A Shattered Wife

by Diana Salyers

  Bill shifted impatiently as Martha brought the groceries in out of the hot sun and hung the truck keys on the nail by the back door He had completely made up his mind. No more doctors, no surgery.

  And later that afternoon, he got his first opportunity to "walk".

  His next kill was a good, clean one and he wanted to see the results. "Martha!"

  "I’ll mark it down," she answered wearily from behind the screen door.

  "No! Come here," he commanded.

  Reluctantly, she stepped onto the porch.

  "Just at the end of the driveway, to your right, is a groundhog. I just shot it," Bill told her, indicating the general direction with a nod of his head.

  Martha waited; hand on the door, not understanding.

  "I want to see it."

  Comprehension dawned on her and she looked as though she had been slapped. "What!"

  "I want to see it," Bill repeated. "Go get it."

  Martha shook her head slowly from side to side. She had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something.

  "Now!" Bill shouted. The sharp bark in his voice snapped her into action.

  As if in a dream, she hurried off the porch and down the driveway. Her legs and arms felt like lead. With little difficulty, she found the young animal curled in a tight ball, black paws cupping his large head, as though asleep. Its eyes were squeezed shut and the strong white front teeth were bared in a grimace of death. Several BB - sized holes marred the beautiful pelt. Kneeling, she touched the dead animal. It was still warm. The groundhog was not heavy, no more than 10 pounds, but Martha had to force herself to pick it up. She felt queasy, and wanted only to drop the dead thing and get away.

  She laid the animal on the porch at Bill’s feet. Inside, she was screaming that she would die before she ever performed that task again. Putting her hands in her apron pockets, she felt the jagged piece of glass from the saucer still hidden there.

  CHAPTER 9

  "That’s the end of those babies," Bill announced as he wheeled into the kitchen and dropped an empty shell box into the trash can.

  "Didn’t I get shells when I went to town the other day?" Martha asked, wondering if he had forgotten. Without answering her, he turned and went into the living room. His gun-cleaning kit lay on a small table, ready for use. He broke the gun down and began working on it with a soft rag.

  Martha shrugged and continued preparing lunch. The fact that Bill had not answered her came as no surprise. He rarely spoke to her at all anymore, and when he did, the look on his face and his tone of voice indicated that he was miles away. His personal habits were deteriorating rapidly, as well. He wore the same clothes all the time and only bathed when Paul was due to visit. He looked shabby and neglectful, like an old drunk.

  When he came through the kitchen again, he was carrying two guns. One was his shotgun, and the other was a big, deadly looking rifle. "The shells you picked up the other day were for this gun," he told her, caressing the metal trigger.

  Even with her limited knowledge of firearms, Martha could tell that this was a far more powerful weapon than either the .22 or the shotgun. It was huge and angry-looking and boasted sophisticated telescopic sights mounted securely to the top. "Is that an elephant gun?"

  Bill laughed sharply and returned to his examination of the big rifle. This was the gun he had been using the day of his accident, but as far as he could tell it was in fine shape. "It’s called a thirty-aught six. When the shell enters its target, it leaves only a small hole, but once inside it explodes…" Bill snapped a fully loaded clip into the gun and then removed the protective leather cap covering the lens, "…really tearing them to pieces. You know, more of a show!"

  She turned away, disgusted, and stared blindly at a recipe book. What could be fun about any of this?

  He ignored her and butted the gun against his right shoulder, lowered it, and shouldered it again quickly. "Good balance," he murmured to himself. He was glad that it hadn’t been damaged in the fall.

  He wheeled out the door, and in a matter of minutes, he was ‘having fun.’ When fired, the powerful recoil jarred his shoulder and momentarily obstructed his view. After the explosion subsided, his wild laughter pierced Martha’s thoughts.

  "Mark one down for today!"

  She obeyed, sighing. The chart was becoming crowded with slim straight marks (hers) and broad, slightly wavy slashes (Bill’s), each indicating a dead animal. She had a strange impulse to make crosses out of each of them.

  Twenty minutes later, she heard him calling her name. She moved reluctantly to the back porch, where he sat with his trio of weapons.

  "Hunker down here so that your eyes are level with mine and look out across the driveway," he told her.

  Martha began to shake. What now? Was he going to make her retrieve another dead animal? Or worse, perform that useless revolting sex act?

  "Dammit, I’m not going to hurt you! Now quit shaking like a leaf and bend down here."

  She obeyed quickly, her knees aching, and searched - out across the curve of the driveway, her flowerbeds and the garden. Further out, through the trees, she could barely make out the roof of one of the older barns perched on the hillside. Nothing out of the ordinary. What did he mean?

  "What do you see?"

  She shrugged. "My rosebushes? The garden? That’s about all."

  "Correct. Your goddamn flowers are blocking my view of the driveway. I want them cut down."

  She stood up quickly, her mouth dropping open. "Cut down?"

  "You heard me. I want them out of the way. They block my view."

  "But it’s taken me years to get them just right! I’ve worked so hard…" Martha protested. Bill brought the cold rifle barrel gently against her left leg, just below the knee, and tapped twice. His voice grew low and dangerous. "Cut them down."

  She obeyed, as always. Using razor-sharp hedge trimmers, she began angrily hacking at her beautiful rosebushes – her substitute grandchildren. The healthy bushes fell at her feet and as their fragrant blossoms blanketed the ground, she wept openly. She hated Bill for his outlandish demands, and hated herself for giving in to him. Frustrated tears coursed down her wrinkled cheeks and kept her from seeing the smile on Bill’s face as he watched her through the scope of his rifle.

  Panting from overexertion, Martha went into the kitchen and drank two large glasses of water. She used a paper towel to wipe the sweat, dirt and tears from her face.

  She wondered if Bill had given any thought to the small ray of hope that Paul offered. If he did, he hadn’t mentioned anything to her. All that interested him was using his guns to kill poor defenseless animals. Her life was caught in a dark area between fear and pity, and the situation as it stood was hopeless. All she could do was keep her mouth shut, stay out of Bill’s way, and do as she was told. She was so weary of the struggle, but sooner or later this nightmare had to end.

  Sudden exhaustion swept over her, making her mind fuzzy. She sat at the table and picked up the small white bottle of pills and looked at it longingly. How easy it would be to take a handful of the red and black capsules and never wake up.

  By that evening, Martha could tell which gun Bill was using by the sound it made. The .22 emitted a sharp crack, and the shotgun had a more powerful roar, but the 30.06 made a completely different sound all together. Its explosion shrieked through her ears and ricocheted between the protective mountains that flanked their valley.

  "Boy, you should have seen the last one I got today," Bill said, as if there were a dozen people seated at their dinner table. He looked around, avoiding Martha’s curious stare. The extent of his instability was becoming more apparent every day. She began to wonder how long it would be before she joined him.

  "He was a big, fat sonofabitch and he had his eye on one of Martha’s cabbages. I guess he was too interested in it to notice me," he continued. Martha rose from the table. She didn’t want to watch this spectacle.

  An iron hand, fingers biting into the paper-thin skin of he
r forearm, stopped her short. "Wait! I want you to hear this, too," he commanded.

  She looked around at their invisible dinner guests and sank wearily back into her chair.

  "I got him centered in my crosshairs, and KA-POW! Right between the eyes!" Bill took careful aim with his imaginary rifle and shot the punch bowl on the top shelf of the china cabinet. He laughed loudly at his victory. Martha tried not to cry. "I never saw so much blood in all my life. That devil was trying to get away even with half its insides hanging out, so I hit him again. KA-POW!"

  Unable to hold back her tears any longer, Martha fled from the table and sought out the temporary sanctuary of their bedroom. Still, she was unable to shut out the sounds of Bill’s wild, cackling laughter.

  A day or so later, she was given another glimpse of Bill’s fading grasp on reality. It was nearly dark, and she was curled up on the sofa in her bathrobe and slippers, reading a book, when he wheeled into the living room and began to watch her with secretive, sidelong glances. He had made several kills that day and should have been pleased with himself, but something seemed to be nagging at him.

  "The animals are making my job harder and harder, you know. Being more evasive."

  She continued to look at her book, but she wasn’t reading. Of course they were being evasive, she thought, but remained silent.

  After another long while, he said, "Did you say something?"

  Martha shook her head, giving him a quick, wary glance.

  "I thought I heard something." He watched her closely for a reaction.

  "What?" she asked cautiously, clutching her book tightly, as if for support.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders and returned his gaze to the window. "Voices."

  Her breath caught in her throat. What voices? What did they sound like? What did they say? The questions swirled in her mind and formed in her throat, but stuck there. She dropped the book into her lap and put her hands down to hide their trembling.

  "I don’t know. I’ve missed a lot of shots these last few days, and I’m sure it’s my eyes," he complained. He studied the tranquil scene outside the window. "Maybe my hearing is going, too."

  Or your mind, Martha thought. This was getting ridiculous. "Perhaps you should go in for a few tests. I’m sure Paul would be glad to help." Her voice was soft, timid, and she waited for his usual outburst of anger and abuse.

  Much to her surprise, he shrugged again and sighed heavily. "No use worrying about it. I’m an old man. I won’t need my eyes or ears much longer, anyway." As he rolled past her, he reached to give her shoulder a gentle pat.

  Martha’s heart melted. Everything he had done to her was suddenly forgotten. Somewhere, behind that strong, foreboding, never-say-die exterior lay a powerfully independent but very sick man.

  CHAPTER 10

  She said the name over and over to herself: "Katie Newsome. Katie Newsome." It sounded pretty good. Glancing quickly at her future husband as he drove his little Volkswagen through the peaceful countryside, her heart skipped a beat. Paul was exactly what she had waited for all these years; a good, kind, intelligent man, endowed with a great sense of humor. More importantly, her independence and intelligence, of which she was quite proud, in no way threatened his masculinity. He respected her and her work; he was even interested in it. He had been well worth the wait.

  Summer sun sparkled on the small diamond ring that decorated her hand, catching her eye. She smiled, thinking that Paul had seemed like a nervous schoolboy the previous evening. A strange, tense excitement began building between them the moment he’d picked her up from her apartment, and by the time they had finished supper it was so strong that normal conversation was difficult. When it seemed that he couldn’t control himself any longer, Paul blurted, "I was supposed to wait and do this tomorrow at the Landrys', but I have to get it over with now."

  "You sound like whatever you have to do is bitter medicine," Katie replied. She had an idea of what the excitement was about and decided not to make it too easy.

  Paul had smiled crookedly. "It’s not that. I’m just nervous."

  "About what?"

  "You aren’t helping, Katie."

  She giggled, feeling elated, like she might float away. "I’m sorry. What’s on your mind?"

  "Will you marry me?" Paul asked suddenly, his clear blue-gray eyes asking far more intensely than his voice.

  Tossing her head back and laughing happily, she squeezed his fine, long-fingered hands. With unexpected tears in her eyes, she could only nod.

  A relieved sigh escaped Paul, and then he joined her, their contagious laughter spreading joy to those nearby. The hours of rehearsing in front of his bathroom mirror were wasted. He had never thought of just asking her. "Oh! This is for you," he said, remembering the ring in his jacket pocket.

  He slipped the ring on her finger and a deep warm glow spread through her. "It’s beautiful," she breathed, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

  Paul upset his water glass, sending it spiraling across the table to drench everything in her plate. They began to laugh hysterically.

  "What are you smiling about?" Paul’s voice brought Katie back to the present as the summer green countryside whizzed past.

  "Something wonderful," she answered, snuggling contentedly against his shoulder. The warm glow was still with her, and she thought it might always be there. It had definitely been well worth the wait.

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed each finger. "You haven’t forgotten about talking to Martha, have you?"

  Katie shook her head, still resting against his shoulder. The whole idea that Martha needed psychological help seemed like a waste of time, but she had promised. "You know I don’t often make house calls," she murmured, eyes closed, and fingered the diamond on her hand.

  "Just this one time," Paul squeezed her knee, "as a favor to me."

  "Of course, I will expect adequate compensation for my time and expertise."

  "Oh, you’ll be handsomely rewarded," he said, grinning. "In fact, I could stop up ahead and pay in advance." His grin grew larger, hopeful.

  She sat up and winked at him. Her hand covered his. "No, I don’t think that will be necessary."

  Trying not to look at the spot where her roses used to thrive, Martha watched Paul’s car pull into the driveway and stop behind the truck. Even though she’d felt quite at ease with Katie when they’d met in town, she was anxious. The events of the past few days had drawn her nerves taut as a bow, and she wondered if they might snap at any moment. After making an unnecessary check on the lunch she had prepared, she went outside to greet her guests.

  "Isn’t it beautiful here?" Paul whispered as he took Katie’s hand and felt his ring on her finger.

  She nodded. On the porch she could see Martha and a large, bearded elderly man in a wheelchair. There was a gun across his lap and one on either side of him, within easy reach. This must be Bill. The guns worried her, and it felt good to have Paul close, so she put on her best smile and let him lead her forward.

  "It’s good to see you again." Martha was surprised that her voice sounded quite natural and even, and she and Katie exchanged friendly smiles.

  "Katie, this is Bill Landry. Bill, this is Katie Albertson, my fiancée," Paul said.

  Bill shook hands, but his eyes revealed none of the phrases that were running through his head. Looking much younger than her thirty-six years, she had on comfortably worn blue jeans and sneakers, and her curly red hair was pulled into a ponytail. She reminded him of someone from long ago.

  Martha saw the look on Bill’s face. She had seen it before when he was in the company of women, and she knew it well. Then she saw the ring on Katie’s hand. "I thought you were going to propose out here today?" she asked, sounding much brighter than she felt.

  Paul shrugged, not taking his eyes off Katie, and said, "I couldn’t wait."

  "Well, I can understand that!" Bill said.

  Katie felt herself blushing. "Thank you."

  After a few min
utes of polite conversation, Martha excused herself to get lunch.

  "May I help?" Katie asked.

  Martha declined and hurried inside so that she didn’t have to watch Bill’s reaction to the young woman. Closing the door behind her, she noticed that the chart was gone.

  ***

  "Are you a nurse, Katie?" Bill asked, although he was more interested in her tiny waist and firm breasts than her job.

  Katie glanced quickly at Paul and then nodded. Something about the old man’s attitude put all of her senses on alert.

  "At the hospital where Paul works?"

  "Yes," she lied. "That’s how we met."

  Paul heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t want them to suspect the real purpose of Katie’s visit.

  "I didn’t see any nurses this pretty when I was in the hospital," Bill complained, winking at Paul.

  "We keep the pretty nurses away from guys like you." Paul grinned and put a possessive arm around her shoulders.

  "Lunch is ready," Martha announced through the screen door.

  Bill followed Katie and Paul inside. He wanted a closer look at the way Katie’s jeans fit her nicely curved hips.

  Inside, they gathered around the table. It was laden with steaming vegetables, fried chicken and strawberry shortcake for dessert.

  "You never fixed fried chicken for me!" Paul teased.

  Martha smiled shyly. "Katie is special, and she deserves a special lunch."

  Katie felt herself blushing again. She forgot, for the moment, that this was a professional visit and that these were not Paul’s parents or her future in-laws.

  During their meal, the men talked about guns and hunting. Martha and Katie exchanged a few words, but most of the time Martha kept her eyes on her plate. Her behavior could have been nervousness; it could have been shyness. Katie suspected it was neither. Martha wore her tension with resignation, as if she'd been carrying it for a long time.

  After lunch, the men went back outside, but Katie insisted on helping with the cleanup. Alone in the kitchen, Martha became more talkative, mentioning the wedding and offering to make Katie’s dress. Still, Katie didn’t like the look in the older woman’s eyes.