Born Innocent

by Christine Rimmer

  Patty Severin, the physician’s assistant who had been running the Pine Bluff Medical Clinic since Claire’s father died, arrived in the ambulance ten minutes later. At Claire’s insistence, she examined Verna first and pronounced a hospital visit unnecessary. Verna had sustained a concussion but should be all right. Patty’s prescription was two pain relievers and rest—and Verna should seek help immediately if she experienced prolonged dizziness or extreme nausea.

  Sheriff Brawley arrived just after Patty was through with Verna and had turned her attention to the bigger job of patching up Claire.

  “Okay, what’s going on here, folks?” He stood in the broken-in doorway.

  Verna, whom Joe had reluctantly untied and allowed to sit on the couch when Patty Severin arrived, raised her chin high. “I... shot Alan Henson,” she said firmly. Claire looked at her and saw that she appeared relieved to be telling the truth at last. Her eyes were no longer wildly bright, but level and full of sad determination. “Claire found out it was me,” Verna added. “I went crazy and was going to—”

  Sheriff Dan put up a hand. “Save it. In a minute, I’ll take you in. You can tell it all, over at the courthouse.”

  Verna hung her head. “Whatever you say.”

  Sheriff Dan approached Claire, who was sitting in a corner chair as Patty gently prodded the side of her head and checked her eyes with a penlight.

  “You gonna be all right, Short Stuff?”

  Claire, whose head felt as though there was someone in there swinging a sledgehammer and whose shoulder throbbed in counterpoint to the hammering in her head, pulled away from Patty’s ministrations long enough to look the sheriff right in the eye. “Now that I know I won’t go to prison for something I didn’t do, I’m going to be fine.”

  The sheriff said nothing for a moment. Outside, a siren scream could be heard, approaching, coming on louder and then louder still. Over the expanding wail of the siren, the sheriff explained, “Sometimes we mess up. It begins to look like we messed up royally this time.”

  Claire gritted her teeth as Patty began bandaging her head. “Yes, it certainly does.”

  The siren outside grew louder still as the vehicle came down the dirt road and stopped in front of the house. Then, abruptly, the mechanical wail was cut off. Outside, a car door slammed.

  The sheriff smiled. “We can put off taking your statement until later, if you’d prefer.”

  “Yes,” Claire said. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Right then, Wayne Leven appeared in the doorway. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Sheriff Dan turned to his undersheriff. “Looks like we got a confession in the Henson shooting, Wayne.”

  Leven shot a triumphant glance at Claire. His lip curled in a knowing smile. “She’s finally willing to admit she did it, huh?”

  Sheriff Dan shook his head. “No, Wayne. Not Claire.” He gestured at Verna. “It’s Verna here.”

  Leven’s mouth went slack. “The housekeeper did it?”

  “You got it, Wayne. Let’s take her in.”

  Verna was escorted from the house and into the back seat of Sheriff Brawley’s 4X4, just as a deputy sheriff’s truck pulled up. The deputy came inside and announced that he had been ordered to “Secure the area, until we’ve had a chance to perform a full investigation.”

  “He means we should get lost,” Joe explained.

  Patty said that was fine with her. She wanted to take Claire back to the clinic to look at her shoulder, anyway, to see if she felt safe treating it herself, or if a trip to the hospital in Grass Valley was called for. She and Claire rode in the ambulance, and Joe followed behind.

  At the clinic, Joe went to get Ella while Patty led Claire to the examining room.

  Patty found that the shoulder wound was a clean one. “Small caliber, thank heavens,” Patty muttered, and noted that the bullet had gone right through and out the other side.

  Patty gave Claire a shot to kill the pain before she cleaned and dressed the wound, which she explained she wouldn’t suture. Gunshot wounds were better left to drain. “It makes more of a scar, though,” she admitted, and left the room for a moment.

  Claire sat alone and thought of the scar on Joe’s shoulder, and smiled at the idea of having one to match. She was more able to smile by then; the powerful painkiller was beginning to kick in. As a matter of fact, she felt kind of peaceful, kind of ready for a long rest....

  Just then Patty returned and finished dressing Claire’s shoulder. Then she began filling another syringe.

  In Claire’s foggy mind, a thought surfaced: the baby. What might all these things Patty was shooting into her veins do to the baby?

  “Wait,” Claire instructed as Patty swabbed Claire’s good shoulder. “Just wait a minute. Please.”

  Patty paused. “What is it?”

  “Oh, God.”

  Patty laid a kind hand on Claire’s arm. “What? Tell me?”

  “What shot did you give me?”

  “Just the painkiller. Why?”

  “What else will you give me?”

  “An antibiotic. To stave off infection. What’s the problem, Claire?”

  She managed to force the words out. “What effect ... will those drugs have on the baby, if I’m pregnant?”

  “What are you telling me, Claire?”

  Claire sighed. There was nothing to do but admit. “I’m pregnant. About seven weeks.”

  Patty looked solemn. “You should have told me.”

  “I... didn’t think of it, until now.”

  “Okay. I can understand that.” Patty gave a wry chuckle. “You had been shot twice and bopped on the head with a gun, after all.”

  “Yes, but I should have thought of it, I know. And there’s something else....”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t want anyone else to know, until I’ve told... the father.”

  Patty nodded. “Of course. I’ll keep it strictly confidential.”

  Claire knew Patty Severin well enough to be sure she could trust her integrity. She was relieved about that, at least. She asked, “So what about the drugs you gave me, and plan to give me?”

  Patty launched into a mini-dissertation on the pros and cons of pregnant women and prescription drugs. “Generally, nowadays, we advise pregnant women to avoid drugs altogether, if possible. But gunshot wounds are... serious. There’s the high possibility of infection, for one thing. Luckily, you’re caught up on your tetanus. You had that shot four years ago, so we don’t have to decide whether to chance giving you that or not. But you’re going to have to suffer a little more discomfort than you would have if you weren’t pregnant.” Claire groaned. Her father had been a doctor, after all. She knew what medical people meant when they said “discomfort.” Claire was going to live through hell on earth before the goose egg on her head went down and her shoulder began to heal. Patty went on, “Painkillers aren’t good for the baby, so you’ll take only what you feel you can’t do without.”

  “I’ll take none.”

  “Claire. Be realistic.”

  “I’ll be okay. What about the antibiotics?”

  “Your records show no allergies to ampicillin.”

  “Right.”

  “That should be safe enough to take. I'll give you a shot of it now, and send some home with you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Patty gave her the last shot. “Your mother’s waiting in the reception area,” she said as soon as that was done. She handed Claire a bottle of ampicillin capsules—and another of the painkiller Claire had already decided she wouldn’t use.

  “I don’t want these,” Claire said.

  “Claire. Take them with you. You don’t have to use them, but keep them just in case...”

  Claire decided not to argue. She’d flush them down the toilet as soon as she got home.

  Patty went on, “Your mother will take you home and put you to bed. You’re going to be feeling pretty ragged for a few days, so get plenty of rest. I’ll come by your
place tomorrow to change that dressing.”

  Patty went to the door. Claire jumped down from the examining table, and stumbled a little when she hit the floor.

  “Careful,” Patty cautioned.

  “Yes. Absolutely,” Claire agreed. She could feel the pain in her shoulder and in her head, but they were distant things. Mostly, physically, she felt a sort of numb well-being. That shot of painkiller had really done its work. If only it wouldn’t hurt the baby....

  Patty seemed to read her mind. “Claire. Don’t worry about it. The chances that one shot of painkiller did any damage to the baby are slim to none. You just don’t want to make a habit of them, that’s all.”

  “You mean that? It’s probably okay?”

  “Cross my heart.” Patty was gesturing her to walk ahead. Claire, reassured, floated out into the hallway.

  Ella was there in the waiting room. Her face was very pale. “Oh, honey, Joe told me everything. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Mother. Really.” Claire was looking around. “Where is Joe?”

  “He’ll be back later. He took Eaton Slade and went to Verna’s again to get your car.”

  Claire bit her lip. The little balloon of painkiller-induced well-being that enclosed her sprung a small leak.

  She was pretty sure she had said something about the baby just before she’d passed out in Verna’s living room. Could this be the beginning of exactly what she’d feared? Was Joe avoiding her now, because he couldn’t forgive her for the way she’d betrayed his trust in her?

  But that was ridiculous. What she’d said had been hardly coherent. He might suspect the truth now, but he couldn’t know for sure until he talked to her. And Joe wasn’t the type to go jumping to conclusions without doing everything in his power to get the facts.

  Unless he didn’t want to know the facts—like Claire herself, all those weeks after she first missed her period, when she knew, but didn’t want to face the truth.

  Ella was watching her. “Claire? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Just... wiped out, I guess.” She couldn’t resist pointing out, “And there was really no need to worry about the car now.”

  Ella shrugged. “Joe thought there was.”

  Claire had to suppress a surge of irritation at her mother. Ella said “Joe thought there was,” as if that were reason enough to do just about anything.

  “You’ve certainly changed your opinion of what Joe Tally thinks,” she said, and even through the haze of the painkiller, it sounded testy, though she had meant to keep her tone sensible and calm.

  Ella nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that, but you put me off earlier. So I’ll just wait until you’re feeling better. And right now, since we’ve taken up so much of Patricia’s Saturday, let’s not waste any more of it.”

  “Fine. Let’s go home.” Claire sounded whiny and she knew it. She whined some more. “And not to your house. To the motel.”

  “Of course. Now do stop whining, dear.”

  “I’ve been shot twice and whacked on the head with a gun. I’ll whine if I feel like it.”

  Ella, ever the genteel Pine Bluff aristocrat, nodded at Patty. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Patricia. Would it be acceptable if we took care of the insurance papers at a later time?”

  Patty agreed that would be just fine.

  Claire stuck to her resolve not to use the painkillers. As a result, the next few days were about the worst in her life. Her mother stayed right by her side. And Joe was in and out all the time. He was gentle and attentive—but, somehow, he seemed to have retreated from her.

  The second day after her battle with Verna, when the acetaminophen Claire allowed herself seemed to do no good and pain was screaming through every nerve of her body, she shared sharp words with Ella, who just couldn’t understand why Claire had developed a sudden aversion to pain medicine. Ella insisted that Patricia must have something she could give Claire. Claire shouted she would have nothing—and that was that.

  Joe stood in the background, watching, saying nothing, careful not to get involved in this war of wills between mother and daughter. But Claire felt him watching her; she felt that he knew.

  She longed to talk it over with him, to have it out in the open for good and all. But more than wanting to get it over with, she dreaded facing him at last and watching his trust in her fade forever at the same time as he agreed to give the baby his name.

  At night, she longed for his arms around her. But he never stayed to share her bed. Since Ella slept on the couch in the living room, Claire tried to convince herself he was only thinking of her mother’s sensibilities, as he had always done. But she didn’t really believe that.

  The truth was, he was withdrawing from her. And if she had any integrity at all, she was going to have to turn him down when he offered to marry her. She would love him forever—but never, ever, would she trap him into a marriage he didn’t want.

  Meanwhile, as Claire wrestled with the pain in her healing body and the deeper agony in her heart, Verna Higgins pled guilty to all the charges against her. Zack Ryder took over the job of defending her, because Claire called him herself and asked him to do it. Zack felt he could get Verna off on an insanity plea; he was also taking a ridiculously small fee, since Verna was penniless. Ella was already working to establish a fund for Verna with the help of the members of the community church.

  In the hospital in Grass Valley, Alan Henson slept on. There was doubt now that he would ever wake up. And the rumor was that they would move him soon, to a more permanent nursing-care home in the Bay Area, nearer the home of his wife, Mariah.

  Though time seemed to crawl, Claire’s strong body actually healed quickly. She was also relieved to find she experienced no vaginal bleeding, nor any symptoms that the baby was in danger. A week after she was shot, she went to the clinic for a full examination. Patty’s prognosis was that both she and her baby were coming along just fine.

  It was a Tuesday, ten days after Claire knocked on Verna Higgins’s back door and found herself looking into the mouth of a gun, that Claire finally decided it was time to send Ella back to her own house. She was ready to take complete control of her life once more.

  She told her mother over breakfast. Ella was surprisingly agreeable—she was not averse, she said, to sleeping in her own bed again.

  “How about if I stay this last night? And tomorrow morning, I’ll move the things I’ve brought over here back to my house.”

  “That will be fine,” Claire allowed.

  “And, dear, now that you feel well enough, I’d like to talk to you about a few things—”

  Claire sipped her coffee and sighed in resignation. She’d known this talk was coming. Her mother had been hinting at it for days. Might as well have it over with.

  “Okay, Mother.” Claire got up, refilled their coffee cups, and then sat back down across from Ella. “Tell me all about it.”

  Ella smiled—a half-relieved, half-anxious sort of smile— and lightened her coffee with canned milk as she always did. When she set the can down, she plunged right in. “Well, first, I would like to know if something’s wrong between you and Joe.”

  Claire glanced away, at the locust tree beyond the window over the sink and the shafts of golden morning sun that fell in on the sill. “Mother, I...”

  Ella waited a few seconds and then urged, “Speak up, dear. You can tell me. What are you thinking?”

  Claire looked her mother in the eye. “What I’m thinking is I’d rather not talk about Joe and me.”

  “Now, dear—”

  “I mean it. I don’t want to discuss it.”

  Ella shook her head. “You’re just like your father sometimes, did you know? Always keeping things in, bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders, when there are people who would love to take a little of the burden themselves, if only you’d let them. Your father had a heart attack, remember? And I’ll always believe it was from keeping everything in and
bearing all the burdens by himself.”

  Claire spoke gently. “Mother, Patty Severin says I’m in great shape. And I have let you take some of the burden. A lot of the burden, as a matter of fact. And you’ve been wonderful. I can’t thank you enough. But what’s between me and Joe is something I have to work out alone. Please try to understand.”

  Ella studied her daughter for a moment. Then, “Oh, all right. But I’m here. If you need a listening ear.”

  “Thanks. Is that all, then?” Claire started to get up to clear the table of their breakfast things.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Claire sat back down.

  “I, actually, I have something I feel I really must get off my chest.”

  Claire was curious, in spite of the fact that usually the things her mother had to get off her chest were things Claire didn’t want to hear. “What is it?”

  “It concerns... how wrong I’ve been. All these years.”

  “About what?”

  Ella looked down at her lap and then raised her head high. “About Joe Tally.”

  Claire stared at her mother. It didn’t take a genius to see that Ella had changed toward Joe, but Claire had never expected her proud, often self-righteous mother to come right out and admit how unfair she’d been for twenty years.

  “Close your mouth, dear,” Ella instructed tartly. “And, anyway, what is so surprising?”

  “Well, I-”

  “When I’m wrong, I admit it. That is, as soon as I realize I’m wrong. And I have been very wrong about Joe. I have judged him not as himself, but by his background. I’ve let gossip and the opinions of others rule my thinking. I have been a terrible snob, and I am very, very sorry.”

  “But—”

  “Just let me finish this.”

  “All right...”

  “I began to see that my... judgment might be faulty on the day you found Henson on the floor of the back bungalow. Honestly, dear, I thought that man was the answer to all my prayers for you. He had such nice manners, he dressed so well and he drove a good car. And, of course, he catered to me shamelessly in order to get closer to you. And I lapped it up. I do like to imagine that your father, bless his heart, would never have fallen for that con artist. But I did. I’m ashamed to confess that, if poor Verna hadn’t shot him, I just might have given him my money and ended up penniless in my old age. But that’s neither here nor there at this point. What matters now, is that I understand how wrong I’ve been. And I see now why you love Joe Tally. Even a blind woman could see it, with all he’s done for you since the trouble over Henson started. And I’m sorry. For all the years I’ve stood in the way of the two of you finding happiness together.”