As the patrol car pulled up behind me, the Cadillac filled with pulsing red light the color of a carnival candy apple. I couldn’t imagine why I was being stopped. I’d been careful coming through town, and definitely hadn’t been speeding despite being desperate to get to the highway.
I waited for what seemed like ten minutes before a man, silhouetted by the patrol car’s blazing headlights, appeared in my side mirror and then at my window.
Relieved to see Dennis Mueller’s attractive young face, I rolled down my window.
“Why, Dennis, we really have to stop meeting like this!” I tried to sound gay and charming, but my words came out in a staccato rush.
Dennis leaned forward and peered into the car. Seeing Michael, who was slumped over, asleep, he straightened again.
“I’ll need to see your license and registration, Mrs. Bliss. Please.” I wondered at his anxious formality.
“Is something wrong? I don’t think I was speeding.”
“Just your license and registration, please.”
As I looked up at him, another car—a Mercury coupe—passed us slowly. A woman’s face stared boldly from the passenger window, and they drove on.
“I don’t understand.” But I hurriedly took my driver’s license from my wallet and felt for the leather folder in the glove box that held the car’s registration. It surely couldn’t matter that the car was registered in Press’s name. I handed them to Dennis, whose lips pressed into a hard, narrow line as he shone his flashlight on them to read.
“I’ll need to keep these, Mrs. Bliss. I’m sure there’s some mistake, but this car was reported stolen yesterday, and the department has to take possession of it.”
I laughed nervously. “Of course there’s a mistake, Dennis. This is my husband’s car, and we certainly didn’t report it stolen.” My voice was raised, and Michael complained with a quick bleat of alarm and dropped back to sleep. “You must give those back to me. This car is obviously not stolen.”
“Ma’am, I can radio back to the station to have someone come and pick you up, but I can’t let you take the car. Your name isn’t on the registration, and I can’t let you drive it away.”
He was growing more agitated, his tightly controlled voice getting higher.
“That’s ridiculous. No one needs to call anyone.” My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly, I could feel the ridges of it pressing into the pads of my palms. I couldn’t let anyone call Press. I wanted to believe that it had all been a stupid mistake, but in my heart I knew better.
“I don’t want to take you into custody, Mrs. Bliss. Your little boy, neither.”
But I wasn’t listening. I’d made a decision. Jerking the car into DRIVE, I pushed down the gas pedal and veered onto the road. I had an impression of Dennis Mueller reaching out after me, and, glancing in my mirror, saw him stumble and fall into the road. That he might have been seriously injured never occurred to me. My mind was blank with fear.
Moments later, the red lights behind me had disappeared, and I was nearly to the intersection that would take me out to Highway 29 toward Charlottesville.
“It’s going to be all right. It’s going to be all right,” I whispered to myself under my breath, grateful that Michael hadn’t woken up. Reaching the intersection, I stopped and looked in my rearview mirror. Dennis Mueller hadn’t followed me. There was no light at the intersection—just a stop sign. I turned. Accelerated. But I hadn’t driven more than a few hundred feet when I saw the woman in the road. She was barely dressed in a sagging satin bathing suit or leotard, her hair wild about her chalky face, across which was a slash of bright red lipstick or, perhaps, blood. Her legs were short and heavily fleshed, her feet bare. She turned her head as I stomped the brakes, and I saw that the side of her scalp was torn away, bloody. It was Helen Heaster.
The Eldorado’s brakes locked and we fishtailed so that I lost control. I cried out as the car left the shoulder and hurtled, bumping and sliding, down the brush-clogged slope.
Chapter 36
The Truth
I was unconscious for such a short amount of time that Michael’s cries hadn’t quite turned into full-blown screams. My head ached, but my first panicked thought was for him. I fumbled for my seatbelt; but as I shifted, I realized my left foot was caught beneath the seat, and I felt a terrible pain as I pulled it free.
“It’s okay, baby. You’re fine. Just fine.” I spoke to calm him, but I had no idea if he was actually fine. The seatbelt had loosened and twisted with the rolling of the car, and I found him sideways, the belt squeezing his small torso in two. “You’re okay. You’ll be all right.”
Ignoring the voice in my head that wanted to shout for help—to scream in horror of what I might have just done to my second and only child—I struggled to release him. The buckle was caught up beneath his arm, and my heart broke for him when he began to cry harder as I squeezed it that much tighter to loosen it. But in a few seconds the buckle released and he dropped, free, into my hands.
Heedless of any injuries that I couldn’t see in the dark, I pulled him close and kissed his soft hair and his cheek that was wet with tears. He was free and he was breathing. That was all that mattered.
Except that I knew we had to get out of that car. We had to get away.
The car had stopped just short of the bottom of the hill, but hadn’t rolled, thank God. I was able to open the passenger door easily and pull Michael out. I tried to put him down for a moment so I could get my purse, which lay on the floor of the back seat, but he clung to me, crying and terrified. I felt cruel, but I had to wrest him from my neck. When I set him on the weeds outside the car, he screamed louder.
“It’s okay, Michael. It’s all right. I just have to get my purse.”
He wasn’t hearing me. I bent back into the car to grab the handle of my purse, but when I jerked it from beneath the seat, something popped out with it. Even with the car’s dome light on, the floor was in shadow, so I pulled up both the purse and the thing beside it so I could see it in the light.
It was a small, mud-encrusted sandal. A sandal that, beneath the mud, had once been white leather. Eva’s sandal.
When had I seen it last? My head was pounding and Michael was screaming. When? Why was it in Press’s car?
Picking up Michael again, I had the presence of mind to shut the door and carefully climb around to the driver’s side and shut the car and headlights off. All the while, I was thinking about the sandal.
My leg hurt, and I had the worst headache of my life, but I didn’t think either one of us was bleeding. The night was quiet except for the sound of the occasional car up on the highway. No one was stopped above us. No one had found us, yet. I had to find a way out of town, but I knew I couldn’t go back up to the highway. The police would be looking for us.
“We have to run, darling. And I need you to be very quiet.” But Michael was crying harder.
We entered the woods at the bottom of the hill. The night was chilly, and my leg was stiff, but I walked as quickly as I could. I had to think.
The woods were sparse, revealing the lights of houses on the eastern edge of Old Gate. I had no plan except to get Michael somewhere warm that wasn’t the police station. I didn’t like heading back into town, and I racked my brain trying to think of people I knew on this side of town. In my fearful fantasies, I imagined every door being shut against us. My father and Nonie were the only people I could trust, and I had to find a way to call them. Shamefully, a part of me was even a little embarrassed that we were in such distress. The Bliss name wasn’t a particularly popular one, and Eva’s death had added to the air of scandal around it.
After a few minutes, still unable to hear any voices or footsteps behind us, I slowed—but not too much. I knew that if I stopped, my injured leg might keep me from starting again.
We were another half mile from Father Aaron and the church, where we might be safe, and I knew I couldn’t make it. Michael had quieted but was shivering in my arms.
It was his shivering that made me remember: Eva—or Eva’s ghost—standing in front of me in the morning room, wearing the Wedgwood blue ribbon. Drenched. Water running into her muddy sandals.
Eva had died wearing her sandals and a ribbon that she’d gotten from Rachel. She wouldn’t have had either on if she’d been trying to take a bath. It was unthinkable. Eva hadn’t died in the house, and she hadn’t been alone.
“Oh, Michael. Your poor sister.”
Finally we reached the outermost road circling the town, and as I crossed a back yard littered with children’s toys, a swing set, and a rusting car, a dog I hadn’t noticed when I entered the yard lunged at us, barking madly. Michael screamed, terrified. He had little experience of dogs because Press didn’t like them. Frightened that the dog would attack us, I began to run, but the barking didn’t get closer. When we passed close to the house, I saw that the dog was chained to a shed in a corner of the yard. I was so grateful.
No lights came on in the house, and I hurried on, finally deciding exactly where we might go.
Chapter 37
No Quarter
“Someone needs to look at Michael, Charlotte. If you don’t let David call Jack, then I have no choice but to call the hospital for an ambulance.”
Finally, Michael and I were both warm. Rachel’s father, David, had poked up the waning fire in the family room, and Holly had brought me tea and a cup of warm milk that I was letting Michael sip in my lap. There had been no use in lying about the wreck. The bruises on my face and the mud on my now-ruined loafers sitting by the front door told a large part of the story. They had answered the door together, Holly looking apprehensive and David irritated. He was like Rachel in that he didn’t suffer fools or interruptions patiently, and given that it was nearly three A.M., our arrival had certainly interrupted his sleep. Now he stood at the entrance to the family room watching us silently. I knew that Holly didn’t care much for Press, but I had no idea how David felt.
“We’re both just tired. Don’t you see?” I knew I was being unreasonable. “David looked us both over.” But David didn’t let me finish.
“I told you that army field training from fifteen years ago doesn’t make me qualified to pass judgment on automobile accident injuries now.” Then he continued, more kindly, “I think Michael is all right, but I still believe you may have a concussion. You should both see a doctor.”
“There’s an eight-twenty morning train from Lynchburg, or you could drive us up to Charlottesville. We could be in Clareston before supper. I promise we’ll go by the hospital just as soon as we get there.” I could hear the panic rising in my voice, and knew I sounded insane to them. Holly had listened sympathetically when I told her that it was more than a small argument that I’d had with Press, and that I needed to get to my father’s house, or at least call him and let him know we needed to come home. But I couldn’t be certain they believed me. I took several deep breaths to calm myself. Michael, too, was upset, restless and fretful in my arms.
“Let me take him, Charlotte.” Holly held out her hands for him. “I’ll give him back whenever you like.”
“Please. Can’t I use the phone?”
“Just let me take Michael. Let me help calm him down.”
I didn’t want to let him go, but Holly seemed sincere enough, and I thought it might buy some time and sympathy.
“Come to Holly, sweet boy.” She smiled brightly at Michael, who didn’t seem afraid of her. “Let’s look at the toys I’ve got here.” She took him to the large basket of infant toys she had for Seraphina, who wouldn’t be ready for them for months.
I sank back into the comfortable chair, telling myself I wouldn’t fall asleep. I had to persuade them to let us get to Clareston and my father and Nonie. I thought about Eva, but I knew I didn’t dare tell them what I suspected about Rachel.
“You said the policeman pursued you?” David came all the way into the room. “Something about the car being stolen?”
“It has to be a misunderstanding, doesn’t it?” I tried a smile. Of course I knew it was nothing of the sort, but I didn’t want to complicate things. “My car has never been stolen.”
“But why would someone report it, then?”
I didn’t like the way David was looking at me at all—as though I were a teenager prone to lying. I hadn’t lied. Everything I had told them was the truth, but I had seen in their faces that they weren’t sure what to think. I had been an idiot to come to them. They weren’t really my friends. Complete strangers would have been better. I wasn’t thinking straight, and now I couldn’t stop the flood of panic inside me.
Holly had Michael, and I was going to have to try to get him from her without them becoming suspicious. If I had to walk all the way to Clareston, I would get Michael to safety and my father’s house. Why had I come to this town? Press had fooled me in some horrible way. I imagined then that Holly and David were a part of it all, that they had been involved in Press’s duplicity. Olivia had never truly warmed to them. What if it hadn’t been because of her dislike of Jewish people? Perhaps she knew something about the Webbs the way she knew something about Press. But Olivia wasn’t there to protect either Michael or me. I had to be smart.
“Use your head, Lottie.” Nonie was always trying to make me be sensible, and I was, most of the time. God, how I wished she were with us.
Michael yawned, making Holly smile.
“Press hasn’t been himself since Eva died. Can’t you see he blames me? He can’t forgive me? This is just one way he’s trying to hurt me. Surely you can understand how hard it’s been.”
I thought I saw sympathy in David’s eyes, but I wasn’t sure. Bringing up Eva might have been a mistake. I imagined then that the world was divided into two groups of people: those who believed Eva’s death was my fault and blamed me; and those who believed I was responsible, but pitied me. My hope was that David Webb was in the second group.
“You can’t just take a man’s son away from him, Charlotte. Especially if the boy’s injured.”
“He’s fine. Can’t you see he’s fine? Look at him. He’s just exhausted.”
David glanced at Michael, then back at me.
“I’m calling Jack.” When I started to protest, he said, “It’s either Jack or the hospital, Charlotte. You’re not a child. You know what’s right, here.”
“Then stop treating me like a child.” Getting up, I bent to take Michael from Holly’s arms, but she held fast to him. I tugged, trying to pull him away. He called out for me, sounding frightened.
“You can’t. David, we can’t let her leave here with him.”
“Then just let me use the phone. It’s in the kitchen, yes?” It was the best chance I had to reach my father.
Before I knew what was happening, David took ahold of my shoulders and pulled me backwards so that I fell back against him. Even though he was nearly two inches shorter than I, he had control.
“Listen to yourself, Charlotte. Listen.” He turned me around to face him. “Do you want to hurt your son, too?”
Stunned and sickened into silence, I could only look down at the room’s expensive wall-to-wall carpet. Michael continued to cry for me, but I couldn’t bear to look at him.
Half an hour later, I was resting on the beige velvet sofa, stroking Michael’s hair as he slept in my arms. My badly bruised leg was extended over the cushions. They had argued that calling my father—who was still recovering from the hit-and-run accident—in the middle of the night would unnecessarily alarm him. I knew they were wrong, but I didn’t have the energy to disagree. But they had promised to tell Jack that he was to come alone, without Press. Yet when Jack arrived, his face creased with concern, Press was close behind.
I would be back at Bliss House, a prisoner, before the sun rose.
Chapter 38
Upstairs, Upstairs
Press returned me to Olivia’s room, knowing I wouldn’t try to leave again wit
hout Michael. And he made sure I knew that Michael was no longer in the house. I was in a state of drug-induced sluggishness, but I remember everything that happened after I woke in Olivia’s bed later that day.
There was a glass of water and a cup of tepid tisane on the bedside table, and, squinting to keep the strong afternoon light streaming in the windows out of my eyes, I drank both quickly and fell back on the pillows. I wanted to search for Michael, but couldn’t force myself from the bed because any movement was painful: not only my head, but my neck and injured leg. Feeling for the bell beside the bed that would ring in the kitchen, I found it, but decided not to ring it. Would Terrance or Marlene even bother to come? Barely able to complete any train of thought, I gave up and went back to sleep.
Though I slept fitfully that second time, I woke in the early evening from another dream of Olivia and Eva in the kitchen. Again Eva stood on the stool, close beside Olivia, but now water dropped from her body in a hundred endless rivulets and pooled on the floor. But this time Olivia gestured me forward so I could also watch over her shoulder. There was a small goose, flopping and honking in the enormous kitchen sink as Olivia forced it down, again and again, to keep it from escaping. Eva watched the goose as well, her face blank and unemotional even though the scene was violent and horrifying in the extreme.
“Don’t look,” I said to Eva, wanting to take her in my arms. But I didn’t try to touch her. Even in my dream, I knew she wouldn’t really be there.
The light around us was the filtered golden amber of an autumn afternoon, and I ached for the days I had walked in the lane beneath the trees with Eva and Michael. As we stood there, the kitchen seemed to grow and stretch so that the floor and the walls got so far away that they disappeared, and we were left—sink and stool, and now-screaming goose—standing in a broad pasture, with Bliss House at a distance behind us, its windows bathed in the amber light. Finally, Eva looked up at me. The velvet ribbon that had been in her hair now hung loosely around her neck, and a fine goose feather was caught in her curls.
Charlotte’s Story Page 25