A Shattered Wife

by Diana Salyers

  "Martha, why don’t you show Katie around a bit," Paul suggested when the two women joined them on the porch.

  "I thought you’d want to do that," Martha said, puzzled.

  Bill sat silently, watching and comparing the two women. Martha, quiet and mousy. Katie, flaming and beautiful. What he wouldn’t give for a few hours with her, back when his body had been complete.

  "You know the place better than he does," Katie said, taking the hint from Paul and turning to Martha. "I’d really enjoy going for a walk with you."

  Martha was glad. It had been a long time since she’d walked up to the pond and it would feel good to show off the place that she loved so much. With Martha in the lead, the two women followed a weed-choked path around an outbuilding and up the steep bank behind it. Struggling, they got a wooden gate open, then continued through the woods to a clearing and some flat land that had once been the site of a log cabin. Later, it had gone to pasture.

  "It’s …been…a…long time," Martha panted, stopping to rest. Her breath came in labored gasps.

  Katie nodded. She was breathing a little harder than usual as well, and a thin layer of perspiration covered her arms and face. Waiting patiently, she began to look around. Rabbits played nearby, oblivious to their presence, and two squirrels scampered back and forth on the limb of a dead oak. "Look," she whispered excitedly. The animals hesitated in their games but showed no signs of fear. For a moment, it looked as if they might come over to be petted. "They’re almost tame," she breathed.

  Martha said nothing, but hurried ahead.

  "Why weren’t they afraid of us?" Katie asked, running to catch up

  "I don’t know. The animals never seem to be afraid of me." Her voice trailed off.

  Seeing the older woman’s discomfort, Katie changed the subject. "Paul was right. It really is beautiful here."

  "Wait until you see the pond."

  "Where is it?"

  "Just over this knoll, then to your right," Martha said as she led the way up the rise, through a pine thicket and down to the edge of the pond. What she saw surprised her; the last time she’d seen this place it spanned almost a hundred yards. Now it was much smaller, and choked with weeds and tall grass. She couldn’t even be sure where the water began, because thick green slime covered the pond. A strong, stagnant smell made them both wrinkle their nose.

  "I’d hate to fall in that!" Katie exclaimed.

  "I’m sorry," Martha said, her heart sad. "It looks like it needs some work." She hated for anyone to see the once beautiful spot in such bad condition. Was everything rotting away? This farm, her marriage...

  "Don’t worry about it. It’s lovely. Just listen." Katie turned her head to the right and then left. "It’s so quiet."

  A frog croaked noisily and plopped into the water, breaking the stillness. The women exchanged smiles and walked carefully around to sit in a shady spot.

  "How long have you lived here?" Katie asked when they were settled. Patches of afternoon sun filtered down through the trees, sparking gold highlights in her hair.

  "Almost forty years. Our son, William, was born here," Martha told her. She began to feel more relaxed, more thoughtful.

  Katie began to put her professional training into play. Her attitude was one of silence, interest, listening quietly. There was no need to rush. She had lots of time.

  After a while Martha said in a reflective tone, "The way those animals acted – that’s not unusual." She looked down at her hands, absently shifting pine needles and dirt through her fingers. "I used to feed them, but I don’t anymore."

  When Katie made no comment, Martha continued. "At first, when I was very young, I didn’t like it here. Now," she shrugged, "I can’t imagine living anywhere else. It’s home."

  "You may have to someday, you know. I mean, if something happened to Bill."

  Martha chewed on her lower lip and considered the remark. "No, I think I would live here even without Bill. Sometimes I think it would be easier without him."

  Immediately her hand flew to her mouth. The words had slipped out before she could stop them. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that."

  Katie touched the older woman's slim shoulder. "I’m sure he’s not an easy man to deal with when he’s sick. Most men aren’t."

  Embarrassed, Martha tried to explain. "If he would just relax, give in a little. He tries to be so strong and independent all of the time."

  "They’re all that way, or so I’ve found," Katie told her with a reassuring smile.

  "Sometimes," Martha started, then paused. She took a deep breath and looked away from Katie. Could she talk to this girl? Maybe Katie would talk to Paul. "Sometimes, I’m afraid of him."

  "Afraid of Bill?"

  Martha swallowed hard and nodded. "He gets so angry and he always has those guns." She shivered in spite of the warm weather.

  Now, Katie knew what had been nagging at her ever since she had met Martha. She had seen the look in Martha’s eyes before. It was on the face of every abused child or wife she’d worked with. There were no signs here of physical abuse, but she had a feeling that mental abuse could be one of Bill’s specialties.

  "He doesn’t threaten you, does he?" Katie asked slowly, carefully, trying not to frighten her into silence.

  "Not exactly, but…."

  It took some encouragement, but the words poured out, tumbling over one another in a confused, disorganized scramble, as if they were eager to escape. Starting with the Father’s Day fiasco and ending with Bill making her carry the dead groundhog to the porch and cut down her beloved roses, Martha told Katie everything. Tears of relief, shame and guilt spilled down her cheeks, unchecked, as she finished.

  Katie just listened, comforted, murmured encouragement. She knew the benefit of talking, getting it out into the open.

  "I told some of this to Paul, but he didn’t believe me," Martha said as they began to retrace their steps down the path. Her tears were drying and she felt lighter, as if a great weight had lifted.

  "What makes you think so?"

  "He told me I needed some rest, and he gave me those sleeping pills. I don’t need rest – I need help with Bill." She paused, turning to look at Katie. "I’m afraid he’s losing his mind." Just saying it aloud made her feel better. Her worst fears were out in the open.

  "Let me talk to Paul. Maybe I can help," Katie volunteered.

  "Do you think you can?" Martha looked doubtful.

  Katie nodded and started walking again. Martha was under a great deal of pressure, she was nervous, and she probably did need some rest, but she was not crazy. If anyone needed psychological help, it was Bill.

  A gunshot sounded from the direction of the house. The birds and animals around them froze immediately, and an eerie silence settled in the woods. The two women exchanged brief glances – Katie’s questioning, Martha’s pained – then continued down the path.

  "Well, have you two planned the wedding?" Paul asked, enfolding Katie in his arms. It felt to him as if she’d been gone for days.

  "Oh, sure!" Katie waved a hand. "We have everything under control, don’t we?"

  Martha refused to look at Bill. Her alliance with Katie made her feel stronger than she had in weeks. In control again, she smiled and nodded. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding."

  Sensing a change in Martha, Bill, without appearing to, watched her curiously. Then he said, "I could go for more strawberries." It was not what he wanted to say.

  His simple statement had the desired effect.

  At the sound of his voice, Martha could feel her strength ebbing. She all but ran inside. Once in the kitchen, she knew without looking that the chart had not been returned to its usual spot on the wall. There would be no chance to show it to Katie this time.

  "Where is the bathroom?" Katie asked, coming in behind her.

  Martha directed her there, and then returned to find Paul in the kitchen. "He’s not interested in the operation," he whispered anxiously when she handed him the cake
covered in plump red strawberries. "See if you can talk to him."

  Martha nodded, but knew it was useless.

  Katie washed her hands and face in the bathroom and then stepped into the hall. The house smelled clean, not a thing out of place, but then she noticed that the closet door was slightly open. On closer inspection, she found that something blocked it from closing completely. When she opened the door, a large sheet of poster paper that was covered boxes and red and black slashes fell at her feet. She bent to pick it up.

  "Did you get lost?" Bill asked from the opposite end of the hall, where he had been sitting quietly since Martha and Paul went outside.

  Startled, Katie looked up to see the black, angry look that matched his voice. "I’m sorry. The door was open…I…" she fumbled for an explanation, knowing how it must look.

  "Get out of here," he hissed. His voice wasn’t loud, but carried an unspoken threat.

  "But, Mr. Landry, I –"

  "And don’t ever come back."

  CHAPTER 11

  "What do you think?" Paul asked as he and Katie drove back to Roanoke through the peaceful summer evening.

  "It’s a beautiful place for a wedding. Thank you for thinking of it." Katie snuggled close to him. She felt relaxed, sleepy - in spite of her altercation with Bill.

  "I mean, what do you think about Martha. What should I do about her?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing!"

  Katie sat up. "That’s right. She doesn’t need help. Psychological help, anyway." She smiled at him, pleased.

  "She made up some preposterous story about Bill attacking his son and making a chart and I don’t know what else. Even I can see that she needs help."

  "You’re barking up the wrong tree," Katie said flatly. Her smile disappeared and she folded her hands in her lap, feeling the diamond on her finger. It seemed as if Paul wanted Martha to be sick.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Martha isn’t the one who needs help."

  "What?"

  "Bill. Bill needs help."

  Paul shook his head and jabbed a finger in the air to emphasize each word. "I don’t believe this. The woman raves about insane happenings, but she has no proof of anything. She has all the signs of an emotional problem, but you can’t see it."

  "There is a problem there, but you’ve got the wrong patient. Martha is under a lot of stress, I’ll admit, but she’s as sane as you or I."

  "I should have known that you women would stick together." Paul was angry. Katie studied his face. God, she loved him, but he asked for her professional opinion and, like it or not, that’s what he was getting. "Paul, Bill is an angry, bitter, unbalanced man. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice."

  "He’s my patient and has been for some months. I think I know him better than you." Paul glanced at her and almost swerved off the road.

  "You asked for my opinion." An unsettling silence filled the car and then she said softly, "Maybe you’ve gotten too close to your patient."

  "Are you saying that I’m incompetent?"

  "I’m just saying that you’re too involved with him. You’ve grown too close. You care too much about Bill to really see him."

  Paul chewed on his lower lip and thought about what she had said. It was true that he cared about Bill, loved him like a father, but that should only heighten his ability to see the man better. Feeling betrayed, he remained silent until they reached her apartment.

  "Good night," she said briskly. "Thank you for the lovely day."

  He looked at her. He wanted her to ask him in, ached to spend the night with her, and yet he needed to get away, at least for a while. She had attacked one of the few people in the world that he admired and he had to think about it. "I’ll call you," he said finally.

  Katie nodded. By the time she closed the door to her apartment, she was fighting back tears. "I will not cry!" she vowed, but the tears came anyway.

  After her outburst, she tried to read in bed. Instead, she relived the afternoon with Martha over and over in her mind. She had to be sure her feelings were impartial and professional. Time after time, she came to the same conclusion – Bill was a sick man and needed help.

  ***

  "God, what a day," Bill breathed, relieved that Paul and Katie were finally gone. He doubted that Katie would ever return.

  "Are you tired?" Martha asked.

  "Hell, no! I haven’t killed one groundhog all day. And you and whatshername traipsing around the woods didn’t help matters, either." He shook his shaggy head and rubbed a big hand across his face.

  "We were well out of the way, up at the pond. You couldn’t have shot us accidentally," Martha said. The feeling of strength and self-confidence that she'd gained from talking to Katie still lingered.

  "Now, why would I worry about accidentally shooting you? You scared the rodents away, traipsing around in the woods like that. I won’t get another good shot until morning," Bill said bitterly. He put the binoculars up to his eyes, dismissing her.

  With a shrug, she left him sitting on the porch. She decided to bake a cake; anything to keep busy.

  In a little over an hour, much to his delight, Bill shot a groundhog. The impact of the shell cartwheeled the animal backwards and it let out an agonizing squeal. Even though most of its hindquarters had been blown away, it managed to crawl into the shelter of bushes beside the driveway.

  "Martha!" A strange excitement was building in Bill. It made his voice quiver. He felt like laughing and yelling at the same time.

  Martha had been in the living room, knitting. She got up stiffly from her chair and went to the chart. She didn’t know when it had reappeared, but some of her strength faded at the sight of it. She called out, "I’m marking it down," and hoped that he would go back to whatever he was doing.

  "No!" Bill got control of his voice again, but the thrill was still churning in his gut. "Come here!" He might have been talking to a dog. A retriever, Martha thought.

  She ventured just outside the door and waited.

  "Almost at the end of the driveway – to the right – is the groundhog I just shot," he said, waving the gun in that direction. He did not look at her.

  Taking a deep breath and holding it, she sensed what was coming next. She looked out across the driveway, making herself ignore the ugly, naked stumps of what once were her beautiful roses.

  "I want you to go get it."

  Her heart stopped. How could he do this to her again? "Bill…."

  "Go get it," he said, as if he were asking for a drink of water. "I want to see it."

  Covering her face with both hands, she tried to convince herself that this was not happening. The sun was setting, birds were singing, she had a cake cooling in the kitchen, ready to frost.

  "Did you hear me?"

  "I can’t. I won’t," she whispered, her stomach twisting into knots.

  "Go. Get. It." He said it again, more forcefully.

  Martha lifted her chin, staring at him defiantly. She had promised herself that she would not retrieve another animal for him. She would not break that promise, for her own sanity. "No."

  "Oh, yes you will." His voice was cold and deadly, and his hand clenched and unclenched around the butt of the powerful rifle. "Or you will be very, very sorry."

  Taking a ragged breath, she stood her ground. Her chin lifted another inch. "No," she repeated, but her voice quivered.

  He shifted his position slightly and, though the gun remained in his lap, it seemed to have moved too. "I’d hate to have to hurt you."

  Martha watched, transfixed, as he expertly handled the rifle. As if by magic, the barrel was suddenly pointing in her direction. She stared at the tiny black hole that was directly in front of her.

  "Now. Do as I say." His hands were steady as he clicked the safety off.

  Terrified at his direct threat, Martha stumbled off the porch and across the bridge. Walking down the driveway, she was blinded by tears.

  "Right there! To your right!" Bill shout
ed.

  She sobbed, but kept moving, afraid that he would kill her. Her shaking legs threatened to collapse any minute.

  "Between those two rhododendrons," he shouted impatiently. She heard the thrill in his voice. From the kill...or from watching her stumble around, crying?

  At last, she found the chubby brown animal. He was bigger than the first groundhog she had had to carry; he probably weighed closer to twenty pounds. His hind legs and most of his back were destroyed and a thick pool of blood had formed beneath him. He stared at her through bright, glassy eyes – she could hear his shallow, uneven breathing.

  "He’s not dead," Martha whispered, putting her hand to her mouth, and then, realizing that Bill could not hear her, shouted, "He’s not dead!"

  "Dammit; kill him, then!"

  Sobbing aloud, not knowing what to do, she shook her head vigorously. She had never killed anything in her life.

  "Get a rock and bash his head in!" Bill barked the order.

  Blindly, she slapped at the rough gravel, looking for a rock. The stones gouged into her hands, but she finally found one that seemed large enough. Standing over the groundhog, she took aim and threw the rock as hard as she could. The rock missed the animal entirely, struck the ground and spun out into the driveway. Tears continued to fall as she searched again and found another rock, listening to Bill’s devilish laughter.

  Suddenly, something clicked in her mind. She felt it, and rage surged through her. Holding the rock tight, she moved closer to the gasping, unmoving groundhog and took aim. The rock landed squarely on the animal’s head with a soft thump.

  It continued to breathe, though – barely. It was shallow and slow, but she could hear it. With great effort, she hit the animal one last time and all was silent except for her own choked sobbing. In the stillness, she looked down at the blood spattered on her white apron and shoes, and then at the mutilated animal at her feet. She dropped to the ground and threw up. Hoping that this was all just a gruesome nightmare, she stumbled up the driveway and back to the house without the groundhog. Angrily, almost ready to scream, she tore off her apron and shoes and threw them in the trash. When she finally collapsed on the sofa, the sun was still setting, the birds were still singing, and her cake was still cooling by the open window in the kitchen, but she would never be the same again. She had taken a life.