She laughed and then began coughing.
“You always hid razors in your words, Benj. And you’ve done all right with them, haven’t you? And what were the odds that you’d move there? Of all the miserable places in the world, how could I know you’d choose that one? Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Benj. Why else would you be calling?”
44
Ben left Charlie with Caroline as she took apart the upper story of the central staircase.
She fought like a locomotive against the Crofts, but Ben got the sense that what powered her impossible energy had begun to flag. They’d both been awake for over forty-eight hours, and Charlie needed an alert set of eyes on him, so Ben had called Father Cal. Ben recalled only pieces of the hours that followed Bub being taken, but he could still feel Cal’s firm grip on his shoulder. He knew he could count on the priest.
Ben decided that when Cal arrived, he would set up in Charlie’s blind to watch for the man. Charlie had seen him up at the lake more than once, and waiting for him there was the only thing Ben could think to do.
While the priest braved the roads, Ben took another lonely sojourn into the woods. The villagers’ cars were gone from the gravel path, except for a battered sedan far down the slope.
Though the gravel path was nearly empty, he’d never seen the county road along the edge of the valley so busy. The sight of two vehicles at a time had been a rarity, yet nearly a dozen now drove along where the road hooked like a question mark around one of the foothills that framed the valley’s north pass.
From his high vantage point, Ben could make out rows of cars parked in front of the church and gas station. It was Sunday, but the chief said the service had already concluded.
Ben tried not to worry about why all the villagers were gathering. There was no reason to assume it had anything to do with him. If it did, it might just be because the chief had a new plan for searching the Drop for Bub. He had to keep his imagination in check. He had to think straight and not let his mother’s words get into his head. Demons in the wood and devils at the door. A world without sense and trust and security was her belief, not Ben’s. As he walked down the Drop, Ben watched more cars wend their way from the far corners of the valley to the village’s little church.
Ben would have asked his mother more questions if he’d thought that she had the answers. But if she’d known any details, she would have released them in a barrage at the height of her rant. Instead, she’d begun to repeat herself. This is what she did when her ammunition ran out before her fury. She spouted platitudes of fear and paranoia that meant nothing yet still managed to fill him with dread.
He hadn’t salted the gravel drive since the dinner party, and the surface was slick. Ben realized he recognized the old Toyota ahead, along the hulk of naked trees. It was pulled off just to the side of the road, and he thought that, without four-wheel drive, Lisbeth would have a tough time getting out of the snow. She’d dropped off some food the day after Bub went missing, but Ben hadn’t seen her since. This seemed strange now that he thought about it.
Ben followed Lisbeth’s footprints through the trees. The deeper he got, the better idea he had of where he was headed. After a few minutes he sensed the clearing ahead of him. He parted the branches, and the stone angel welcomed him.
Lisbeth stood facing the statue.
“Heard you coming,” she said. A bouquet of dried red wildflowers lay at her feet. Their crimson petals lanced the snow with their color.
“It could have been anyone,” Ben said, but Lisbeth shook her head.
“I’ve been praying for you, Ben. For you and your family.”
“I could use all the prayers you’ve got.” Ben had many questions, but he didn’t know how to ask them. They had been building in him throughout his months between the mountains. He had a queasy feeling that giving them voice would give them substance, and they were the kind of questions that, once asked, could never be taken back.
Lisbeth nodded. “Life can be hard, but we’re never given anything that we can’t handle. Gotta keep strong, gotta keep faith. Gotta do what has to be done.”
“Gotta keep up the light,” Ben said.
“What’s that, now?”
“Something my grandmother used to say. Keep up the light. To do the things that have to be done, no matter what.”
“I know the expression,” she said. She turned her head toward him, and he saw her face for the first time. She looked tired. “You never know what you’re capable of surviving until life demands it of you.”
The flurries drifting from the empty patch of sky above the ruined chapel had burgeoned into full snow. Ben walked along the edge of the clearing until he came to the frightening carving that had been propped against the chapel’s sole remaining wall.
“What is this thing?” Ben asked. The creature had the eager claws and hungry jaws of a gargoyle but seemed somehow too human.
“That’s the wendigo.”
“Isn’t that Native American?” Ben asked. He vaguely remembered reading a story about it, years ago. “Some kind of a demon?”
“In a way,” Lisbeth said. “It’s a person so consumed by hunger and fear that it becomes the very terror it dreads.”
Ben expected her to continue, but she didn’t. “Funny thing to have in a church,” he said.
Still the woman said nothing.
“Storm’s supposed to hit soon,” Ben said. “You should be careful out here.”
“It’s a hard season.”
“I’m starting to understand that.”
“My own granny used to say that winter brings out the ghosts. The snow quiets the forest enough for us to hear voices from the world that was.”