"It's almost that time, Sue Robin."
"Yeah." She studied her luminous watch dial. "Almost ten. Come on."
They got up and dragged the deck chairs across the lawn to the wide porch, although there was so sign of rain in the starry, moonlit sky. They stood looking at each other in the moonlight. Then, taking a deep breath as if they were about to dive into a lake, they turned and went to Sue Robin's little sports car in the driveway.
The old family graveyard was almost as bright as day. The two young women could easily read the names on some of the larger stones as they picked their way through grass and weeds.
"Over here," Sue Robin whispered. "Robert Angus Forsythe." She couldn't read the weathered name on the tall, ancient tombstone, but she knew as well as she knew her own name that this was the grave of her first ancestor in this country. "This is where we wait."
They stood still, without speaking, and in spite of a balmy breeze coming in from the ocean a mile away, they both shivered slightly at if chilled.
A pale wraith rose up to one side, and Mary Beth gave a short cry.
"Hush you' mouth, child!" snapped Aunt Clarinda, coming closer. "Bend you' head down."
When Mary Beth stooped her head, the little woman secured a wide blindfold over her eyes. "Now you." The eyes blazed up at Sue Robin, and the tall blonde stooped low and allowed Aunt Clarinda to blindfold her.
"Jes' stand still now."
A dried weed crackled as the witch vanished into the night, leaving them blindfolded. But only for a few moments. Sue Robin felt a hand take her by the upper arm in a firm but gentle grip, and urge her along slowly. She allowed herself to be guided, not knowing who her guide was, whether a man or a woman, young or old. She guessed that Mary Beth was being handled in the same way.
The hand on her arm cautioned her to go even slower. Her sandal struck against a beam of wood. We're going into the Old Place, she thought. A thrill of anticipation coursed through her. She had never been in more than three or four of the rooms. Many of them were locked even from one another, and as far as she knew, only Aunt Minerva had the keys. Aunt Minerva! Where did that little old rascal fit into this?
She and her unseen guide walked across some floors, passing through she knew not how many rooms and passageways. Then the hand restrained her even more, and eased forward and down. We're going downstairs, into the cellar, she thought. That's got to be it. Old stories came back to her memory, tales Aunt Clarinda and Aunt Minerva used to tell her and Buz and their playmates when they were little. Wounded Confederate soldiers hidden from Yankee troops. Food and family silver hidden in undiscoverable places.
Sue Robin almost laughed aloud as she was struck by sudden illumination. Of course! People who had sneaked into the Old Place, to screw or whatever, to be later chased away by hideous laughter and other ghoulish sounds. Only Aunt Minerva and Aunt Clarinda knew about fake walls and secret closets and all that sort of stuff. So her ancient relative and nursemaid were peeping Toms! Well, how about that!
Her thoughts were jerked back into the present as she came to the bottom of the steps and felt earth beneath her feet instead of flooring. Her guide had still uttered not a sound. Her sandal struck another beam on the ground as she stepped from one compartment to another. The odor of clay was strong in her nostrils, and a smell of roots.
Then she heard something that resembled the running of a brook. The hand on her arm signaled for her to stop, then it was removed. The blindfold was pulled off, and she stood blinking in the flickering dim light of two candles stuck in iron candleholders on the wall. She was standing in front of a huge hollowed-out cypress log that lay on the earth floor. A large pipe rested on one end feeding a stream of fresh water into the wooden reservoir, and another pipe at the other end drained off from the top, to prevent overflow.
That's right, Sue Robin recalled. This was the secret water supply from an underground spring. A movement behind her made her turn. A figure completely swathed from head to foot in a white sheet motioned for her to strip and get into the oversize wooded bathtub. Without hesitating, Sue Robin kicked off her sandals and removed her shirt and slacks. Next came her bra and panties, and then she stepped gingerly into the water. It was cool, but not chilly, and in a moment she had accustomed herself to it.
This feels nice, she thought, sinking down in the running water until it was up to her neck. Over a hundred years of use had worn the inside of the cypress hull to satiny smoothness, and the contact of her bare body against it was sensually pleasing. She laved herself with her hands while the white-clad figure stood motionless to one side.
This must be some kind of purification ceremony, she reasoned, luxuriating in the refreshing bath.
The swathed figure raised a hand and beckoned for her to come out. Reluctantly she stepped out on a mat and another white-robed figure appeared, this one with a large towel. With no qualms at all, Sue Robin submitted to the gentle but thorough rubdown at the hands of the unknown. When she started to put her clothes back on, the white-robed one stopped her, handing her instead a large white sheet.
Sue Robin understood. She wrapped herself from head to foot like the other, then followed the figure out through a far door.
She found herself in a small room, also lit by a few candles. In the center, seated on a low square table, was Aunt Clarinda, her head decorated in a wildly colored calico turban, but the rest of her body was covered in a white sheet like all the others. Her face was like a mask of petrified dark mahogany, so expressionless did it seem to Sue Robin. Her tiger-eyes appeared to be looking through and past the young woman rather at her as Sue Robin approached.
At gesture from the other, Sue Robin opened wide the sheet, exposing her nude body. A brown claw of a hand dipped into a clay pot on the table, and with a thick liquid the color of fresh blood Aunt Clarinda traced a circle around each nipple of Sue Robin's breasts, then drew a peculiar symbol on her belly, just above her pubic mound.
The old woman wiped her hand on a towel. On the other side of her table was a pitcher and some glasses. She poured some amber liquid into a glass and handed it to Sue Robin, who took it and raised it to her lips. It tasted pleasant, flavored with unknown spices, but she recognized the basic liquid as the powerful corn likker that old Josh made every year at the family's private still on the plantation. She drank it down, then wrapped the sheet about herself again.
Her guide waited with a candle. She fell in behind and followed the robed figure through a short tunnel, then a sharp left turn, and they were in a large room, how large she couldn't tell. A smell of burning incense came through the earthy underground odor. Vaguely, by the feeble light of the single candle, Sue Robin sighted some benches and three or four other figures, white-robed, sitting on them. The candle-bearer motioned for her to sit on a bench at some distance from the others. It seemed to Sue Robin that the benches were arranged in a rough semicircle. Then her guide was gone, and the light, too.
She sat still in the darkness, listening from some sound from the other seated people, but she heard nothing. The air seemed fresh enough, so she was sure there was plenty of ventilation, no matter how far underground they were.
The liquor hit her just as the guide returned, followed by another neophyte. This one sat down beside Sue Robin, and she immediately recognized Mary Beth. The guide departed, and Mary Beth seized Sue Robin's hand and held it, trembling with fear and excitement. Suddenly she relaxed, and Sue Robin guessed that the powerful drink had hit her sister-in-law, too. They made no sound, but sat in tranquil silence, waiting.