"How did you get in here, you knothead?" she said. Good question, one the goat didn't answer. The back door was locked and Sarah had been standing by the front door for at least the last half hour.
The goat's mouth worked in that peculiar sideways twist, and Sarah looked around to see if it had chewed into any of the birdseed sacks. The floor was clean, but the billy was busy cudding up something. Sarah knelt and peered, not trusting her ancient eyes. She owned glasses but always left them by the register. Red specks dotted the animal's lips, and a pink strand of drool ran down the crusty beard.
"I can't tell what you're eating, but it damn well better not be my pickled beets." Sarah swept the broom around and gently swatted the goat on the shoulder. "Now get on out of here."
The goat continued chewing as if relishing a palmful of artichoke hearts. Avoiding the curled horns, Sarah moved beside the animal and slammed the straw end of the broom against the goat's rump. The billy looked at her out of its nearest eye, and Sarah saw a small version of herself in the rectangular pupil. The reflection looked scared.
"Get on, get on," she said, her voice nearly breaking. Because now something was crunching inside the animal's mouth, like peanut shells. She delivered one more blow, and the goat took a few steps down the aisle, hooves scruffing over the hardwood floor. It looked back at her and seemed to grin before it headed to the front of the store, pushed open the door with its horns, and sauntered off the porch.
Odus had scheduled a little meeting here tonight to discuss the strange carryings-on, and Sarah wondered if she would tell what she had just seen. Dangling between the goat's ochre teeth had been a dark, wet string that looked for all the world like a mouse's tail.
Jett wasn't hungry, despite the lingering effect of the munchies that pot usually caused. Mom had laid out quite a spread, with a casserole, roast beef, butternut squash, and a coconut cream pie for dessert. Mom had never made a pie in Jett's whole life, if you didn't count those that came out of a Sara Lee package. Gordon ate with hardly a word, stuffing his face and washing the food down with goblets of red wine.
"How was your day?" Mom finally asked him, like a zombie mom out of some dippy sitcom.
"Departmental meeting," Gordon said. "The dean's pressuring us to get more articles published."
"Isn't your book good enough to satisfy him?"
Gordon set down his wineglass hard enough to clink. "Nobody cares about Appalachian religion anymore. The old churches are dying out. Foot washings, tent revivals, creek baptisms, it just seems like a bunch of superstitious nonsense to my peers. But why should they think any differently? The faculty's from Boston, Berkeley, Tallahassee, and Detroit. They know more about the thousand Hindu gods than they know about their own backyard."
"Now, dear, I'm sure your work is appreciated."
Jett was freaking. Mom had never called her dad "dear." Jett had to shove some pie in her mouth to keep from gasping in disbelief. She had to admit, the pie was pretty awesome.
"They don't understand the importance of the church in Solom's history." Gordon pushed away his dinner plate and started on the pie. He raised one eyebrow in pleasure. "I'm impressed."
"Just an old family recipe," Mom said.
"I didn't know we had any old family recipes," Jett said.
"Sure, honey. It's about time you started taking on a bigger share of the kitchen work. After all, you'll be a woman soon."
"More chores," Gordon said. "That's what builds character. Hard work will keep you out of trouble. Speaking of which, you'll need to feed the goats after dinner."
"In the barn?" Jett looked at mom. Mom wore a faint smile, her lips stiff like those of someone sitting for a painting.
Gordon focused on the last of his pie, shoveling it down in gooey white lumps. He scraped his fork across the plate and licked it clean. "Sure. Just throw down a couple of bales from the loft. The grass isn't growing as fast with winter coming on."
"But it's almost dark."
"There's a flashlight in the hall closet."
"What about the man-"
Gordon looked at her, his eyes like lumps of cold coal behind his lenses. "What man?"
"Never mind."
"It's a rite of passage," Gordon said. "If you're going to live on the farm, you're part of the farm. Persephone's about to go back to Hades and winter's on its way."
"Who is Persephone?" Jett didn't really want to sit through a lecture, but figured she might as well stall for time.
"Persephone was the daughter of Demeter and Zeus in Greek mythology. Hades, the king of the Underworld fell in love with her and dragged her to his realm. Demeter, who was goddess of the harvest, was angered and hurt. She punished the world through cold winds and freezing weather."
"Sounds like a bummer for all concerned."
"Especially the poor humans, who thought they had lost Demeter's favor. Hades eventually agreed to let Persephone come up to the world for half the year, giving us spring and summer."
"Why didn't Persephone just run away?"
"Because she had fallen in love with Hades."
"Some people just fall in love with the wrong person," Jett said, giving Mom a bloodshot stare. Mom smiled.
"Okay, chores now," Gordon said. "Just don't try to sneak a puff of drugs while you're out there. I know what that stuff smells like. Those hippies in East Dorm crank it out like a steam train."
"Mom?" Jett looked to her mom for any sign of concern, but Mom could just as easily have been watching television on the dining room wall. Jett had almost blurted out to Mom about seeing the man in the black hat, or being touched by the scarecrow guy in the attic, but she hadn't, and now it would sound like the ultimate case of crying wolf. Or else the rantings of a deranged dope fiend. Besides, she didn't want Gordon to get one over on her. She'd show the bastard even if it killed her.
Well, maybe that was a little extreme. Stoner paranoia. She pushed her pie away and went to the closet, finding the flashlight and shrugging into her favorite studded jean jacket. "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, tell them my merry-go-round broke down," she said.
Gordon paused with his goblet to his lips. "Some kind of drug slang?"
"A Tommy Keene reference. Get it, Mom?"
Mom gave a Stepford grin. "No, dear. Who is Tommy Keene?"
Freaky.
Before Jett could dwell on the shadowy man who no doubt awaited her, she burst out the front door, gripping the flashlight as if it were a billy club. "Don't let Hades come up and grab you," Gordon hollered after her.
She should have told Gordon to go take a flying fuck at his precious goats. Maybe a good, old-fashioned blowup would shatter the creepy little drama stage that the Smith house had become, maybe even yank Mom out of Stepford mode. If Jett and Gordon got into a knock-down, drag-out, surely Mom would take her side. Wouldn't she?
Dusk was settling in the east as she made her way to the barn, the sky gone as purple as a Goth's eyeliner. Crickets chirruped in the cool night air, but the forests were still. The lights of a few houses cast solid sparks against the darkening slopes, but they seemed miles away. The creek gurgled like a hundred men with cut throats.
I can do this, she thought as she opened the gate. I can feed Shadrach and Nebuchednezzer and whatever the fuck else Gordon named them, then walk back in the house whistling. That way I can score points on Gordon. I won't let that fucker win.
She shuddered as she walked through the spot where she'd seen the man in the black hat earlier, when he'd lifted his hand and waved those cheese-colored, stiff fingers. She thumbed on the light and played the beam in front of her, watching for piles of goat goodies. She reached the barn without incident, and took a last, longing look at the lights of the Smith house before she entered. Part of her expected to see Mom at the kitchen window, watching after her, but all the curtains were drawn.