A Shattered Wife

by Diana Salyers

  Too soon for Martha, they were standing in the driveway beside William’s car. "Is he asleep?" William asked and wondered if his father could have faked the whole fainting episode.

  Martha nodded.

  "At least get someone out here to help you," William pleaded.

  "We’ll see." Martha’s stand-by answer for "No."

  Neither mother nor son heard the bedroom window slide open six inches. Neither saw the end of a rifle barrel slide through, aimed at the driveway.

  "At least think about it." William kissed her forehead and climbed into the car. In the darkness of the storm, his mother looked like an abandoned child.

  "Call when you get home."

  "I will. Mom, if you need me…" The rest of the sentence was implied but he knew that she would never call.

  Darkness closed in quickly, bringing more rain as Martha stumbled back inside. Flicking the light switch flooded the kitchen with brilliance and the unexpected sight of Bill sitting at the table startled her. She muffled her scream with the back of her hand. A mocking smile curled his lips.

  "You scared me," Martha said, embarrassed at her own skittishness.

  "Can’t a man come to his own kitchen to tell his son goodbye?" Bill gave her an innocent look and then sipped his hot coffee.

  "You’re too late. He’s gone." She said, eying him suspiciously. He seemed to have recovered completely. Had he forgotten, blacked out, not even realized what had happened?

  "Too bad."

  Martha busied herself with the dishes. After a few minutes she asked, "Should you be up?" There were several other things she wanted to say to him but they would have to wait until she was sure he was responsible for his actions…and she was more in control of her own emotions.

  "I feel fine now," Bill said absently and then added. "It must have been all the excitement of having company for dinner."

  Silence for a moment and then Bill moved closer to her. "I’ll take that knife now."

  So he hadn’t forgotten. Carefully, Martha pulled the thin bladed knife out of the soapy water, rinsed and dried it. She handed it to him without a word.

  Snapping it into its case on his belt, Bill laughed softly. "You have to be careful with things like this. Someone could get hurt."

  The saucer Martha was washing slipped out of her hand, struck the side of the sink and broke into several sharp, jagged pieces.

  "I sure hope we don’t have to stop having visitors," Bill continued in that strange, soft voice. Martha gingerly picked out a long piece of broken saucer and transferred it quietly to her apron pocket.

  CHAPTER 7

  Paul got out of his car and stretched lazily. The Landry house, with its slash of red brick chimney up the side, warmed his heart and he ambled toward it thinking, not for the first time, that it would make a pretty painting, peaceful and secluded. He crossed the wooden foot bridge to the yard and bent to sniff Martha’s fragrant roses.

  "You look fit as a fiddle this morning," Bill said as he wheeled onto the porch.

  "I feel fit as a fiddle," Paul said lightly, straightening, and then broke into a smile when he noticed Bill’s beard, tinged with gray. "I like it," he said rubbing casually at his own furry chin.

  The old man’s hand went to his own chin and he was surprised when his fingers touched a short beard. It suddenly dawned on him that he hadn’t shaved since Father’s Day, but he carefully hid his reaction. "It’s a little uncomfortable but I’ll get used to it. I get damn tired of shaving every day."

  Paul sat down on the end of the porch near Bill’s feet. "Just be careful when you trim. One slip and it’s all over."

  Bill nodded.

  "You know, my offer to build that ramp to the porch for you still holds," Paul said.

  Bill waved the words aside. "I don’t need it. I’m not going anywhere."

  "You could sit out in the yard."

  "With my luck, I’d probably fall into another groundhog hole and paralyze the rest of me. No thanks!"

  Paul felt especially good today and his laughter came easily. He had good news for Bill.

  Martha knew she looked bad. Lack of sleep had left dark circles under eyes and she was always on the verge of tears. Whether the tears were caused by exhaustion, nervousness or just plain fear she wasn’t sure. Whatever the cause, her eyes were swollen and red. Her hair continued to slip from its confining bun and the fine silvery strands hung limply against her neck.

  Listening to the men talking and laughing on the porch, she thought about how close they had become - almost like father and son. The thought intensified her anger toward Bill and even brought on an unreasonable surge of anger toward Paul. While setting the table, she came to a decision. Today she would tell Paul about Bill’s recent behavior as soon as the opportunity presented itself. As Bill’s doctor, he especially needed to know about the incident with William.

  After they had eaten, Martha jumped up from the table and followed him outside. He was returning to the house, medical bag in hand, when she reached him. "I have to talk to you." Her whisper sounded desperate to her own ears.

  A frown flicked across his face. "What is it?"

  She looked around to make sure Bill had not followed her. "Bill’s been doing some pretty strange things. I thought you should know."

  "Like what?"

  "He can’t sleep for one thing."

  "I’ll ask him about it and give him a prescription," Paul said off-handedly and started toward the house again.

  "No," Martha shook her head and put a hand on his arm. "He mustn’t know I’ve talked to you."

  Paul frowned again and then he looked toward the house.

  "He made a chart."

  "A sleep chart?"

  "A chart to keep track of the animals he kills. Didn’t you see it hanging on the wall?" Martha’s hands flitted to smooth her apron.

  "He’s just trying to stay busy," Paul patted her arm reassuringly and took another step toward the house.

  Martha’s frustration mounted. How could he have not noticed the chart? "That’s not all."

  "What else?"

  "Our son came to visit last Sunday."

  Paul felt a stab of jealousy. William had no idea what a wonderful family he had. If Bill was his father he would be out here every day. He was someone to admire; someone to laugh and talk with.

  "Bill attacked him."

  "What?" Paul thought he’d heard her wrong, then almost immediately wondered if she was overreacting.

  "If you could have seen his face…" Martha broke off and shook her head. "I was never so scared in all my life. I was glad when he passed out."

  "Passed out! Why didn’t you call me?" Paul demanded.

  She finally had his attention. "I tried to, but Bill came to and wouldn’t let me."

  Paul paused to consider her last statement and then said. "You should have called me anyway. Promise me you will if it ever happens again."

  Martha nodded feeling tired, drugged. "There’s something wrong. I know it!"

  Paul studied her closely and realized how tired and frail she looked. "Look, I think you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion. I’m going to give you a sedative to help you get some rest."

  Martha could hardly believe what she was hearing. She shook her head. "No…"

  "If you don’t feel better in a few days, come in to the office to see me."

  "But, Bill…he…"

  But Paul was moving, taking long strides toward the house again, leaving her behind.

  "Let me show you the chart. It’s hideous," Martha said, hurrying after him. Managing to get to the door first, she clutched his arm tightly when they got inside. "He keeps it hanging right there." Closing the back door, she turned her head and pointed. "I can’t even stand to look at it."

  There was nothing there but a blank wall. Paul shook his head and gently patted her shoulder. "There’s nothing there."

  "What!" she whirled around. The wall was empty. Even the nails that held the chart in plac
e were gone. Martha stared at the blank space, blinking, not trusting her own eyes. Had it been there during lunch? Where could it be?

  "You’re so tired," Paul said, smoothing back her hair, a gentle and caring smile on his face. "Tomorrow I want to see you in my office. I’m going to give you a thorough examination and some pills to help you sleep."

  Martha shook her head violently and found her voice. "I don’t need to go to sleep. I don’t need an examination. It was here this morning."

  "Okay, if you say it was here, it was. It’s gone now!" Paul pushed two capsules into her hand and left her standing in the kitchen alone. Martha ran outside to her rose garden. There she sank to her knees and wept. What was happening? Bill had always been so strong and sure; she could always trust him. Now she wasn’t even sure she could trust herself.

  ***

  "That didn’t take long," Bill said, buttoning his shirt across his hairy chest.

  Paul was returning instruments to his bag. "I told you there were only a few things I wanted to check. You’re in very good shape."

  "Sure. I’ve never felt better."

  "How are you sleeping?"

  "Great." Another lie.

  The doctor took a deep breath and looked at Bill closely. "You’re really amazing. Your recovery is unbelievable."

  "That’s good to hear, Doc. Will I ever tap dance again?"

  Paul laughed aloud at the old joke. "I have some wonderful news."

  Bill looked suspicious. "What news?"

  "I want to tell you and Martha at the same time. Come on."

  Wheeling his chair behind Paul, Bill frowned. He didn’t like surprises.

  Martha was still in her rose garden, concentrating on their beauty in order to calm herself, when she saw the two men come outside. Her tears were gone but inside she was screaming for help. Motioning for her to join them, Paul insisted that she sit in a chair next to Bill. He perched lightly on the porch railing in front of them, his long legs dangling. The late afternoon cast long shadows on the lawn.

  Bill had picked up the shotgun and was scanning the driveway.

  "What is this all about?" Martha asked, looking from the young man to the older one and back again. Had he told Bill what she had said? But Paul was smiling happily and Bill wasn’t paying attention to either of them.

  "Our patient is doing just fine," he said finally.

  At this Bill reluctantly looked away from the driveway. He was tired of playing games and wished Paul would leave.

  Martha’s wary expression did not change. Sure, she thought, you didn’t check inside his head.

  "The examination I did today was for a special reason. There were a few things I had to check." Paul wished he could stop grinning. He didn’t want to sound too encouraging. "There’s an experimental operation that might enable you to walk again.

  Martha’s sudden, swift intake of breath made both men look at her. "Are you sure?"

  "One hundred percent sure?" Bill asked, not at all convinced.

  Paul shook his head. "Nothing is that sure."

  A dozen conflicting emotions hit Martha at once.

  "What are my chances?"

  "I’m not sure. I’d have to talk with the specialists," Paul said, shrugging lean shoulders and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I’d say at least 50/50."

  "I’m not a gambling man," Bill said shortly and returned his gaze to the rhododendron bushes that border the driveway.

  A thick silence hung over them.

  Finally, Paul picked up his bag. "Why don’t you two talk it over? I’ll see you next week. By that time I’ll have more information and can give you a better picture."

  "We’ll do that," Martha said from her seat. She did not trust her legs to hold her.

  Paul turned and looked at Bill. "I hear your son paid you a visit." Again, just saying the words brought a pang of jealousy.

  Martha froze, horrified.

  "Yeah," Bill said without taking his eyes off the driveway. "We had a real nice time."

  "Good. You might want to discuss this with him. You know, get his opinion."

  "We might do that," Bill’s voice came across amiable and easy-going. It sounded almost as if he meant what he said.

  Martha held her breath.

  "Just remember, with this operation and some therapy, there’s a chance you could be a free man again," Paul said finally, and went to his car whistling.

  For the rest of the afternoon Martha stayed away from her husband, not only wondering when he was going to reprimand her for talking to Paul about William’s visit but what she thought about what his operation could mean to him - to them.

  At dinner, she could no longer avoid him and she had kept quiet for as long as she could. Finally, she asked, "Well, what do you think?"

  "Great cornbread," he said flatly without looking up.

  "I’m talking about what Paul told us today."

  "Oh, that."

  Silence.

  Martha let out an exasperated sigh. "Well?"

  Bill knew what she wanted to talk about, but it had nothing to do with her. He would have to think hard about it before making a decision. "He didn’t sound very promising," Bill said after a while.

  "Any chance at all is…"

  "Look, this is my life we’re playing with here, not yours." Bill punctuated his words by stabbing a fork into his meatloaf. "If I decide to do it I will. If not, I won’t."

  "Let’s talk…"

  Bill interrupted her again. "The final choice is mine alone to make. It doesn’t concern you."

  Martha looked away, her gaze colliding suddenly with the chart hanging behind the door, glaring back at her menacingly. With the news of the operation, she had forgotten about its mysterious disappearance.

  "For one thing, you don’t know what you’re talking about," Bill continued. "You don’t sit in this chair day after day. I do!"

  Martha continued to stare mutely at the chart.

  "If they make a mistake and I’m paralyzed from the neck down, then nothing will have been achieved. When a change takes place in my condition, I want it to be final - one way or another." If Bill could have walked he would have been pacing the kitchen floor. Instead he was clenching and unclenching his fists; his anger directed at the plate of food.

  After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, he went back outside. The shotgun roared and then he yelled, "Mark down one more for today!"

  Martha performed the task mechanically, her mind numb. Maybe Paul was right. Maybe she was the one in need of help.

  CHAPTER 8

  Grocery shopping was an easy task. Martha had been doing it all her life, but this time she hurried through her shopping, hardly aware of what she bought. Parking the pick-up in the small shopping plaza, she made a quick stop at the bank. After leaving the bank, she hurried to a small drug store nearby that carried the special shampoo, containing vitamin E, she used. She did not notice the tall young man and petite red-haired woman crossing the street holding hands.

  "Were you going to leave town without stopping to see me?" Paul asked quietly as he followed Martha into the pharmacy.

  Startled at the sound of his voice, Martha whirled around, nearly dropping her purse. She had completely forgotten about his orders to come to his office for an examination.

  His clear, blue-gray eyes remained steadily on hers, questioning.

  "Well," Martha stammered, "I’m feeling much better today."

  "Did you take the medication I gave you yesterday to help you get some rest?"

  She nodded.

  "I thought so. You look a little better. No adverse reaction?"

  "No," Martha answered, trying to control her trembling. Then she saw the woman standing close to Paul.

  "Martha, this is Katie Albertson. Katie, this is Martha Landry." Paul made the introductions. Then with a proud smile he said, "Martha is my foster mother."

  "It’s so nice to meet you!" Katie’s smile was pleasant and she extended a tiny, well-shaped hand.
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  Martha took the hand, which felt smooth in her own work - roughened one, managed a weak smile and nodded. "Paul is bringing you out to our place next week for lunch. We’re looking forward to it."

  "Paul talks about your home constantly and I’m anxious to see it. I understand that it’s quite beautiful." Katie’s friendly, warm manner was sincere.

  "I’m glad you two had a chance to meet but…" Paul was steering Martha toward the pharmacist with a firm hand on her arm. "I’ve got rounds to make and I want to give you some more of those sleeping capsules."

  "What do you think?" Paul asked after he and Katie were several blocks away from the drug store.

  "She seems like a very nice lady," Katie said softly. She did not mention that there was something about Martha, something in her eyes she had seen before.

  "I mean, did she seem -" Paul shrugged while searching for the right word. "- strange?"

  Katie paused, her sea-green eyes narrowing for a moment in concentration. "The woman looked tired and a bit confused, but not strange," she said. "You scared her half to death."

  Paul’s disappointment in her answer showed.

  "Paul, I’m a psychologist, not a mind reader. To make a real decision about her state of mind, I’d have to give her some tests - at least talk to her for a little while."

  "Will you?"

  "What?"

  "When we go out there next week, will you talk to her? See if you can find anything wrong, something I’m missing?" Paul turned on the pleading, little boy look that almost always got him what he wanted, especially with women.

  Katie laughed and touched her finger to his lips. "Okay. But don’t expect too much. She’s probably just a very tired woman under a lot of stress."

  ***

  Bill sat on the porch, thinking. Why should he suffer through an operation that may or may not free him from the wheelchair? He had often wanted to see the animals he killed at a closer range and sometimes, when his bullet didn’t quite do the trick, they needed a sharp blow to the head to finish them off. Other than that, he was reasonably content.

  An idea crossed his mind and he smiled to himself. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He had two perfectly good legs: Martha, his faithful wife.