We follow her out to the truck, the sound of the Faire bleeding away behind us, and we drive with the windows down. There’s a pastel sunset just beginning to gather over the mountains, and the fireflies are blinking when we pull up to the flower farm.
By the time we’re out of the truck, Annie is awake, hopping up and down the steps barefoot while we eat cake. We talk about the tobacco harvest and an overdue trip to Asheville, and then I’m scooping Annie up into my arms again. I want to make it home before dark.
“Sure you don’t want me to drive you?” Esther asks from her rocking chair.
I look at Annie, who’s pulling one of the ribbons from her hair. The cake is like catnip, and it will have her up late if I don’t get some of her energy out.
“No, it’s a good night for a walk,” I say.
It’s not quite twilight. The bugs in the flower fields are loud as we make our way to the back corner of the land, and Annie skips ahead of me on the overgrown path until we reach the river. There’s a small footbridge that serves as a shortcut through these fields, but it’s not even in sight when she stops to inspect a giant silk moth that’s clung to the trunk of a nearby tree. I sink down beside her, letting my finger come beneath its furry legs, and it climbs on, wings fluttering.
I hold it between us, and Annie’s honey brown eyes widen in wonder, making me smile.
It’s moments like these that I’m afraid to miss. It’s moments like these that make me sure about what I have to do.
The moth takes off, teetering in the air as it flies away, and Annie watches it go. The water of the river is a glowing blue now, ready to fall dark in the next hour.
“Evening, Mrs. Stone.”
The southern-sweet voice is slippery in the dimming light, but I immediately recognize it. I’ve heard it pouring from the open doors of the church many times. I’ve heard it in my nightmares.
I turn to see Nathaniel Rutherford standing on the path at the top of the riverbank. His nice suit is pressed, his hat in his hands, and even from here, I can see the shine of his boots. I hadn’t seen him at the Faire, but I’d felt his presence. Somehow, he always seemed to be near. Watching.
I swallow hard. This isn’t the first time I’ve found him on Esther’s farm. But that feverish gaze that hovers behind his eyes is fixed on me, and tonight, it feels a little more crazed.
Did he follow us?
There’s a moment when a prick of fear climbs up my spine, and I’m suddenly reaching out to put a protective hand on Annie. We’re too far from the house to be heard if I call out, I realize.
“I think it’s about time we talk,” he says, taking a step off the path.
“We’re on our way home. Eamon’s expecting us.”
He smiles, as if amused, but his eyes are still flat and dead. When he takes another step, it’s a little unsteady, and it occurs to me that he’s been drinking.
“For we know him that hath said, ‘Vengeance belongeth unto me,’ ” Nathaniel begins. “ ‘I will recompense,’ saith the Lord. And again, the Lord shall judge his people.”
My pulse quickens when he moves again, coming slowly down the bank toward us.
“We really do need to get back. Have a good night, Mr. Rutherford.” I take Annie’s hand and try to step past him, but he moves faster, blocking me.
I look around us, not sure what to do. There’s no easy way to get past him, especially with Annie in my arms, and though the river is crossable, it’s deep. What if the current is too strong? What if she slips from my arms and I lose her under the water?
“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” he continues. “Vengeance?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice is shaking now.
“I know who you are, June. I know my own flesh and blood when I see it.”
For a moment, I’m not sure if I can read the tone in his voice. But that look on his face doesn’t change. He knows. We’ve danced around it many times before, but he knows who I am.
“You are a seed planted by my own sin. An abomination. The both of you.”
I look to the trees up the slope. We’re closer to the flower farm than we are to home, and we’ve walked that shortcut through the fields countless times. Annie could find her way back to the house, I tell myself. She knows not to go down to the water without me. She’d stay on the path until she saw the lights of Esther’s porch.
“Annie, go back to the farm,” I say, trying to push her toward the trees.
But she doesn’t move.
“He sent Susanna to torment me,” Nathaniel continues. “The devil knew that I was weak.”
Again, I nudge her. “Go, baby.”
But she’s watching him, transfixed, a single blade of grass clutched in her little fist.
“I knew there was something evil about your mother the first time I saw her. In my pride, I thought I could overcome it.”
His feet come down the bank, half sliding toward me, and before I know what he’s doing, his hands are gripping my shoulders tight.
I gasp, my eyes going wide.
Fingers twist into the fabric of my white dress, and I stumble backward, trying to keep my balance. “Annie! Run!”
She finally does, her dress like a flame in the twilight. I see it disappear in the brush a second later.
“I loved her.” Nathaniel is crying now, his face contorted. He shakes me, hard. “I loved her more than I loved God. And that is the worst kind of sin.”
He shoves me back with so much force that I crash into the shallows behind me. Rocks scrape down my back, and the current pulls my weight, but I grasp for a hold on the bank. He’s on me a second later, yanking me back up.
“There’s no way to clean that stain.” The words twist. “I tried. I tried to clean it.”
A sharp pain lances the nape of my neck, and I realize he has my hair in his fist. “Please!” I sob. “Stop!”
Nathaniel’s eyes clear for only a moment before he goes still. His grip on me is like a vice as he looks down into my face.
“I took her down to the river and I held her under the water until she stopped screaming,” he whispers.
Another cry breaks inside of me. “Please.”
“And then I buried her under the oak tree.” He sniffs. “But God’s punishment isn’t over for me yet. It can’t be until I put it right.”
I claw at his hands, tear at his shirt.
“It’s all right,” he says, gently, looking into my eyes. “I baptize you, June Rutherford.” He plunges me down beneath the surface and the sunset disappears, replaced by rushing water. My feet slip out from under me, and then he pulls me up again. I scream, choking.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy—”
He shoves me back down, and I scratch at his arms, the outline of him a wavering black blot above me. I kick, but I can’t get my footing. I thrash, but his grip is too tight. His weight presses down on top of me harder. He pins me there, and over the roar of the water, I think I can hear him sobbing.
I understand now what is happening. I’m going to die.