Red Barn People by Hunter Liguore He fixed his
hat and gave a quick nod with it. “Good enough for me.” He
started to leave, then pivoted back, lingering. “Your name’s
Lillian Ward?”
“Yes, sir.” My voice was monotone.
“I thought I
recognized you. We knew each other as kids. Down by the
swimming hole. You remember?” His smile was genuine, as he
took me all in, hair, eyes, a blood-stained dress, an aged
face.
“I reckon so.”
“You still
live up here with your folks?”
“Father
passed long time now. Mother’s taken ill. Looking after her
doesn’t give me much time to get out.”
Captain
Marshal nodded, taking a complete look from house to house.
“Well,” he sighed, stifling a slight yawn. “If you ever get
to town, look me up. Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee.”
“That sounds
nice.” I nodded. “Thank you, officer.”
“Robert.”
“Thank you,
Robert.”
“And you say
all’s well here.” His eyes dropped to the bloodstains on my
dress again.
“Rabbit stew
tonight,” I said, with a counterfeit smile, pointing to my
dress. “All’s well here. We’re sorry for dragging you out
here. It won’t happen again.”
He nodded and
slipped back into his car, which moved down the drive like a
slinking caterpillar.
I thought all
the fight had been walked out of me, but when I stood face
to face with Jennagirl in the sofa room the entire day
flooded me. But it wasn’t just the day; it was the entire
life I lived compressed in the lucid sphere between my house
and theirs. From the first time my eyes affixed themselves
on Roland’s beautiful form, to the moment I swelled with
heat every time he brushed up against me, usually in err or
by accident, and all the times I went out of my way to
reenact the same instance to bring on the paroxysm of love
and feeling. It was the only intangible that indicated I was
still alive, and yet to Roland, we were all dead already,
all lying on that floor with button-sewn-eyes, a shovel-full
of dirt in waiting, and an epistle of excuses why he’d been
neglect to us in life.
I started to
pace in a circle, from the standing clock to the sofa and
back. “Tell me what to do, Jennagirl.” My voice was
pleading. Now it was my hands being wrung out over and over
to squeeze out the anxiety. “You’re both alike. You can tell
me then what I should do.”
“We are
nothing alike.” She opened a new bottle of brandy from the
chestnut cabinet and drank from it. “We’re definitely not
alike.”
“Yes, you
are. You’re both afraid to love for real. For real, dammit!
It’s a game to you, in a different way than it is for
Roland. I can’t make you see. But with Roland, there might
be time to fix him.” I bit my finger, stalling for time.
“You were right. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve been frozen
here with the both of you for so long that I can hardly make
my way to another place. I don’t even know if I can conceive
of some other place.” My arms swung high with disbelief.
“Tell me now, Jennagirl. Tell me what to do to win your
brother’s love. Show me how to take charge, how to bring him
to my fold with ease, like I’ve seen you do a hundred times
before. In all my years I’ve never seen you have a shaking
hand, or a look of resistance when you sowed your desire, or
even a careless glance of apprehension. Look, look at me!” I
held out my trembling hands, shaking something fierce, as if
I was thawing from a lifelong winter, the chill of release
crippling me, and unless I was given warmth immediately, I
would’ve certainly died.
Her hand
slipped into mine, strong and hard, like a steering wheel
from a car, pulling me toward her, squeezing my hands, to
warm them. She led me to the sofa, and sat close to me. I
could smell her faded cologne, her warm, brandy breath. She
held my shoulders tightly, as if at any moment she might
shake me, and tell me to wake up. Wake up, Lillian. You’ve
been asleep all this time. Her hand slipped off my shoulder,
and comforted the side of my face. Her hand was callused
like a man’s from hard labor, yet tender like a woman’s. Her
face, so like Roland’s, like the brother he might’ve had. I
wonder in that instant, if she had been his brother, would
it have been these arms to hold me contented at night?
My words were
short and muffled. “Show me what to do.”
Her big, blue
eyes looked sadly into mine, and she humphed a sigh and
kissed me. It was stiff and impassioned, unlike the kisses I
had seen her wield outside my window. “Take a deep breath,”
she whispered. “Then let it out, slowly.”
My head grew
light and dizzy. She kissed me again. This time her lips
went deeper, allowing me the taste of her smoky tongue. A
warm sensation traveled from the point of contact through
the back of my head, down my innards, and out my feet. I
turned hot all over, slightly from the affection, slightly
from embarrassment. Subtly, and naturally, her hand went
through the top of my dress, where she gripped my breast.
She was trying to give me everything I longed to partake
with Roland—but it wasn’t Roland, and even if Jennagirl was
his brother, it wouldn’t have satisfied me.
Neither of us
noticed the looming shadow overhead, like a hovering vulture
with outstretched wings, ready to land on top of us. I broke
away, and glanced up at Roland. His face was violent and in
a marvelous instant he grabbed Jennagirl from her seat and
pinned her figure up against the wall.
“Roland.” I stepped back as they brawled to the floor.
Jennagirl pushed him away, and gained ground, giving me the
chance to come between them.
“How dare
you.” He snorted, breathing heavily. He raised a finger at
her. “How dare you touch her!”
“Roland, it’s
not her fault,” I said, willfully, turning to him. “This is
between you and me.” I pushed his hand away.
“You want her
to take you up to the barn. Is that it?” He brushed me away.
“Now I see. It’s been going on right under me. I’ve been a
fool, a big fool.”
“No, Roland.
You’re wrong.” I shook my head, feeling defeated.
“You damn
fool!” He tried to charge Jennagirl again, but I stopped
him, his shirt was sweaty to the touch. My body rippled with
that strange heated wave only he could bring to me.
Roland
grabbed me briskly by the shoulders and shook me. “Is that
the kind of woman you are?” He grabbed my face and kissed me
hard. “Is this what you want? Is this how you want to be
treated?” His eyes were wild and his hair unkempt. He
pressed his lips against mine abrasively, and then wrapped
his arms around me, forcing me to him. And even though he
frightened me, I didn’t pull away. And when I didn’t put up
a fight, he let me go. Tears came to the corner of my eyes,
softening his demeanor when he really looked at me. “What
have I done?” his voice turned frail. “What have I done, my
precious, Lillian? What have I done?” He embraced me with
clutching arms, and harried breath, then swooped me into a
loving fold and kissed me with the honesty of his hidden
passion. Our lips melded, and light filled me as if he
placed the sun inside my mouth and urged me to swallow.
The last
thing I heard before he carried me up the stairs was the
shuffle of Jennagirl’s shoes disappearing through the
kitchen, and the whine of the car’s engine as she drove
away. Roland laid me like a queen across the rumpled
mattress. We undressed and he made love to me, burning into
me enough heat to warm an island of mountainous ice for a
century.
When morning came, I awoke to the view of the cascading
willow tree, and the enchantment of birdsong from every
pointed fir. I sprang upright and turned to the empty place
beside me. My hand slid over the silhouette Roland left
behind.
In the bathroom I rinsed my face, noting the smell of coffee
in the air. I checked Jennagirl’s room. Her bed wasn’t slept
in. In the kitchen I poured a cup of coffee, and sipped it,
passing between doorways and rooms. I stopped cold when I
heard the old familiar sound of the standing clock. Roland
had turned it back on.
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