Rainbow in the Mist Read online

  Tears of relief came into Christy’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She must talk this through as calmly as possible.

  “The first time the flash happened it seemed useful—something that might even save lives, though it didn’t make me popular. I was out in the country on a picnic with some friends. We wandered into a subdivision of newly built houses looking for a grocery store. The minute I set foot in that little development—” She broke off as the horror swept back.

  Nona spoke calmly. “You aren’t going to crack up or fall apart. Just look out at the mountains and let them calm you.”

  The light was still golden, and red earth threaded through the green. So quiet and peaceful—safe. Christy took a deep breath and went on.

  “I knew right away. I could feel the poison bubbling up underground, getting ready to destroy everything above. I had to tell the people who lived there in their new little houses. I had to warn them, no matter how shocking it was.”

  “Did they believe you?”

  “They didn’t want to, but I found a place where the poisons were breaking through—so I could show them. I wanted to save the children from all that awful pollution that was going to seep into their water and gardens. Nobody thanked me, but some of the people moved. The rest stayed behind and hated me because they couldn’t sell their houses. As though I were to blame for the poisons underground. In the end I was proved right, and everyone had to get out and leave a ghost town behind. The fault, the real crime, went back to a chemical plant that had dumped in the area years before.”

  “I suppose the newspapers got hold of it? Your part, I mean?”

  Christy sipped coffee, grateful for its warmth. Even thinking about what had happened made her shiver. “That was the worst aspect. People read about me and began to ask me to test localities where pollution was suspected. Sometimes I could even tell them that a place was all right—and that was wonderful. But mostly I gave them bad news.”

  “Does Lili know about this?”

  “She always knows. And of course she thinks it’s wonderful.”

  “My sister may know, but she doesn’t always understand,” Nona said. “She wears blinders when it comes to anything she calls negative.”

  “My mother thinks I’ve come into my own, and now I’m to use my gifts for the good of humanity.”

  “Lili’s always very high on humanity.” Nona’s tone was dry. “But there’s more, isn’t there? Maybe more than even Lili knows?”

  The shivery feeling was growing, deep inside. Christy clasped her hands about the mug and sipped again.

  “Yes. She hasn’t paid much attention for a while, since she thinks I’m fine, and she’s busier than ever. But she must be getting inklings by this time. I haven’t told her I was coming here. The last time I found pollution was nearly a year ago. After that, the feeling I’d get, the places I’d be led to, turned so ugly that I can’t live with it. I’ll go crazy if it goes on! Yet I don’t know how to turn it off. Once it started, there wasn’t any more of what you might call normal pollution. The first time the new thing happened, I could feel the horror all through me, and I could point out where they should dig. I even made someone call the police.”

  Christy covered her face with her hands, but she couldn’t block the pictures in her mind.

  “Of course no one wanted to listen—I was just a crackpot. The young officer who came was sure I was nuts. So I took a shovel myself and I struck right down into bone on the first try—because the grave was so shallow. So then they dug her up. A pretty young girl—not dead for long. She’d only just been reported missing. She had been raped and strangled. And I knew where she was buried. It was terrifying that I should know.”

  Nona’s long fingers with their turquoise rings reached out to touch Christy, steadying her. “It’s okay. Relax. It’s best if you get it all out and let it go.”

  “At first the police were suspicious of me. They didn’t think I could know so much unless I was involved. But then there were three more—and I couldn’t have had anything to do with them.”

  Parents and police had begun to find her because of someone missing. It was always a young girl—always found murdered. There had been death threats too. Perhaps from the guilty who thought they might be recognized.

  “How does this come to you?” Nona asked.

  “I’d be given some possession of the girl who was missing, and when I held it I’d know where to look. I would begin to feel ill and a headache would start. I didn’t always know the name of the location, but I could see the place and, when I gave them details, someone would recognize it. I don’t know how it happens. I just blank out and the pictures come—in a sort of mist. When the police take me to the place—it has always been in my general area—I can find the exact spot.”

  Memory was vivid, painful. Two of the deaths hadn’t been recent. Even though the detective who now believed in her most tried to spare her as much as he could, it was awful. She couldn’t stand it any more. The horrors were beginning to color her storytelling. Tales of witches and goblins and monsters crept in—the books seemed to leap into her hands—scary things. Some children loved such stories, but some didn’t and were frightened.

  “Did you get any messages about who the murderer was?” Nona asked.

  “No! The police always pushed me for more details, but I was thankful not to be led in that direction. The anonymous threats began to be frightening. So I had to run away—to save me. When you said to come I got ready the next day—and here I am.”

  Christy looked out the window at shadows lengthening across peaceful meadows that sloped down into the valley. Someone was taking the cows back to their barn for the night. Against a sky that was still blue, banners of rose were spreading. Along the ridge where Nona’s house stood, a small boy flew a dragon kite, running with the wind.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” Christy said. “Not even a house in view on this side because of the trees along your ridge. It’s wonderful to be where no one knows me; no one knows what I can do. I never want to go back to where crime is happening. I’d just like to be—ordinary. I’d like to fall in love and get married and have babies! But how can I, ever?”

  Nona patted her hand—a solid, bracing pat. “You did some good, you know. It was better for those parents to be sure, and not go on forever hoping and wondering.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. It’s so final to know. Maybe hope is better. Anyway, that’s not the point. Why couldn’t I know ahead of time? Why couldn’t I stop it from happening?”

  “That’s what you said about Puddles when you were little. But even if you knew, you’d only frighten people and they wouldn’t listen.”

  “Then it’s better to be where it can never happen. Whatever it is I have, it doesn’t reach out over too many miles. I can be safe here.”

  The pat was repeated, more firmly. “Finish your coffee and then you can unpack and get settled while I start supper.”

  Christy looked at her quickly, sensing something. “There haven’t been any crimes around here, have there?”

  “Not that I know of. At least, not recently. This is Virginia, remember, and old places have histories of spilled blood. At least this area has never been thickly settled—maybe only farmers and Indians have crossed the land or lived here. But I can’t guarantee the past.”

  “It’s not the past that sends me messages. At least, not the distant past.”

  “I wonder if you’re doing the right thing?” Nona said, not looking at her.

  “You mean in coming here?”

  “No—I’m happy to have you. I mean your running away from these messages that come to you, instead of seeing them through.”

  Christy had begun to relax, but now she stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing specific. And of course you must rest now—find relief from all your strain. But even
if you run away, I don’t think your visions will stop—and there may be a use for them. We have to do what we’re put here to do—isn’t that true?”

  “Has something happened here at Redlands? Something you haven’t told me?”

  “Nothing that won’t keep until tomorrow.”

  For a moment Christy stared at her aunt, all her sense of safety evaporating. Then she put her head down on her arms and began to cry. She had held back her fears for so long, not daring to let go, and now sobs came raggedly, despairingly. Nona pushed a box of tissues near her hand and let her cry.

  Christy didn’t look up until she heard the door to the deck open, heard a step on the tiles. When she raised her tear-streaked face, she saw that Victor Birdcall had come down from the roof. He filled the doorway, all in gray, except for the western belt he wore, its buckle heavy with silver and turquoise. He glanced at Christy and turned quickly away, speaking to Nona.

  “Sorry to interrupt. It’ll be dark soon, so I’ll stop for now. I’ll come back tomorrow and finish the job on the lightning rods.”

  “Thanks, Victor. This is my niece, Christy Loren, who’ll be staying with me. Christy, this is my friend and neighbor, Victor Birdcall. He lives across the valley on the opposite mountain.”

  Christy was in no state to rise to the introduction, and she regarded Victor with a certain caution, aware that she returned his own distrust. He was even bigger than he’d seemed on the roof—a man probably in his fifties. Weathering sun lines creased his face, and none of them seemed like laugh lines. In contrast to his black hair, his eyes were a burning blue. She had the sudden strong sense that this was a man who had no space left for other people’s troubles.

  Aware of Christy’s growing tension, Nona spoke curtly to Victor. “I’ll see you tomorrow—okay? Plan on having lunch with us.”

  He caught the peremptory note in her voice and clicked his heels. “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Oh, come off it!” Nona said. “I’m just trying to get rid of you quickly. Christy has had a long trip and some unsettling experiences.”

  His grin came reluctantly—so he could smile. “I’m gone,” he said. He didn’t look at Christy again but gave Nona a touch of forefinger to temple as he went out the door.

  “I shouldn’t have been so short with him,” Nona said as Victor went off along the deck, his boots light on the planks. “He looks so tough that sometimes I forget how he can curl up like a sensitive plant and take offense.”

  “He makes me uncomfortable,” Christy admitted. “There’s something—something dark—” She broke off. “No! I don’t want to think about that.”

  “Then don’t. Victor’s okay and he’s a good friend. So just slam that door when it starts to open. You’ll go down useless roads if you dip into every human psyche you meet. Save your gift for where it’s needed.”

  She didn’t want to save it at all, but it was still possible to do as Nona directed, and she put Victor out of her mind.

  “Let me set my casserole in the oven,” Nona said, “and then I’ll show you your room.”

  Christy stood looking out the big windows. These were the forested mountains of the east coast, beautiful with their long shadows-flung across slopes of meadow, and rosy light tinting the western sky. In this quiet hour the birds knew that night was coming and they twittered busily in the still air, before settling down. The boy with the soaring kite had gone elsewhere. The scene was peaceful, quiet, yet Christy no longer felt reassured.

  Nona closed the oven door and walked into the long hall that ran parallel with the front of the house.

  “I want to see your studio,” Christy said, following. “You’re painting now, aren’t you?”

  “I certainly am. I’ve never felt more creative, and I’ve started a new series that I’m excited about. Come downstairs first, and when you’re ready I’ll show you.”

  Stairs slanted to the lower floor that dropped down the hillside at the back. A guest bedroom opened on a wide deck that Christy could see through sliding glass doors. Beyond the edge of the deck, dropping still farther down the steep hill, grew stands of poplar, birch, maple, oak, and dogwood, the latter still ghostly with remaining petals. With the sensation of being among treetops, Christy could see through the branches to the blue ridges of the high mountains not far away. Yet the contrast was great between the front of Nona’s house and the view from the back. Out in front there were far-flung spaces of sky, cloud patterns, and changing colors over fields cropped close by cattle. Here at the back, trees hid all but patches of sky, and night came quickly, so that dark woods seemed to crowd in.

  Nona slid a door open on its track and a light breeze came through the screen, breaking the early evening calm. “There’s a stream down at the bottom, but don’t go hiking in the woods unless someone’s with you. The snakes will be waking up pretty soon. We don’t have rattlers around here, and the black snakes are harmless. But we watch out for the copperheads. They like rocky ledges and woodpiles and thick grass. I manage to live with them peacefully, but you’re a foreigner.”

  Christy drew back from the doorway uneasily. She’d had no experience with snakes, and the outdoor beauty seemed suddenly less appealing.

  “There were always snakes in paradise,” Nona pointed out, “and they do keep down the insect and rodent population. We share the land with them, but we also stay aware and we don’t go putting a hand down on a log or rock without looking first.”

  “Is that a house down there across the stream?”

  “Floris Fox lives down at the bottom. She and her husband used to have a small llama farm. Now that she’s a widow, she only keeps a few animals that she can care for with a little outside help. Floris is local and she and Abel were here before the rest of us at Redlands. Most of us come from somewhere else.”

  Nona was trying to be cheerful in order to promise interest for her stay, but Christy knew her own story and fears had disturbed her aunt.

  She turned from the view of tall trees to examine the room. Quilts on twin beds repeated the leafy green pattern outdoors, with touches of yellow sunlight cutting through the print. When Nona turned on a fluted bedlamp, the room’s pine walls took on a warm glow.

  Christy released a breath that was a sigh of weary contentment. “This is just the sort of room I need right now. The quiet is heavenly.”

  “When all the tree creatures wake up there’ll be a noisy orchestra, but they haven’t started yet. I’ll see you later.” Nona kissed her lightly on the cheek, but before she could turn away, Christy put a hand on her aunt’s arm.

  “This place is safe for me, isn’t it? There haven’t been any crimes around here?”

  “I’ve already answered that. There’s no way to reassure you, considering your present state of mind. But this isn’t New York, and you’ll feel better tomorrow. Change out of those wrinkled clothes and come upstairs.”

  It seemed to Christy that her aunt hurried off a little too quickly, as though the answer she could give wasn’t completely reassuring. All Christy’s antennae were out and they quivered uneasily. Not just because of snakes. Nona would have had no way of knowing ahead of time the problem that had sent Christy into flight. But now that she’d been told, there seemed something a little guarded about her manner.

  Never mind! She must not start up all the doubts and tremors again. It was natural to be edgy wherever she was right now, but this was a place where she could rest and heal all that throbbing, fearful sensitivity.

  A green-tiled bathroom adjoined the bedroom, and a shower would be restful and help her to relax. Her mind must be taught new ways—and it would learn! As she stood looking around at the plain wood furniture, some of it undoubtedly handmade, she began to feel quieter, more reassured. Nothing stirred now at the back of her mind to threaten her. There were no flashes of light, no mist, no throbbing head.

  She had just opened her suitcase
when a sound outside broke the country stillness. This rear side of the house was darker than the front, where the sky still showed traces of brightness. A wrought-iron table and several chairs had been placed outside on the wide planks of the deck, and she saw what had made the sound. A small boy, perhaps six or seven, sat perched on the table, and he was staring at her through the screen. He was the same boy she’d seen flying a kite a few moments ago.

  Boys and girls of this age were usually her friends, so she stepped out on the deck to join him. “Hello. I’m Christy Loren. What’s your name?”

  He stared at her solemnly, and she stood very still, waiting. The boy’s fair, curly hair sprang back from a good forehead—sunny hair. But his darker brows drew down in a scowl and his small mouth seemed tight with disapproval.

  “Go away,” he said.

  She nodded, still smiling. “All right. Maybe we can get acquainted another time. That was a great dragon kite you were flying out there.”

  This didn’t soften him in the least. He slid down from the table and ran to the far end of the deck, where he jumped off and disappeared along the hillside. Christy drew green draperies across the sliding doors, trying not to feel disturbed. Small boys often had to be approached warily, and this one would be a friend once he got used to her.

  Nevertheless, the intensity of the words he’d flung at her echoed in her mind. Go away! She must ask Nona about him when she went upstairs. But first she would take that relaxing shower.

  She has come.

  I have known she would come ever since I saw the clipping. She is her mother’s daughter, and with Nona here, she’d be drawn to Redlands.

  I met her once long ago and only by chance. She won’t remember. We were in the same hall, listening to Dukas. The daughter is young—an innocent. What does she know about good and evil?

  I know. And I know which I prefer. I know which is more powerful and compelling. And far more interesting. For now I will watch. There isn’t any danger—yet.