From out of nowhere, Bill appeared beside her, smiling down happily. With a slight trembling in his husky voice he said, "You’ll do better next time."
What she saw when she looked up at him was a monster. Cold, glittering eyes met hers and his wicked smile curved across his stony face. Her Bill was gone; something evil and destructive had taken over his body. She lay on the sofa and her husband continued to smile down at her. She was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Finally, with a sharp, harsh laugh, he left her alone. She fled to the bedroom.
CHAPTER 12
"Paul, wake up!" Katie’s voice crackled through the telephone, full of excitement.
"It’s one o’clock in the morning," the sleepy young doctor complained.
"I’m sorry, but I just remembered something," she said.
"Look, I don’t want to argue now. I’ve got to get some rest. I have an early appointment, and –"
"I saw the chart," she interrupted. "The chart Martha told you about. It does exist!"
"What? How do you know that?" Suddenly, he was wide awake.
"When I went to the bathroom, I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see. I’m telling you that chart was hidden in the hall closet," she explained triumphantly.
"Why didn’t you mention this before?"
"I wasn’t sure at the time that that’s what it was, but now that I’ve thought about it, I know it’s what I found." Her voice became softer. "Besides, I was so upset that we were arguing, I guess I forgot."
"So what do you expect me to do about it?"
"Why not check it out for yourself? I’ll bet if you made a surprise visit out there tomorrow…or today…you’d find that chart hanging on the wall, just like Martha described."
Paul thought for a few minutes. Why would Bill hide it? If there really was a chart, if everything Martha told him was true, then Katie was probably right and Bill needed help. As badly as he hated to admit it, his idol might just have feet of clay. He had to find out for himself. "I’ll see if I can find someone to cover for me tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll take a ride out there.
"Great," Katie said, relieved. "I’ll see you about noon."
"Maybe a little after. Listen, if you’re wrong…."
"I’m not. And Paul, I don’t want to scare you, but he could be dangerous."
Paul hung up without saying goodbye. He knew Bill; strong, independent, responsible. Good God, the man was paralyzed from the waist down. How could he be dangerous?
CHAPTER 13
At breakfast the next morning, Bill and Martha sat across from each other at the rough pine table. The only noise was the clink of their silverware against the dishes. Bill, with his gray-tinged full beard, looked just as tired as Martha felt.
Martha spent every waking hour in fear; fear of something intangible, and fear of the wild empty gunslinger eyes that belonged to her husband. More and more, she thought of running away. Where to, though? She would only be in William’s way. None of her friends had called or visited in months. Katie might help, but Martha knew there was no place in her life for an old woman who was afraid of her own shadow.
Automatically, she felt for the jagged piece of broken glass in her apron pocket. It was still there, the sharp point reassuring. Not that she could ever use it, but at least it was something concrete. Even the continuous silence between them was making her jumpy. As she began to clear the table, her gaze strayed to the chart on the wall. The red and black slashes seemed to wiggle and wave at her and she turned away quickly. Talking as much to hear her own voice as anything else, she said softly, "I guess I’ll pick peas today."
When Bill made no reply, she continued. "I think I’ll put them in the freezer. It’s easier and quicker than canning them. Maybe I’ll cook some for dinner. They should be good and –"
"I don’t think you will," Bill interrupted. It was the first thing he had said all morning.
"Will what?"
"Pick peas."
"Of course I will. If I don’t they’re going to ruin."
"They’re for the animals," Bill said softly.
"Oh, Bill…."
"I need to lure animals in here. I have to make them come to me." His face twisted into an ugly sneer. "In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t exactly hunt them down."
Martha stopped midway between the table and sink, a plate in each hand. She’d known all along, of course, but hearing him say it made it sound like a joke. "Please, Bill. Surely…."
"As the summer wears on, that garden is going to draw animals in here like crazy. I don’t want you to touch one weed or harvest any of the vegetables. Understand?" His angry fists opened and closed spasmodically on the table.
"You’re crazy." The words slipped out before she could stop them. She continued walking toward the sink but listened carefully for movement behind her. She placed the dishes in the water, trying to pretend that she had not said those last two words.
Trembling with anger, Bill pointed a thick, gnarled finger at her as she turned around again. "Don’t you ever say that again!" he hissed between tightly clenched teeth. He turned and wheeled out onto the porch, letting the screen door slam loudly.
After he left the room, Martha felt like her arms and legs were wrapped in wet cotton. She sank wearily into a nearby chair and rested her head on her folded arms. Should she go after him and apologize? She felt like she would never be able to move again. Looking up, she saw the summer morning through the kitchen window. She whispered, "I’m sorry."
No one answered her.
After a while she began to feel better. She finished up the dishes and made their bed, completing her few household tasks for the day. Without her rose garden, she had nothing but reading to keep herself busy. With a heavy sigh, she settled into an overstuffed chair with her book. Birds flitted past the window, and the scent of lilac reached her sensitive nose. She lost her place several times before finally giving up. It was just too beautiful to stay inside. The house was suffocating her, anyway.
Crossing the room to the window, she looked out at her garden. It was green and beautiful, and it would lay there and rot if Bill had anything to say about it. What a waste.
Her newfound anger surged again, and she squared her shoulders and stood up straight. She could not spend the rest of her life being afraid of Bill. It was her garden and she would harvest it as she saw fit. What could he do to her that was worse than making her kill that groundhog? Putting on her old shoes and a big straw hat to shield her face from the sun, she picked up a yellow plastic pail on her way out of the house.
Bill pretended to clean his rifle. There was no need to look up at his wife as she clomped across the back porch in her garden shoes. He had already guessed that she would disobey his orders, because it would go against everything in her nature to let food go to waste. Since she had talked to Katie, she was becoming more and more independent and strong-willed every day. Something would have to be done. He was having a hard enough time keeping the wildlife pests under control. He had no need for one more pest.
Martha’s favorite part of gardening was harvesting and preserving the vegetables she grew. She hadn’t planted many peas, but they produced early and well. The shiny green pods were so plump and full that they threatened to pop open in her hands when she pulled them from the vines.
Gathering the peas took longer than expected. By the time her pail was two-thirds full, the sun had become warm and she stood up to take off her hat. Stretching her cramped legs and back, she listened as two blue jays argued in the curved limb of a nearby sycamore. Finally, one of them swooped away toward a young pine in the back yard.
Martha followed the flight of the bird with her eyes, but only as far as the back porch. The barrel of the 30.06 was aimed directly at her head. The little black hole looked like a cannon, even from here. Her first impression was that Bill was still cleaning the gun, but seeing it pointed in her direction brought on an uneasy prickling sensation on the back of her neck.
Then she saw the
grim look on his face. He was peering at her through the scope of the rifle as though she were one of the rabbits or groundhogs robbing his garden. The prickling sensation swept down her spine, leaving her cold and shaking. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, blocking out any other sounds. Her mouth went sticky dry. Instinctively, she dropped to the ground, wishing it would just swallow her. Now she knew how the animals felt when Bill spotted them.
Bill followed her movement easily with the gun. There was no doubt about what he intended to do. "Drop the peas!" he ordered in a sharp, clipped voice.
She got the feeling that she was trapped in an old western by mistake, and her hysterical giggle came out as a strangled whimper. Should she ‘reach for the sky’?
"I said – drop those peas!"
She dropped the pail and her beautiful green peas scattered across the dark earth at her feet.
"Now," Bill said, motioning with the gun, "get up here."
She swallowed hard and stood up slowly. Her legs were quivering jelly, and she was afraid they wouldn’t hold her weight.
The boom of the rifle was deafening as a shell dug into the ground close behind Martha, throwing dirt and small rocks in all directions. Pieces of soil flew up and struck her skin painfully.
Again, instinct brought her to the ground. Too afraid to move, too afraid to cry, she lay motionless in the dirt, her eyes locked on Bill and the gun. After several painful seconds she felt a fiery burning in her thigh. She thought she’d been stung by a bee, and absently reached to rub at the spot. Her hand met with something warm, wet and sticky. Tearing her eyes away from Bill, she looked at her hand. Blood.
Then she saw the scorched hole in her dress. Blood ran freely past her knee and soaked into the dirt. The bullet, she thought, had only grazed her thigh but the raw burning pain that grew more intense every moment was nothing like she’d ever experienced. She crouched motionless, speechless, staring at her ruined dress and the stain that was spreading on her sock.
He was an expert marksman. If he had intended to kill her, he would have. The bullet that grazed her leg was no accident.
Bill’s thick, bitter voice reached her and sounded far away. "You’re just like them. They took away my legs, and now you’re trying to destroy the only pleasure I have left."
Martha glanced again at the overturned pail, the smashed peas, and her bloody, burning leg. Fear and anger fought within her. Hot tears sprang to her eyes. Yes, she was just like them. Trapped by a killer.
The pain spread through her leg, drowning out all other emotions. She wiped off as much blood as possible with her apron. Gathering her courage, she slowly stood on shaky legs. Then, fighting dizziness and nausea, she limped slowly back to the house, leaving her hat, pail and bright green peas in the garden.
"You should have seen your face!" Bill hooted with wild, slightly hysterical laughter when she finally reached the porch. "You looked just like a little rabbit, scared out of your wits."
Her first impulse was to slap the triumphant grin off his face and tell him exactly what she thought of his ‘joke’. Fighting desperately against the dizziness and pain, she kept silent and moving. She limped across the porch and headed for the back door. With her hand on the door knob, she risked turning to look at him.
He was caressing his gun lovingly. His smile was gone, and with a faraway look in his eyes he said quietly, as if to himself, "It would have been so easy. So easy."
If she’d suspected it before, she knew it now. She was in serious danger. Bill was just playing with her, having his fun. When he got ready to kill her, he would. She was going to have to do something – fast.
CHAPTER 14
All of these thoughts crowded into her brain as she cleaned her injured leg carefully in the bathroom. At last, the bleeding had stopped and she discovered that the wound was not as large or as deep as she’d expected. Stifling her whimpers, she applied antiseptic and then a bandage.
After taking care of her leg, she decided to call William. Scolding herself for not being able to remember his number, she went to her room and looked it up in her address book. When she returned to the living room, Bill was sitting beside the phone. "You’d better make a pot of coffee," he said briskly, looking up from his magazine.
While making the coffee, Martha tried to decide what to do next. It was obvious that Bill was deliberately blocking the phone. She checked the clock. It was still early. Her next available avenue of help would be Milly and the mail.
Turning on the coffeepot, she walked as nonchalantly back to her room as possible and scribbled a note on a piece of paper. She placed it in an envelope and on the envelope wrote, "Please call Dr. Paul Newsome in Roanoke and read this message to him at once. Urgent!" Just in case she couldn't get to the truck. Just in case. Tucking the note in her apron pocket, she left the room.
Bill was still sitting near the phone, reading.
With her leg throbbing painfully, Martha walked quietly through the kitchen and out the back door. When she stepped off the porch, a wave of dizziness hit her and she had to sit down for a few minutes. Then she hobbled around the side of the house, across the sloping green front lawn and out into the gravel road. Limping, it seemed to take forever. Was Bill watching? What if he shot her again? Pain snaked up her leg, making it difficult to even breathe, but she reached the mailbox without incident. Pretending to pick wildflowers, she prayed that Milly would come soon.
The front door slammed, sounding like the crack of the .22, and Martha jumped.
Bill wheeled to the top of the front porch steps. "What are you doing out there?"
"Picking flowers," she said, willing her voice to remain steady.
"Are you coming in soon? I want to talk to you about that operation." His voice sounded almost plaintive, and that frightened Martha even more.
Reluctantly, she left the mailbox and her plea for help behind, and began limping slowly toward the house. Would he shoot her now? She strained her eyes, trying to detect a gun. If he had one with him, it was well-hidden.
"You’re not afraid of me, are you?" he asked, when she had worked her way up the front steps and reached his chair.
She shook her head. Afraid wasn’t the word for it. She was so terrified she could barely breathe.
"There’s no need to be afraid of me. I was just kidding around a while ago." With tentative, gentle fingers, he touched her bandaged leg. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."
Either he was lying or he’d finally flipped and Martha knew only one thing – she had to save herself, somehow. She nodded again, dumbly.
"Good."
"I’m going to sit on the back porch for a while now," she managed to croak and slid away from him as quickly as she could. The discussion of his operation was forgotten. Where her rose garden had flourished, Martha had a clear view of the mailbox and a good chance of escape when Milly arrived. For what seemed like hours, she sat on the steps, waiting and resting her leg.
The ringing of the telephone brought her to her feet. It rang only once, and by the time she struggled inside, Bill was cradling the receiver.
"Who was that?" she almost shrieked.
"Wrong number," he answered with an innocent smile.
Martha returned to the back porch on shaking legs and leaned wearily on the railing. Was Bill lying? Had Milly called to say that there was no mail today and that she wouldn’t be out? If so, Martha knew she was in trouble. There was nothing she could do now but wait and pray that she wouldn’t have to spend another night in this house with Bill.
The sound of Milly’s truck traveling their road was something that she’d never paid much attention to, but today it was the most important sound in her life. When she finally heard the ancient vehicle chugging up the road toward their house, she almost fainted with relief.
The truck stopped at the mailbox, engine running. She heard the door of the mailbox squeak as it was opened. "Please let me get to Milly in time," Martha prayed softly as she hurried blindly in the direction of the tru
ck.
CHAPTER 15
"Hey, Katie," Paul said into the receiver. He was standing in the busy hospital corridor eating a sandwich.
"Where have you been? I’ve been waiting…"
"Listen. I can’t talk now, but I’m not going to be able to get out to the Landrys’ today. Something’s come up."
Katie sighed heavily. She wasn’t surprised. "Ok, when?"
"I don’t know."
"Tonight?"
"Maybe tomorrow. Listen, honey…."
"I know. You’re sorry." Katie finished his sentence with a knowing smile.
Paul gulped down the last of his sandwich and heard himself being paged. "I’ve got to go."
"Paul, I was worried about you."
He smiled with relief. "I love you. You know…."
"I know, I know. I suppose I’ll have to get used to being married to a doctor."
"I’ll call you."
Katie hung up, worried. A sense of foreboding enveloped her, but there was nothing she could do. If she knew the Landrys' better, she would just drive out there herself. Right now, though, it would seem strange for her to show up, out of the blue and without Paul. Besides, when she thought about Bill and those guns, and the way he had spoken to her when she'd found his chart, she knew she wouldn't go alone.
CHAPTER 16
"Martha! Martha! Help me!" Bill’s urgent voice called to her across the yard, stopping her flight halfway to the truck.
She hesitated, looking from her house to the road, trying to decide.
"Martha, please! I fell out of this damned chair!" A lifetime of caring for him, of being a good wife, weighed heavily on her. A lifetime. She sighed. Ignoring him was impossible. She would have to catch Milly after she made the turn and started her return trip. Martha knew that she had about ten minutes.
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