The Waking Bell

by Jackie Weger

  Despite my marriage, there was a snobbery against my class that couldn’t be swept under a rug. To the outside world, I would always be a simpleton.

  Taking a bite of the roast, I tasted nothing. Mrs. Holbrook had cooked the dinner. She had done an excellent job, but my mind was on other matters, questions I couldn’t simply dismiss.

  Mrs. Pritchard had insisted Mrs. Holbrook cook tonight. I made no objection, which seemed to please Mrs. Pritchard.

  Since I heard the story of my youth, my attention lay with Ginny Rose. I had questions that only she could answer.

  She wore black tonight, with only a pearl brooch and earrings to relieve its somber hue. I looked over at Mr. Reeves. He looked no different to me than he did any day he readied for work in his suit and tie.

  On my other side, Mrs. Pritchard looked quite satisfied with the dinner. The olive branch had been extended and seemingly accepted. Mrs. Pritchard thought it had been. I, however, didn’t trust any of them.

  Dodie’s appearance tonight came as a surprise. As far as I understood, only the Reeves had been invited. Ginny Rose said Dodie had insisted on accompanying them. There was no objection. Instead, another plate was quickly set on the table.

  I understood. Tonight, I played a part. I was no longer a Reeves, but a Pritchard. I intended to uphold my duty to my husband.

  Matt reached over and squeezed my hand. In turn, I gave him a warm smile. Matt was my rock. I would endure this uncomfortable night for him.

  I participated little, if any, in the conversation. No one expected me to talk.

  After I cleared the table, I walked into the living room where the rest of the party had retired. I brought a tray of coffee with cups if anyone wanted it. I placed the service on the marble cocktail table.

  Matt had seen to our guests’ drinks. Mr. Reeves sat on the couch with Ginny Rose. He had his favorite drink in hand, a Tom Collins. Ginny Rose had a glass of white wine. A martini was on the end table untouched. Dodie was nowhere to be seen.

  Mrs. Pritchard and Matt on the leather armchairs. Matt didn’t look up as I entered. He was in deep discussion with Mr. Reeves about a potential investment. Mrs. Pritchard and Ginny Rose raved about the advantages of using cow manure for their roses.

  I eased out. Dodie’s disappearance bothered me.

  Walking into the foyer, I looked around. The door to the downstairs bathroom was open. It meant only one thing to me: Dodie was upstairs.

  I took one step at a time, listening carefully, but I knew where she had gone. I turned at the landing and went toward Moria’s old room. The door was cracked. She was there.

  Dodie sat in the bay window. Her body was turned from me, but she seemed to be fluffing the pillows. On my entrance, she immediately stopped. She stood and straightened her gown.

  The lamp on the side table served as the only light in the room. It heightened her dramatic quality, whitened her skin, and her jewelry sparkled even more brilliant.

  Dodie looked as though she had expected me. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Renee tells me that you spend a great deal of time in here. Creepy, Cousin.” She laughed. “This was the room that Moria shared with Matt, where they shared the most private of intimacies. Desire. Passion. Lust. Can you smell it still?” She waved her hand. “I should know.” A knowing smile plastered her face. “Moria and I shared everything. There were no secrets between us.”

  I let Dodie’s words pass. She was as crazy as she was vain. She really did consider me a simpleton to believe that she could bait me. Her verbal assault on me at Ginny Rose’s was still a fresh wound.

  If she was trying to taunt me about Matt and Moria’s marriage, she had missed her mark. It certainly wouldn’t be this room that would goad me into revealing my innermost thoughts. Not to her. Not to anyone.

  I watched her walk around the room. She ran her hand over the drapery, tilted her head to the bed, and sauntered over to the wardrobe. “I packed up the room for Matt after Moria died. Her family wanted her personal items. He wasn’t able to come back into the room they’d shared. He was shattered.”

  She stared at me, looking for any response. I sighed but said nothing, unsure exactly what she was fishing for at this moment.

  Her eyes roamed up and down the length of me. “I must say how charming you look. I’m sure Matt made certain of that.” She smirked. “You stand there so smugly, but I want to warn you, Cady Blue. Be wary of your husband. Moria learned the hard way.”

  She had hit a bullseye. “What do you mean?”

  “There is no need to tell you,” she huffed. “You must have begun to suspect by now why he married you. Matt is no knight in shining armor. He needed you.”

  I knew what she was aiming at—my witnessing Moria and her the morning Moria had died.

  “I didn’t lie. I saw you with Moria.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “So you say, but it must bother you how quickly the two of you married.”

  I considered retorting it had been her attack on me. He loved me and wanted to protect me from the likes of her. It had been the Reeves who had tried to destroy my reputation, but I thought better of it. The woman wore on my last nerve.

  “The whole town realizes why he married you,” she spoke softly, but with a firm undertone. “He’s hiding something and using you to do so. It is the only logical conclusion.” For a long moment, she pressed her lips together tightly. She entwined her fingers, then shook her head. “I hesitate to tell you what Moria’s brother is doing, but I suppose you are family.”

  “If you believe so,” I said rather impatiently, realizing she was playing a game. “Tell me or leave.”

  “Coy talked with Governor Cooper, who has agreed to open an investigation by the state into Moria’s death. Can’t trust local law enforcement.”

  My heart skipped a beat. She was insinuating that others believed Matt had killed Moria. That wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true.

  Dodie walked toward me, close enough to squeeze my cheeks. “As for you seeing me with Moria that morning, it means nothing. Another witness has come forward. He’s talking with authorities at the capital. He saw me drive off, leaving Moria standing in the driveway. Right afterward, he will testify he saw Matt flying up in his truck, seeing red…like maybe he found out about a lover. Nothing you’re going to say will save him now.”

  I stepped back, giving her enough space to pass.

  Dodie amazed me with her audacity. She walked back down the stairs and into the seat she had abandoned not long ago. She took a sip of her drink and fell into conversation with the women.

  Matt glanced my way as if asking if I was okay. I nodded, but I wasn’t.

  Dodie had disturbed me in ways I would never want to admit.

  That night, my sleep was restless. I dreamed of Moria on cliffs, standing there with her hair blowing in the breeze. She looked so lovely, so scared. The color in her face drained, her eyes widened. “Nooooo!” she screamed as she fell off the rocks with her arms outstretched, pleading for help that would never come.

  I woke and knew there would be no more sleep. With Matt sleeping soundly, I eased off the bed and went into the room that had been Moria’s.

  Dodie was right about one thing. I should have had some aversion to being in here, but instead, I was drawn to it in a way I couldn’t explain.

  I curled up on the cushion in the bay window. There I stayed until the sun rose.

  Morning came. With it, I put on a smile to greet my husband as he came down for breakfast.

  “Dressed already? Going someplace?” he asked as he leaned down and kissed my lips lightly.

  “I thought of following up dinner with a visit to Ginny Rose.” I poured him a cup of coffee. “She offered me some cuttings from her garden.”

  “That’s nice.” He smiled as if it pleased him. “I got a call from my cousin Janice, asking if we would like to come for dinner in Knoxville sometime soon. Would you like to go? It’s just her and her parents, mother’s brother. Her husband is fighting i
n Europe.”

  “Yes, I would like that.”

  His mother joined us shortly afterward. I was worried that Matt would suggest I take his mother with me to Ginny Rose’s. Thankfully, he didn’t. For me, this visit wasn’t a social occasion.

  Matt and I had talked endlessly about my childhood trauma while at the cabin. I didn’t want his pity. He understood and showed me only patience and kindness.

  He explained that Goldie had also told him there was nothing to the rumors about Bud Mosley. Otis had gotten hold of him long before anything happened. It was as I remembered.

  Matt said it was a gift from God that I had no memory of the events that led to my father’s death. I knew he was right, but I tried to recall my life before the fire. In a strange way, I wanted to remember.

  I had questions gnawing at me. I had questions, questions which only Ginny Rose could answer.

  Driving over to Ginny Rose’s, I thought of when I was a child and how lonely I had been. My mother and I had no connection to each other.

  There was a time that flashed through my mind. It had been when I was nine. I spent the night huddled in my bedroom after spilling her beer. Momma had slapped me. It was the only time she had ever physically hurt me, but then, she had grabbed me and cried hysterically. After she released me, I ran into my room, scared to death.

  Goldie had come to me then and tucked me into bed. She had been the stable force in my life as a child.

  I parked the car in the driveway. I couldn’t remember coming to this house when it wasn’t for my job. I discovered this was harder than I’d imagined, going inside to talk to this woman, but I swallowed my fear about confrontation.

  Knocking on the back door, I opened it like family did, like I had always done when I worked there. I stepped into the kitchen. Immediately, I smelled burnt biscuits.

  Mr. Reeves had hired one of the Hadley’s girls, Marigo, to take my place. She was there by the stove with a smoking pan in her hand.

  “Good day,” I greeted her.

  The poor thing seemed frazzled. She was young, no more than fifteen. Her hair had come out of its bun. Her apron was halfway off. Moreover, her reddened eyes betrayed she had been crying.

  “Would you like some help?” I asked. Not waiting for a reply, I started cleaning up the pile of dishes in the sink. “Why don’t you sweep?”

  She nodded. “Miss Ginny Rose said to throw my biscuits out. I tried them again. They still ain’t right. I can’t seem to cook them without burning the bottoms.”

  Pulling out a different cooking pan that was thicker, I smiled at her. “Use this one and put the oven down to three-twenty-five. This stove cooks hot.”

  “Why, Cady Blue, what do you think you are doing?”

  “Old habits, you know.” I turned to see Ginny Rose in the doorway. I gave her a small smile. “Why don’t I make us some coffee and have some cookies I brought?”

  A few minutes later, we sat out under the oak tree. I studied her while I sipped my coffee. She looked older than she did a month ago.

  I took a deep breath, thinking how much had changed during that time.

  Ginny Rose had a distant look in her eyes like she had occasionally. At those times, I would have to call her back to the present. Today, though, it would be best for me if she stayed in the past.

  “Matt and I enjoyed having Mr. Reeves and you over for dinner last night,” I began. “I thought that I would take you up on your offer of some cuttings.”

  She looked at me strangely. Yet I made no effort to remind her.

  I turned the conversation. “Did my father like flowers, Ginny Rose?” I asked. “I don’t know much about him. You haven’t said. I was wondering what you could tell me about him.”

  “What are you talking about? Say what you mean.”

  “There was a time something happened…to me. A time I don’t understand. Perhaps it’s not true at all…about Daddy.”

  Ginny Rose became deathly silent. For a long moment, the only sound was the grandfather clock in the house. Then she stood and made toward the back door without speaking. I stepped in front of her. Pity and understanding surged through me for this woman.

  I was beginning to see all the sad, ugly truth.

  “You did know about Daddy…and what he did to me,” I choked out the words. “You saw him.”

  “I don’t know what I saw.” Her tone was so low that I could barely catch the words.

  “You do. You know what he did to me.”

  She drew away from me. “It couldn’t have been what I thought I saw.” Then her eyes gazed out in front of her as if she were reliving a different time. “It was when Boyd and I went over to visit while your mother was at work. I had made a banana pudding. It was his favorite. I knocked a few times, but then, the door cracked open. I went in. He was in the bedroom with you. His pants were down to his feet. You were on the bed crying. I screamed. Then Boyd came running into the room. Holden told us it wasn’t what it looked like. He was in the bathroom when you began to cry out. You had fallen, and he was just checking to make sure you were okay. I was wrong to have warned your mother. I should have known Naomi would have used it against Holden. Sheriff Gaither said we should be wary of her.”

  At the mention of the sheriff before Sheriff Brawner, I held my breath. This was much worse than the fact that both my grandparents knew what their son had done. “What do you mean the sheriff said you should be wary of Momma?”

  “Well, after Naomi broke her collar bone,” she said, looking at me confused at the question. “Naomi accused Holden of hurting her. Of course, Sheriff said she was crazy. Holden told us she had been drunk and had fallen down the stairs. Nobody ever paid her any mind after that…and she tried other times to convince me Holden beat her. Once she showed me bruises on her stomach…said he kicked her, but I knew she did them to herself. We never should have allowed him to marry a woman who makes up such horrific lies.”

  I listened in stunned silence. Momma had gone to the authorities—who did nothing to protect her.

  Ginny Rose sighed. “Boyd said we couldn’t trust Naomi and to forget the incident. It was nothing, but I warned your mother so she wouldn’t let him near you anymore. I told her that Holden was such a good boy when he was a baby. It was when he drank that he changed into a different person. He drank a little too much at times. Boyd said it was her…and you. Heathen devils he’d said.”

  I knew at that moment that both of my grandparents knew what their son had done. I stared at her in disbelief with my hand over my mouth.

  “Oh, dear, I have distressed you.” She sighed. “I don’t want you to think that we didn’t love you. Before you were born, Boyd would never admit it, but he was excited about the possibility of passing on the Reeves name. Of course, you would have had to be a boy. He thought you were going to be. He bought the most darling red fire engine. It had a light on the back and a siren that went off when you touched the button. He gave it to Holden when your mother was in labor. Boyd was so disappointed when you were a girl but thought next time… But there was no next time. It was all so depressing that it’s best to forget.” Ginny Rose gave me a sad smile. “Now look at you. All grown and respectably married to a Pritchard, no less.”

  Ginny Rose reached over and patted my hand. A signal, perhaps, to go forward, to let the past remain in the past.

  I nodded slightly. I suppressed the urge to yell at her and tell her how awful she was to have let the abuse continue. How could anyone not protect a child? But I also realized that arguing the fact would do no good. People always seemed to come up with a reason to excuse their behavior.

  Nothing I said or did would convince her otherwise, so I changed the subject to something she’d like. “Do you mind if I cut some of your gardenias? I know that they don’t last long, but they do smell so lovely.”

  A large smile blossomed on her face as I helped her up. “I insist,” she said. “As many as you like.”

  I left with the gardenias and answers,
answers that cut like a knife through my heart. I had only one thing on my mind. I drove directly to the cemetery.

  Visiting my mother’s grave had always felt like my duty. Strange, though, I had never felt it for my father. His grave was on the other side of the graveyard. I knew exactly where it was, underneath a large oak, well-manicured with a large tombstone that read Beloved son.

  My mother’s stone was smaller with a place for Otis when he passed. I supposed it was expected since the two had been married.

  The thought struck in that moment that Matt had not done the same. Moria’s plot was not far from my father’s and remarkably similar. There was no place for spouse on her tombstone. Moreover, she had no other relatives in the cemetery. She was alone. For some reason, the thought saddened me.

  I had discovered a lot saddened me as of late.

  The brown grass crackled under my feet from the hot August sun. I heard the birds sing—what seemed to me—mournful songs. Perhaps it was my mood that everything looked gloomy despite the sun.

  I stood before my mother’s grave and prayed hard. In my ignorance, I hadn’t realized what had drove her to drink. I wanted time back to tell her I loved her.

  I wondered if a dead person could forgive someone.

  “Mrs. Pritchard.”

  Startled, I turned toward the voice.

  “I am right. It is Mrs. Pritchard now.” Coy Langford stood in front of me waving a piece of paper at me. “Why did Goddard Jewelry, a store in Charleston, write me about a brooch?”

  For a long moment, I didn’t comprehend what he was asking. Then it hit me. He was talking about the brooch I found in the woods. Was he saying it had been Moria’s?

  Chapter 15

  “I won’t go with you,” I said quite firmly when Coy Langford asked me to get into his car to talk. “I don’t trust you in the least.”

  “I suppose I deserve that.”