by Kim Pritekel
“How long you been back here, girl?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“Oh, uh, uh, I just came back here to get this fabric,” she said, reaching for the bolt, grabbing it up into her arms. “I have to cut some for a customer,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t as shaky as it sounded in her own head. With a quick smile, she hurried toward the front of the store, heart in her throat.
****
“Thank you so much, Mr. Howell,” Eleanor called out, climbing out of the dark green Buick owned by their neighbor. “I really appreciate the ride home.” She watched as the car puttered down the road, leaving her at the mouth of the dirt drive that led to the farmhouse.
It had cooled down, no longer the mild day from earlier. She hitched her school bag a bit higher onto her shoulder and tried to bury herself in her jacket as she began the quarter-mile walk up to the house, her feet feeling heavier and heavier with each step. Her father had returned to the store only to quickly leave with Gabby and Thomas, though she wasn’t told why. All she knew was she’d be closing the store on her own and then heading home to help her mother cook dinner for five, Thomas their guest.
She considered what she’d overheard from Gabby’s conversation with Thomas. She didn’t know what to think, whether she should believe what he said. What about the story he told them at breakfast? What about his dead wife and child? Was that the real story and what he’d told Thomas was simply to look big?
She considered when he’d come into the building after the crash of the coat tree. He hadn’t looked embarrassed, which she’d think he would if he’d been telling tall tales to his friend. He looked angry; he had looked angry enough to truly frighten her.
She needed to talk to Lysette. It wasn’t possible, and she wouldn’t see her until the following day, but she desperately needed to bounce the events of the afternoon off someone, and her mother wasn’t an option.
The thought of her mother brought a small smile to her face. It was a nice feeling to smile with the heaviness in her heart regarding Gabby. But in the week and a half since their jaunt into Denver, she and her mother hadn’t been able to talk about it or share their thoughts on the events, but when they passed each other in the hall or Eleanor helped set the table, they always shared a small smile meant only for each other.
As she got closer to the house, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shattering glass inside followed by the crash of what sounded like wood. Her steps slowed as her eyes widened in confused shock. When she heard the sound of her mother scream, she took off, jetting up the drive and nearly flying up the stairs to the front porch. The door was unlocked, and she almost plowed through it to get inside.
“You like making a fool of me?” her father roared, standing over Emma, who lay on the floor among the pieces of the destroyed coffee table, shards of the candy dish that was once atop it scattered on the floor near the wall. “How dare you lie to me!” He reached down and grabbed her, almost using superhuman strength as he threw her across the room where her body slammed into the wall, sliding down to the floor. “How dare you make me look bad?”
“Stop!” Eleanor yelled, storming over to him and grabbing his arm. “Stop!” she cried out as he backhanded her and sent her flying into the remnants of the table. She landed with a grunt and a white hot flash of pain that sliced through her back, the hot, coppery taste of blood in her mouth.
“Don Miller told me!” he bellowed at them both, but mostly his ire was aimed at Emma. “He told me he saw you with that, that…thing…in Denver! In some goddamn ice cream shop!” He rushed over to Emma and grabbed her again, slamming her so hard her head bounced off the wall. He lifted her so she was face to face with him. “You lied!”
Oh, god! While his attention was on her mother, Eleanor used every ounce of will she had to pull herself to her feet and run up the stairs to her bedroom. She threw her school bag, no idea where it landed as she hurried over to her dresser. She grabbed the Bible that lay there, the one Lysette had given her, and flew back downstairs. She was about to do something she’d never dare—lie to her father’s face.
“Look!” she exclaimed, nearly breathless as she opened the Bible to the signature page and shoved it in front of his face. “Look.”
He tossed Emma aside like a rag doll and focused on the Bible he took in his hands, chest heaving from his exertions.
Eleanor knelt next to her mother, taking her in protective arms, careful in case she was badly injured. “We were all tired after the long drive,” Eleanor said, shocked at just how believable the story sounded as it fell from her lips. “So we had the idea to stop at the ice cream place on the way home.”
Ed glared down at her. “He didn’t mention you were there,” he growled, doubt tinging his words.
“We were in the bathroom, Lysette and I,” Eleanor said, the only truthful thing she had to say. “But,” she continued, looking to her mother, her eyes pleading with her to go along with it. “Remember, Mama, you told me you saw Mr. Miller. Remember?”
Emma said nothing, only nodded, blood smeared from her nose across her cheek and trickling from her badly cut lip.
“I’m sorry I forgot to tell you that, Father,” Eleanor added, her voice conciliatory even as she was filled with hatred. “I hope you don’t mind that Reverend Tim wrote in the Bible you gave me. He just wanted to—”
“Fine,” Ed growled, tossing the Bible down to her. He ran a hand through his hair, which hung in sweaty strands in his face. He looked around before moving away from them, stepping over the pieces of the table. “Get this cleaned up,” he said before walking out the front door, slamming it behind him.
“Thank god he didn’t notice,” Eleanor whispered, closing the Bible, which was a different color than hers, before setting it aside and turning her attention to her mother. “Are you okay?” She gently wiped her hair out of the blood on her jaw. “Can you move?”
Emma looked at her, her face deathly pale and eyes wide. She looked stunned and deeply afraid. Without warning, her features crumbled, and the tears came.
Eleanor shoved her own emotions down as she gathered her into her arms as much as she could, holding her as she cried. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
After a few moments, Emma gathered herself together, sniffling as she pulled out of Eleanor’s embrace. “We have to clean this up,” she said, wincing as she attempted to push to her feet, stopping and lowering herself back to a sitting position. “Lord, give me strength,” she whispered. “He won’t be gone long.”
Eleanor nodded. “Want to try again?” she asked softly, getting to her feet, hands under her mother’s underarms. “Ready?”
Emma nodded, and with a loud cry of pain, they slowly got her standing, though she leaned heavily on Eleanor. She took in several lungfuls of air, seeming to try to work through the pain. Finally, she looked at Eleanor, focusing on her.
“Honey,” she said, voice quiet. “Adalyn came by today. Samuel’s missing.”
Chapter Seventeen
Eleanor sat in the rocking chair, head in her hands. It had taken a moment after she’d gotten the call, but now the full force of what she’d been told was hitting her. The tears were quick and hot, streaming between her fingers. Her chest heaved so much that she was worried she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath. She was gasping for air.
Her moment of grief and fear was interrupted by a soft knock on her apartment door. She glanced over at it, doing her best to get herself together as she pushed to her feet and walked over to it. She unlatched it and pulled the door open, her neighbor Gwen standing on the other side.
“Hi,” Gwen said softly, looking at her with her large brown doe eyes. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but…um…I think the person who just called thought I was you.”
Eleanor used the sleeve of her cardigan to wipe at her eyes and cheeks, blinking away the tears that were sticking her eyelashes together. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” Gwen s
aid quickly, a smile on her young, pretty face, her blond hair brushed back from her face. “Um…the lady said your friend made it out of surgery, and they found the bullet.”
Fresh tears assaulted Eleanor, nearly sending her crumbling to the floor. She felt strong arms catch her and caress her back. Eleanor allowed herself to be held for a moment as the relief rushed through her in a wave of emotion. She could hear the soothing words Gwen was murmuring to her, but she couldn’t understand them.
Finally, she calmed down, giving Gwen’s arm a slight squeeze in indication that she was about to pull away from her. Again, she used her sleeve to wipe her eyes, giving the younger woman a sheepish grin.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize, Eleanor,” Gwen said, giving her one last one-armed hug. “Listen, Richard and I are about to have dinner…” Her voice trailed off, the invitation clear.
“Oh, thank you so much. I need to be alone for a while.”
“I understand.” Gwen stepped back out into the hall. “We’re just across the hall if you need anything,” Gwen offered, squeezing Eleanor’s hand before turning and heading back to her own door.
Left alone, Eleanor closed and locked her door and leaned back against it. Eyes squeezed closed for a moment, she let out a shaky breath before pushing away from the door and making her way back to the handmade rocking chair she’d won in the raffle at school. She wasn’t entirely sure what group had put the raffle together, but she knew the money was going to a good cause of providing supplies and food for underprivileged children in Woodland and the surrounding areas.
She grabbed the throw her mother had crocheted her that had been discarded when she’d been summoned to take the initial phone call an hour before, covering herself with it as she curled up in the chair. The gentle rocking motion soothed her.
As she rocked, she stared off into space, the soft murmur from the television ignored as she saw the sweet face of her friend. How could this have happened, she wondered. How, in these early days of 1957, could they be no further ahead than they’d been when she was a kid?
It brought a memory to mind that she absolutely didn’t want to think about, so she let out a heavy breath and glanced at the small television set, attempting to find interest in it. She was just getting the gist of the game show when there was another knock on her door.
For the second time, she pushed the throw off her legs and steadied the rocking chair so she could stand before making her way to the door. Expecting it to be Gwen again, she was surprised when it was a uniformed police officer.
“Ma’am,” he greeted, removing his hat. “Are you Eleanor Brannon?”
“Yes, how can I help you, Officer?”
“I’d like to talk to you about the events surrounding the shooting of Scott O’Shea and his… friend, Ronnie Washington.”
Without a word, she stood aside, allowing him to enter. “You can have a seat at the table over there, Officer.” She closed the door after he passed and joined him. “Care for some coffee?” she asked, placing her hand on the hand-cranked coffee grinder.
“No, ma’am, thank you.” He placed a notepad on the table, opened to a fresh page, and removed the cap from his pen. “I’m Officer Forbes, and I understand you’re a good friend of the victim. His girlfriend? Is that correct?”
Eleanor’s mind reeled, thinking back to who all in Scott’s life believed that about the two: his parents for certain and a few of their coworkers. That deduction meant nobody really outside of that small circle, so it told her likely who the police had spoken to before her. That meant she had to be very careful about what she said. To her knowledge, only a few people knew the truth.
“Scott and I are close, yes,” she said, figuring it was the best answer she could give without lying and without making those seem like liars who had previously spoken to him. She had no idea where any of this would go, including to court.
“Do you know Mr. Washington?” he asked, pen poised above the page.
“I do, yes.”
“And how would you characterize his relationship to Mr. O’Shea?”
“Well,” she said, setting her hands on the table and folding her fingers together so they wouldn’t fidget. She could almost feel the eggshells crunching slightly beneath her feet. “They’re friends. Good friends.”
“What do you mean by ‘good friends’?” the officer asked.
“They got along. I know Ronnie had done some work for Scott’s parents, some landscaping at their house, that sort of thing. I think Scott helped him.”
“Are you aware of anything Mr. Washington may have done to have an enemy that might go after him and Mr. O’Shea?”
She looked at him for a moment, her mind whirling back to every conversation she’d ever had with Scott about Ronnie. Finally, she shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. Scott, either. Both men are clean as a whistle.”
“And,” he said, plowing on as though he hadn’t heard her last statement. “Do you know of any reason Mr. Washington would take Mr. O’Shea so far out, away from town?” he asked, pen still poised over the page. She realized he hadn’t written down a single thing she’d said, obviously he wasn’t getting what he’d hoped for.
“Officer, if I’m not mistaken, weren’t they in Scott’s car when they were ambushed and both shot?” She sat back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. She really did not like what this policeman was insinuating. “I’m assuming Scott went of his own free will then. And no, I have no idea why they were out there.” She knew it was essentially a lie, but since Scott had never told her about it, she could call it truth.
He sighed, irritation clear on his face as he closed his notebook. “Anything else you’d like to add?”
“The only thing is that I truly hope you find whatever cowardly person shot two unarmed, innocent men who weren’t hurting anyone, parked in a car.”
He met her gaze for a long moment before nodding as he pushed back from the table, preparing to leave.
****
“Did you want some more mashed potatoes, Miss Lilly?” Lysette asked, loaded scoop ready. At the elderly woman’s nod, she let loose of the scoop, which landed atop the first one on the plate like ice cream.
Eleanor watched, amused yet worried they were going to run out of food as Lysette kept giving seconds before they’d given all the firsts. “Hey,” she hissed after the elderly woman had moved on down the line to get her Thanksgiving turkey. “We’re going to run out of mashed potatoes!”
Lysette glanced over at her from where they stood side by side in the line of church volunteers who were doling out the early holiday meal to those less fortunate in town. “We’ll make more, silly,” she said with her special smile, playfully pushing her hip into Eleanor’s.
Eleanor returned the grin, way too taken by Lysette’s beauty and charm to be irritated. She returned her focus to her ladle and pot of gravy when a man she recognized from around town ran into the church.
“They found a man,” he shouted, eyes wide with panic. “In the river!”
Eleanor stared at him before turning to Lysette to see if she had any idea what the man was talking about. When she got a shrug and shake of her head, she turned back to see some of the men in the sanctuary—those who were helping to serve and those who had come for a meal—head out into the cold, snowy late November day.
Without a word, the teens left their respective serving implements in their pots and followed the crowd outside. The Little Red Rock River flowed thirty yards from the small Church of Christ, and often sermons were held out near it during a hot summer day. Now it was partially frozen over, the ice layer too soft to walk on, but within a month, it would be hard enough for ice fishing.
A group of kids stood on the shore in a huddled group, one of them crying as four men knelt in a group at the river’s edge. As if in a dream, Eleanor felt compelled to get closer. She felt Lysette’s hand on her arm, trying to hold her back, but she had to see.
As if choreographed, the crowd parted, leaving a path for her to the water. Two of the four men stood, one looking at her as the other two remained where they’d been.
As she got closer, she saw the body of a man lying on the bank, his legs and feet still in the icy river. One of the kneeling men was in the way, blocking her view of the rest of the man, though she saw a large hand with dark skin lying on the ground.
She swallowed hard as she stood ten feet away, part of her wanting the man who blocked her view to move and part of her wanting him to stay where he was. As though he heard her silent thoughts, he glanced over his shoulder up at her, then moved aside.
“Oh, my god, no!” Eleanor yelled, bolting upright in bed, eyes wide and heart racing. “No. The rope is still around his neck! Get it off!”
Slowly, the images faded, her bedroom illuminated by the gray of early morning taking its place. As realization of where she was filtered in, her heart rate slowed and fear subsided.
“Jesus,” she blew out, running her hand through her hair. A dream fueled by a memory she hadn’t had in many years. “Ack!” she cried as her alarm clock went off. Hand to her heart, the other reached out to pound on the dismiss button.
****
Eleanor had gotten to the school early, not wanting to have to traipse through groups of upset kids in the halls if she could avoid it. She would be more than happy to be there for them and explain as best she could how their beloved Mr. O’Shea had been hurt, but she needed a moment to get her bearings first.
Her lunch stowed away and jacket hung on the coat tree in the corner, Eleanor opened the textbook to the chapter they were on and carried it over to the blackboard to write out some important notes for her first class.
“Hey.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she was shocked. Turning fully, she lowered the textbook balanced in one hand and the other that held the stick of chalk. “Hi.” She didn’t know what to think and felt slightly on edge as the stunning woman walked farther into the room. How could she possibly be perfection at seven twelve in the morning?