When Darkness Loves Us

by Elizabeth Engstrom

  They had evidently gotten boozed up and were playing chicken on the old road. The crash had broken them like china dolls. She worked on, trying to concentrate amid the din. She stopped the furious flow of blood from first one, then another, then went back to the first and tried to help with the more serious injuries. No sooner had she gotten started than another victim would take a turn for the worse, and she would have to tend to that emergency. She instructed the medics where to place splints and what dangers to watch for, advised them of internal injuries. Without Fern, all eight might have died.

  When the sirens faded into the night, carrying their haphazardly patched cargo to the hospital, Fern thought she would faint from the exhaustion. Someone took her to Doc Pearson’s house where she had a cup of tea with Doc’s wife, and rested up a bit before going home. Then Dave McRae gave her a ride in his dad’s new car.

  As they pulled up to the front, she sensed that something was wrong. The house was dark and quiet; the front door was open, and so was the barn door. Oh God, she thought. I can’t handle something here, too. Exhausted, she told Dave to go on home, and she went inside and turned on a light.

  There was no sign of Harry, no note. Surely if there had been an accident, he would have left some kind of message. She called for Martha, but there was no answer. She looked in both bedrooms, under the beds, in the closets. She ran to the barn with a lamp. The animals were agitated, but okay. She soothed them with a brush of her hand as she passed, calling Martha’s name, then Harry’s. Nothing. She searched the barn for a sign of an accident, a missing animal or tool. Nothing. The barn was clean, as always. She sat on a bale of hay and sighed, worry weakening her to the point of vertigo. She tried to think calmly. Where would they go together, without the truck, without a horse? Why would they leave both doors open? Panic tasted sour in her mouth as her heart started to beat wildly. Something awful had happened between the two of them.

  She stood up to go back to the house, and as she swung the lantern around, something smooth shone in the haystack. She approached gently, fearfully, afraid of what she might find, afraid of what she wouldn’t find. It was Martha’s foot. She dug frantically and found her little girl, staring blankly ahead, naked, eyes wide open but seeing nothing. Dried foam crusted the corners of her mouth; hay stuck to her tongue, hair, and clothes. She was empty.

  Fern carried her to the house, quickly, adrenaline chasing the exhaustion away momentarily, and settled her on Harry’s side of the bed, dusting off the hay. Then she crawled in with her and tried to cuddle her wooden daughter, who kept staring, wide-eyed, at nothing.

  CHAPTER 13

  Leon looked at Martha across the table. She needed glasses. She was squinting at a book he had brought her from the library. Her lips moved slowly as her finger followed the line across the page. What is happening here? He sipped his beer and watched her.

  “Leon?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “What’s this word?” She pushed the book around to him.

  “Ramification. It means results, kind of, like one action has lots of different results in different areas. It has lots of ramifications.”

  “Oh.” She took the book back and continued to read.

  He’d been teaching her for two weeks now. In two weeks she was almost out of grammar-school and into high-school reading levels. She knew most of her multiplication tables, too, enough to get by on, anyway. Sometimes the full impact of what was going on in this house drove him to a chair; he had to sit down to think about it. There wasn’t anything to think about, really—one day Martha’s retarded, the next day she’s not. Could their sleeping together have made a difference? Must have been. This line of thinking made Leon nervous; he felt responsible. To be responsible for such a miracle is a wonderful thing, but if he leaves, will she revert to her old ways? He shuddered, feeling trapped, hemmed in, suffocated. He wanted to run, to desert her, to go drive real fast and get drunk with his friends and screw some skinny little whore he’d pick up at Mike’s.

  And then he’d look at her, or talk to her, or she’d touch him, and his resolve softened and disappeared. He felt committed in a certain way, although she certainly made no demands on him. He’d look at her soft face with those loving eyes and he knew he would be here until she found her way.

  Dr. Withins would help. He had stopped by while Martha was reading aloud, a simple book about three kittens. Leon had made sure Martha didn’t go into town . . . not yet. He wasn’t sure about all this. She saw words on the television and on the boxes and packages from the store and asked him to teach her to read, so he did. Beginning with Dick and Jane. She was very smart, picked it up right away, and when Dr. Withins came in, she was reading. Leon would never forget the look on his face. Thought he’d drop his black bag. But he was cool; he just examined her from head to toe and talked with both of them, a routine examination. Then he took Leon outside to have a quiet word.

  “What’s happened, Leon?”

  “I don’t know, Doctor. One day she’s retarded, the next day she’s not.”

  “Can’t you tell me anything else? Did something happen?”

  Leon kicked at some stones in the driveway. He was suddenly ashamed.

  “Have you been staying here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Before and after?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you have no idea what happened?”

  “No . . .”

  “Come on, Leon. Do you have any idea what importance this has? That woman has been hopelessly retarded for years. Since birth, I believe, although I’ll have to check on that. And now all of a sudden, at fifty-­four years old, she’s regained intelligence, looks like to a normal level. Something happened. Something between you two?”

  “Well . . . we slept together one night.”

  “Had sex?”

  “Not exactly, I mean, I didn’t . . .”

  “No penetration?”

  “No.”

  “But cuddling and caressing and loving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, God knows she didn’t get any of that with Harry. That might have been all it took.” He put his bag in his van. “I’m going to come back and bring some people, Leon, and have Martha take a few tests, okay?”

  “Sure. I mean . . . okay.”

  “Keep her in the house. Let’s not let her out at the mercy of the townspeople just yet, okay?”

  “Okay.” This coincided just fine with Leon’s feelings.

  “Can you stay on? Want me to talk to your folks?”

  “No, that’s okay. They know where I am. I’ve been fixing this place up some, and told them . . .”

  “What about your apartment?”

  “That’s okay. Rent’s paid.”

  “Might want you to stay on here for a couple of months.”

  Leon kicked some more stones around.

  “Okay, Leon? Listen, this is really important to that lady in there.”

  Leon looked up, intent. “She is a lady, isn’t she?”

  “She sure is.”

  “Okay.” He smiled. “I’ll stay. No problem.”

  “Good.”

  They shook hands, and Dr. Withins was on his way. Leon wandered around the yard for a while, then went back inside where Martha waited to continue her reading.

  “Leon?”

  She broke his reverie. He looked up. She was smiling at him, a soft, gentle smile.

  “What’s roguehouse?”

  “Let me see. Roughhouse. It means to play hard. Wrestling and that.”

  “Oh.” She returned to her book.

  She’d lost weight. She was working in the yard, learning how to plant trees and bushes; her arms had gotten a little tan. She helped paint the trim around the house and handed Leon tools when he fixed the plumbing. And they talked. She was insatiable for knowledge. They talked about everything Leon knew. She asked questions incessantly—about Morgan, about politics, about how things worked. When they weren’t talking, she was reading.<
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  He finished his beer and stood up. “I’m ready for bed.”

  “You go ahead. I’m just going to finish this chapter.”

  He slid between the sheets and turned out the light. Hands behind his head, he looked at the ceiling. Dr. Withins was coming by tomorrow and bringing his tests and some other doctors. Leon was a lot more nervous about it than Martha was. He felt responsible, after all. And protective.

  His eyes were beginning to close when she came in and slipped into bed, turning on her side away from him. He put his arm around her and drew her close, cupping her breast in his big hand. They nestled together like two spoons and went to sleep.

  CHAPTER 14

  Harry came home the next morning, offering no explanation of where he’d been all night. Fern smelled the stench of stale whiskey as he passed by her to the bedroom. Martha was tucked into their bed. He gave the child barely a glance as he changed his clothes, then went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

  “Harry, sit down.”

  “I gotta get to work.”

  “The fields can wait. This can’t.”

  He sat, blowing on his steaming coffee, not meeting her eyes.

  “Something happened to Martha last night while I was gone. I came home and found the barn door open and the kitchen door open and you gone and Martha under the haystack. This morning she won’t talk. Now what happened?”

  “I told you she wasn’t to go into the barn.”

  “I have no idea how she got into the barn. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I left to go help at an accident. When I left, she was in her room, and she was fine. Now, she’s . . .”

  “She’s what?”

  “I don’t know. She won’t respond. I’m going to take her to see Doc Pearson this morning.”

  “Why don’t you heal her?”

  “Because she’s not sick, Harry; it’s something else. Like she got scared or something. She’s just like a little doll, won’t talk, won’t walk, just stares.”

  “Hmmm.” Harry picked up his coffee cup and headed for the door.

  “Harry, Harry!”

  “What?” His exasperation was evident.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Out,” he said, and the screen door slammed behind him.

  Fern put her face in her hands and cried. Am I that bad a wife? Am I a terrible mother? Why would this happen to my baby while I’m out doing God’s work? She shook her fist at the ceiling. “Why?”

  She cleaned up the breakfast dishes and went back to the bedroom. She sat down next to Martha, whose eyes were closed; she was apparently sleeping. Slowly she moved her right hand along the girl’s length, feeling the energy. Her hand stopped at Martha’s forehead. Here was a spot that was supposed to feel warmer, alive. Instead, it was cold, dead. The crown of her head was the same. Nothing.

  Fern placed her right hand on the child’s forehead, and rested her left palm up in her lap. She waited for the forces to course through her body, to discover the problem with Martha, and to correct it. She waited patiently for a long time. Nothing.

  She stood up and walked around the room, loosening her back and legs. Then she sat down again, closer, and put her hand on the top of Martha’s head and concentrated, hard. Get inside, get inside the head and find out what’s wrong.

  The sinking feeling started in the pit of her stomach. It was slightly nauseating, but familiar. She went with it—let’s get inside, gently, please, gently, this is my baby, my only baby, what’s wrong here, let me find out what’s wrong. She felt herself in a dark tunnel, like a mine shaft, with roughhewn walls. Light from an indeterminate source glinted along the chips and ridges in the walls and ceiling. She passed wooden doors, each one locked securely with solid wrought-iron hinges and handles. She pulled and tugged and tried to find locks on each one as she passed, but nothing. They wouldn’t budge.

  She continued down the corridor, perplexed, looking for an answer; she found herself amazed that the mind held such hallways, such rooms. What on earth was behind the doors?

  Then she heard the noise, or felt it more than heard it. A deep, throaty rumbling, so low as to make the floor of the tunnel vibrate. Just ahead she could see a larger door, and the light seemed to come from its translucent surface. Got to get there, got to get that open to release my daughter. She kept on, carefully, the vibration growing as she progressed.

  The rumbling increased. She suddenly identified it as a growl, and she stopped, heart pounding, as the nastiness spread toward her. The protective growl increased in volume, a warning to stay away, go away, leave it all alone. She took one more step, and a snarl, an open-mouthed, teeth-bared snarl, made her flesh crawl. The thought of teeth biting into her flesh made her shiver; her next thought—of those teeth rending her daughter’s mind—strengthened her. She stepped out again.

  Out of the darkness charged a giant animal, yellow eyes bright with fury. Pure-white canine teeth flashed in the light, as foamy saliva flew in all directions. She fell back in surprise, in terror, and the jaws snapped shut on air just a fraction of an inch in front of her.

  Fern opened her eyes. She was on her back on the hard wooden floor. Martha was sitting up, staring straight ahead, perspiration standing out on her upper lip. Fern caught her breath and stood up slowly, feeling the bruises already stiffening her back and arms. She sat again on the edge of the bed, and stroked Martha’s hand. It was cool and damp. She gathered the stiff child to her and rocked her back and forth until she could feel Martha relax. Fern laid her back down on the bed, and Martha’s eyes closed. Soon she was softly snoring the sleep of childhood. In fear and wonderment, Fern sat and watched her sleep.

  CHAPTER 15

  Leon sat on the couch in a sullen pose, arms and legs crossed, chin resting on his chest. He felt like his space had been invaded, like something personally his was being exposed. He didn’t want to share the miracle of Martha with these three strange men who now sat at her kitchen table, along with Martha and Dr. Withins. He felt the situation being taken out of his hands. Shit, that’s what I want, isn’t it? Maybe, maybe not.

  The tests they were giving her were stupid. “Tell me what this pattern looks like to you, Martha,” and “Can you describe your mother for me as you remember her?” and “Did you love your father?” and “What was the first thing you noticed the other day when all of a sudden you felt better?” Silly stuff. When she talked about Leon, his face reddened, and he picked at the couch, trying to ignore them. That stuff is private, dammit!

  There were only three things she said that interested Leon. Her dreams about the yellow eyes and snapping teeth he thought were a bit bizarre, but maybe she’d been scared by a dog when she was little or something. Once in a while he had dreams of spiders crawling on him. After all, nightmares are normal. He also thought it was interesting that she remembered her mother as being small, when everybody knew that old Fern was as big as a house. She hardly remembered her father at all.

  The only other thing she said that impressed Leon was also what made him so nervous, made him fidget as he sat there listening. She said she loved him, and hoped he would stay with her forever. Christ! He didn’t need an old lady to be dependent upon him. He was only twenty-­four years old! He liked her all right, but boy, to be with her for . . . oh Christ. He’d have to talk to her about that. A couple of months, Dr. Withins had said. He could do a couple of months.

  They sat at the table, drinking coffee and talking to Martha for almost three hours. When they finally left, Leon walked them to the doctor’s van. One of the doctors, the tallest one, said he’d like to come back to talk with her some more. There appeared, he said, to be some kind of a psychological block that occurred in her childhood, and was just recently removed, restoring her to normalcy. He wanted to find out as much as he could, because it could be of tremendous benefit to the psychiatric community.

  Leon couldn’t be less interested. He just nodded, told the doctor to come back anytime, and yawned. It was bedtime.


  Then they urged Leon to stay with her, at least until they had a better idea of what happened, both then and now. He agreed, then waved as they drove off.

  He went back into the house and went to bed. Martha tidied up the kitchen and joined him. They lay together in silence; then Leon spoke, softly.

  “Tell me more about those dreams you have. About the yellow eyes.”

  “I don’t have them since you’re here.”

  “You mean ‘I haven’t had them since you’ve been here.’ ”

  “I haven’t had them since you’ve been here.”

  “Sometimes I dream about spiders.”

  “Spiders? Spiders are nothing. They’re quiet, they just crawl around. These eyes have jaws that snap and growl and come at me.”

  “Hmmm. Well, I’m glad you don’t have them anymore.”

  “Me too.”

  “Martha?” He looked at her face, silhouetted in profile against the faint starlight outside. “I can’t stay with you forever.”

  “I know. I just wish.”

  He turned his gaze back to the black expanse that would have been the ceiling if he could have seen it. “I know. I wish sometimes, too.”

  “Well, we’ll just do till we don’t.”

  He smiled. “Okay. But when I go, you’ll be all right?”

  She was silent for a long time. Long enough for Leon to count his heartbeats in the quiet, long enough for him to think she had fallen asleep. When she finally spoke, it startled him. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think so.”

  He put his arm under her head and snuggled his body close to hers. She felt him fall asleep, one muscle at a time, but she kept blinking to stay awake, suddenly afraid of the nightmare, the one dream that was as real to her as Leon was. Eventually, she drifted off, but her dreams had a presence, a lurking danger pacing the sidelines, ever present, always just out of sight. Even in her sleep, she wondered what it was, where it was, and if it would be with her always.