Outcast: A Novel Part 17

"What's your point, Riley?"

"My point is, you're talking about time to change, but I just think that maybe this is who you've always been. Maybe that bad boy thing, I dunno, maybe that was the act. A way to get by when everything else was...I mean...you know..."

"s.h.i.t?" asked Gabe with a small laugh.

"Sure. s.h.i.t."

"I dunno..." He gave me a small grin. "I'm not a good boy either." The way he said it gave me b.u.t.terflies.

No, you're not.

"No, you're not. You're you. I guess my point is you don't have to try to be anything. Just be. And when I say that I know you'll take care of me, don't go off on this, 'But why would you think that, I'm such a bad egg?' thing. Instead, just believe me. Because I'm honest."

"Almost too honest."

"What does eye contact with himgkidd that mean?"

"Means I've never met anyone who says exactly what she's thinking and feeling, like you do."

"Don't see why I should hide it."

"You shouldn't. Just saying."

"So am I. Just saying."

We both sat there after that, in perfect quiet, thinking. I could understand why Gabe used to spend hours staring out into the bayou like this. It really calmed a person.

It was probably because we were so quiet that I heard the singing. It was faint at first but grew as she got closer. Etta Mae. Singing one of her songs. I'd heard this one before. It was about Moses. I always thought it was interesting that so many of the old songs had to do with a leader from the Old Testament. But of course the songs were always about freedom, and that was the point of his story, leading his people to freedom.

Gabe heard it too, and we both turned to look. Etta Mae was coming along at her usual easy pace from within the thicker brush out into Gabe's backyard. She didn't notice us at first. But then something must have happened for her to register our existence because she suddenly turned and stared right at us.

None of us said anything. We just all stared at each other. It was interesting watching Etta Mae. She seemed in shock. Maybe it was because no one had been on this land for so long. Maybe she thought we were trespa.s.sers and was frightened for her own safety. But she couldn't have been, because she took a few cautious steps toward us. She leaned in, jutting her chin out and squinted. Then she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

I looked at Gabe and he looked at me. Then we both looked back at her. She'd dropped her hand by this time and was now grinning ear to ear.

She spoke: "Well, my eyes may be old, but for all the world I'd say that was Gabe McClure looking at me."

That was unexpected.

Gabe stood and I was quick to follow. "Who's that?" he whispered to me.

"Etta Mae," I answered. "She sometimes comes into town. She's always singing..." but I trailed off as I saw Gabe's expression. It was hard to describe, a bit like awe. A bit like confusion. A bit like dumbfounded.

"Mae?" he said, and she smiled.

"He remembers. Lord, this is a strange day."

"Oh my G.o.d." He walked up to her and they stared at each other for a moment. Then Gabe pulled her into a tight hug, and she started laughing like crazy.

"You were always a beautiful boy. Look at you n likedow. You find the fountain of me, plain and

Both of us were too stunned to refuse the invitation. And it looked like Gabe would've pretty much gone anywhere if Etta Mae had told him to. It was stupid, but I couldn't help but feel a little jealous of old Etta Mae, in her loose flowered dress and straw hat. Her skin was remarkably smooth for her age. Her eyes were sharp and framed by thick lashes. And even though she moved slowly, it was with an obvious grace. The way Gabe looked at her...I had to wonder what she'd looked like back when he'd first known her.

We followed her out onto the narrow dirt road and walked for probably half a mile before we got to her home. The sun was setting now, touching the roof of her house and giving it a kind of halo. It was similar in size to Gabe's but lovingly taken care of. Even if Gabe had been around all these years to tend to his property, I think Etta Mae's would still have looked that much better. She had a small garden out front and a path up to the door was trimmed in bright flowers. The house had obviously received a fresh coat of paint recently.

There were a few small children riding around on a pair of tricycles who I a.s.sumed were her grandchildren. They'd probably been told not to go off the property and had to struggle with getting the wheels to move on the thick gra.s.s of the front lawn. Pa.s.sing by, the two on the tricycles stared at us wide-eyed. But the third, a little girl in a yellow dress with braids in her hair waved enthusiastically. I smiled back.

We made our way up the front steps. Sitting on the small porch on a sun-bleached rocking chair was the most ancient man I'd ever seen. He had no hair, his face was carved out with deep lines, and his skin looked raw and tough. He wore a white undershirt and coveralls and held a "That your Pa?" I asked Etta Mae as we stepped inside.

"That's Mr. Clayton." She said it as if that was explanation enough, and I didn't bother to question her further.

The house was very nearly one room, except for the kitchen, blocked off by a counter, and a small hallway leading to a bedroom and a washroom. We sat down at a round table in the corner, and Etta Mae went into the kitchen and puttered around for a few moments. She returned with some peach cobbler for each of us.

"Don't you want anything?" I asked as she sat down. She batted away the suggestion like it was plainly ridiculous.

"Dig in," she said, and we did.

We sat in silence for a bit, us eating, her watching. Finally I figured it was time to say something, and I put down my fork and looked at her.

"So, Etta Mae," I said, "You said that this happened before."

"It did."

"For how long? How many years? Has it been going on all the time? Did it stop? Why has it started again?" I realized that I was kind of overwhelming her with questions. I did that sometimes, and people liked to point that out. So I was pretty aware that I did it. But it was hard for me to control, especially when I was excited.

I was pleasantly surprised when Etta Mae just started to answer them.

"It happened just the one time as far as I can tell," she replied. "Might have happened other places. Don't know why it started again."

"But why don't we ever talk about it?"

"Why do you think?" asked Gabe, pushing his empty bowl away from him and leaning back in his chair.

"I don't know. A coverup? It only happened once, maybe no one wanted to talk about it," I replied.

"And because they were Negroes."

"Gabe!" I could feel my face heat up. "We don't say that."

"We don't?"

"No. It's offensive. You can say African-American or black..."

"Riley, give the beautiful boy a break. He doesn't know better." Etta Mae took Gabe's bowl, stood up, and headed to the kitchen to refill it.

"Well, okay, I guess you're right. Sorry," I said and turned to him.

"'Negro' is offensive?" He looked really upset. "Mae, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"You were the only white boy in the area, your best friend was a 'negro,' you liked to spy on his sister when she got changed...You were probably the only white boy at the time who didn't realize there was supposed to be a difference between our colors. I've never been offended by you, Gabe. Well, not in that way. Wished you'd stop stealing my stockings..." replied Etta Mae, placing a new bowl of cobbler in front of him.

Gabe burst out laughing. "Only once, Mae. Wanted something of yours that'd touched your skin."

"And those stockings were mighty expensive, too!"

They were both laughing again, remembering a time before I even existed. It made me feel stupidly young.

"Anyway, Gabe," I said, "you said that the reason there wasn't a fuss was because it was 'just' black people. But it wasn't, it was you too."

Gabe thought about that shoved in his mouthin ak for a moment. "Mae, did it happen to any of the town folk, or was it just us, the people who lived out here?"

"It was only us. Only a few. All of 'em dark-skinned. All except you."

"And we were the only white family in the area."

"True."

"So no one cared," I said. I couldn't believe it.

"No one even noticed," replied Etta Mae.

It made sense, as horrible as it was. Then I wondered, "Mae, lately, when it started again, did it...does it happen here too?"

"You ask the right questions."

"It isn't happening here anymore, is it?"

"Not since. Not again."

Something was nagging at me, though I couldn't place it, but it made me ask: "What did the angels look like?"

I glanced at Gabe, and he looked at me like he was maybe nagged by the same thing.

"Yeah," he said, "Because you said I was big and had wings and all before you shot me..."

"You shot him?" Mae broke into a wide grin. "Lord, how many times did Pa try to get this boy as he ran away home. He'd have been proud of you."

"Thanks."

"But," continued Gabe with a shake of his head, "I'm no angel."

"No, you're not," said Etta Mae, her grin widening.

"No...exactly..." Suddenly I understood my own train of thought. "You aren't an angel. You were taken. But you didn't look like a human when I shot you. Were you made into an angel?"

"Oh my goodness, Riley, don't you know anything about angels?" Etta Mae was looking at me with an expression of shock.

"I know about the hierarchy..." I remembered back to my conversation with Father Peter.

"Angels aren't human. Angels are spiritual creatures. They're not of this earth."

"You can't make them out of humans?"

"Well, child, I'd say my late husband was as close to an angel as you'd get, but even he left his dirty underthings on the bedroom floor."

"So if angels ain't human, and I looked however I looked...& &##x201d; Gabe stood up now an

It felt as if something had been resolved, discovered, revealed. But the idea that maybe our angels weren't angels actually didn't help anything. It didn't reveal why people were being taken. It didn't help get Chris back. It only changed our perception of what they were.

Still, that small shift in perception made my blood run cold. And then that made me think of another thing.

"Say, Mae," I asked, "have you ever encountered a...well, a being I guess, kind of dressed in white, but not really, and its head is covered like it has a thin fabric wrapped around it?"

"What're you saying, child?" Etta Mae still had my hands in hers, and she looked at me with concern.

"Is that a good way to describe it?" I glanced over at Gabe.

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's kind of, it's like a person, and he just stands there, and, yeah, his face is covered. His head is covered in a white sheet kind of. And he sort of glows a bit too. You seen anything like that, Mae?"

Etta Mae shook her head. "Never seen anything like that before. I can't quite picture what you're talking about."

"We could wait until it gets dark. It might show up," I said.

"It might?"

"Yeah..." I glanced at Gabe who was giving me a hard look. "It sometimes shows up at night."

"Since when?" asked Gabe.

"Since....a while." I wasn't going to let him make me feel guilty for not telling him.

"Riley..."