Mama screamed again. She lay back, perfectly still. Daddy reached between her knees.
Then something dark dripped onto the floor, found a groove in the old, scarred wood, and seeped under the door to reach Pierce’s bare, damp feet.
Blood.
“Mama!”
Daddy jerked the door open from the inside and sent Pierce sprawling to the floor. “Move.”
Daddy held a screaming, kicking baby. He pushed past Pierce and staggered down the hall.
“But what about …?”
Daddy walked out the front screen door, let it slam behind him, and stepped into the night.
“Mama,” Pierce whispered.
He didn’t want to look. But he had to.
Lamplight flickered over the room, bathing it in a soft glow. On the floor, blankets and rags coated with blood lay in piles. The room stank.
And there was Mama, silent.
Deep-red stains covered her soft, threadbare gown. Blood dotted her hair and face and her limp hand hanging over the side of the bed.
He knew where she kept her handkerchiefs, had always liked the soft, thin ones with lace edges. So he crawled quietly across her room and took one, softly closing the drawer. He knelt by the bed and wiped her hand.
She’d be better in the morning. Sure she would. She was really tired, that’s all. He would lie here on the rug beside her, like he always did.
He woke up freezing, his underpants still damp, balled up on the rug by Mama’s bed. He didn’t smell breakfast. He heard no murmurs from the kitchen—only a crying baby.
He raised himself on an elbow, peeked around the foot of the bed, and saw no one. Not Mama, not Daddy. Until he sat up, looked out the window, and saw Daddy digging.
Just like when his puppy died.
His breath caught. He hurried to his room, changed his clothes, hid his dirty ones under the thin mattress. He didn’t brush his teeth—though Mama’d taught him that his day must always start with a washed face and brushed teeth. Instead, he ran to the front of the house.
He stood at the porch door, face pressed against the filthy screen, in pants too big and a T-shirt too small.
“Pierce,” Mrs. Taylor whispered behind him. “Don’t you go out there.”
He glanced quickly in her direction. She sat in one of the three chairs at the kitchen table. Mama’s chair, the one missing a spindle. She was feeding the baby a bottle.
“Are you staying with us, Mrs. Taylor?”
“No, Pierce. Your daddy fetched me last night to care for your baby brother. Seems he’s hungry all the time.”
Pierce didn’t look at the baby. Rather, as he watched Daddy work, tears dripped down his face and his heart beat frantically in his chest.
The shovel hissed with each thrust into the ground. Despite the cool air, Daddy had sweat through his undershirt. Usually when Daddy worked outside, Mama sent Pierce to take him some tea.
But there was no tea today. And Mama lay wrapped in a blanket on the ground beside a dirt pile that kept getting higher and higher.
Why would Daddy put her so close to the stinky pig shed? Did the hole have to be that deep? Why couldn’t they just leave her in the bed, give her time to sleep and get better, like last summer when he had a fever and Mama made him rest?
“Mama,” he whispered. “Please wake up, Mama.”
Then Daddy dropped the blanket in the hole and covered it up.
Pierce’s stomach lurched. He didn’t eat that day or the next. He couldn’t, though Mrs. Taylor brought meals she’d cooked in her own kitchen. Daddy asked her to come every day to care for the baby so he could still work in the fields. If Mrs. Taylor hadn’t come, Pierce would have spent every day alone in the farmhouse, peering through the screened door at Mama’s fresh grave.
The next afternoon, Daddy came in early from the fields. He spoke to Mrs. Taylor, then paced on the porch.
“I’ll put the baby down in your room,” Mrs. Taylor said to Pierce. When she returned, he saw she carried a paper sack.
Daddy came back inside. Mrs. Taylor wrapped a piece of bread in a napkin and placed it in the bag. Daddy spoke to her. “Is that all of his things?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered. She didn’t look at Pierce.
“Daddy?” Pierce’s voice shook.
“Fine. You stay. I’ll be an hour.”
“Daddy?” he asked again.
“I’ll clean up some,” she answered.
Daddy pulled on a jacket, grabbed his hat and keys and the paper bag. “Pierce, get in the truck.”
That’s when he knew. He cried, screamed, and begged as tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face. “No, Daddy, please. Please let me stay.”
But Daddy grabbed his arm and hauled him onto the porch and around the house.
“Let me stay. I’ll help. I can.”
But Daddy walked faster, practically raising Pierce off the ground as they rounded the house and neared the rusty pickup. Then Daddy lifted him, set him in the seat, threw the bag in the floorboard, and slammed the door.
“Why, Daddy?” He pushed the words out as his chest heaved in panic.
Daddy cranked the truck. They pulled away from the house.
“Why? Why?”
Daddy slammed on the brakes. “I can’t take care of two of you and work. Now hush!”
“Why are you keeping the baby? He can’t help you. I can work. I’ll work hard.”
The old pickup rattled over the dirt lane, dipping in potholes and jarring Pierce’s teeth. The window on his side of the truck only rolled up partway, so he wrapped his twig-thin arms around himself. The bitter, slapping wind beat his face dry, forced his sobs back into his throat. Through sniffs and dry tears he tried to reason with Daddy all the way to the bus station. He wouldn’t eat much. He could help more. He would even take care of the baby.
“I heard Mama ask you to keep me!” he cried. “I’ll be good, Daddy. I promise.”
But Daddy kept driving.
Finally they stopped. Daddy pinned an envelope with Pierce’s name to his shirt, carried him to the bus, and placed him and the paper sack on the narrow stairs by the driver.
“Hush. There’ll be no more out of you,” Daddy said.
“But Mama said …”
Pierce shook his head. Maybe Daddy didn’t really want to send him away. Maybe Daddy thought he missed Mama too much and just didn’t want to stay without her here.
So Pierce tried one more time. He turned on the step, eye to eye with his father. “Daddy, please.”
“Mama’s gone,” Daddy grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “You hear? Your mama’s gone. Frettin’ don’t change nothin’. Set it aside, boy.”
Then Daddy picked him up with his big, hard hands and carried him to the second green vinyl bus seat.
“Don’t move,” Daddy said. He left Pierce there and never looked back.
***
Pierce now stood at the window. Still as a statue with his back to Laurie, much like he described his father had while his mother labored. He didn’t turn, didn’t move, didn’t speak or look at her.
She waited for long seconds, hoping and praying he would come back to her, reach for her. Her heart tore open. She pictured it bleeding for the little boy Pierce had been.
Their living room was silent as a grave.
The DVD had ended, leaving only a black screen. Although the table lamp in the corner still shone, the room seemed darker to Laurie, as if the evening itself seeped through the rest of the house, nibbling away the light.
The tears she shed while Pierce spoke had dried and left her face tight. Her legs, though she stayed seated on the couch throughout his story, quivered like Jell-O. She knew she couldn’t stand, and her limp arms refused to move. She couldn’t reach for him.
A chill seeped through her mind and snaked its way around her heart. She now knew the secret she’d sensed, the wall that had been between them since the day they married.
“I can’t be with you in
the delivery room, Laurie.”
His words scraped her wounded heart raw, but he wasn’t looking at her. He didn’t see he’d just smashed her dreams.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He left the room without a backward glance.
She watched him walk to the front door and grab his keys from the console table holding her mother’s chime clock. Then he walked out, locked the door, and left her alone with their child.
***
He’ll come back, Laurie thought. Of course he’d come back, and talk to her, let her help him grieve. Whatever he needed, she’d do it.
But seconds passed to minutes. Laurie’s heart dropped bit by bit in her chest as the minutes became an hour.
Unsteady, she rose and turned out the lights, then readied for bed. What else could she do?
She called his cell. The voicemail engaged. “Pierce? I … will you let me know you’re safe?”
Maybe he’d ended up going to see his parents. Or Gilbert. She could call them and ask.
She started to dial, but something—like a gentle hand on her shoulder—made her stop.
Laurie slipped under the covers. Hugged her husband’s pillow to her chest and stared into the darkness.
“Dear God. I feel like I’m living in a whirlwind. I’m pregnant. Finally pregnant, which should be wonderful. I’m exhausted. I have deadlines with the renovation; for the next two or three days, I have to be hands-on at the site for the final touches. I’ve got a husband who’s suffering. What he went through was so awful! Listening to him say it—even if he’d let me—I don’t know how to help him.”
She fell asleep praying. Woke an hour later and left another message on Pierce’s phone.
Their home was so dark. So quiet. So empty. Pierce, please come home. How long could their marriage last like this?
She slept again, on his side of the bed.
She woke to sunshine. Vibrant, scandalous sunshine so bright she winced, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee.
She turned. Her husband stood in the doorway, dressed for work, holding a mug and avoiding her gaze.
“I, um, made this for you.” He offered the cup.
She accepted. Opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.
“I thought I had it figured out. I thought I was one of those men who was significantly affected by the miscarriage, one of those guys who has a tough time when his wife conceives again. I told myself I could handle it, that thinking about you delivering would get easier.”
“We can work on it together.” She reached for him.
He stepped back, raked a hand through his hair. “Last night I left here and drove, just drove through town, ended up back at the church parking lot, and I kept thinking about the night we put the crib together, you know? That was a happy night. Something we’d talked about doing, looked forward to doing together.” He paused. “I can’t do this, Laurie. I’m so sorry. You deserve better. Our child deserves better. You need someone with you during delivery who will help you, not someone who’s not sure he can be there!”
The agony rolling off him slapped her heart. He stood there shaking, breath heaving, and she simply wanted to reach for him, comfort him. But how?
He took a deep breath and finally met her gaze.
“Will you please talk to your parents?”
He shook his head. “No. They’re … it’s … they’re too close. I don’t want to hurt them, too.” He covered his face with his hands. “I’m already hurting you and I’m about to hurt you more.”
She glanced at the clock. If happiness were sand, life was pulling apart her fingers so every grain fell away, lost. “I have to be at the youth building in less than thirty minutes. You have responsibilities as well. We should table this, reorient our thoughts, and talk tonight.”
“Tonight I want you to go see my parents and ask my mother to be your labor coach.”
“Why?” She scurried off the bed, set her mug aside, and searched in the closet for pants and a blouse. “We have time to work on this before our baby comes.”
“With no guarantee I’ll be able to do it. No. No, Laurie, you need someone dependable.”
“We can get counseling.”
“I can’t talk to a stranger about this.”
“Then at least let me tell your parents. We need their support.”
He turned away. “Fine. Tell them.”
She closed her eyes. She wanted to scream at him.
Then she remembered the look on his face after he woke on the floor the first morning in this house. The day they painted their bedroom. Easter Sunday in his office before the church service. At her first visit to the doctor. The night he felt their baby move inside her. How sad! That such a beautiful thing could bring him that kind of pain.
She opened her eyes to see he’d gone, then sat on the bed and braced her forehead with the heel of her hand. She wanted to be understanding. To support him. To give him the benefit of the doubt.
And right then, there simply weren’t enough minutes to deal with it all.
She showered and dressed, then drove to the youth building, dialing her in-laws.
***
You’re broken.
You’re unfit to be a pastor.
The words punched Pierce with each step through the woods toward his office.
Unfit to lead others. You know your recent sermons have been pitiful. You can’t help anyone.
Pictures of his mother’s death, her grave, the ride in the truck to the bus stop—like still shots from a movie—pulsed through his mind.
How screwed up was he?
He exited the woods and neared the cemetery. Why hadn’t he known? How could he not have known?
A little reaction to air brakes had been explained away—loud noises sometimes bothered him. His aversion to eggs—a simple dislike of taste. Being unable to participate in his wife’s pregnancy, a baby they’d waited for, tried for since the beginning of their marriage? What other buried memories waited to be remembered?
He entered through the back, went straight to his office, and shut the door.
Liar.
But he couldn’t tell a truth he hadn’t known. And he hadn’t known until yesterday.
Yesterday? Had it only been yesterday evening that he remembered?
Pierce sank into his chair. Lay his head in his hands on the desk.
He was a pastor. A believer. He knew what to tell himself—about God, and forgiveness, and fear, and how Jesus bore the sin and burdens of all mankind. Still, he was failing as a husband, failing in his fight against fear.
Yet, he knew God had opened the door to this job for him. He hadn’t asked for this position, he’d been offered it.
Surely that meant something.
“Dear God, it’s like there’s two of me. The one that loves Laurie, the one that loves our child and has wanted our child. He’s lost. Or paralyzed. Or hidden. Behind a guy who is afraid of what the next minute might reveal.”
He rose and paced. “I have responsibilities here. People depend on me. Laurie should be able to depend on me.”
An ache came around his heart, a piercing pressure like a terrible bruising. Disappointment and profound sadness.
His cell beeped, a text from Laurie. “Need you at youth building.”
Set it aside.
His father’s command from the bus ride made his stomach pitch, but he could do it. He could stuff his feelings, walk across the grounds, and do what needed to be done for the church body.
Pierce left his office. In this little part, he could do what Laurie needed him to do.
CHAPTER TEN
Laurie’s feet throbbed. So badly she removed her shoes at the end of the day and drove barefoot through town to her in-laws.
Warm summer rain pelted the ground as Laurie parked in front of their condo. She grabbed her umbrella and sprinted for their door. Daniel greeted her at the door, wearing his new red T-shirt. He pointed at the “Help! I’m a retired preacher, and I can’t shut up
” logo on his chest. “You saw this, didn’t you?”
She gave a reluctant laugh as he hugged her. “Yes.”
“It’s my license to talk to anybody, any place we go.”
Kay approached from the hallway. “When have you ever needed a license?”
“Want some gum?” Daniel smacked Juicy Fruit and offered her a piece.
“No, thanks.”
Kay swatted his hand. “Put that way. Don’t you ever run out?”
“They sell this stuff everywhere.”
“Come sit, Laurie.” Kay ushered her into the kitchen and served her a glass of iced tea. “You’re upset. Are you and the baby okay?”
They all sat and Kay gripped Daniel’s hand.
“Yes. Physically we’re fine.” She paused while Kay and Daniel exchanged a look.
“Laurie, we know something is wrong. It’s Pierce, isn’t it? He’s been avoiding Daniel and me. He always did that when he was upset.”
“Yes.” Laurie took a deep breath. “Something’s definitely wrong.” But where to start?
She wept as she told them everything—Pierce’s mother’s labor, his brother’s birth, his father’s rejection—with as many details as she could remember and ended with him saying he couldn’t be with her in the delivery room.
She rested her head on Daniel’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “The miscarriage made him abnormally afraid for me, but he didn’t tell me. Every time he had a weird, sad mood, I thought he was grieving like anyone would. He developed an uncanny ability to turn away from everything, including me, like he had an on/off switch inside. The move brought out some memories, but my pregnancy unleashed a flood of them. I don’t know what to do.”
Daniel spoke first. “If you hadn’t come to us, we would have tracked down both of you.”
“We’re always here for you,” Kay added.
Laurie dried her face. “Pierce didn’t want me tell you or anyone else, but he gave in because he wants me to ask you, Mom, to be my labor coach.”
“Of course I will, if it comes to that.”
Laurie searched their faces. “I don’t know what to do. He won’t talk to me. He won’t even talk about the baby.”
“Is this why he sometimes slept on the floor by my bed?” Kay rose, removed a pan from the oven and spooned casserole onto plates.
The Spindle Chair Page 10