“I don’t have much of an appetite lately,” Anna said. “It must be the weather.”
“Try to eat more,” he said. “You need to put some meat on your bones.”
The word “bones” made Anna think of the skull in the window of the Mill Village house and she thought she was going to start laughing right then and there. It was a monumental struggle to prevent the burst of laughter from leaving her mouth, but she succeeded.
“Do you sleep well?” the doctor asked.
“Perfectly,” she said, but in her mind she added, Except for the nightmares. They were wretched things, the nightmares. If she thought the doctor had a pill to make them go away, she would have told him about them.
“Do you feel melancholy?” he asked.
“No!” She spoke sharply. Melancholia had been her mother’s diagnosis during her dark spells. Anna resisted the word. She was not like her mother. “Melancholy” didn’t capture how she felt. She was angry about what Martin had done to her. What he’d taken from her. And she felt sick to her stomach with guilt, and scared to death. But the doctor didn’t ask her about any of that.
“Miss Myrtle thinks you might be working too hard,” the doctor said.
“I’ll slow down,” she said, thinking, If I got any slower, I’d be dead. She was now spending her time in the warehouse either staring into space, thinking of nothing, really, or telling Jesse how to do what still needed to be done on the mural. Jesse kept trying to get her to pick up a brush and work on it herself, but she had no interest.
“When was your last menstrual period?” the doctor asked.
She was surprised by the question, and she didn’t know the answer. She’d never kept good track.
“Three weeks ago,” she said, but she started thinking about the sanitary belt in her lingerie drawer. When was the last time she’d had to wear that wretched thing? When did she last reach into the box of sanitary pads?
She made herself think about something else. The way the doctor’s mustache was uneven, one side higher than the other. That made her smile.
“Why are you smiling?” He smiled warmly back at her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I’m happy.”
She waited until he’d left her room before she burst into tears.
Chapter 55
MORGAN
July 27, 2018
I handed my signed AA attendance form to Rebecca as I took my seat next to her desk.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said. I was only late by five or six minutes, but the last thing I wanted to do was irk Rebecca. I’d lost myself in the mural that morning. Absolutely lost myself. I’d been working on the silver handle of the knife in the peanut factory worker’s mouth. It took me hours to do the inpainting. I did it perfectly, though. I was tempted to call Oliver over to have him tell me how awesome it was, but I didn’t need his approval anymore. I knew it was awesome. Even sitting there next to Rebecca’s desk, I could still see the sheen of the silver blade and the line of shadow where no light hit the handle.
“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary today,” Rebecca said, looking up from the AA form. “What’s up with you?”
“I did amazing work today,” I said. “Amazing work all week, actually. It feels good.”
Rebecca raised her eyebrows, then smiled. “That’s nice to hear,” she said.
“I didn’t think I was going to be able to finish the mural in time for the gallery opening and then I’d end up back in prison, but now I think maybe I can.”
Rebecca cocked her head to one side. “Why would you end up back in prison?”
“Because I didn’t finish on time.”
Rebecca took off her black-framed glasses. “Morgan, you are out,” she said. “Out on parole. You were released on parole with the understanding that you’ll work and pay restitution, but that has nothing to do with some arbitrary deadline.”
“No.” I frowned at her. “I have to finish the mural by the time the gallery opens or I go back to—”
“No.” Rebecca spoke firmly. “Who told you that?”
“Lisa and the lawyer, Andrea Fuller.” Had they ever actually said those words? I couldn’t remember. “Though maybe … maybe I just assumed from what they were saying…” My voice trailed off as I tried to piece together the long-ago conversation I’d had with the two women.
“I’m sorry you’ve misunderstood all this time,” Rebecca said. “You can relax. You know my requirements for you and none of them has to do with when you finish restoring that mural.”
I should have felt angry. I’d had the threat of prison hanging over my head all this time. Yet a strange indifference came over me. A strange peace. I was going to finish that mural on time, not because I had to but because I wanted to. I’d finish it for Lisa and her house. I’d finish it because that’s what Jesse’d wanted. I’d finish it for Anna.
Most of all, I thought, I’d finish it for myself.
Chapter 56
ANNA
April 8, 1940
“The police found Martin’s motorcycle in the woods over by the Mill Village,” Miss Myrtle said over breakfast Monday morning.
“Oh?” Anna aimed for boredom in her voice as if the news were of no consequence. As if it had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
“Pauline said that Karl was actually the one who found it,” Miss Myrtle continued. “He was on a call over there about something or other and spotted the red fender tucked in some shrubbery.”
Anna tried to lift her coffee cup to her lips, but it shivered so violently in her hand that she quickly returned it to its saucer.
“I think you should know, dear,” Miss Myrtle said, “that Mrs. Drapple told Karl she thinks Jesse Williams killed him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Anna said. “Jesse wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Well, Mrs. Drapple thinks Martin might have been going to the warehouse to see you the night they suspect he got killed, and that Jesse was there and murdered him.”
Anna focused on cutting a piece of the sausage patty she wasn’t interested in eating, but she felt Miss Myrtle’s eyes boring into her face.
“I hope you don’t believe that for an instant,” she said, before slipping the sausage into her mouth. She couldn’t seem to make eye contact with her landlady. She moved the sausage around with her tongue, unsure she’d be able to get it down.
“I don’t know Jesse Williams well,” Miss Myrtle said, her eyes gazing into space as though deep in thought. “I know he comes from a good, hardworking colored family, though. I just don’t like people thinking that way about you. You never should have gotten into the habit of staying after dark in that place. It gave people the wrong idea.”
Anna nodded, still moving the sausage from one side of her mouth to the other. She wished she hadn’t gotten into that habit herself. She thought of how the warehouse lights kept blinking out. Martin, working his evil magic from the grave.
“They don’t think Mrs. Drapple killed him, at any rate,” Miss Myrtle said. “That was my hunch, but I guess they’ve been able to rule her out for some reason.”
Anna finally swallowed the sausage, then looked across the table at Miss Myrtle’s kind face with its plump pale cheeks. She had the strongest urge to confess: It was me, she wanted to say. Me, me, me!
But before she could open her mouth, Freda walked into the room carrying the silver coffeepot. She held it in the air in the gesture that meant Who’d like more?, and Miss Myrtle held up her cup, while Anna covered hers with her hand.
Later that morning, Jesse and Anna were in the warehouse when they heard a car driving up the dirt road. They looked at one another. Anna was sitting on the chair by Jesse’s easel; he was on the crate in front of the mural, adding some fine detailing to a clothesline in the yard of one of the Mill Village houses. Anna figured they both knew who it was. She raced to the window and peered out to see Karl and another policeman getting out of the big black Ford V8.
“The
police,” she said.
In an instant, Jesse opened the can of blue paint and used a wide brush to slap some of it over the tire and red fender of the motorcycle that—thanks to Anna—kept emerging no matter how many times he scraped it off or painted over it. His hands shook as he set down the paint can, resting the brush across the top of it.
Anna opened the door and drew in a tremulous breath. She needed to keep her wits about her. Not say anything crazy. Although the truth was, she no longer trusted herself to know crazy from sane.
“Hi, Karl!” she called as the two men neared the doorway. Karl wore his uniform and had one of those blackjacks attached to his belt. The sight of it made Anna’s heart pound. She imagined him using it on Jesse.
“Hey, Anna.” Karl and the other man, a rotund little fellow in a too-tight uniform, stepped inside the warehouse. “This is Officer Charles,” Karl said.
Anna nodded to the young officer. He looked about her age. “And you remember Jesse Williams, Karl,” she said, nodding toward Jesse. Her voice seemed to boomerang in her ears. She sent it out and it tore right around and back into her head again. Did she sound strange to Karl, too?
Jesse walked toward them, wiping his hands on his dungarees. He didn’t reach out to shake the men’s hands, though, and they didn’t reach out to shake his.
“We’d just like to ask the two of you a few questions, given as you knew Martin Drapple,” Karl said.
“Not very well,” Anna said, then added, “Hey! I haven’t seen Pauline in ages. How is she?” She remembered how her mother used to say, Hay is for horses!, and the thought made her chuckle out loud. Even she could hear the anxiety in the sound, so inappropriate to the conversation. All three of them stared at her. She only wanted to remind Karl that they were friends. Him. Pauline. Her. “How is she doing?” Anna had the feeling Pauline had cut her from her social life after the day she’d jumped to conclusions about her and Jesse. That terrible day. Anna couldn’t let herself remember it right now or she would fall apart. How much had Pauline told Karl about that morning? The blood on the ruined cot? Pauline would have had to tell him they weren’t getting their cot back. What else had she said?
“She’s fine,” Karl said finally, his voice businesslike. “Now, when is the last time you two saw Mr. Drapple?
Oh God. She wasn’t ready for questions about Martin. She should have thought about what she might be asked and rehearsed her answers. She looked at Jesse. “When was it, Jess?” she asked him, but she could tell by the look of stark terror on Jesse’s usually calm face that he was going to be no help. She’d grown accustomed to him taking the lead these days. Accustomed to him saving her, really. Right now, he was paralyzed with fear. She was a white woman; he was a colored man. Even though she’d been the one to kill Martin Drapple, Jesse was undoubtedly in far more danger than she was.
She turned back to Karl. “I think it was the day you were here,” she said, scrambling to get it right. “Remember? All of us stretched the canvas? And Martin’s wife showed up?” She looked at Jesse again. “Right, Jesse?” she asked. “Was that the last time?”
Jesse tried to speak but nothing came out. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss Anna.” He spoke in the most subservient voice she’d ever heard come out of his mouth. “Pretty sure you got it right.”
“That was the last time?” Karl asked. His buddy was wandering around the warehouse, making Anna nervous. She tried to follow him out of the corner of her eye. Was there anything incriminating for him to find?
“What happened here?” the man asked, pointing to the red paint stain on the floor.
“Oh, I was clumsy when I opened a can.” She smiled at the little man. He was so round, the way he was packed in his uniform, that he looked like he should roll instead of walk. “I tried to open it too quickly,” she added. “Dropped the whole thing.”
“You opened the can way over here?” Officer Charles asked. “Why not over there?” He pointed to the table where all the paints were neatly lined up.
“I had a crate over there at the time, and I … it was too low.” She shrugged. “I should have opened it by the paint table. You’re right.” Brilliant, she thought, pleased she’d come up with an explanation, weak though it may have been. She smiled at him again. She needed him on her side.
“Why don’t you open the warehouse up to the public anymore?” Karl asked. “Folks were enjoyin’ it, watchin’ you paint.”
“Oh, I thought it would be more fun for them to see the finished product, you know, all at once. As a surprise. More dramatic that way. Weather hasn’t been too good for having the garage doors open, either.” Did that make sense? She couldn’t remember how the weather had been lately. It was the last thing on her mind.
Karl gave her a look that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She had to turn away. She glanced at Jesse, but he was staring into space. His body might have been in the warehouse, but Anna had the feeling his mind was on the banks of Queen Anne Creek.
Karl walked over to the mural and pointed to the fresh blue paint Jesse had hastily slapped over the motorcycle. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
Anna scrambled to find an answer in her untrustworthy brain, but Jesse cleared his throat. “Miss Anna, she don’t like how it was and is doin’ that part over again,” he said.
“I wasn’t addressin’ you, boy,” Karl snarled at him
“Don’t talk to him that way!” Anna said. She knew instantly that she’d spoken too quickly and too sharply, but she’d never heard Karl talk like that. “You know his name.” She tried to speak more calmly. Softly. “It’s ‘Jesse.’ You worked side by side with him to get this canvas on the wall, so please don’t act like you never saw him before.”
Karl glared at her and she knew she’d said way too much. She knew it before half those words were out of her mouth. One of the big burned-out ceiling lights suddenly flickered back to life and she let out a yelp.
“You’re wound up mighty tight, aren’t you?” Karl said. He nodded toward the door. “Come outside with me, Anna.”
Reluctantly, she followed him outside. He shut the door behind them and she hoped Jesse could handle Officer Charles on his own.
Outside, she turned to face Karl. “Why are you here?” she asked. “We don’t know anything about Martin Drapple.”
“So you and the boy are a ‘we’?” he asked.
“What? No! Not the way you mean. For heaven’s sake, he and Peter … I couldn’t have gotten the mural as far along as it is without them. You saw how hard they worked to help me.”
“Why is he still here, though? Where is Peter Thomas, by the way? Why isn’t he here, too?”
“He’s on the baseball team at the high school. But Jesse’s—” She didn’t want to say that Jesse had dropped out. “Jesse’s finished with school, so that’s why he’s still here. He helps me, and in return, I’m teaching him how to be a better artist.” She thought of Jesse dragging Martin’s body out of the warehouse. She would be in jail right now if not for his help.
“Pauline thinks you’ve gotten a bit too familiar with him,” Karl said.
“Pauline is wrong.” She folded her arms across her chest, proud of how firm her voice sounded.
“Is he harming you?”
She laughed. “Of course not.”
“You can tell me.” Karl tried to soften his voice, but it sounded false. She’d liked Karl so much, but at that moment, she didn’t like him at all.
“Karl, no, he’s not harming me,” she said. “Quite the opposite. He’s a big help to me. How many different ways do I need to say it?”
It seemed to take forever, but the men finally left. Anna worried they were listening outside the windows of the warehouse, even though she’d heard their car head back up the dirt road. She held her finger to her lips after they left and then went outside to walk the perimeter of the warehouse, knowing she was acting crazy again. But before she and Jesse spoke to one another, she needed to be absolutely certa
in they were alone.
By the time she was in the warehouse again, she’d started to cry. She stood in front of the mural, tears running down her cheeks, and Jesse sat on the crate just watching her go to pieces. Finally she was able to speak.
“I’m so sorry I got you involved in this.”
“My choice to git rid of him,” he said. “Only thing is, I believe I made it worse for you. Made you have to lie. Made you go plumb off your rocker.”
“I didn’t tell Karl anything about you,” she said.
“I knew you wouldn’t.” He let out a small laugh. “No matter how nuts you gonna git, I know you won’t never do nothin’ to make trouble for me.”
“We’ve got to think of ourselves as innocent,” she said. “We have to think as though we have nothing to hide. Nothing to be afraid of.” Her gaze fell on the mural, on the big blue smudge Jesse had painted over the motorcycle. She would put the motorcycle back in the picture. Tonight, maybe, or tomorrow. It would be her punishment for taking a man’s life, having to look at that thing every time she saw her painting.
Chapter 57
MORGAN
August 2, 2018
I was alone in the foyer at six o’clock Thursday evening, sitting cross-legged in front of the mural, when Saundra walked into the gallery carrying a large, rectangular box. I started to set down my palette, but she stopped me.
“Don’t get up,” she said. “I just wanted to drop these things off. Those sketches of Jesse’s I told you about and the diary.” She set the box down on one end of Oliver’s folding table.
“Mama Nelle’s diary?” I couldn’t mask my excitement at the thought of seeing what was in that book. I set my palette down and got to my feet, brushing the dust from the back of my jeans.
“Well, guess what?” Saundra said, lifting a thin, ancient-looking leather-bound book from the box.
“What?” As I moved closer, I could see that the book’s small gold lock had been pried open. I reached out to take the book from her hands. The leather felt like butter beneath my fingers.
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