Praise Her, Praise Diana

by Anne Rothman-Hicks

  Sheila lifted herself up slightly and Judith pulled the underpants down to her ankles, then with infinite patience moved her hands back up the length of her legs, ever so slowly, ever so tenderly.

  “You’re all I care about,” Sheila repeated, near despair. “And I worry.”

  Chapter Forty

  By the time early evening rolled around on Saturday, Jane was exhausted. It had been a beautiful day. The sky was clear and a dark blue—the shade that only comes when fall has really arrived. The sugar maple tree in the front yard was bright red; the sweet gums by the road were a dark maroon; the honey locusts were yellow. The air was crisp and cool. Perfect for working.

  On Friday, she and Maggie had picked as many red tomatoes as they could find in the garden and bought another two bushels at a neighbor’s house along with two bushel bags of corn. Saturday morning, they drove into town and bought three-dozen jars for canning. Then they began the process of peeling and stewing the tomatoes and putting them into the jars, watching the tops as they cooled to see if they sealed properly. Each time one clicked into place, they celebrated with high fives and kisses. Only two didn’t cooperate, and they decided they would eat those over the next few days.

  After lunch, they canned all of the green tomatoes remaining in the garden with garlic cloves, dill and salt water to make pickles. They also put in the cucumbers that hadn’t been used for salads. Every single jar sealed up properly this time.

  “You think we’re going to get the corn done too?” Jane had asked when they stopped for a cup of tea. Besides the shucking of each ear, they would have to strip the corn off with a knife, careful to separate the inedible cob from the juicy kernels.

  “We can do that tomorrow morning,” Maggie said. “It might rain then. Let’s take down the two locust trees by the garden today.”

  Maggie had planned to expand the garden the next spring, but there was a pair of locust trees that blocked the sun for part of the day on the area that she wanted to use. She had borrowed a chain saw, and within a few minutes they had the two trees lying on the ground. It took a great deal longer to sever and stack the small branches for kindling, and then to cut the main trunks and larger branches into 18-inch lengths for splitting. They hadn’t nearly finished splitting the logs and stacking them for curing before the setting sun made it impossible to continue.

  “We can do the rest tomorrow also,” Maggie had said.

  “Lucky us,” Jane replied with a grin. She straightened up, arching her back. “Don’t they make log splitters?”

  “They do. But then we’d have another device in the barn that takes gas and oil. I want to get rid of them, not add them.”

  “Still, if we’re going to burn wood all winter, we’ll have to split a lot of logs. It would cut down on our time, not to mention the strain on our backs. I’ll bet we could get one used off the Internet. Plus, we could put a sign up in the front yard and split for other people too. We could charge a fee or keep some of the wood.”

  Maggie thought for a moment, gazing toward the front yard as though she were visualizing the prospect in every detail. She frowned.

  “I’m not sure I like the idea of people coming onto my property like that.”

  “Then how am I going to open a law office in the house?” Jane asked.

  Again, Maggie paused.

  “I guess I’m still hoping you won’t have to,” she said.

  When they got to the side door of the kitchen, the sun had set completely but the western sky retained a tint of blue along the horizon, the color deepening to black toward the east. It was still possible to see shapes clearly: the green of the grass, the various muted shades of the trees and bushes. Once they went inside, the darkness increased measurably. Jane lit a candle that they had left near the entrance. In its glow, Maggie located the two kerosene lamps that she had found in the basement and soon they illuminated the room. In the flickering light, the two women’s shadows loomed large on the surrounding walls.

  “You can put out the candle now,” Maggie said.

  “Really? I was thinking about lighting another one.”

  “We don’t have that many candles left.”

  “We could go to town and get more tomorrow.”

  “It sort of defeats the purpose if we run off to town for more stuff anytime we want.”

  “Okay, but I have to tell you I’m beginning to feel like I’m on a Girl Scout camping trip to learn about the pioneers.”

  “And I guess I’m supposed to be the scoutmaster in that scenario?” Maggie asked. “Forcing you to do what you don’t want to do.”

  Her voice was calm, but the words were clipped.

  “That’s not what I meant to—”

  Maggie ignored her, and kept talking in that same clipped tone.

  “Because if you want to, you can turn the lights on any time. I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

  They stood facing each other across the length of the kitchen. Jane still held the candle and could feel its warmth on her face. In the deep shadows, she couldn’t see Maggie’s expression at all. She took a breath and blew out the candle.

  “Shall we have a bath?” Jane asked. “Or is daily hygiene too Twentieth Century?”

  The minute the words left Jane’s lips, she regretted them. She put down the candle and crossed the room but Maggie turned away. Jane embraced her from behind, laying her head against her back, trying to pull her close.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie,” she said. “I’m just tired tonight, I guess. It’s been a long day. Please don’t be angry.”

  “I’m not angry,” Maggie replied, her voice a monotone.

  Jane hugged her tighter.

  “Come on, Maggie. You know I love you, and you know I love being here with you. But some of what we are doing isn’t logical. I mean, I can earn at least 300 bucks an hour practicing law. We could buy all the freshly canned or frozen food we wanted and have several hours less of very hard work.”

  “I liked the work. I thought you enjoyed it too.”

  “I did. I do. But, you know, there was a reason women stopped canning vegetables once freezers were invented and stores were well stocked. I mean, think about it. Just from the perspective of time management, doesn’t it make more sense? Aren’t there other things you want to do?”

  “You’re missing the point again,” Maggie said, trying to duck under the arms that still held her from behind. Jane tightened her grip.

  “Well, maybe you ought to tell me what the point is. I’m obviously not getting it.”

  “If it’s not clear to you, it’s not worth saying.”

  “Clear? I’ll tell you what’s clear to me. What’s clear is that there is a lot you would rather not say, and I’m supposed to pick it up by some process of osmosis, like one of your vegetables.”

  “That’s just cruel.”

  Maggie twisted in Jane’s arms, wanting to be free but also wanting to be held, her face full of conflict. Jane put her lips beside Maggie’s, speaking in a whisper.

  “No, it’s not. Something big is bothering you.”

  “I told you, I had a friend who was raped and who killed herself. Diana keeps reminding me of it.”

  “Why? What’s her connection?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. It was after Getting There was published.”

  “Is that why you went to see Martha?” Maggie seemed surprised at her question. “I know she didn’t meet with you about your book. You lied to me about that. Martha didn’t do that kind of law.”

  “Okay, I went to see her. I didn’t know who else to go to. My friend had killed herself. She drowned herself in the fucking river and I had to identify her. I had to see her bloated face and smell the river water coming off her skin! Okay? Happy now?”

  They stood in silence. Maggie stopped struggling.

  “Did you love her very much?”

  “Enough, Janey! I can’t talk about
this anymore!”

  “Isn’t that what this farm is all about? You loved her and you can’t forget her. So you work and work to try to keep your mind off of her? Isn’t that right?”

  With a sudden burst of strength, Maggie broke away from Jane and turned to face her. She stood with her feet spread and her shoulders hunched forward, as though she expected a fight.

  “No, that’s not right. The point is to be here on this farm together. The point is to be away from New York, away from the people there who make demands on you and on me, who call you at all hours with their needs, who drain the joy out of our lives. The point is to be entirely separate from and independent of the world—that demanding, intrusive, blood-sucking world—with the one I love above anyone else, the one I love more than I ever thought it was possible to love, the one I want to be with for the rest of my life. That’s the point. The whole point. To be in a place where they can’t get to us. Is there anything wrong with that? Is there?”

  Jane did not respond. What Maggie said made sense, but she still felt an essential truth was being left out that caused the anger blazing in Maggie’s eyes.

  But then, amidst the turmoil of what she was feeling, Jane remembered something else.

  “No. I suppose not.” Jane turned around. A sense of panic flooded through her. “Where’s my cell phone?”

  “You want your cell phone now?”

  “Yes, I want my cell phone!” Jane shouted.

  “It’s upstairs in the bedroom.”

  “Where? I don’t remember seeing it there this morning.”

  “I put them in the dresser, the top drawer.”

  Jane picked up the candle and lit it again. Her hand shook. She’d left the phone on the bureau purposely to remind herself to check it.

  “Why in the world did you do that?”

  “I didn’t see any reason to keep them out. We agreed to turn them off, remember? Here, just take one of the lanterns.”

  “Stop with the fucking lanterns for a minute, okay? I just remembered that Ellen was going to call me.”

  “So you’ll call her back.”

  “It’s not that easy!”

  Jane walked as quickly as she could out of the kitchen, holding the candle in front of her, the flame shielded by her cupped hand and threatening to go out if she moved too quickly.

  “Fuck this,” she said finally and switched on the light in the stairway. She raced up the stairs and turned another light on in the bedroom. In the top drawer, shoved all the way to the back, was her cell phone. She turned it on and waited impatiently as the screen lit, telling her that she had five messages. “Jesus fucking Christ!” she shouted into the empty room, knowing Maggie would hear her, wanting her to hear.

  She sat on the bed, her heart racing as she waited. The first was the one she dreaded most. Ellen had called Friday night to tell Jane that the “meeting” with her husband had gone better than she had ever expected. They had talked for hours, then went to a romantic late-night dinner and made love for the first time in years.

  “Call off the process server!” she had said at the end of the message, her voice full of a happiness that Jane hadn’t heard from her for a long while.

  Jane cursed again as she dialed the company that served papers for her. They were supposed to attempt service on Saturday morning, but maybe something had happened to delay them. Maybe they couldn’t find Ellen’s husband. Maybe the process server had been sick. Something! There was no answer and she left her name with a service. She asked them to call her back as soon as possible. But when she continued listening to the other messages, she knew it didn’t matter any more. The second message was from someone who had called, started to ask for Jane, and then hung up. The third was the voice of Ellen, angry and frustrated now. “Why didn’t you stop them? I was counting on you, Jane. I trusted you! You’ve ruined everything!”

  Jane felt her face flush, her heart race, and the perspiration roll down her chest as Ellen’s voice ranted on, increasingly angry with herself for not remembering to check her phone.

  Then she listened to the other messages. The next message was from Mariana Morales, apparently calling her from a remote part of Santo Domingo. The signal was weak. Her voice broke. She said she didn’t know who to call, but she was sure that Jane would. “Tell them I am alive! Tell them not to hurt Jose! Please, Jane. Please!”

  As soon as the message was over, Jane dialed Judith, but again her call went to voicemail. Her heart sank. She repeated to her the words that Mariana had spoken, and next called Smalley. He picked up.

  “Hello, Smalley speaking,” he said. His voice was calm, as usual, but there was that now familiar undercurrent of anger also. She could hear people in the background, a car passing, a siren close to where he stood.

  She explained why she was calling. She felt as though she couldn’t catch her breath as she talked.

  “Thanks anyway,” he said briskly, “but I’m afraid it’s a little too late. They had set noon today as the deadline. He was found a little while ago. They let him go naked near his apartment with his penis cut off. He’s alive, but that’s about it. First chance he gets, I think he’s going to put a bullet in his head.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Jane said.

  “Well, you’d better believe it all right. And that’s not all these people have done today. There was another attack. This time it was at a construction site down in Chelsea. Guys were eating their lunch, whistling at the women walking by. Your friends put some M-80s in mason jars and rolled them toward the workers.”

  “They’re not my friends, Detective Smalley.”

  “Yeah, whatever— a guy lost the sight in one eye. Another guy had an artery cut in his leg, probably by one of the jar tops. Who knows? He bled to death on the way to the hospital. Nice girls, don’t you think?”

  “I swear I don’t know them.”

  “Right. You don’t know anything. Nobody knows anything.”

  “I know this has to be stopped.”

  “Then help me. Make her tell you what her connection to Diana is.”

  “I’ve tried, Detective Smalley. I’m not sure she knows.”

  “Try harder, then. She has to know!”

  Jane said nothing for a moment. She could hear the police radio in the background. More voices, some very angry. Probably cops, Jose’s friends.

  “There is something I’ve learned. Maggie told me her friend drowned herself in the Hudson River. She had to identify the body. She must have done that in the medical examiner’s office.”

  “Is that it?”

  “It must have happened in the last five years or so.”

  “That may be useful. I saw a note that Glaser made concerning the medical examiner. I believe he was very close to understanding Maggie’s connection to Diana when he died. When he was killed.” The shouting in the background increased. “Look, I appreciate your help, but I can’t talk now.”

  “Detective —”

  “Sorry, I’ve got to go now.”

  “Detective, I’m sorry ...”

  But the line was dead.

  She put the cell phone in her pocket and started to pack her things. The light went off in the hallway and she heard Maggie’s feet on the stairs, climbing slowly.

  “What happened?” Maggie asked.

  Jane told her briefly about the two missed calls and the consequences, at least as far as she knew them.

  “I have to go back to the city.”

  Maggie sat heavily on the bed.

  “Won’t you stay the night? You can leave early in the morning. I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m going now.”

  “Please, Janey. I need you to stay with me. I need you.”

  “And I need you to be honest with me,” Jane said.

  As Jane talked, she continued to throw her things into a bag. Maggie remained sitting on the bed and seemed to visibly shrink with every small “thud”, as if each packed article of clothing was a blow that diminis
hed her.

  “I will be, Janey. I promise.”

  “When?” Jane asked gently now. “What are you waiting for? What’s the magic moment?”

  Jane didn’t notice the tears at first or hear the sound of her sobs, but she could see the movement of Maggie’s shoulders that seemed to take over her whole upper body, the pulling in of her arms at her sides as if for protection against a physical injury.

  “I can’t tell you about it when you’re angry, Janey. I love you so much. I can’t bear to hear it in your words and see it in your face, in your eyes, in your mouth. Please don’t make me tell you. If you were to hate me, I just don’t think I could take it. I don’t think I could.”

  Jane sat beside Maggie on the bed. Gently, she put her arms around her, kissing her shoulder and back, the side of her neck, her face wet with tears.

  “I couldn’t possibly hate you, Maggie.”

  Jane kissed her again. Maggie turned toward her, and they embraced, holding each other tight.

  “I’ll stay the night with you, Maggie. And we’ll leave early in the morning. You’ll tell me when you feel ready. Okay, Maggie? I love you so much.”

  Maggie pulled herself away slightly, just enough to unbutton the front of the shirt she had been wearing. Then she lifted Jane’s t-shirt as well and pressed against her, flesh on flesh, a connection that seemed to burn them both.

  “Please don’t ever stop loving me, Janey. Please.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Heather and David had planned a weekend trip to upstate New York “in pursuit of the perfect postcard shot of the fall leaves.” But as Friday had neared, it had become more and more obvious that a getaway was not in the cards. With Maggie’s sections of the Diana novel having ended, Anthony and Harry wanted to squeeze as much as they could out of the public’s lingering interest in Diana. Most of Friday was filled by Harry’s bright idea to have a set of tall, beautiful women dress up in the Diana uniform and pose around an abandoned church at 25th Street and Ninth Avenue—one of several in the city that were built in the English country style of dark brownstone. Heather had spent much of her day there, along with David, which meant that all the other work she had hoped to get done had to be performed on Saturday at the office, leaving no time for their trip.