Gabby’s head jerks sharply my way; she freezes in her tizzy. Eyes dart to the door, to the balcony, to the windows, as though looking for someone secretly lingering.
“You know about the deer?” she whispers. There’s a guarded, yet eager hesitation, but it’s clear she’s hoping for a yes.
I pretend to be concerned there are ears nearby as well. I give her a small nod. The tension in her body slackens as a huge grin grows on her face.
Gabby curls her hands to prance. “Bumpety, bumpety. Hop, hop.” She jumps forward twice. “Out came the deer and nobody stopped.” She shakes her head with an exaggerated no. “From its pocket, fell a blue drop of rain.” Her hands cup together as if she’s holding the droplet. “She whispered the recipe to see again.” Gabby stood tall and proud as if she just recited the Pledge of Allegiance in front of the entire class.
She shushes me. “No one is supposed to know.”
“Know what?”
“About the deer.” Gabby fidgets with her fingers again, warily eyeing the door. “But I kept it.” A childlike mischievous grin fans across her face.
“The deer?” Now I have images of a deer stowed away in the closet or locked out on that balcony.
“No, silly. The blue droplet of rain. But don’t tell, or she’ll get so mad. Lorelei’s always mad.” Gabby nervously straightens the napkins on the food table. Tweaks and turns the nuts bowl and the mints tray, eyes always flitting to the door.
A coil of unease settles itself in my belly. This is exactly what Adaire was telling me. Her riddled tongue can guide you to see, I remind myself.
“Can I see it?” I flash an eager grin and match Gabby’s secretiveness as I slowly rise out of my chair. “Can I see the droplet of rain?”
Gabby steps back, guarded and unsure. She drums her fingers across her bottom lip, considering.
“I won’t tell.” I stand tall and hold high my three-finger Girl Scouts promise.
The edge of her mouth lightly curls upward. That’s a promise she’s willing to trust.
“Yes, yes, you can see.” She bounces over to a desk in the corner and picks up a pink flowered box. When the lid opens, up pops a tiny plastic ballerina. I had a similar jewelry box when I was younger.
Her fingers scrounge around the trinkets and other treasures she keeps in there until... “Here!” She plucks a single item and holds it out for me. I open a palm to receive it. The tiny blue glass hits my hand like a weighted stone.
A cobalt blue bottle stopper.
The very one that matches the perfume bottle that holds my Sin Eater Oil, that sits next to Grandmama’s recipe box.
The whooshing in my chest muffles my hearing. The earth waves under my feet. My thoughts trip over themselves, trying to calculate two and two and coming up with orange. A cold chill races up my spine. The mystery of this deer story feels imperative to unravel.
“Where did you say you met this deer?”
“Near the woods.” She holds her hand out for me to return it to her. Instead, I pull back. This dwindles the joy lighting her face.
“This deer had a pocket?” My words a little firmer.
“Mmm, huh.” She murmurs and nods eagerly, but she catches onto my wariness. “But don’t worry about the deer.” She misreads my concern “It’s just sleeping.”
“Sleeping?” I step closer. She steps back, bumping into her baby’s crib.
“Yes.” She turns nervously and fingers the white lace layered around the edge. Then she lovingly looks inside the small crib. “Sleeping like an angel,” she whispers lightly and with a soft push, the cradle rocks. She hums a rhythmic cadence.
“Bumpety, bumpety. Hop, hop,” she sings. “Out came the deer and nobody stopped.” She shakes her head to the other crib. “From its pocket, fell a blue drop of rain.” She playfully twinkles her fingers downward. “She whispered the recipe to see again. Sleeping!” Gabby twists around to me, eyes bright with joy. “A long forever nap. Like Stone. Like Ellis.”
A wave of unease crashes over me.
“Like my babies!”
Slowly, I turn my attention to the two cradles. A faint dirty handprint stains the frilly lace on one. The realization of what she’s saying dawns on me.
I peer over the edge, praying to sweet Jesus I’ll see two beautiful baby dolls.
It’s my fears that are answered and not my prayers.
Two dirty swaddles lie in each crib. The same meager blankets Grandmama wrapped those twins up in all those years ago. Threadbare and stained brown from rot. I stumble back, almost tumbling over the settee.
A haunting sneer spreads across that thin bony face of hers. Gabby tilts her head, almost gloating at the stark fear she senses in my reaction. She walks over and reaches into the crib, running a delicate touch over the foul empty blankets.
“Precious, aren’t they?” She sighs a blissful motherly sigh. “My family gets mad when I sneak out, but you won’t tell, will you? It’ll be our little secret.” Then she straightens and turns to me. “You didn’t even ask me what the deer was going to cook.” She seems affronted, and it takes my brain a chugging minute to catch up.
“A recipe to see?” I pluck the words from her little rhyme.
“Yes!” She rushes over to me before I can back away. “A recipe to see!” She thrusts herself right up in my face, then grabs my wrists, and we start to spin. “A recipe to see. A recipe to see!” she sings. “Devil’s Seed Child. Devil’s Seed Child, a recipe to see!”
We dance in a circle.
A wave of sickness flushes over me. My mind can’t let go of this sleeping deer. This dead deer with a pocket. A pocket that carried the blue stopper that belongs to a perfume bottle that’s been in my family for generations. No clue how long that stopper has been missing, I’ve only ever known the mismatched one that we have now. My gut knows what she’s telling me, but my head doesn’t want to think who this dead deer is.
What if Adaire found the stopper at the farmhouse, among my mother’s things?
Gabby stops abruptly, her face realizing something. “You won’t tell, will you?” And before I can promise my silence, a dark malevolence shadows her face. For a split second, her eyes eclipse to black orbs, then the orbs are gone in a blink. So fast, maybe I’m wrong.
