Baptism in Blood Read Online Free Page A
in four different frames, ranging in size from a three-by-five card to a cabinet door. The woman reached immediately for the one the size of the cabinet door. It was the most sentimental one Rose had, with a baby Jesus that looked like he had just eaten all the icing off a cake.
“How much is this one?” the woman asked.
“Fifty-four fifty.”
“Oh.” The woman stepped back. “Well.”
Rose put her hand on the next size down. “This one is thirty-four fifty,” she said. “The next smallest is twenty- nine ninety-five. The little one is fifteen dollars.”
The woman looked at the little one. It was a murky picture, hard to see anything in. She picked up the next size larger, the one that would cost twenty-nine ninety-five, and turned it over in her hands.
“I’ll take this one,” she said.
“There’ll be sales tax on it,” Rose said. “It’ll come to—”
“I know.” The woman was turning out the pockets of her shorts. The shorts seemed to be full of money, dollar bills, loose change. The woman went to the counter next to the cash register and laid the money out next to the bookmarks and enameled pins. Rose went to the counter, too.
“Thirty sixty-eight,” she said.
The woman counted her money out again, and pushed it across the counter with the flat of her hand.
Five minutes later, Rose was standing at the shop’s front window, watching the heavyset woman walk back up Main Street. Kathi had come out from the back and was watching, too, her hands full of prayer books with thick gold crosses etched into their fake white leather covers.
“What do you think she really wants it for?” Kathi asked. “Those people don’t get their children baptized, do they?”
“I don’t think she has any children,” Rose said. “I don’t think any of them do, up at the camp.”
“Ginny Marsh says they worship a goddess up there. They sit around naked in a circle and call out to spirits. Ginny saw them.”
“Ginny is a stupid little fool and so are you if you believe them. Let’s get moving here. Can’t you hear the wind?”
Kathi pressed her face against the small pane of glass. “I wonder what she really wants with that picture, Rose. I wonder what she’s going to do with it. Doesn’t it make you feel creepy, just thinking of what she might have had to get it for?”
Rose pushed Kathi away from the window and started to close the interior shutters. There were exterior shutters, too. She would have to go around front and get those when she was done inside. She tried to think of the plain, heavy woman doing something evil with a picture of the baby Jesus. Instead she got a picture of Zhondra Meyer again, a picture so clear she could almost touch the curling tendrils of that thick dark hair.
There’s a storm coming, Rose told herself sternly. Then she started to hurry, to hurry and hurry, because if she didn’t hurry she would think, and if she thought she would go crazy.
She was already going crazy, and she thought it might be killing her.
3
S TEPHEN HARROW SAW CAROL Littleton come out of Rose MacNeill’s big Victorian house, carrying a flat brown paper bag, but the vision didn’t register. Stephen was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Methodist Church, looking up at the bell tower and worrying. The wind was whistling and rattling in the trees. The few thin strands of sandy hair that were still left on his head were jerking violently across his scalp. In spite of the fact that he was only thirty-two, Stephen felt very old and very stupid. This wasn’t the first time he had wished that he belonged to a denomination whose ministers wore backwards collars. Sometimes it didn’t make any sense to him, being any kind of minister at all. When it got very dark at night, he would try to remember how he had made his decision. He would see himself, all alone in the attic bedroom of his parents’ house in Greenville, Massachusetts. If there was a God, Stephen Harrow had never met
“How much is this one?” the woman asked.
“Fifty-four fifty.”
“Oh.” The woman stepped back. “Well.”
Rose put her hand on the next size down. “This one is thirty-four fifty,” she said. “The next smallest is twenty- nine ninety-five. The little one is fifteen dollars.”
The woman looked at the little one. It was a murky picture, hard to see anything in. She picked up the next size larger, the one that would cost twenty-nine ninety-five, and turned it over in her hands.
“I’ll take this one,” she said.
“There’ll be sales tax on it,” Rose said. “It’ll come to—”
“I know.” The woman was turning out the pockets of her shorts. The shorts seemed to be full of money, dollar bills, loose change. The woman went to the counter next to the cash register and laid the money out next to the bookmarks and enameled pins. Rose went to the counter, too.
“Thirty sixty-eight,” she said.
The woman counted her money out again, and pushed it across the counter with the flat of her hand.
Five minutes later, Rose was standing at the shop’s front window, watching the heavyset woman walk back up Main Street. Kathi had come out from the back and was watching, too, her hands full of prayer books with thick gold crosses etched into their fake white leather covers.
“What do you think she really wants it for?” Kathi asked. “Those people don’t get their children baptized, do they?”
“I don’t think she has any children,” Rose said. “I don’t think any of them do, up at the camp.”
“Ginny Marsh says they worship a goddess up there. They sit around naked in a circle and call out to spirits. Ginny saw them.”
“Ginny is a stupid little fool and so are you if you believe them. Let’s get moving here. Can’t you hear the wind?”
Kathi pressed her face against the small pane of glass. “I wonder what she really wants with that picture, Rose. I wonder what she’s going to do with it. Doesn’t it make you feel creepy, just thinking of what she might have had to get it for?”
Rose pushed Kathi away from the window and started to close the interior shutters. There were exterior shutters, too. She would have to go around front and get those when she was done inside. She tried to think of the plain, heavy woman doing something evil with a picture of the baby Jesus. Instead she got a picture of Zhondra Meyer again, a picture so clear she could almost touch the curling tendrils of that thick dark hair.
There’s a storm coming, Rose told herself sternly. Then she started to hurry, to hurry and hurry, because if she didn’t hurry she would think, and if she thought she would go crazy.
She was already going crazy, and she thought it might be killing her.
3
S TEPHEN HARROW SAW CAROL Littleton come out of Rose MacNeill’s big Victorian house, carrying a flat brown paper bag, but the vision didn’t register. Stephen was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Methodist Church, looking up at the bell tower and worrying. The wind was whistling and rattling in the trees. The few thin strands of sandy hair that were still left on his head were jerking violently across his scalp. In spite of the fact that he was only thirty-two, Stephen felt very old and very stupid. This wasn’t the first time he had wished that he belonged to a denomination whose ministers wore backwards collars. Sometimes it didn’t make any sense to him, being any kind of minister at all. When it got very dark at night, he would try to remember how he had made his decision. He would see himself, all alone in the attic bedroom of his parents’ house in Greenville, Massachusetts. If there was a God, Stephen Harrow had never met
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