Clove awaited me patiently at the hitching rail. I stared at it, and at the weeds that grew vigorously at the base of its supports. It reminded me of my father’s hedgerows, founded on lines of rough stones hauled from the surrounding fields. I’d encountered no sizable stones while digging graves. The largest ones were no bigger than my head. But even those, set in a row, could provide a demarcation. And if I planted thorny or densely growing bushes, I might make a barrier of the very stuff of the forest that so daunted me.
The moment the idea came to me, I recognized the rightness of it. It would take time to grow, of course. So I’d erect a rail fence to begin with, and any stones I encountered in my gravedigging could go along the bottom of it. The Specks went naked. I’d plant brambles and briers along it. Yes.
Clove’s reins were loose in my hands. He tugged at them, reminding me that I’d been standing there, lost in thought, for some time. I realized abruptly that I appeared to be staring at two women approaching me on the sidewalk. In an effort to counteract that rudeness, I smiled affably and gave a friendly nod. One gave a squeak of fear and her hand darted to seize the brass whistle she wore on a chain around her neck. The other woman abruptly took her companion’s elbow and steered her quickly out and across the street. They walked briskly and glanced back at me once, whispering together. My cheeks burned in embarrassment, but I also felt a tinge of anger. I knew, with absolute certainty, that if those women had so encountered me two years ago, they would have smiled and returned my greeting. I resented that the shape of my body made them judge me so hastily. Within, I was the same man I’d always been.
Almost. I realized I was still staring after the women, and mentally contrasting their figures to the naked Speck woman I’d glimpsed earlier. Walking about clad only in her flesh, she had still been less self-conscious and more confident than either of them. And she had been aggressive, as Hitch had warned me that all Speck women were. He’d said that his Speck woman had simply chosen him and that he’d had no say in it, then or since. I wondered what that would be like, and caught my breath at the idea. It didn’t displease me.
I hadn’t planned to go back to Sarla Moggam’s. Yet I found myself there, and tying Clove to the railing. It was stupid of me, I thought. Did I really want to spend what little remained of my month’s pay on this? Fala was gone, I reminded myself as I knocked at the door, and the other whores had appeared uninterested in my trade. I’d be wiser to go straight back to my cottage.
Stiddick opened the door to my knock. “You!” he exclaimed the moment he opened it. Over his shoulder, he said to someone, “The cemetery guard is back.” He stood solidly in the door opening. I could not pass, nor even look inside.
Before I could say anything, he was thrust to one side and Sarla herself darted out. She wore a red dress with many little white bows on the skirt of it. A layer of lace inadequately concealed her shoulders and the top of her bosom. She fairly quivered with anger. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here!” she exclaimed. “After what you did to Fala!”
“I didn’t do anything to Fala,” I protested, but my voice went soft and guilty on the last words. I had done something to Fala, I just couldn’t explain what.
“Then where is she?” Sarla demanded angrily. “Where does a woman go in Gettys in the dead of winter? You come here, you spend the whole night with her, something Fala never did with anyone. Then you’re gone, and she just isn’t herself. Turns away every man who comes to her for two days, and then just disappears. Where?”
“I don’t know!” I’d heard Sarla was angry with me over Fala’s leaving her employ. I hadn’t expected her angry questions.
Her harsh smile of vindictive triumph deepened the lines in her face and flaked the powder from the corners of her mouth. “You don’t know? Then why didn’t you ever come back to see her? Everyone saw how satisfied you were. You come to my establishment just once, spend the whole night with one of my girls, and then she vanishes. But you never come back looking for her. Because you knew she was gone, didn’t you? And you knew she wasn’t ever coming back. And how does a man know that unless he makes sure of it himself?”
I was dumbstruck for a moment. Then, with all the dignity I could muster in the face of her outrageous words, I said carefully, “Are you accusing me of something, madam? And if you are, would you state it plainly?”
If I had thought a blunt response would rattle her, I was wrong. She leaned forward from the waist toward me, her hands on her hips, thrusting her breasts at me like weapons. “I say Fala came to a bad end. That’s what I say. And I think that you know just how. Is that plain enough for you?”