The Sisters Hemingway

by Annie England Noblin

  When there was no answer, she pushed on the door, the swelling of the wood making it difficult to open. When it finally did open, water rushed inside, mingling with the water that was already there. Pfeiffer looked around the room for Old Crow and found him sitting on his table, clutching his shotgun.

  “I don’t think that gun is going to save you from the flood,” Pfeiffer said, inching forward. “What are you doing still here? You should have left hours ago.”

  Crowley turned to look at her, his eyes glassy. He said nothing.

  “Why don’t you come down from there,” Pfeiffer said gently. “You can come to our house until all of this is over.”

  “I’m not leavin’.”

  Pfeiffer tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling. “Please,” she said. “I know that the last time I was here we didn’t part on friendly terms, but you’re welcome at our house. It’s dangerous for you to be here alone.”

  “My family’s lived here for over a cen’try,” Crowley replied. “Ain’t no reason to abandon her down ’cuz of a bit a water.”

  “Your house is flooding,” Pfeiffer stated.

  “It’ll be fine,” Crowley said. “Give it time.”

  “We don’t have time,” Pfeiffer replied. “The bridge is completely washed out, and if this rain keeps up, your house will be underwater before it gets dark.”

  “Reckon I’ll be underwater with it, then.”

  “Brody and Luke Gibson will be here soon,” Pfeiffer continued. “I don’t want them to have to force you to leave for your own good.”

  Crowley patted his shotgun and said, “Doubt they’ll be gettin’ too close.”

  Pfeiffer’s back was beginning to sting, and the muscles in her legs ached. Right now she wasn’t sure why she’d come all this way to be rebuffed by an old man wielding a shotgun. “You could die,” she said.

  “I was born on this land,” Crowley replied. “I’ll die on it, too.”

  “That’s just pigheaded.”

  “Yer aunt used ta call me that,” Crowley said, a far-off smile on his face. “A long time ago.”

  “Before she lost the ability to speak?”

  Crowley looked at her. “She never lost the ability,” he replied. “She just decided she was done talkin’.”

  “Why?”

  Crowley’s eyes hardened and he turned away from her.

  “Never mind,” Pfeiffer said hastily. “Please, let’s just go.”

  “Yer aunt didn’t kill nobody,” Crowley said suddenly. “Don’t go thinkin’ she did.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Pfeiffer replied. “And I didn’t say she did.”

  “You were wonderin’ about it, though, weren’t ya?”

  Pfeiffer shrugged. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said. “I know my mother and father didn’t kill anyone.”

  “No. They didn’t.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “I swore,” he said, his voice practically a whisper. “I swore I wouldn’t tell nobody.”

  “Please,” Pfeiffer pleaded, the water now to her knees. She watched as objects around the room began to float. “You don’t have to tell me. Let’s just go.”

  “She spoke to me,” Crowley continued. “Before she died. She spoke.”

  The revelation was enough to make Pfeiffer stop begging Old Crow to come with her. “She spoke?”

  Crowley nodded. “I went to see her. Dr. O’Conner said she weren’t long for this life. Said she was askin’ fer me.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “Not much at first,” Crowley replied. “She made the good doctor leave the room, and then she asked me for a drink a whiskey. She musta knowed I’d come with it.”

  Pfeiffer grinned. She hoped that someday she could ask for alcohol on her deathbed. “Is that all she wanted?” she asked. “A drink?”

  “She showed me the diary.”

  Pfeiffer’s heart stilled. “You’ve read it?”

  Crowley nodded. “I ain’t a good reader,” he admitted. “So it took me a while.”

  Outside, there was a horn and shouting, and Pfeiffer recognized the voices as Brody’s and Luke’s. “They’re here,” she said. “Please come with us.”

  “I can’t,” Crowley said.

  “Why not?”

  “This is all I have.” Crowley’s voice broke. “I can’t leave it.”

  Pfeiffer could hear Brody and Luke pressing against the door to open it further, allowing another gush of water to enter. She felt desperate to get Old Crow out of his house while she still could. “Do you think this is how my aunt would have wanted you to die?” she asked. “Do you think she would want this for you?”

  Crowley looked at her, his eyes wet. “No,” he said. “She’d be madder’n a boiled owl if she knew.”

  “Don’t you think she’ll know if you let yourself get drowned?” Pfeiffer asked.

  Brody and Luke came crashing through the door, toppling onto each other as they hurried inside. “What are you still doing in here?” Brody demanded. “The water is up to your waist!”

  “I’m sorry,” Crowley said.

  “Come on,” Luke replied. “We have to get you both out of this house.”

  Crowley nodded, handing his gun off to Brody and allowing Luke to lift him off of the table and carry him through the dense water.

  “Pfeiffer,” Crowley said. “The desk by my bed.”

  “What about it?” Pfeiffer asked.

  “The missing pages,” Crowley replied. “They’re in the top drawer.”

  Chapter 34

  Martha

  MARTHA DIPPED THE BLOODY DISH TOWEL INTO THE warm water in the sink, wondering how one person could have so much blood coming out of their nose. She’d seen a broken nose or two, especially on a few rough nights at Mama’s, but this broken nose took the cake.

  “The car,” Mark was lamenting. “That car was a rental.”

  “I’d be more worried about your face,” Martha replied. “Your face is rented to the people of the state of Kansas.”

  “Shhhh,” Hadley hissed. “Be nice.”

  Martha shrugged and turned back to the sink. “Do you think they’re all right?” she asked. “Do you think Brody and Luke got to them?”

  “I hope so,” Hadley replied. “I don’t understand why Pfeiffer thought she could go and get Crowley herself.”

  “You know Pfeiffer,” Martha said.

  “I do,” Hadley replied.

  “Still,” Martha continued, “she should have waited.”

  “She fell in the water,” Mark mumbled. “When they were rescuing me. She fell in the water, and I thought she was going to drown.”

  “What?” Hadley asked.

  “But she got back up,” he said. “I think she hurt her back.”

  “Is she okay?” Martha wanted to know.

  Mark nodded absently. “Uh-huh.”

  Hadley stood up and went into the kitchen with Martha. “I feel like this is my fault,” she said. “Pfeiffer would have been back here by now if she hadn’t been busy saving my stupid husband.”

  “Soon-to-be ex-husband,” Martha reminded her.

  Hadley stopped what she was doing to stare at her sister. “How do you know that?”

  “Mark told us last night,” Martha said. “Both me and Pfeiffer.”

  “I was going to tell you,” Hadley said.

  “Mmm-hmm, right,” Martha murmured. “The same way Pfeiffer was going to tell us about that journal?”

  “No,” Hadley said. “I really was going to tell you, but I guess I was just waiting for the right time.”

  “I don’t think there is ever a right time for that kind of thing,” Martha replied. “It’s not like Hallmark makes a ‘Guess what, I’m getting a divorce’ card. If they did, trust me, that’s how I would have broken the news about me and Travis.”

  “It just makes me feel like such a failure,” Hadley replied. “I didn’t want you and Pfeiffer to think that about me.”<
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  “We would never think that about you,” Martha said, turning to face her sister. “Ever, and you should know that.”

  “I know.” Hadley sighed. “I didn’t want to make things worse than they already are,” she said. “I never wanted to make life harder for you. Or Pfeiffer.”

  “I knew you were going to move out,” Martha said suddenly, her voice quiet. “That summer after you graduated—I knew it. We all did.”

  “You did?”

  “Mama didn’t know,” Martha said. “Not until she found the money you and Brody had been saving.”

  Hadley stood very still. “She didn’t find it,” she blurted, unable to hold the words in any longer. “She stole it.”

  “She was going to give it back,” Martha said. “She promised us she’d give it back.”

  “When?” Hadley wanted to know. “After she moved off with all three of you, and left me and Brody with nothing?”

  Martha took her hands out of the water and dried them on the back pockets of her jeans. “Is that what you were fighting about?” she asked. “That day of the storm?”

  “You knew about that, too?”

  Martha nodded. “Pfeiffer and I went up to my room,” she said. “We made Mary leave, because we wanted to talk about boys, and we thought she would tell Mama what we said.”

  “That explains why she was on the stairs,” Hadley muttered.

  “You saw her?” Martha asked. “Before she ran off?”

  Hadley nodded. “Mama and I were arguing about the money and about the move and about how she thought Brody and I were too young to get married. I told Mama I hated her,” Hadley said, nearly choking on a sob. “I didn’t mean it, but I said it.”

  “Oh, Hadley.” Martha pulled her sister into her arms. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” Hadley replied, pulling away. “I saw Mary on the stairs. I knew she’d heard everything. I knew Mama hadn’t told her about moving, because Mary was going to be so upset. She loved it here more than anyone. And instead of saying anything to her, instead of trying to make her feel better, I ran out the door and drove to Brody’s house.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I should have said something,” Hadley continued. “Instead, I thought to myself, Good, now she knows the truth. What kind of a thing was that to think?”

  “We were kids,” Martha said. “Mama was the adult, not you.”

  “I was old enough to know better,” Hadley replied, the tears now streaming freely down her face.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Martha said again. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault, what happened. The storm was so sudden. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”

  “I’m just so sorry,” Hadley sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m okay!” Mark called from the couch. “It’s not your fault. Don’t cry. I’m okay!”

  The front door opened, and Pfeiffer stepped through, holding Crowley by one arm. She guided him inside, followed by Brody and Luke. They brought him into the kitchen and sat him down in one of the chairs.

  “Old Crow,” Martha said, bending down to look at him. “Are you okay?”

  Crowley nodded. “I’m all right, child. I’m all right.”

  “Would you like some tea or something?”

  “Only if you’ll add a spot of honey and a drop of whiskey,” Crowley replied, a faint smile playing on his pale lips. “And I’d have one of them tomato sandwiches you make, too.”

  Martha nodded. “You’ve got it.”

  “Jesus,” Pfeiffer whispered. “Since when did we start running a bed-and-breakfast?”

  Hadley laughed, despite herself, and began to dry the tears on her face.

  Pfeiffer turned to speak, but her face fell when she saw her sister. “Hadley,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine.” Hadley sniffed. “I was just worried about you, that’s all.”

  “I’m fine!”

  “We’re all fine,” Mark called, still on the couch. “We’ve established that.”

  Pfeiffer rolled her eyes in Mark’s direction. “I’d be a lot better if I hadn’t had to save his dumb ass from roaring floodwaters.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hadley said. “I really thought he’d given up and gone home.”

  “No such luck.”

  “Here,” Brody said, coming into the kitchen and handing Crowley a folded pair of jeans and a shirt. “I always keep a change of clothes in my pickup. Might be a little big, but at least you’ll be dry.”

  “Thank ya,” Crowley replied. “I’m sorry fer makin’ all this trouble.”

  “It’s okay,” Brody replied. “We take care of each other around here, remember?”

  Crowley nodded. “These last few days, I’ve not been myself.”

  “These last few days have been unlike any days I’ve ever had,” Brody replied. “It’s made us all a little off.”

  Crowley turned his gaze to Pfeiffer and said, “Did you get ’em?”

  Pfeiffer glanced between Hadley and Brody, and then said, “I did.”

  “You need to read ’em.”

  “What is he talking about?” Hadley asked. “Read what?”

  “The rest of the journal,” Pfeiffer replied.

  “You had the pages?” Hadley asked.

  “I did,” Crowley replied. “Read them.”

  Hesitantly, Pfeiffer pulled out a wad of crumpled papers from her pants pocket. The pages were frayed and wet, but the words were clear.

  Beatrice

  January 1, 1949

  Today marks a brand-new year. So much has happened since I last put pen to paper that I scarcely know what to write. This will be the last time I write in this diary. It will be the last time I speak of Will or what happened that night. It will be the last time I speak until the day I die, and I know this to be true, because if I am ever called to speak again, I know these words will spill from my mouth the way they are about to spill onto these pages.

  I feel so far away from the girl I was the last time I saw Will. I’m not that girl anymore. I will never be that girl again.

  Last April, Maryann came to stay with us while Daddy and Charlie were called away on farm business for two weeks. She didn’t like to stay at the house in town alone, especially as she was preparing to go see a special doctor in St. Louis about her inability to have a baby. Mama and Maryann wouldn’t talk about it in front of me. Mama said it was a “delicate matter,” and I wasn’t to hear of it. Only after Maryann found out my own secret did she tell me hers.

  Maryann came to my room one night after dinner to find me in bed, sweating and ill. When she asked me what was wrong, I was afraid to tell her. For the last two months, I’d not received my monthly gift, and I could feel my belly swelling beneath my clothing, despite the fact that I was rarely hungry and eating less.

  Despite my shame, she was kind to me and told me she’d felt the same way when her babies were still alive inside of her. I made her swear not to tell Mama, and she promised. She asked me what I planned to do, and I told her Will and I were going to elope while Charlie and Daddy were still gone. I knew that Daddy didn’t approve of the match, but I also knew he’d have to accept us if we came back married, and I was carrying his grandchild. It wouldn’t be easy, I knew, but it was the only way. Will and I loved each other, and I hoped that Daddy would be able to see that someday.

  All that week, Maryann helped me prepare. Will didn’t have much money, but he had enough saved up to get us out of Cold River. He’d found another tenant job a few towns over, and we planned to marry and live humbly until the baby came. I was afraid to be away from home, but Will promised me that we’d come home again just as soon as we could come back without making people suspicious of us. I told him that everyone is suspicious in Cold River, but he just laughed and held me while I cried.

  The night we were supposed to meet, I gathered my things and slipped out of the house without waking Mama. Maryann was supposed to be waiting for me, but h
er room was empty, so I went on without her to Will’s.

  I found her coming out of his cabin as I approached. She rushed toward me and grabbed me. She told me Will was gone—that his cabin was empty. She said she was sorry, but that he must have changed his mind about us—about me and the baby. She said sometimes men did these things, even if they’d promised otherwise. She wouldn’t let me go inside, for fear it would upset me and something bad would happen to the baby. She walked me home and put me to bed, and I slept for two days without waking.

  By the time I woke up, she and Mama had a plan. I was too heartbroken and scared to be upset about Maryann telling Mama, but Mama never looked at me the same way after that. Even now, she won’t look at me or speak to me unless I speak to her first.

  Maryann told me that I would go with her to St. Louis until the baby came. She said that when we came home, she would introduce the baby as her baby. She promised me nobody else would ever have to know—not Charlie and especially not Daddy. She said it would be easy to tell everyone her health required her to stay up north until the baby was born, as treatment in the city is better than in the country. She said she had cousins with whom we could stay, and she promised me it was the best thing for me and for the baby. God help me, I believed her.

  We left the next morning, and Maryann’s cousin Ginger met us at the train station in St. Louis. The next months were a blur of doctors and sleep. I remember screaming for Mama when the baby was coming, and I remember holding my sweet baby girl in my arms.

  Maryann named her Rachael. She is a beautiful child. I’ve never seen a more perfect child. She has fine, soft hair and she smells of sleep and milk. I wanted to name her Adeline, but Maryann said it wouldn’t be for the best. She called her Rachael, and after she took her into her arms and hurried away with her, I relented. I don’t care what her name is, as long as she is safe.

  We waited six weeks before returning to Cold River after Rachael was born. It gave me time for my body to heal, and Maryann says because I’m young, I still look almost exactly the same as I did when we left.

  Daddy and Charlie were so happy to meet the baby. Maryann has never been so happy, and I suspect this is why they were so keen to accept her without any questions. It took Mama a bit longer to warm up, but Rachael is such a good baby, it didn’t take her long. She is the light of our lives now.