Tessa (From Fear to Faith)

by Melissa Wiltrout

  “Well, where’d you find that?” Patty said. “Give it here.”

  Sadie swung her head up and down, the ball firmly clenched in her teeth. I reached for her and she pranced away.

  Patty laughed. “You could chase that dog all day and she wouldn’t give you the ball. Tom’s the only one who can get it away from her.”

  Back at the house, Heather met us looking downcast. “Grandma, I can’t get this equation to come out.”

  “All right, honey. Let me get something started in the kitchen, and I’ll come look at it.”

  Patty pulled the meatballs from the oven, then opened a jar of spaghetti sauce and emptied it into a pan on the front burner. “Would you watch that for me and turn it down if it starts to splatter?” she asked me.

  “Sure.” I got out a spoon and stirred the sauce a few times, but it was still cold. So I turned it up, put the cover on, and wandered over to the windows to admire Patty’s houseplant collection. She had everything from cactus to marigolds to freshly potted amaryllis bulbs in the deep-silled windows behind the sink. I especially liked the plant with big shiny leaves and red flowers that resembled tiny roses. Carefully I pinched off a few blooms that had faded to a papery brown.

  Behind me, I heard a loud sizzle. Oh no, the spaghetti sauce! I whirled in time to see the cover lift. A wave of bubbling sauce poured over the side of the pan and down onto the burner. I sprang to turn it off. My sleeve caught the handle of the pan, flipping it on end. I cussed as a splash of boiling liquid hit my hand. Spaghetti sauce was everywhere – flowing across the stovetop, leaking down around the other burners, dribbling onto the floor. I wanted to cry. How would I ever get this cleaned up?

  The voices in the dining room ceased, and I heard footsteps. Through the kitchen window, I saw Tom’s SUV pull in. I couldn’t face three angry people. Would Tom beat me like Walter did?

  I didn’t wait to find out. Grabbing a paper towel for my hands, I fled down the nearby stairs to the basement.

  24

  The basement was pitch dark, but I was too scared to turn on a light. I bumped my way around, searching for a place to hide. There, behind the furnace!

  I squeezed into the narrow space. At my back was a cold cement wall. I clawed a cobweb from my face and tried to quiet my breathing. Overhead, I heard muffled voices and footsteps, then water running. My hand stung where it had been burned, but the pain was nothing compared to my fear. Tom was a big man, over six feet tall and built like a football player. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Why had I been so careless? What was wrong with me?

  Light footsteps pattered on the wooden stairs. “Tess, you down here?” Heather called. I made no reply, and after a moment she went back up and closed the door behind her.

  Maybe they won’t find me after all. Maybe they’ll think I ran away. The thought both relieved and pained me. Tonight after they were all asleep, I would sneak upstairs, get my coat, and leave.

  A long time later, I heard Patty coming down the stairs in her slippers. She turned on the light. “Tessa? Where are you?”

  She didn’t sound mad. I slipped out from behind the furnace. “I-I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Of course not. Why are you hiding down here?”

  Now I felt foolish. “I thought you’d be mad.”

  Patty smiled and shook her head. “I’m not mad. Come on, it’s time to eat.”

  She turned toward the steps. Despite my embarrassment, I felt remarkably light, even happy, as I climbed the stairs behind her.

  ***

  After supper, Heather and I withdrew to her bedroom. She played her new Taylor Swift album, and we sat on the bed and talked. I envied her pretty bedroom. Rose flowered wallpaper ran halfway up the walls, and above that they had been painted a delicate pink. Her bedspread was a patchwork pattern of rose and light pink with a matching pillow sham. Lace curtains hung at the window.

  “I like the way you’ve got your room decorated,” I said. “Did you do it yourself?”

  “Partly. I picked out the paint and the wallpaper, but Grandpa helped a lot with putting it up. We just got the last bit done last weekend.”

  “That’s cool.” I racked my brain for something else to say.

  “Yeah. You should’ve seen the room before we worked on it. The walls were dark blue, like a blue crayon. It took three coats of paint to cover it all up.”

  “Well, I’d say you improved it.”

  “Thanks. Grandma says it’s a good thing, because she didn’t know where to start.”

  “Have you always lived with your grandparents?”

  “No, just since last summer. Mom and Dad are on a mission trip to Haiti, so I’ll be here until school ends in the spring.”

  “Haiti? What’re they doing down there?”

  “Well, you know there’s some tremendous needs there. My mom’s a nurse, and she used to work with the Red Cross. My dad has worked in construction most of his life, but he’s been unemployed since last winter. If there’s one thing Dad can’t stand, it’s having nothing to do. One day last spring he was talking to our pastor. Mike happened to mention they needed help building houses in Haiti. He told Dad if he was interested, he’d put him in touch with some people who worked down there.

  “Mom has always been interested in mission work, but she didn’t want to travel around the world by herself. When it turned out Dad could go too, I guess that sealed it. So now she’s down there helping sick people, and he’s overseeing teams that build houses and schools and stuff.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Yeah. They’re planning to stay down there for most of the winter. I kind of miss them, but Mom sends me pictures and calls sometimes.”

  A knock on the door interrupted us. “Girls, you’ll have to wrap it up and get ready for bed,” Patty called.

  “Okay,” Heather said. “Say, is Tess supposed to sleep in here?”

  Patty opened the door. “Did you girls have some kind of plan?”

  “No…” Seated beside me on the twin bed, Heather glanced around the small room.

  “Actually, I was thinking she’d use the hide-a-bed in the back room,” Patty said. “I straightened it up just yesterday, and I think it’ll make a splendid bedroom for a few nights.” She smiled at me. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Patty took me farther down the hall, past the master bedroom. She pushed open a door and flicked on the lights. “What do you think?”

  The room was large and unfinished, with a bare plywood floor and three big windows facing out into the night. Stacks of storage boxes and a chest freezer took up the far end of the room. But directly in front of me, a couch, an overstuffed armchair, a bookshelf, and an antique floor lamp had been arranged to form a sitting area. A large scatter rug in the center added a touch of coziness.

  “It’s not fancy, but I thought you’d like it better than sleeping on the couch in the living room.”

  I nodded. “It’ll work.” I almost added that I had slept in worse places, but I didn’t want Patty to think I was complaining.

  “Let’s bring your stuff out here,” Patty said, “and then you can take a bath while I make up your bed.”

  Back in the living room, we each grabbed one of the black trash bags Mom had left me. They were heavier than I expected.

  “This is a lot of clothes for just a few days,” Patty commented.

  I said nothing, but as I emptied the bags on top of the chest freezer and began to sort the contents, the apprehensions I’d felt earlier returned in full force. I had enough clothes for about ten days. With a weekly laundering, I could easily get by for the rest of the winter. What was Mom thinking?

  Maybe she’s not coming back. Maybe she knows the cops are gonna close in, and she’s gonna take off while she can.

  I shoved tha
t thought away as fast as I could. Mom might be crooked, but she would never abandon me. Or would she? The longer I contemplated the matter, the more uncertain I became. Didn’t I have two older sisters somewhere? For all I knew, Mom might have abandoned them just like this. She’d already proven herself a liar; why should I trust anything she said?

  Despite the hot bath I took and the flannel nightgown I put on, I still felt cold inside when I climbed into bed that night. I didn’t even answer when Patty came by to tell me goodnight. I couldn’t. I was sobbing under my pillow.

  That night was awful. Even sleep brought me no peace. I dreamed Walter broke in during the night and kidnapped me. He tied my hands and hauled me into the woods, where he had built a bonfire. He had a huge pistol stuck in his belt. He was going to get warm, he said, and then he’d “take care of” me. Mom was there too, but she seemed indifferent to what was happening and wouldn’t even look at me.

  I managed to escape with Walter in pursuit. The path was rough, blocked by fallen trees and chest-high brambles. Worse, some kind of paralysis was setting into my legs. Only with great effort could I keep moving.

  Clambering over yet another fallen tree, I found myself at the brink of a deep gorge. I could hear Walter’s footsteps crackling in the dead leaves behind me. I crouched down, hoping he wouldn’t see me; but as I did, my foot slipped. I tumbled over the cliff.

  I awoke to my own screams. I was lying on the floor near my bed, drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. The light was on, and beside me Patty knelt on the floor in her nightgown.

  “There now, it’s just a dream,” she soothed me. “It’s okay now.” She guided me back to the rumpled bed and tucked a blanket around my shoulders. But I couldn’t stop shaking. The dream had been so real.

  “You’re not gonna leave, are you?” I pleaded. More than anything, I wanted her to stay.

  “Just for a moment,” she said. “I have to put on a bathrobe before I freeze.”

  When Patty returned, she sat down on the bed and took my icy hands in her warm ones. “You still look scared. What’s up with the bad dreams?”

  I started to cry. I didn’t even try to stop it. Patty put an arm around me and pulled me close, rocking me gently. “Is it Walter?”

  I nodded.

  “Tell me about it. What’s he like to live with?”

  More tears spilled down my cheeks. “I can’t. I’m . . . not supposed to talk to anybody.”

  “Yes, you can. Nobody will find out. Now do you want to tell me or not?”

  I sniffed a couple of times, struggling to compose myself. “If he knew . . . I was here . . . I’d be in really big trouble.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ve run away before.” I swallowed hard and fixed my gaze on the blue quilted blanket on my lap. “He always found me and punished me, but . . . last time he couldn’t find me. One day the police picked me up. I didn’t tell them anything, but they figured out who I was anyway and . . . and called Walter.”

  “What happened then?”

  “You don’t wanna know.”

  Patty stroked my hair. “Don’t worry about bothering me. You need to get this out of your system.”

  “Well . . . it’s bad…”

  I stopped. How could I admit what had happened to me that night? It was too horrible, too shameful. Just the thought of recalling it caused me physical pain. Maybe it hadn’t really happened like I remembered. Maybe I had imagined some part of it.

  Patty helped me out. “So the police picked you up and called Walter. What then? Did he come get you?”

  My voice choked as I tried to answer, and then everything fell apart. I began sobbing and beating the bed with my fists. I hurt. I raged. I yelled. Somewhere in there, though, I got the story out.

  Patty listened with tears in her eyes. “Does your mom know about this?”

  “I can’t tell her stuff like this. She don’t believe me.”

  “I see. But tell me, why does Walter care if you run away? If he is like you say, I don’t see why he’d miss you.”

  “He’s afraid I’ll say something, especially if I get picked up again.”

  “Say something? About what?” Patty’s arm around my shoulders was warm, reassuring, but I knew better than to answer truthfully.

  “I don’t know. He’s kind of neurotic.”

  Patty talked with me a few more minutes, then offered to pray for me. This time I agreed.

  25

  To my surprise, Mom arrived promptly at seven thirty the next morning to drive me to school. She acted so normal that I felt guilty for distrusting her. But when school let out, for the first time ever she was not waiting out front in her black car. I searched the parking lot and checked the side streets. No sign of her. In growing dismay, I turned back toward the building.

  The other students were scattering into the parking lot in little groups. A few stragglers were still getting on the buses. Should I ask someone for a ride? What if Mom came later and found me gone?

  A horn blared on the street behind me, and a familiar voice shouted my name. I turned. Nosed into the curb was Patty’s red car. I hurried over.

  “Where’s Mom?” I asked, opening the passenger door.

  “She’s at the hospital. Walter’s been in a car accident. She called and asked me to pick you up. Sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s okay.” I swung myself inside, dropping my knapsack on the floor with a thump. “So, how is he?”

  “I don’t know. The doctors were still checking him over when she called.”

  “All right.” I wasn’t concerned. Walter had been in three accidents in the last year, and each time, he’d managed to walk away unharmed. He was as indestructible as he was mean.

  I settled back in the seat and closed my eyes. But tired as I was, I couldn’t relax. Mom’s excuse didn’t make sense. Why would she rush to the hospital to be with Walter, after the way he’d beaten her up the other night? Was she even able to walk across that big parking lot? The more I thought about it, the more I doubted her story. Even if Walter was injured, I couldn’t imagine Mom going to see him unless she had to. Maybe she had abandoned me, and the accident story was a cover-up.

  The next few hours passed in a fog. I could hardly function, let alone do homework. If only Mom would call and explain what was going on!

  The call didn’t come until seven o’clock. Tom answered, then held out the phone to me. “It’s your mom.”

  I swallowed and took the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

  “I just wanted to touch base with you,” she said. “You heard about Walter’s accident, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, Patty said something. Was it bad?” From the music and laughter in the background, I knew Mom wasn’t calling from the hospital. I guessed she was at a bar.

  “Kind of. He’s pretty banged up. He’s got a smashed arm and a broken leg. They think he’ll recover all right, but he won’t be going anywhere for a while. His truck is a total wreck.”

  “Really. What happened?”

  “He crossed the center line on County P just out of town and hit a dump truck.” She sounded disgusted. “I can’t believe he’s in as good a shape as he is.”

  “So he’s in the hospital?”

  “Yeah, for now. Say, I was gonna ask you. Have you still got a key to that old Impala?”

  “Somewhere. Why?”

  “Somewhere doesn’t help me much. Is it there with you?”

  “How should I know? It was probably in one of the pairs of jeans lying around my room.”

  “I think I packed all your good jeans. Can you check and see if you have it?”

  “I suppose.” Amid curious looks from the others, I carried the handset with me down the hall to my makeshift bedroom. In the pile of clothes on the freezer, I f
ound my newest pair of jeans. In the front pocket was a ring with three keys.

  “I’ve got it,” I reported.

  “Good. Maybe you could give it to me tomorrow when I come. I wanna get that car out of there before the snow gets too deep.”

  “Okay. Where are you, anyway?”

  Mom laughed at that. “Steve’s, on Grand Avenue. Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I remembered the place all too well. Last winter we’d spent almost every weekend at that downtown tavern. Mom and Walter were good friends with the owners. Lately, however, Walter had been avoiding the place in favor of some less reputable establishments down by the river.

  “So, how are things going for you?” Mom asked me.

  “Pretty good, I guess.”

  “I never thought I’d make an arrangement like this,” she apologized.

  “It’s okay. I sort of like it.”

  “Well, tell Ericksons I appreciate it. When those doctors got done with Walter, one of them asked what happened to me. I told him I fell down the stairs, but I don’t think he bought it. He’s like, ‘That’s some fall. How about if we check out that leg.’ It hurts so bad I let them do it. But it turns out it’s just a really bad bruise.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah. So, I’m gonna let you go here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I hung up feeling much better. Mom couldn’t be lying. If she were really hundreds of miles away, she wouldn’t need the key to the Impala. And the music in the background sure did sound like Steve’s. I must be paranoid, thinking I could foretell Mom’s plans by the number of socks she packed.

  I laughed aloud at the thought. She’d likely packed my stuff in a tearing rush and not counted anything.

  Later that evening, after another hot bath, I wrapped up in a blanket and wandered out to the empty living room. Heather had gone to bed, but from the light under their door, I knew Tom and Patty were still up.