Face the Winter Naked

by Bonnie Turner

  "I see."

  "I hope you do." Ida Mae fell silent, stroking her baby's dark hair as he snuggled against her shoulder. "LaDaisy and I didn't always get along. I thought she hated me. I resented her for years."

  "Why? Why did you resent her?"

  "Because she was beautiful. She had a lovely figure and was attractive to men. She was Daddy's favorite. I was a frumpy old thing no man would look at twice."

  He smiled. "Someone did. Mr. Huff wanted you."

  "Well, apparently. But I have no idea why. I was lonely, and fell for the first man who showed me attention."

  He filed his notes in his briefcase and stood.

  "If what you say is true—"

  "They'll find my fingerprints on the gun." Ida Mae tipped her head and studied him. "Do you think I'll be arrested? I don't want to go to jail. I have a new baby."

  "It's not up to me, so I don't know what will happen. I can only advise you and try to back up your story from these notes. The District Attorney may decide not to press charges, at his discretion."

  Ida dared not hope she'd get special treatment because of her relationship to Rufus—a prominent citizen who could sway a judge's decision. Still, she did kill a man, after all. It wasn't premeditated murder, though, and Clay had certainly given her enough cause to wish him dead. But he gave me this beautiful, innocent child.

  "Like I said, I was in shock." She bit her lower lip and tried to hide her nervousness. "Starting labor at the time ... I saw something terrible was about to happen to my sister, and—and when the gun came spinning toward me on the floor, I picked it up without thinking. I dislike guns; they frighten me. In my right mind, I would never have touched the horrid thing, let alone actually fire it."

  "The District Attorney might take that into consideration."

  Bit by bit, memories of that horrible day returned. Replaying the event in her mind, LaDaisy came to realize she couldn't have shot Clay. The shotgun was on the other side of the room where he'd kicked it—out of reach. She hadn't heard Ida Mae come in. But when Clay staggered and tried to get up after she'd slammed the mandolin over his head, his attention was riveted on something behind her. She couldn't believe there was anything in the world he was afraid of. Yet, there'd been stark fear on his face when he looked up and saw—what? Of course, he saw his wife a few feet away, aiming the shotgun at him. Everything had happened so fast after that.

  The day after Ida's statement, the charges against LaDaisy were dropped, and the case closed for lack of prosecution—thanks in part to her stepfather's influence. Thankfully, neither was her sister arrested. After her release from jail, with the shotgun subsequently returned to her, she again secured the weapon in Daniel's private closet. If she never saw it again, it would be too soon.

  Though it had been comforting with her sister in the house after Clay's death—in spite of the horrible memories still lingering in the front room—LaDaisy was actually relieved when she finally left. Ida went to Vera's house with baby Rufus, planning to return to her own home when she was stronger. Life was somehow getting back to normal. Saul dropped by to clean up his garden, yanking up old vines and preparing the plot for next year. Nights turned cooler, with frost in the air. A sure sign of winter, and not a chance in hell of finding money for coal to heat the house.

  LaDaisy headed for the privy, but changed her mind and walked over to Saul.

  "What's the good word?"

  A huge grin spread across his face.

  "Daniel's coming!"

  She laughed. "I don't think so, Saul. But I almost believe you—how do you know?"

  "I just do." He put his hand on his chest, and LaDaisy felt her own heart jump. "I feel it in here," he said. "Yep, you can believe it, girl. Daniel's coming home. I'll stake my life on it."

  "I'll believe it when I see it." She patted his shoulder and started back down the path.

  A few days later, LaDaisy raised the brass horseshoe knocker on her mother's front door and let it drop with a thud. Her mind was made up. It was now or never. Time to stand up to her mother once and for all. She smoothed Mary's fine hair and glanced down at Catherine as the child tugged at her skirt.

  "Is Grandma Vera home, Mama?"

  "I think so, honey. She just needs time to come to the door." She raised the knocker again, but the door opened.

  Taken by surprise, Vera stepped back.

  "LaDaisy." She glanced down at the child. "And Catherine. What brings you two here?"

  LaDaisy followed her inside, Catherine trailing behind, and the door closed behind them.

  "We came to see Grandma," Catherine blurted. "And Mama's dolls. Mama said her dolls live at your house."

  "Wh—?" Vera frowned at her daughter. "What on earth, LaDaisy? What's this about your dolls? What have you told this child?"

  LaDaisy smiled and replied with exaggerated sweetness. "I've brought your two granddaughters, Mama. We'd like to go up to my old room."

  "See the dolls!" Catherine shouted.

  Vera stepped back. "Well, I never. I told you the dolls stay here. You have no right to them anymore."

  LaDaisy moved toward the stairway. "Of course I do, Mama. There's no need to deny my daughters their own mother's toys." She started up the stairs, but Vera grabbed her arm. "I know the way to my room, Mama. So please? Let go of my arm, I'm going up."

  Vera removed her hand. "I—I don't know what's come over you."

  "What's come over me? Let's say I've finally grown up and found courage to come here and take back my property. My dolls are going home with us today."

  "Well—" Vera reached out and touched Mary's cheek. "After all that's happened, maybe it's ... I have two granddaughters, and may never get another." She held out both hands. "May I hold Mary while you take Catherine upstairs?"

  LaDaisy hesitated, then smiled and passed the child to Vera.

  Vera pressed her cheek against Mary's as tears leaked from her eyes.

  LaDaisy smiled, grabbed Cath's hand and started up the stairs.

  "We won't be long."

  When they came down a few minutes later, carrying four dolls of various sizes, they found Vera rocking Mary in the parlor, humming and whispering. It takes a baby to make a woman, LaDaisy thought.

  Catherine cuddled one of the dolls, the one her mother had loved best. The one that looked like a real baby wearing a real diaper, a real wool soaker, and swaddled in a square of outing flannel LaDaisy herself had hemmed.

  Chapter 27

  The day was still young as Daniel stood with Chris a block from his house, his heart banging and feet dead weights. The walk from town—from the county jail—had given him time to reflect. When he'd inquired about his wife's arrest and Clay's death, Sheriff Gudgell had given him the whole story: LaDaisy's sister had confessed to shooting her own husband and Mrs. Tomelin had been released.

  "Then I'll head on home and get her side of the story."

  Daniel touched the brim of his cap and went outside to find Chris rubbing the belly of a small brown dog.

  "Found yourself a pup, huh?"

  "She must be lost." The dog rolled over. "She likes me, see? Maybe I'll keep her."

  "Funny looking mutt. Seems healthy enough, but be careful she don't bite your hand."

  "Nah, she likes this." Chris paused. "Never had a pup before."

  "If you want her, you'll have to find a way to feed her. I got enough mouths to fill."

  The dog jumped up and wandered off, but Daniel was in no hurry to leave. He reached in his pocket and pulled out some coins.

  "See that ice cream store yonder?" He pointed to the Tasty Ice Cream shop. "How's about you run over there and buy yourself some ice cream? Whatever you want, you buy it."

  "No kidding? You coming?"

  "Nope, I'm going to sit down here and rest. There's tables and chairs in there, so take your time."

  Chris observed Daniel with his head cocked to one side. "You all right?"

  "Sure I am. I just want to sit here and think
a while." It's been one heck of a long year. "Now go on, beat it before I change my mind."

  Daniel sat on a bench outside the shoe shine parlor as Chris crossed the street and entered the ice cream store.

  How can I go home? If I hadn't left my family like the coward I am, none of this stuff with Clay would've happened.

  He thought about LaDaisy. If what the sheriff had told him was true, that Clay had forced himself on her, could he handle that? Maybe, maybe not. Every time he looked at her, he'd remember she'd been raped, she'd had another man inside her privates. Whose fault was it but his own? If he hadn't got a wild hair up his ass and skipped out, Clay wouldn't have dared touch her. His wife would be within her rights to spit in his face and throw him out the minute she saw him.

  He hoped his job would still be there when he went back downtown. With winter coming, he was going to need money. Lots of it. There'd be bills to pay and school for a couple of kids—maybe LaDaisy had already enrolled Earl at Mc Coy.

  He lost track of the time as thoughts buzzed around his mind like a hornet convention. Then Chris's voice startled him.

  "Do you want this?" Chris shoved a vanilla cone at him.

  "Sure I do." He took the cone and ran his tongue around the outside of the frosty ice cream. "It's darn near too cold for ice cream. A mug of hot coffee would suit me better." He looked the boy over. Chris had filled out since they left Springfield. The wool sweater he'd picked up cheap at a second-hand store was almost too small. "We'll have to find you some warmer clothes before long."

  "I guess." Chris hiked up his britches and shrugged. "What now, Daniel?"

  Daniel tousled Chris's hair with his free hand. "I guess I have to go home. No more putting it off. C'mon, let's get moving."

  They didn't go immediately. Daniel had an itch to see the town again and show Chris the sights. He pointed out various businesses as they moved down the streets. Bundschu's Department Store on one side of the Square. Knoepker's nearby. Milgram's Food Store.

  "It looks a lot like home," Chris said.

  They stopped walking. Daniel ate the rest of his cone and pointed up to the big square clock in the middle of the courthouse roof.

  "See that clock up there? My great-uncle made the hands." He glanced down at the boy. "Uncle Walt was a metal-smith."

  "Uh huh. Shouldn't we go to your house now? What are we waiting for?"

  "I just wanted to see my hometown first, Chris. It's been so long."

  Liar.

  He was putting off facing his wife, his dad, and LaDaisy's mother. He didn't feel like the same man who'd left Independence the year before. Hell, he didn't even look like the same man. And worse, he was bringing home a strange boy. How would his family feel about that?

  They'd say I can't even feed the ones I've got.

  He reminded himself a depression was in progress. Money was still tight. People still homeless, still dying from hunger, the weather, and disease. He worried about keeping his own skin. He worried about his nightmares, though they'd become infrequent since finding Chris and airing out his fears. If he'd known how much talking about the bad stuff would help, he might've opened up to his wife years ago, or at least his dad and sister. Would LaDaisy think less of him if she knew he was nothing but a scared little boy inside?

  He tapped Chris on the arm. "Guess I'm just a big sissy. Afraid to face my family after walking out on them."

  "Yeah. That'd be tough. They might hate your guts."

  "That's what I'm thinking." Daniel glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Come on, then. I have to face the music sometime. You bring the banjo."

  Chris laughed. "I'll play the banjo while you face the music."

  South on Noland Road to 23rd Street. Past the church. They stopped at the cemetery. Chris hopped up and sat on the stone wall, dangling his feet on the other side.

  Daniel gazed longingly toward his family's graves through the trees beyond the wall. The native stone reminded him of Grandma Susannah, her house and the woolen mill she'd described. Stone fences. The church he'd seen through driving rain walking through southern Missouri. An imaginary scene. But he'd wanted so much for it to be real.

  The last time he came to this cemetery was to say good-bye to his baby boy.

  When he started walking again, Chris jumped down from the wall, adjusted the banjo on his shoulder, and followed.

  At Pearl Street, they stopped to adjust their bundles and rest their feet. Moving on again, they came to Hereford Avenue.

  "Are all the streets named after cows?"

  "Devon, Aberdeen, Angus, and Hereford." Daniel pointed. "Right up that road is where I live, where I used to live."

  Here, he almost refused to go on, not knowing what he might find ahead. But I promised this boy a home, and I'm not turning back now.

  "I thought I had a good reason for leaving, but now I'm not sure." He nodded down the street. "All right, let's get it over with. She'll probably throw the rolling pin at me."

  Chapter 28

  A shaft of cool morning sunlight slanted across the clothesline as LaDaisy hung wet diapers, shirts, baby blankets, and little boys' trousers with slim wooden clothespins. She held a pin in her mouth, pinched a small pair of long stockings at the toes and pinned them to the line. Then, reaching down to pull a tattered dishtowel from the basket, she caught movement from the corner of her eye and straightened up.

  It's too early for Saul and the kids.

  She automatically clutched the front of her old wool sweater, a habit she'd developed after Clay's attack. Her fear of him hadn't diminished, though her rational mind knew he was dead. At the sound of a familiar male voice behind her, the skin prickled at the nape of her neck, and she gasped.

  "Howdy, ma'am, what's for dinner?"

  She turned slowly to face a tired-looking tramp with a burlap bag at his feet and tools in his overalls. She almost didn't recognize him, as though a thousand years had separated them. The round lenses and battered flat cap didn't quite register in her mind. But when they did, finally, both clothespin and towel slipped back into the basket.

  "You—oh, my God!"

  Their eyes met, but the words he'd rehearsed walking from town refused to come. He was too late to see what was coming next as she pulled her hand back and slammed a blow against his face that almost knocked his head off. Daniel staggered momentarily, straightened his glasses, and waited for his eyeballs to stop bouncing.

  "What the hell?" He shook his head and rubbed his cheek. "Why'd you do that for?"

  Her eyes blazing, she snatched his cap off the ground and threw it at him.

  "You son-of-a-bitch! Get out of here!"

  "But—"

  "You're not welcome here anymore."

  He shook his head. "Can we at least talk?"

  "No." She shook her head and started to turn away. "Just go."

  Daniel spread his hands before him, palms up. "This is my home," he said. "Where will I go?"

  "Go back where you been for the last year. I don't care where you go. "

  "No."

  When she raised her arm to strike him again, he caught her wrist and held tightly, staring her down.

  "Now you look here, you little hell cat! Just settle yourself down, I ain't going nowhere."

  "Let go my hand! God damn you, Daniel Tomelin! You should be horse-whipped within an inch of your life."

  He released his grip and dropped her wrist.

  LaDaisy gave him one more murderous look, and without further ado, tightened her grip on the sweater and marched regally across the yard, climbed the back steps and went inside, slamming the screen door behind her.

  Daniel stared after her, thinking how beautiful she was, how she hadn't changed much while he was gone. She still carried herself with dignity—not even the rat Clay had been able to steal that from her. But he couldn't bring himself to follow her into the house. She needed time alone. Time to get used to him again. He had to face the possibility she might not want him back.

 
; He was home again where he belonged, but the woman he loved had refused to speak to him. Well, she had a good reason. His guilt had gnawed at his heart and mind almost constantly since he read the news article. Of all the other things he'd considered important—the war, finding his buddies' families, filling his pockets with money, healing his own pain—none were more so than the respect of his wife and children, and he'd failed them.

  Deep inside he had always suspected what kind of animal Clay was. From the first day he'd met the man, he'd guessed something wasn't right with his mind. But never in all his born days had he imagined Clay would attack LaDaisy. Yes, he'd been an arrogant, egotistical son-of-a-bitch. But not even those negative traits had revealed clues. Certainly, the man had been a pathetic individual who'd kick a homeless dog when nobody was looking, but rape? Daniel couldn't imagine any man raping a woman. Now he had images in his mind of his wife submitting to Clay's advances, unwelcome though they might've been. She might willingly have put her own feelings aside for the sake of their children.

  He forced the shadowy images away and glanced toward the back of the house, where she watched him from the kitchen window.

  He couldn't think of a single action that would make up for the pain he'd caused her.

  Absently, he leaned over and pulled a damp diaper from the clothesbasket, shook it out, and attached it to the clothesline the way he'd seen her do so many times through years of diapering babies. He shook his head as he reached in the basket for another one.

  Where'd all these dydees come from? You'd think Bobby would be housebroke by now.

  He wondered if Ida Mae was staying here with her new baby. Was his wife washing the clothes of a baby fathered by the man who raped her? The thought sickened him as he pinned the square of material with the other white flags, then finished hanging what was left in the basket. It ain't the baby's fault. I have to remember that. He glanced toward the window again. She was gone now, probably looking for something to throw at him.

  He picked up his sack and turned toward the little house beyond the privy. Surely his dad was still speaking.