by Devon, Gary;
Vee came to the foot of the bed, folding her arms. “You look better than the last time I looked in,” she announced, and Leona said, “Yes. I must have slept a long time. What time is it?” But already the children were beginning to clamor.
“Is it time to light the candles?” Walter asked.
“They’re not new candles,” Patsy said, elbowing him. “They’ve been used.”
Vee was feeling in her sweater pockets for matches. “We made up for these old candles by making an extra big cake.” She looked at Mark. “Couldn’t you set that cake afire and let that pretty girl get on with her birthday? She’s about to bust at the seams.”
Leona watched Mamie, who was beaming. Hardesty came toward them, striking a match with his thumbnail. Leaning over the children, cupping the fire in the palm of his hand, he lit the eight candles one at a time. The wick blazed up and the flame stabilized before he went on to the next one; little by little, the small flames exposed his face.
What struck Leona about him now was the absence of anything boyish in his face. Most of the men she knew, even Dr. Merchassen at the age of seventy-nine, carried some remnant of their boyhood in their faces all their lives. Not Mark Hardesty; his was entirely a man’s face. He was a lean, rugged-looking man; his eyes were warm and dark and crinkled at the corners. She noticed that his hands were weathered, accustomed to work. “I understand,” she said as he lit the last two candles, “that you have blind fish.”
“That’s right,” he replied. But the children disrupted anything else he might have said. “Yeah,” Walter told her. “We fed ’em corn. Field corn.” And Patsy said, “Uh-huh, we went inside their cave.”
When Leona lowered her eyes, she saw that the three of them were looking straight at her. “I’ll bet they liked that,” she said, and then turned again to Mark. “You must consider yourself very lucky? To have such fish.”
“They’re something everybody should see,” Hardesty said to her, unable to keep from grinning. He winked at her and shook out the match, stepping back. She could no longer see his face.
With the eight birthday candles flickering, they all turned to Mamie. “You have to make a wish,” Patsy said, and Walter added, “But close your eyes first.”
“I know how to do it,” Mamie said.
“Hurry up,” Walter persisted, “they’re gonna go out,” and Leona said, “Walter, let Mamie do it. We should sing,” and she started, “Happy birthday to you,” and Vee sang along. Walter and Patsy muttered the words, rapt, watching closely as Mamie bent over the eight yellow flames and blew them all out in one breath.
“What did you wish for?” Patsy asked.
“Don’t tell ’er,” Walter said. “It’s s’posed to be a secret.”
Vee diverted them. “Why don’t we cut that cake and eat it? We’ll all have some. Patsy, if you’d help me get the plates, and, Walter, you can hand out the forks.”
The candles were smoking, each sending up a tendril of white vapor. To keep the blackened ends from falling in the icing, Leona reached to take them out, but Mamie stepped forward possessively, blocking her hand.
Mark Hardesty noticed Mamie’s spite and the hurt expression that sank quickly on Leona’s face. But Mamie didn’t object when Vee removed the candles and cut the cake.
Served on saucers, the pieces lapped over the sides. When Mamie was through with her cake, Leona said to her, “Mamie, there’s a present here for you … from your Aunt Vee and me.” And she lifted the wrapped box from the covers. Funny Grandma said, “I seen the light come from the East in a hail of glory.”
Vee had wrapped the box in cooking foil. Mamie took it from Leona, sat with it on the floor. “It’s heavy,” she said quietly. Eyes bright with anticipation, Patsy and Walter gravitated to her, going to their knees, setting down their cake plates.
“Wonder what it is,” Walter said.
Mamie tore the wrapping away. “It’s everything,” said. “There’s everything in it. Just look.”
Vee caught Leona’s eye and nodded; then she said, “Mamie, you should share with them,” and obediently Mamie pulled out the yo-yo for Walter and the kazoo for Patsy, but they were more interested in everything still in the box. As the children went on exclaiming over their treasures, Vee collected the plates. She started to take Mark’s, but he said he had to be going, and they turned toward the kitchen when suddenly, without warning, a scream ripped through the room like a knife to the heart. Leona leaped up from the bed; Vee and Mark wheeled in the doorway; Funny Grandma pitched forward. And then Mamie screamed again. The box of trinkets spilled from her skirt. She raced around the room. “Look!” she cried. “Look! Oh, look! Look!” Tears were running down her face. “Look, it’s Toddy’s ring! It’s Toddy’s ring!”
She ran from one of them to the next, holding up the metal ring in the shape of a skull with glass eyes. “It’s Toddy’s ring!” Pausing hardly a moment, she cried, “It’s Toddy’s ring that he gave me. It’s Toddy’s Phantom ring.” She showed it to Vee and Hardesty and Funny Grandma. She was crying, brushing the tears from her face. She showed it to Patsy and Walter, whirled and stopped short directly in front of Leona. Mamie wept uncontrollably then, covering her face with her hands, and when she drew her hands away, her face was shiny with tears. She swallowed. “Oh, thank you,” she said to Leona. “Where’d you ever find it?”
Mamie didn’t wait for an answer, and it was just as well. Leona couldn’t speak.
“It’s my Toddy’s ring,” Mamie said, examining it once again. “… That he threw away.” She wiped away her tears and turned to the other children, sliding the ring down onto her finger. “See,” she said, “it’s adjustable.”
Leona couldn’t stop looking at her. Suddenly there was something warm and different in Mamie’s eyes.
In bed that night, Patsy said, “I think she likes him. Did you see how she looks at him? Maybe we can just stay here.”
“I like Harkestry,” Walter said. “He looks just like my daddy.”
Lying in the dark, Patsy said, “He don’t either. Stop saying that. He looks like somebody else.”
“Who, then?” Walter asked.
Toddy’s really a good boy, Mr. Abbott. He works so hard.… None of us knew he was so deeply troubled.… Mamie remembered that time. And she remembered asking Sherman, “Is Toddy comin’ with us?” And Sherman said, “He’s all right.” But Toddy wasn’t all right. He wasn’t all right any more. Tonight she couldn’t stop thinking about Toddy, just like he’d said he couldn’t stop thinking about Sherman. Without making a sound, she lay there in bed, crying, holding his Phantom’s ring in both her hands. It was a year ago tonight that he had come to her room and given her the cuff-link box with this ring in it. No one else had remembered. It seemed like forever ago.
Finally she had to bury her face in the pillow to keep from making any noise. She knew she had to be quiet tonight. It would be a long wait before she could sneak downstairs and put back Aunt Vee’s things: the buttons, the bobby pins, the silver dollars.
She was eight years old. She had her ring back. And Leona had given it to her.
16
Dawn.
A hinge squeaked.
Leona started and opened her eyes. Daybreak was just beginning to illuminate the drawn window shades. What was that? she thought. Her mind amplified a host of tiny sounds, but for several seconds she recognized nothing out of the ordinary. Then she heard two distinct footsteps. It’s somebody, she thought; it must be one of the children. And yet the noise was too measured and surefooted to be the sleepy wanderings of a child. Someone was in the house. An inkling of who it might be sent a chill through her. “Oh, no … no,” she murmured, trying to dismiss it. But who else would come sneaking in so early? On the sofa across the room, Vivian was sound asleep. Leona had slept with her arm back over her head, hiding her face. Now, under the canopy of her sleeve, she could see only part of the room.
A dark figure came to the edge of her perspective and stood nea
r the row of windows, as much as ten or twelve feet away, but the reddish glow from the stove didn’t reach him and the thin morning light left him unexposed. This must be what he did to Emma. Standing at the other end of the dingy brown shades, he was hardly more than a shape—as if a shadow had drawn itself together there. It’s him! she thought. He’s found us. He just stood there, very still. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if it showed through the covers, but at the thought of Emma, her fright was tempered with an even colder resolve. Her eyes scanned the room for something to use against him, but she could see nothing that would stop him. Then she remembered placing the briefcase next to the bed and thought, If only I could get the gun.
The pale morning light filtered through the shades in dim, diagonal streaks. It was like looking through ribbons of gauze. Otherwise the room was dark. She wondered if he could see her any better than she could see him, and decided she had to take the chance.
Slowly, under the quilts, she slipped her concealed hand to the edge of the cool bed sheet and began to lower her fingers. She thought: When he comes … if he sees what I’m doing, he’ll come very fast. He moved. He lit a cigarette. She saw the cupped flame bloom in his hands. She concentrated all her will into the quiet descent of her hand, and eventually her fingertips touched the top of the case. Muffling the spring-loaded latches under the ball of her hand, she undid them, first one, then the other. Wedged between the bed runner and the night table, the briefcase stood open a crack.
He was putting out his cigarette.
Shifting slightly, still hiding her face, she fumbled for the Browning, finally snatched the upright barrel end of it and carefully retracted her arm. She could follow the path of her hand under the covers: the surface of the quilt swelled and flattened like the track of a mole in soft earth. She slid the Browning into the warm air pocket near her body where she could manipulate it undetected. Then, like a slippery shadow, the figure at the window took a step and turned, and she closed her eyes, playing possum. If he came toward her, if she heard him or even sensed him coming at her, she would kill him. Shoot straight through the quilts.
Trying to keep her eyelids relaxed and her breathing steady, she found the small metal safety catch and released it. At the same time, she heard him shift, then nothing else. She tensed beneath the covers and felt a change in the air as the warmth from the stove was momentarily blocked from her. Her forefinger closed down like a knot on the trigger. To locate him exactly, she opened and closed her eyes very fast and saw the blur of his hand so close to her face that she couldn’t move, couldn’t even scream—her throat had slammed shut. Then, recovering, she threw herself up from the pillow, tearing the covers off, and glimpsed only his sleeve vanishing through the doorway.
The gun shuddered in her rigid grip. From the kitchen, she heard the door open and close, the double squeak of that dry hinge. Eyes wild, studying the uncertain dark, Leona finally sank back, sitting upright on the bed. She had been poised for abrupt, explosive violence. Now she was unable to grasp what had happened. On the corner of her pillow slip was a matchbox still warm from the hand that had held it. To put the gun down, she had to force her fingers to relax. She lifted the small oblong box, turned it, and slid it open. She was still so panicked it took a moment to comprehend what it contained: a small blossom carved from wood, about the size of a half-dollar. What … Oh, my God!
Still trembling, she raised the nearest window shade and saw Hardesty headed home through the trees, his white breath trailing over his shoulder like a ghostly scarf.
My God! My God! It was Hardesty! I almost shot him! I could’ve killed him. I came so close! Tears stung her eyes.
Overwhelmed with relief, long after he had passed from sight she went on staring at the place among the trees where he had gone. Again and again, she examined the carved blossom in her open palm. It looked so strange and small, so innocent. Even with the proof of it in her hand, what had taken place didn’t seem quite real or possible. It was completely unexpected, seemed so unlikely.
I’ve got to stop this, she thought. I can’t live like this! I must just stop it! I’ve got to, before I do something horrible! She wiped her eyes with her forefingers. I’m not like this, she thought, still shocked at herself. Nobody’s going to hurt us here.
She could hardly bear to look at the gun. Quickly she returned it to the briefcase, snapped the latches, and slid the case down under the foot of the bed. Away, out of reach. The decisiveness of her act gave her an immediate, almost tangible sense of liberation.
Bed-weary and stiff-jointed, she stood upright under her own power for the second time in as many days. Her legs still trembled with fright. Holding on to the bedpost, then to the window frame, she quietly raised the other blinds, and the winter light opened the room in merging sections. Soon the new light would awaken Vee and the day would begin. On tiptoe, Leona made her way to the long mirror in the wardrobe.
The image of herself in the mirror was disconcerting. She looked pale, exhausted, not at all as well as she felt. The muslin bandage binding her head seemed uncannily out of place; it was unnerving to look so weak and undone. Yet, except for a faint shading under one eye, her face bore hardly a trace of the disaster she had endured.
Why did he do it? she wondered. In the tilt of the mirror she could see the matchbox and the carved flower still on the pillow where she’d left them. What if he comes back? Immediately she wanted to make herself look presentable. She found the strip of adhesive tape that held the bandage and undid the layers of wrappings. Behind her, Vivian sat up and wiped her face. “You shouldn’t do that. These things take time.”
“Yes,” Leona said, oddly elated. “I know.” She laughed softly to herself as she collected the band of muslin. “But have you looked at me lately? I can’t lie about looking like this and do nothing. It’s time I started taking care of myself.”
Hearing the self-mockery in Leona’s voice, Vivian smiled. “Well, it’s your head. Fool with it if you want to.” She shivered and yawned again. “Next you’ll be wantin’ to wash up,” she said, opening the stove to add firewood. “I know I would. Feel lots better.”
Leona turned and said yes, she would, if it wasn’t too much trouble. “More than anything, I’d like to wash my hair.” She removed the final compress of bandages. High on her forehead, near the hairline, was a cut about two inches long. Five tight black stitches held it shut and it looked bruised and gruesome, but most of the swelling was gone. The wound felt tight and tender beneath her cautious fingers. If she moved her hair just so, it would cover it.
Vee hurried in and out, tying on her apron, listening to her weatherman, then switching stations when Arthur Godfrey came on, and the morning was under way. For a moment, Leona allowed herself to be frivolous: she was thinking quite deliberately about Hardesty—that she would need some color in her cheeks. Leaving a towel and washcloth, soap and shampoo on the nightstand, Vivian filled a basin with water and put it on the stove near Leona’s bed. “Here’s that bath we talked about,” she said, and grinned. “Let it warm before you try to use it.” Returning to the kitchen, she brought in a smaller pail of water. “Rinse water for your hair.” She pulled the blinds and wiped her hands on her hip pockets. “There,” she said. “Nobody’ll bother you. Mama’s in her room and I promised them kids they could go with me to feed the chickens. I’ll keep ’em with me for a while. So take your time.”
And then he’ll be here, Leona thought.
Nearly a half hour passed before she heard them go out. Still unsteady on her feet, Leona lifted the edge of the window shade and watched the warmly dressed children scatter ahead of Aunt Vee. Turning back, she put the rough cloth in the basin of water and held it, wet and steaming, against her face. A blissful warmth spread through her. The pink bar of soap was so old its edges had turned white; with it she washed her face and throat and the back of her sore neck. She imagined a box of tissue-wrapped bars given to Vivian long ago as a gift; for her uninvited guest, she had bro
ken the set. It was touching and sweet, but sad too.
She heard shouts outside and went back to the window, peeking out on a furious snowball fight. Mamie and Patsy and Aunt Vee, stooped down behind a woodpile, were hurling snowballs at Walter and Mark Hardesty, who were crouched behind an old broken wagon. So he had come back. Now she tried to look at him carefully, but the sun had come out and the morning was so bright, reflecting from the snow, that she had to squint to see through it. Hardesty was quickly packing together an arsenal of snowballs while talking to Walter. Vee ran out, heaving snowballs, and suddenly one from Hardesty disintegrated at the side of her head. Her old cap sailed off; the wind caught it and blew it into the fray. She slunk back, laughing, shaking her fist.
More snowballs flew back and forth. Then Mamie darted for the cap. The snow was deep and she plunged through it. Watch out, Leona thought; watch out, hurry. Under a barrage of snowballs, Mamie grabbed the cap just as Hardesty ran from his shelter and caught her, swinging her up in his arms, both of them laughing. There was such a directness about him, Leona thought; nothing confused or false.
She let go of the shade and took a deep breath. Mamie’s long silence was finally over. Thank God. That smile, she thought; how she smiled at me. Who would’ve guessed such a cheap little ring could do so much? “Walter, duck! They’re gonna get you,” she heard Hardesty shout. And then laughter. What am I doing just standing here? She shrugged off the cotton gown Vivian had provided her with, caught it, and cinched it with a loose knot at her waist. She washed her shoulders and arms and wiped her breasts clean, her nipples growing hard against the rough chafing.