by John Grisham
In the darkness, she could hear the voices of her children as they giggled over breakfast and got themselves shooed away from the stove by Nineva. She could see Pete sitting there at the kitchen table with his coffee and cigarettes reading the Tupelo daily. A cloud moved somewhere and a ray of moonlight entered through a window. She focused and her kitchen came into view. She breathed as slowly as possible, sucking in the sweet smells of her former life.
Liza wiped some tears and decided to keep things dark. No one knew she was there and lights would only attract attention. At the same time she wanted to give the house the full, white-gloved inspection to see what Nineva had been up to. Were the dishes all washed and stacked neatly where they belonged? Was there a layer of dust on the coffee tables? What had been done to Pete’s things—the clothes in his closet, the books and papers in his study? She could vaguely recall a conversation with Joel about this but the details were gone.
She eased into the den and fell into the soft leather sofa, which felt and smelled just the way she remembered. Her first memory of the sofa was perhaps the worst. Joel to her right, Stella to her left, all three staring in utter fear at the army captain as he delivered the news that Pete was missing and presumed dead. May 19, 1942. Another lifetime.
Headlights swept through the windows and startled her. She peeked through the curtains and watched as a Ford County patrol car crept along her drive, then turned onto the side road that led to Florry’s. It disappeared, and she knew they were looking for her. She waited, and twenty minutes later the car came into view, passed the house again, and headed to the highway.
She reminded herself that she was sitting in her own home and she had committed no crime. If they found her, the worst they could do was send her back to Whitfield. They would not get the chance.
She began rocking, her shoulders jerking back and forth, a tedious habit that often afflicted her and she couldn’t control. When she worried or was afraid she began rocking, and humming, and twitching her hair. A lot of the crazy people at Whitfield engaged in all manner of rocking and twitching and groaning as they sat alone in the cafeteria or by the pond, but she always knew she would not be like them. She would get fixed, and soon, and pull her life back together.
After an hour or so—she had lost all concept of time—she realized that she was no longer rocking, and the crying had stopped too. There were so many burdens to unload.
She walked to the kitchen, to the only phone, and called Florry. To confound the eavesdroppers, she said, “Florry, I’m here.”
“Who? What?” Florry was startled, and rightfully so.
“I’m at the house,” Liza said and hung up. She walked to the back porch and waited. Only a few minutes passed before she saw headlights bouncing across the landscape. Florry parked beside the house.
“Over here, Florry,” Liza said. “On the porch.”
Florry walked to the rear, almost stumbling in the dark, and said, “Why don’t you turn on some damn lights around here?” She stopped at the steps, looked up at Liza, and asked, “What the hell are you doin’, Liza?”
“Come give me a hug, Florry.”
Well, she must be crazy if she wants a hug from me, Florry thought but certainly didn’t say. She climbed the steps and they embraced. Florry said, “Again, I’ll ask what are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to come home. The doctor said it was fine.”
“That’s a lie and you know it. The doctors are worried. The kids are beside themselves. The police are looking for you. Why’d you pull a stunt like this?”
“Got tired of Whitfield. Let’s go inside.”
They entered the kitchen and Florry said, “Hit the lights. I can’t see a damned thing.”
“I like it dark, Florry. Besides, I don’t want Nineva to know I’m here.”
Florry found a switch and turned on the kitchen lights. She had visited Liza at Whitfield and, like Stella and Joel, had always been troubled by her appearance. She had improved a little, but she was still painfully thin, gaunt, hollow. “You look good, Liza. It’s nice to see you.”
“Nice to be home.”
“Now we need to call Joel and let him know you’re safe, okay?”
“I just talked to him. He’ll be here in an hour.”
Florry relaxed and said, “Good. Have you eaten? You look hungry.”
“I don’t eat much, Florry. Let’s go sit in the den and talk.”
Whatever you want, dear. She would pacify her until Joel arrived, and then they would decide what to do.
“Shouldn’t we call your doctors?” Florry asked. “They need to know you’re okay.”
“I told Joel to call them. He’ll take care of it. Everything is fine, Florry.”
They walked into the den and Liza turned the switch on a small lamp. A faint light gave the room an eerie, shadowy feel. Florry wanted more light but said nothing. She took one end of the sofa. Liza propped pillows on the other and reclined on them. They faced each other in the semidarkness.
“Would you like some coffee?” Liza asked.
“Not really.”
“Me neither. I’ve almost stopped drinking it. The caffeine doesn’t sit well with all the pills I take and it gives me headaches. You wouldn’t believe the drugs they try to stuff into me. Sometimes I take them; sometimes I don’t swallow and spit them out. Why haven’t you been to see me more often, Florry?”
“I don’t know. It’s a long trip down there and it’s not exactly an uplifting place to visit.”
“Uplifting? You expect to be uplifted when you visit the nuthouse? It’s not about you, Florry, it’s about me, the patient. The crazy woman. I’m the sick one and you’re supposed to visit me and show some support.”
The two had never been close, and Florry remembered why. However, at the moment she was willing to take some shots if that would help. Hopefully, they’d come get her tomorrow and take her back.
“Are we going to bicker, Liza?”
“Haven’t we always?”
“No. We did at first, and then we realized that the best way to get along was to give each other plenty of room. That’s what I remember, Liza. We’ve always been cautiously friendly, for the sake of the family.”
“If you say so. I want you to tell me a story, Florry, one that I’ve never heard.”
“Maybe.”
“I want to hear your version of what happened the day Pete killed Dexter Bell. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but everyone knows it all, everyone but me. For a long time they wouldn’t tell me anything down there. I guess they figured it would just make bad matters worse, and they were right because when they finally told me I went into a coma for a week and almost died. But, anyway, I’d like to hear your version.”
“Why, Liza? It’s not a good story.”
“Why? Because it’s a pretty damned important part of my life, don’t you think, Florry? My husband kills our preacher and gets executed for it, and I don’t know the details. Come on, Florry, I have a right to know. Tell me the story.”
Florry shrugged, and the story flowed.
* * *
—
One led to the next. Life at the jail; the hearings in court; the reactions around town; the reports in the newspapers; the trial; the execution; the burial; the veterans who still stopped by the grave.
At times Liza cried and wiped her face with the back of her hands. At times she listened with her eyes closed, as if absorbing the horrors. She moaned occasionally and rocked a little. She asked a few questions, made only a couple of comments.
“You know he came to see me the day before they killed him?”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“He said he still loved me but that he could never forgive me. How about that, Florry? A lot of love but not enough for forgiveness. Facing a certain death, he still cou
ld not forgive me.”
“Forgive what?” And with that, Florry managed to ask the great question.
Liza closed her eyes and leaned her head on a pillow. Her lips were moving as if she were mumbling something only she could understand. Then she was completely still and silent.
Softly, Florry repeated, “Forgive what, Liza?”
“We have so much to talk about, Florry, and I want to do it now because I’m not going to live much longer. Something is wrong with me, Florry, and not just the crazy stuff. There’s a disease deep in my body and it’s getting worse. Might be cancer, might be something else, but I know it’s there and it’s growing. The doctors can’t find it but I know it’s there. They can give me drugs that soothe the nervous breakdown, but they have nothing for my disease.”
“I don’t know what to say, Liza.”
“Say nothing. Just listen.”
Hours had passed, hours with no sign of Joel. Liza seemed to forget about him, but Florry was well aware that he should have been there.
Liza stood and said, “I think I’ll change clothes, Florry. I’ve been thinking about a certain pair of linen pajamas and a silk bathrobe that Pete always loved.” She walked to their bedroom door as Florry stood and stretched her legs.
Florry went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. A wall clock gave the time as 11:40. She took the phone to call Joel, and then she saw the problem. The wire running from the baseboard to the phone had been cut, snipped cleanly in two as if by scissors. The phone was useless, and it had probably not been used that night to call Joel.
She returned to the den and waited. Liza was in her bedroom with the door open, and she was crying, louder and louder. She was lying on the bed she had shared with Pete, wearing the white linen pajamas under a cream silk bathrobe. Her feet were bare.
Florry leaned over her and said, “It’s okay, Liza. I’m here with you. What’s wrong, honey?”
Liza pointed to a chair and said, “Please.” She wiped her face with a tissue and struggled to get control. Florry took a seat and waited. Liza had not called Joel. Joel had not called the doctors, nor Stella. They were all waiting frantically for news from somewhere, and here was Liza on her bed, in her home.
Florry wanted to ask why she had cut the phone line, but that conversation would go nowhere. Liza was on the verge of talking and perhaps revealing secrets that they thought would never be revealed. Best not to distract her. She didn’t want Joel around at this moment.
Liza finally asked, “Did Pete talk to you before he died?”
“Of course. We discussed a lot of things—the kids, the farm, the usual things you might expect a dying person to cover.”
“Did he talk about us and our troubles?”
Indeed he did, but Florry wasn’t taking the bait. She wanted to hear it all from the closest source. “Of course not. You know how private he was. What kinds of troubles?”
“Oh, Florry, there are so many secrets, so many sins. I really can’t blame Pete for not forgiving me.” She began crying again, then sobbing. The outbursts became something of a wail, a loud, aching, agonized groan that startled Florry. She had never heard such painful mourning. Liza’s body retched as if she might vomit violently, then she heaved and convulsed as she sobbed uncontrollably. It went on and on, and finally Florry could watch no longer. She went to the bed, lay down beside her, and clutched her tightly.
“It’s okay, Liza. It’s okay, honey. You’re okay.”
Florry hugged and whispered and cooed and promised and patted her softly, and she rocked her and whispered some more and Liza began to relax. She breathed easier, seemed to withdraw into her own little emaciated body, and cried gently. In a whisper, she said, “There are some things you should know.”
“I’m listening, Liza. I’m here.”
* * *
—
She awoke in a dark room, under the covers, the door open. The house was dark, the only light from the small lamp in the den. Liza quietly shoved back the covers, got to her feet, and walked out of her bedroom. Florry was on the sofa, under a quilt, dead to the world. Without a sound, Liza walked by her and into the kitchen, through the door, across the porch, down the steps. The air was cold; her feet were bare and soon wet. She glided through the grass and onto the footpath that led to the barns, her silk bathrobe flowing behind her.
The moon came and went between the clouds, with its bluish light washing over the outbuildings and the fields before disappearing again. She knew where she was going and didn’t need the light. When she passed the last barn she saw the silhouettes of her horses in a paddock. She had never passed by without speaking to them, but she had nothing to say.
Her feet were wet, muddy, and frozen, but she did not care. Pain was of little consequence now. She shivered in the cold and walked with a purpose. Up the slight rise to Old Sycamore, and she was soon among the dead—all those dead Bannings she had heard so much about. The moon was hidden and she could not read the names on the tombstones, but she knew where he was buried because she knew where the other ones were. She pressed her fingers to the limestone and traced his name.
She had found her husband.
Though overwhelmed with grief, guilt, and shame, she was tired of crying. She was frozen and praying for the end.
They say people are at peace when they reach this point. They lie. She felt no peace, no sense of comfort, no belief that what she was doing would ever be considered anything other than the desperate act of a crazy woman.
She eased down and sat with her back against his headstone, as close as she could possibly get. His body was just a few feet below hers. She told him she loved him and would see him soon, and prayed that when they were together again, he could finally forgive her.
From a pocket in her bathrobe, she removed a small bottle of pills.
Chapter 47
Amos found her at daybreak, and when he got close enough to the tombstones to make sure he saw what he thought he saw, he broke and ran back to the house, yelling and running faster than he had in decades. When Florry heard that she was dead, she fainted on the back porch. When she came to, Nineva helped her to the sofa and tried to console her.
Nix Gridley and Roy Lester arrived to help with the search, and when Amos described what he’d found in the cemetery, they left him behind and drove to it. The empty pill bottle was sufficient evidence. There was no crime scene to bother with. A misty rain was falling and Nix decided that she should not get wet. He and Lester loaded Liza into the rear seat and returned to the house. Nix went inside to deal with the family while Lester drove her to the funeral home.
Around 5:00 a.m., Florry had awakened and realized Liza was gone. She panicked and ran to Nineva’s house, where Amos had just started breakfast. He and Nineva searched frantically around the house and barns while Florry drove to the pink cottage to use the phone. She called Joel and Dr. Hilsabeck and briefly described the situation.
Joel was en route from Oxford when he passed the sheriff’s car leaving his home. Once inside, he heard the rest of the story. Florry was a mess, blaming herself relentlessly and gasping for breath. After Joel finally talked to Stella by phone, he insisted his aunt ride with him to the hospital. She was admitted with chest pains and subdued with tranquilizers. He left her there and went to the sheriff’s office to use Nix’s phone on a private line. He talked to Dr. Hilsabeck, who was distraught. He forced himself to call Gran and Papa Sweeney in Kansas City with the news that their daughter was dead. He called Stella again and they tried to think through the next few days.
He left the sheriff’s office and drove to Magargel’s Funeral Home. In a cold, dark room somewhere in the rear of the building, he looked at his mother’s beautiful face for the last time. And selected a casket.
He made it back to his car before he broke down. Sitting in the parking lot, staring at nothing as the wipers clicked
back and forth, Joel was thoroughly overwhelmed by grief and cried for a long time.
* * *
—
The service was at the Methodist church, the one built by Pete’s grandfather, the one in which Joel and Stella were baptized as children. The minister was new and freshly rotated into town by the Methodist hierarchy. He knew the history but had not lived through it, and he was determined to reunite the factions and heal his congregation.
At first, Joel and Stella planned a private burial, one similar to the quick send-off Pete had planned for himself at Old Sycamore, but friends convinced them that their mother deserved a proper funeral. They relented and met with the minister.
The crowd was huge, twice the size of all available seating, and people sat in their cars in the parking lot and waited for a glimpse of the casket. The friends and acquaintances who had been denied the chance to say good-bye to Pete made sure they arrived early for Liza’s farewell.
Mr. and Mrs. Sweeney sat between Joel and Stella and stared at the closed casket five feet away. Mrs. Sweeney was inconsolable and never stopped wiping her face. Mr. Sweeney was stoic, almost angry, as if he blamed the entire backward state for his daughter’s demise. Joel and Stella were tired of crying and sat stunned, disbelieving, desperately waiting for the hour to pass. The occasion was too somber for any effort at levity. There were no warm eulogies of good and funny times with the deceased. No mention of Pete, not in that church. The Bannings’ nightmare was continuing, and those watching it were helpless to intervene.