’s mind and let her be normal. Please. Don’t let her wander around the rest of her life like this, deformed and retarded.

Fern put her left hand on the top of Martha’s head. It was cold. It was always the coldest spot on Martha, where it was the warmest on everyone else. Something was blocking that channel of energy. Fern could blast through it if she had the strength, but that might do further damage. Better to loosen it with gentle prodding.