IT WAS TWILIGHT, the treetops lit by a gray gloom, and long shadows beneath, and the shack on the hilltop was creaking under the force of a strong wind. Stray raindrops splattered the ragged boards of the porch and plinked off the big roadster parked in front. Both doors opened and the two occupants stepped out-Campbell Bradford and the boy.
“Hold on there,” Campbell snapped, and then he took the violin case from the boy’s hand and flicked up the latches and opened it, lifted the instrument out. He handled the violin roughly, and the boy winced. Inside the case were a few handfuls of bills and coins. Campbell took all of the bills, folded them, and put them in his pocket. Then he dropped the violin back in on top of the coins and latched the case.
“There. What’s left is yours. Now go on and get your uncle. I need a word.”
Lucas took the case and went to the front door, stepping carefully around one gaping hole in the porch floor. A moment after he went inside, the door opened again and the old man stepped out, clothed in the same dirty overalls and with a hat on his head. The hat had holes in the brim.
“I don’t got no liquor for you tonight,” he said.
“I know it. Now come on down here so I can speak without shouting.”
The old man didn’t seem to like that idea, but after a hesitation he walked slowly down the steps and out into the yard.
“I wish you wouldn’t drag the boy down there with his fiddle,” he said. “He don’t like playing in front of folks.”
“He makes some money at it, and so do you,” Campbell said. “So kindly keep any more such thoughts unspoken. I like the sound of his playing.”
The old man frowned and shifted his weight but didn’t answer.
“I got a business dilemma,” Campbell said, “and you’re the cause of it. You ain’t given me but eight jugs in a month. That’s not enough.”
“It’s alls I had.”
“That’s the problem. What you have is not enough.”
“There’s other places for ’shine, Campbell. Lars has a still not two mile from here. Then there’s them boys from Chicago, they’d bring you down booze in barrels if you was to want it.”
“I don’t want their damn swill,” Campbell said. “Ain’t none of it the same as yours, and you know that.”
The old man wet his lips and looked away.
“How do you make it?” Campbell said, voice softer. “What’s the difference?”
“Make it same as anybody, I suppose.”
Campbell shook his head. “There’s something different about it, and you know what it is.”
“Figure it’s the spring water, maybe,” the old man said, shying away from Campbell’s stare. “I found me a good spring. Small one, but good. Strange. Water don’t look right coming out of it, don’t smell right either, but it’s got a… quality.”
“Well, I want more of it. And I want it fast, hear?”
“Thing is”-the old man shifted again, moving away from Campbell-“I’m not going to be able to help you much longer.”
“What?”
“I’m fixin’ to move. The boy needs to be somewhere else. I got a sister-not his mother, but another one-who got married and moved out east. Pennsylvania. Wrote and said he should be somewhere he could get music schooling. I don’t know about that, but this place… this place ain’t fit for raising a child. I ain’t fit.”
Campbell didn’t speak. Night was coming on quickly, shadows lengthening, and the wind howled around the home and the shed that housed the whiskey still.
“This valley’s drying up,” the old man said. “I’ve heard the talk, everybody losing their savings, banks closing. Won’t be anybody down here spending money on gambling and liquor anymore, Campbell. You ought to think about getting out yourself.”
“I ought to think about getting out,” Campbell echoed, his voice a thousand-pound whisper.
“Well, I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m going to try to get the boy east. Get him to somebody will see to him in the right way. Figure I’ll probably come back, this is the only home I know. But-”
“This is my valley,” Campbell said. “You understand that, you old shit-heel? I don’t give the first damn about what’s happening to banks and stocks, and I don’t give the first damn about what’s happening with your bastard nephew and your whore sister. This here is mine, and if I tell you to keep on making liquor, you damn well better take heed.”
The old man kept shuffling backward, but he lifted his head and dared to meet Campbell’s eye.
“That ain’t how it works,” he said. “You ain’t my master, Campbell. Run people all over here like you was, but the truth is, you’re just another greed-soaked son of a bitch. I’ve made money selling liquor to you, but you’ve made it back tenfold at least, so don’t tell me that I owe you a damn thing.”
“That’s how you see it?” Campbell said.
“That’s how it is.”
Campbell reached into his jacket, pulled out a revolver, cocked it, and shot the old man in the chest.
The gun was small but the sound large, and the old man’s eyes widened and his hands went to his stomach even though the bullet had entered high on his chest. His tattered hat fell from his head and landed in the grass a half second before he did. Blood ran thick and dark from the wound and coated the backs of his hands.
Campbell switched the gun to his left hand and walked over to him. His stride was brisk. He looked down at the body and spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the wound. The old man gurgled and stared.
“This world breaks many a man,” Campbell said. “I’m not one of them, old-timer. It’s a matter of the strength of your will. You ain’t never seen any strong as mine.”
The door to the shack banged open and the boy stood there, hands at his side, hair tousled. Campbell gazed at him without reaction. The boy looked at the body, and then at the gun in Campbell’s hand, and he did not move.
“Get down here,” Campbell called.
The boy made no response.
“Son,” Campbell said, “you best think about your future right now. You best think fast and hard. Ain’t going to be but this one chance to make the decision.”
The boy, Lucas, came slowly down the steps. He walked across the grass toward his uncle’s body. There was no motion from it now, no trace of breath. When he reached the body, he looked up at Campbell. He said not a word.
“You are facing,” Campbell said, “a key moment in your life, boy. Seminal is the word. Now look down at your uncle.”
Lucas gave the body a flick of the eyes. His knees were shaking and he’d squeezed his fingernails into his palms.
“Look,” Campbell said.
This time he turned his face down, stared right at the corpse. There was blood in the grass on both sides of it now, and the muscles of the dead man’s face looked stricken and taut.
“What you see there,” Campbell said, “is a man who had no appreciation for strength. For power. A man who could not take heed of ambition. What you have to decide now is, are you such a man?”
Lucas looked up. The wind was blowing hard and steady, bending the treetops and whipping his hair back from his forehead. He did not meet Campbell’s eyes, but he shook his head. He shook it slowly but emphatically.
“I thought not,” Campbell said. “You been up here for a good while. You’ve seen him at work. Do you know how to make that moonshine?”
Lucas nodded, but it was hesitant.
“Whatever you’ve forgotten about it,” Campbell said, “you’d be advised to start remembering.”
He put the gun away and then dropped his hands into his pockets, hunching against the wind.
“Time for you to find a shovel, boy. I’d hurry, too. Feels like rain.”
Eric’s hearing returned before his sight. He was dimly aware of the chiming grandfather clock before the room appeared around him, vaporous at first and then hard edged, and he found himself looking into Anne McKinney’s fascinated and fearful eyes.
“You see me again,” she said. It was not a question.
“Yeah.” His voice was a croak. She went into the kitchen and poured him a glass of iced tea and brought it back and watched silently as he drank the whole thing down.
“You had me a little nervous,” she said.
He choked out a laugh. “Sorry about that.”
“It was plain to see you’d gone somewhere else,” she said, and then, leaning forward, added, “Tell me-what were you seeing?”
“The past,” he said.
“The past?”
He nodded. “That’s the best I can describe it. I’m seeing things from another time… They’re from this place, and they are not from this time.”
“This place,” she said. “You mean my home?”
There was something so excited in her voice, so hopeful, that he was taken aback.
“No. I mean the town. The area, I guess. But not your house.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointment clear. “Is it scary, what you’re seeing?”
“Sometimes. Other times… just like watching a movie.”
“You always have the visions when you drink the water?”
“I seem to,” he said. “They’re different when I have your water. Then I’m nothing but a spectator. When I drank from the other bottle… then it was more like seeing a ghost right here with me. I wasn’t seeing the past, I was seeing something out of it that had joined the present.”
She was quiet, considering what he’d said.
“Do you know the name Campbell Bradford?” he asked.
She rocked back. “That’s not who you’re seeing?”
He nodded.
“Oh, my. Yes, I know the name. Haven’t heard it in years, but he was the talk of the town when I was a girl. There’s plenty of folks who thought he was evil, you know. Or became evil, that’s the way I remember my daddy telling it. He said Campbell was just another mean man at first, but then something dark took hold of him and pushed him beyond mean. Pushed him until he wasn’t even himself anymore.”
“Something dark?”
“You know, a spirit. A lot of folks believed that sort of thing in those days.”
“You remember Kellen, the guy I brought over?” Eric said, and she nodded. “Well, his grandfather worked down here in the twenties and had some idea that the area was… not necessarily haunted, but-”
“Charged.” The word left their mouths simultaneously, and Eric pulled his head back and stared at her.
“He talked to you about this?”
“No,” she said softly, “it’s just the right word.”
“So you believe there are ghosts here?”
She frowned and looked at the window. “I’ve always connected it more to the weather myself. That’s what I study, you know. And there’s something different in this valley… You can feel it in the wind now and again, and on the edge of a summer storm, or maybe just before ice comes down in the wintertime. There’s something different. And charge is the best word for it. There’s a charge, all right.”
“Does that mean you believe there are ghosts here or not?”
“There’s something in this area that’s close to magic,” she said. “You call it supernatural if you want; I’ve always called it magic. But there’s something in the place itself-in the earth, in the water, in the wind-that has power. You know, with weather there are cold fronts and warm fronts, and when they collide, something special is going to happen. I think there’s something about Springs Valley that’s similar. It feels the same way to me as the air does right before those fronts collide. That probably doesn’t make sense to you but it’s the only way I know to explain it. A special kind of energy in the air, maybe energy beyond the natural. Could there be ghosts here? Certainly. Not everyone sees them, though. That much I’m sure of. But those who do, well, I imagine it has a mighty powerful influence.”
Eric was staring at her, silent.
“Thing you need to remember?” she said. “You can’t be sure what hides behind the wind.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
She smiled. “You’re too worried about figuring out what you can believe about all of this, and then figuring out how to control it. That’s how most people approach their lives. Way I feel, though, after a lot of years of living? Not much of what matters in the world is under your control. You don’t dictate, you adapt. That’s all. So stop trying to control this, and start trying to listen to what it’s telling you.”
His reaction made her frown and tilt her head. “What?”
“If there’s a single point to these visions,” he said slowly, “I haven’t been able to understand it yet. Except the first one, with the train, when he tipped his hat at me. I understood that. Campbell was thanking me.”
“Thanking you? For what?”
“For bringing him home.”