“Hello, Mr. Tanner,” she said upon seeing the neighbor. “How are you?”
“All right, then,” said Tanner, and he took his little dog and walked across the yard to the road.
Inside the house Jacqueline imitated his walk and brought a smile to Madeleine's face, but she had lost all desire to eat supper.
“Are you all right?” Jacqueline asked in concern.
“I'm fine, really. Just not as hungry as I thought I was.”
She wouldn't tell them why. She had no wish to destroy their appetites by spreading Tanner's news.
She poured herself a drink and went outside again. She walked around the cabin to check on her tomato plants, and then she found herself wandering over the grass in the direction of Renard's house. He wasn't home, and she didn't quite know what she was doing, but once she was on his porch she somehow felt better.
When he came home it was dark, and his headlights picked her out on the porch. He put his truck in the garage and came around.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said, and sipped at her drink. “Why didn't you come to dinner?”
“I didn't want to.”
“How's your toe? I never did see you limp.”
“Better.”
She stood and used one hand to wipe off the seat of her shorts before stepping down. She moved to stand next to him and look up into his face.
“I came because I needed to be with someone who saw what I saw, not necessarily to talk about it. The image of the little girl is still fresh in my mind, and it became even fresher about an hour ago, courtesy of Mr. Tanner. I couldn't eat when I heard, and I couldn't tell Manny and Jac about it, so now two expensive steaks are going uneaten.”
Eris exhaled and fingered the keys in his hand. “Just don't think about it, Madeleine.”
“I'm trying,” she said, aware that his expulsion of breath had fluttered the top of her hair. “Would you talk with me?”
“About what? Linguistics of the central Algonquian tribes?”
She stared at him. “Have you been reading up, or was that a joke?”
“Both.” He hesitated then asked if she wanted to come in.
Madeleine blinked in surprise. “Yes,” she answered, “I want to come in.”
Eris moved past her to unlock the door and push it open. He extended a hand, indicating that she precede him, and she stepped inside. She stopped immediately, since the house was dark and she didn't know what was in front of her. Eris bumped into the back of her and she heard him apologize as he grasped her by the arms and moved her forward a step. He fumbled at the wall and flicked a switch that turned on a light in the ceiling of the living room. Madeleine looked around herself and frowned. He had a recliner, an end table on one side of the recliner, and a small TV sitting on top of a cabinet. The rest of the room was empty. She could feel him looking at her.
“I'm not here much,” he said.
“I know.”
“You can sit in the chair.”
Madeleine sat. It was a nice chair, roomy and comfortable. She dropped her sandals on the floor and pulled up her feet.
He seemed unsure of what to do for a tense moment or two. Finally he sat down on the floor in front of her and said, “Tell me about your field work.”
“Are you interested?”
“Yes,” he said.
“How much do you know of your heritage?”
“Very little. I was raised white.”
“Do you want to learn?” Madeleine asked. “I can help you if you like.” She couldn't help noticing the band on his hair was loose; the silky black strands that fell over his shoulder made him look somehow wild. The dim light in the living room softened the scars on his face and made his eyes appear jet black as they roved over her features.
“Learn about my heritage from a white woman?” he said with the ghost of a smile.
Madeleine's heart did a strange flop. “Take what you can get.”
“Tell me about your field work,” he said again, and then he asked her if she wanted a Diet Coke. When she said no he retrieved one for himself and settled his long length in front of her again, this time removing his boots. Madeleine looked at his white-stocking feet and said, “I haven't talked with anyone about this in a long time. My last year was a nightmare.”
“Where were you?'' he asked. “On a reservation?”
“Yes. I was studying the evolution of the Sioux languages over the last hundred and fifty years. I became familiar with nearly all the adults, but the children were told never to bother me, and the younger people would have nothing to do with me. I was surprised because everywhere else it was the other way around, with the old ones being mistrustful and ignoring me. Here it was different.”
“By younger you mean teenagers?” Eris asked.
“On up to early twenties,” Madeleine answered. “They behaved as if I were a nonentity. I didn't exist.”
“Must've been difficult for you,” said Eris, and Madeleine looked at him.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. What happened?”
She was silent for a moment, studying him, and then she said, “They abducted me from my bed in the middle of the night, painted my body white, spit on me, kicked me in the face, rode on my back while I crawled on all fours and beat me until I bled. When they were finished doing that, they inserted hot peppers in my lower orifices. Then they left me naked in the middle of a deserted highway, where I wasn't discovered for a day and a half. I was burned, dehydrated, and I gave up field work immediately upon my recovery. I had no way to fight that kind of white hatred.”
Eris was silent for some time, his dark eyes leaving her and then coming back again. Finally, he said, “You didn't press charges?”
“No, I didn't.”
“You started teaching when you came back?”
‘Yes.”
“And now you've given up teaching and want to go back in the field?”
“I don't know which was worse,” said Madeleine, “the peppers or the snotty students.”
Abrupt laughter escaped Eris, and Madeleine found herself watching him.
“You have a nice smile,” she told him, and his face slowly sobered.
“What about it?” she said after a long moment of silence between them. “Do you want to learn about the Sauk-Fox?”
“What are you going to learn?” he asked in his deep, quiet voice.
Madeleine only looked at him.
In the next second she heard Jacqueline's voice calling her name. Madeleine left the chair, slipped on her sandals and walked to the door.
“Come and see me next week,” she said, and didn't wait for a response from him.
She left his tiny, barren house and walked back up to the log cabin. She didn't know if he would come or not. With Eris Renard, it was impossible to tell.
Eris lay on the floor of his living room after Madeleine was gone and cursed for asking her in to begin with. He took long breaths to still the heart that had begun racing the minute she stepped in the door. It had continued to pound the entire time she was there, causing Eris to sit as still as he could and fight to make his voice sound normal.
She didn't know. She didn't know what he went through when she moved so close to him and stood looking up into his face.
He was driving himself crazy wondering if she was teasing him or not, playing with him the way some women liked to play with ugly men.
He thought of what the young Sioux had done to her and knew why she flinched the first few times she was around him. He could only wonder what happened afterward in her life. The difficulty Manuel spoke of earlier.
Eris sighed and covered his face with his hands. He thought he was past all this. He believed he would never put himself through such pangs once he was a grown man, with a grown man's responsibilities. He had no idea what to do about it, other than to stay away from her. But he couldn't see himself staying away from home the entire summer. He guessed maybe he s
hould begin looking for another place to live.
He wondered suddenly what would happen if he turned the tables and came on to her. What she would do. Eris snorted then and sprang up from the floor.
Like he was capable.
He shook his hair loose from its band and went into the bedroom to get out of his uniform. He took a long, warm shower and let the water beat against his head and shoulders until his flesh felt numb.
He had a funeral to go to tomorrow. His superior had asked him to go and represent the department. Eris told him the Lymans were bitter toward him, but in the end it meant nothing. He probably wouldn't even see them, his boss had said. Maybe so, but they might see him, Eris knew, and the prospect made him uncomfortable.
His sleep that night was fitful. He experienced dream after confusing dream, and when finally he rose from damp sheets to slake a sudden thirst with a glass of water, he saw a light in Madeleine's bedroom. His microwave clock read half-past two.
Eris looked at the cabin again and was surprised to see the silhouette of a truck parked on the side of the road just above the cabin. He strained to see if anyone was inside, but the darkness thwarted him. Just as he was ready to go and put on his pants, the truck eased away. Eris put his glass in the sink and went to bed.
When he awakened in the morning he knew immediately what was ahead of him. He showered again, brushed his teeth and combed and tightly banded his hair. He put on a fresh uniform and knew he needed to make a trip to the dry cleaners in Fayville to take care of his others. He shined his boots and dusted off his hat and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He would need his dark glasses. They hid some of the scars and kept people from looking at him too long since they couldn't tell if he was looking at them or not.
He put a load of socks, T-shirts, and underwear in the washer and gathered up his dirty uniforms to dump them on the chair while he stood over the sink and ate a bowl of flakes for breakfast. There was no activity at the log cabin. Manuel's Jeep was gone, and Madeleine would probably be sleeping in after her late night.
When he was finished with his cereal he went back to the bathroom to run his toothbrush over his teeth again, and then he checked on the washer. Five more minutes to go. He returned to his bedroom and straightened the bed, telling himself Madeleine would have seen more furniture if she had come back here. He had a king-sized bed—the only size bed his feet didn't hang over—a night stand with a lamp, a dresser with a mirror, and a bookcase full of books. Eris didn't spend money on things he didn't need. He spent very little money at all, saving most of it and only occasionally giving himself an evening out. He didn't go often because his appearance usually drew people to look at him and he didn't like it. He sometimes thought if he weren't so tall he would blend right in with everyone else.
Which only made him wonder about his mother and father, how tall they were, what they looked like, and whether he looked like either of them. He knew he didn't want his father to be one of the numerous drunks he had encountered, and he didn't want his mother to be one of the women on the reservation who looked as if life had kicked her in the face. The inner strength and resilience he took pride in had to have come from somewhere, he told himself. His deep, heartfelt sense of right and wrong and the duty he felt to himself and others ... he didn't think he had acquired those values from the Renards.
Eris did want to learn about his heritage, if only to try to find something else to feel good about. He didn't have much, but he was proud of his abilities and of the inner man he had become, even if the outer man made small children cry and women's lips curl Before he left the house he transferred his clothes from the washer to the dryer and picked up the load of dry cleaning to take to Fayville. The funeral was at the Dunsford Funeral Home in Augusta at ten o'clock. Eris had never been there, but he would have no trouble finding the place. Augusta wasn't a large city.
He arrived at nine-fifty and found only a handful of people inside the small chapel. He entered through the back entrance and sat in the last pew, hoping the people sitting in the front pew would not turn around. Ronnie Lyman's shaved head was lowered. His wife stared straight ahead at the tiny white casket surrounded by long white lilies.
Eris's nostrils quivered as he thought of what lay inside the casket.
He hated this. He hated the whole idea of funerals.
A couple came through the door and sat down in the pew in front of him. Eris recognized two reporters sitting near the front of the chapel, pens in hand, writing down the details.
“Wonder who's paying for it?” whispered the man in front of Eris. His wife gave him a sharp look and shushed him. Eris, too, wondered who was paying. That pearl-white casket was not exactly a cheaper model.
The sound of an organ began then, and one or two long, drawn-out songs were played by an unseen organist, who warbled along with the music. Eris sat fingering his hat and wondering who the people in the chapel could be. One woman beside Ronnie had to be his mother. She had the same color hair and the same washed-out eyes. Another woman on the other side of Sheila and the girls was probably Sheila's mother. She had a look of resignation that suggested this was only one of many funerals she had attended in her life.
A minister stepped up beside the casket as the music ended and led them all in a prayer before he began to speak about the innocence and sacredness of children. Eris listened for a time, and then he stopped listening, because he heard his adoptive mother's Baptist teachings and he grew irritated by the memories it inspired. When the minister stopped speaking, attendants came to usher the group in the chapel past the open casket. Eris slipped out the back door again. One of the reporters saw him and beckoned, but Eris shook his head and got in his truck. He had decided against going to the cemetery, but something he saw as he sat in his truck with his hand on the ignition changed his mind for him.
Ronnie and his mother were the first family members to emerge. Ronnie was sobbing and his mother was trying to comfort him. Ronnie shoved his mother violently away from him and reached for Sheila as she came shakily out the door. Sheila stood like a statue while Ronnie threw his arms around her and cried. Sheila's mother put the two girls in the limousine and climbed in after them. Ronnie's mother crept over to join them. Sheila, meanwhile, had not moved a muscle, and Ronnie finally lifted his head to look at her.
Eris could read her lips from where he sat. She said, “Get away from me.”
Ronnie dropped his arms and his fists clenched. His jaw worked furiously as he looked around himself, and in that moment Eris knew Ronnie Lyman was into physical abuse. Every muscle in his body was tensed and ready to erupt into aggression, only the circumstances and the curious onlookers prevented it.
Sheila walked stiffly to the limousine and, after taking a deep breath, Ronnie followed her.
The funeral procession was a short one, with only six or seven cars following the hearse and limousine to Elmwood Cemetery. Eris was last in line, and he decided to stay in the truck for the graveside service and simply observe.
The wind had come up, whipping women's dresses and flapping men's jackets open and messing up carefully done hair. The tent belonging to the funeral home tossed and pitched and looked several times like it was going to blow over. When the service concluded, most people stayed for only a brief show of respect before walking back to their cars. Eris saw Sheila pick up a white lily and toss it into the open grave before blowing a last kiss to her baby girl. Ronnie put his hand on her shoulder and tried to lead her away from the grave, but Sheila shook him off. She took one little girl in each hand and walked to meet a woman who was standing by a van and obviously waiting for them.
Ronnie shouted at Sheila, and, even with the wind, Eris could hear him ask what the hell she thought she was doing.
Sheila turned back and said something Eris couldn't hear, but it was something that made Ronnie stop dead in his tracks and stare. Then he charged.
Eris threw open the door of the truck and hit the ground running. By the time he reach
ed them, Ronnie had shoved his wife against the side of the van and was holding her by the throat with one hand and pointing in her face with an angry index finger, telling her she wasn't going anywhere. Sheila's face was turning purple as she gasped for air, and she gestured desperately for someone to take away her two screaming little girls.
Shocked witnesses stared as Eris grabbed Lyman by the shoulder and attempted to spin him around.
Ronnie held on to Sheila's neck for all he was worth, not even looking to see who was trying to peel him away.
Eris growled between his teeth and punched Lyman hard in the right kidney. “Let go, dammit.”
The hold was broken, and Ronnie buckled and fell to his knees, gasping in pain. When he looked up and saw Eris, his eyes rounded. Sheila was gagging and coughing, her face still purple, and when Eris looked to see if she was all right, her husband sprang up from the ground and hit Eris in the face as hard as he could, knocking off his glasses and sending him back into Sheila and the van and splitting one side of his mouth open. Before Eris could react, Lyman swung again, this time laying into Eris's nose and cheek. Eris took the blow, spat blood, and then barreled head first into Lyman, connecting with his solar plexus and knocking him to the ground, where he lay gasping for air while Eris moved up and put a knee on his neck.
“Don't move,” Eris warned. He looked around then. “Someone call the police.”
“I'll do it,” said the woman with the van.
“Go ahead,” Ronnie grated. “She won't press charges.”
Eris hawked blood and looked at Sheila. One hand at her throat, she hoarsely promised, “This time I will. And I'm gonna tell 'em everything.”
Ronnie squirmed violently beneath Eris. “No you won't!” he screamed, his face red and veined. “You won't say shit! You do and I'll kill you, you hear me? I'll come after you and kill your ass!”
Sheila stared at him, her eyes frightened, and Eris pressed down harder with his knee, choking off anymore sounds from Lyman.
“Be sure and add that to your complaint,” said the woman with the cell phone as she finished her call. “Murder threats are not something the courts take lightly these days.”
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