Read The Cure for Death by Lightning for Free Online Page B

milking, riding horses, and doing farm chores, with the ruddy complexion that comes from fresh air, sun, and plenty of good food. But that wasn’t the beauty of the time; then a woman was beautiful if she was fragile and had smooth, manicured hands that didn’t grow callused or red from work. The magazines I read said it was a woman’s duty to maintain her beauty for the war effort. But how could I have skin “caressingly smooth” when I needed the calluses to milk cows and shovel manure? How could I have bright lips when my father forbade lipstick? And who was there to look beautiful for? All the young men were gone, to the training camps, or overseas, or working in factories, and if there were a young man around, my father wouldn’t let me near him. Hired men were different, of course. A girl didn’t mess with a hired man.
    When I left my room, my father sat with his head against the back of his chair, still listening to Caruso. He watched me as I walked through the parlor and into the kitchen. My mother was readying the kitchen for the night, covering the window with heavy wool blankets. Even there, in Turtle Valley, we were under blackout.
    “Where are you going?” said my mother.
    “For a walk,” I said.
    “This time of day? It’s almost dark.”
    I ignored my mother and left the house. When I swung around the barn and headed for the creek through the sheep pasture, the lead sheep ran up to me, her bell ringing, and sniffed my hands; lambs trotted up, then bounced back under the cherry trees when I turned to them. Our fruit trees grew there, in the sheep pasture. Cherry, plum, apple, and pear trees flourished from the creek end of the pasture to the house. The pasture itself was held in check by the Swede’s magical fence, which was constructed from living trees and bramble. The sheep had just been turned back into this meadow and the grass was still long. I waded through it, intending to follow Turtle Creek up to the benchland and back, when suddenly it was there, at the far end of the pasture near the house, something cutting a path through the orchard grass. I walked backwards a little way to see if it followed and it did; the swath through the grass turned and kept coming at me. I didn’tstop to find out what it was. I ran, heading towards the hired hands’ cabin, and jumped the pasture fence. The thing in the grass kept coming, so I ran up to the cabin and reached it out of breath and terrified.
    Dennis answered the door. “Well,” he said. “My girlfriend’s here. You want to come in?”
    I looked back at the swath in the orchard grass running parallel to the path I’d made. The second path stopped at the fence. Mine went on, flattening a trail through the grass all the way to the cabin.
    “You okay?” said Dennis.
    I nodded without looking him in the eye. Behind Dennis, Filthy Billy sat on his bunk tying a piece of binder twine around his pant leg.
    “What’s he doing?” I said.
    Filthy Billy looked up, grinned, swore, apologized, and went back to his pant leg.
    “He’s getting ready for bed,” said Dennis. “He saw a black lizard today, when we were working. You know, those little guys, about this long.”
    Dennis held his thumb and index finger about three inches apart. I nodded and looked back at the field. There was only one path now, the one I had made, as if nothing at all had been following me. I’d been chased by wind and stories of Sarah Kemp.
    “That’s so the lizard doesn’t get up his pants and eat his heart,” said Dennis. “You see one of those lizards, it’ll follow you, and when you’re asleep it’ll go up your pants and eat your heart.”
    “I see those lizards all the time,” I said. “They’re everywhere. Never ate my heart.”
    “Guess those lizards don’t like white meat,” said Dennis.
    Filthy Billy wheezed out a laugh.
    “Your heart’s up here,” I said. “Why doesn’t he tie his shirtsleeves shut if he’s so worried?”
    “The lizard