Bloodroot

by Amy Greene

  Somehow we carried him between us, panting and struggling, out of the wooded hills. We took him inside the trailer and lowered him into bed. Carolina said, “Where’s the truck keys, I’ve got to get to a phone,” but Ford shook his head, even in his delirium. “Don’t you do it, honey,” he mumbled. “Don’t you get those doctors after me.” Maybe it was because he was so much older, or because in her heart she believed that he wasn’t human, but she didn’t call anyone. I told her that he needed an ambulance, that he might have frostbite, but she wouldn’t go against Ford’s wishes and I wouldn’t go against hers. As Carolina ran for blankets I stood over him and prayed for the first time in years.

  Carolina sat in a straight chair at his side for the rest of the night. As worried about Ford as I was, I was surprised to find myself jealous of the attention she gave him. But there was something else on my mind, as I made coffee and soup and tried to feed them both. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Ford had said when he opened his eyes. I knew that Ford only saw in the visions what he wanted to see, but some part of me wanted to prove him right. There was an old desk in the bedroom and a manual typewriter. I’d never used one before and it took me forever to pick out the right letters. The keys were loud and I worried that the noise would disturb Ford’s rest, but Carolina said it was okay. She thought it would be good for him to know that I was close by. Hunched over Ford’s desk, I began typing up the poems from my notebook.

  In the night Ford seemed to grow even sicker. The dogs sat outside the bedroom window howling until the sound was too terrible to stand. We had to let them in, even though their stink was suffocating in the small room. Ford sweated under blankets and ice rain pattered against the windows and by morning he was struggling to breathe. Carolina placed her hands on his chest and throat and burning forehead, but couldn’t make him well. I told her that we should take him to the hospital, that he was too weak to fight us, but she refused to betray him, even if it meant risking his life. She began to look sick herself, ashen and glassy-eyed. For a week she stayed in her nightgown, the knobs of her spine and the points of her hipbones poking at the worn flannel. She wasn’t eating, and it was hard for me to watch. But it was even harder to see how much she loved Ford. Somehow without knowing when it happened, I had come to wish she loved me instead.

  Then one morning, nearly a month after we’d found Ford sprawled on his face in the woods, Carolina woke up beside him and placed her hands on his chest. “He’s getting better,” she said. As if on cue, he propped himself up and asked for coffee. It was the first thing he had wanted. The dachshund mix curled at Ford’s feet lifted its head and thumped its tail. Ford asked for a few of his books and flipped through them as he sipped the coffee. He was too weak to sit up long, but I knew Carolina was right. He was getting better. The dogs knew it, too. They went to the door and scratched to be let out. Carolina opened it for them and we stood watching as they chased each other off across the yard.

  Later that day, I typed the last word of the last poem in my notebook. I pushed back from the desk, feeling light-headed. I was about to go for a walk in the cold when Ford sat up and said, “What’s that racket? Sounds like machine-gun fire.”

  I smiled and turned to see him leaning back on the pillows. He was pale and there were still scabs on his face, but he looked much stronger. “Typing my poems,” I told him.

  “The ones I read?”

  “And some you haven’t.”

  Ford glanced at the desk, at the stack of white pages. “Can I see them?”

  “I want you to have them,” I said. “I did this for you.” My hands shook when I took the pages from the desk and dropped them into his lap. I wanted to say something, but I was too tired. I walked away, out of the hot trailer into the cold. The dogs stood, wagging their tails. There was a new one among them, long-haired and skinny with ticks behind its ears. I knelt down and held out my hand. It sniffed and licked at my fingers.

  I walked out to the field, bare and dead under a hard blue sky. I sat in one of the lawn chairs where the burned spot was, imagining bonfires rising up toward the stars and Carolina’s sweet voice singing over the notes of Ford’s guitar. I stayed in the field for what seemed like hours, getting colder and colder, watching brown winter birds peck around in the grass, until Carolina came. She put her hand on my head, my cheek, the side of my neck. My heart stopped and for an instant the copperhead that still existed in me, even here, with Carolina, was disappointed that Ford had lived. I folded her into my coat and pressed my lips against her temple. I couldn’t tell her how much I loved her.

  As the weather grew warmer and Ford grew stronger, I moved back into the shed. I didn’t like hearing Ford and Carolina murmuring to each other in the night. I should have gone back to Millertown but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Another week passed and I began to imagine that Ford and Carolina wanted me gone. I sat huddled in the shed for a full day, not even walking across the yard to eat. They didn’t come out to check on me, which seemed to prove my suspicions. The next morning I heard their voices outside but they didn’t knock on the shed door. After a while, I stepped out into the sun. There was no sign of Ford but I saw Carolina kneeling by the front steps with her back to me. She was pulling up the dead things of winter, ripping up the ruins of what we had planted together to make room for the new growth of spring. I crept up on her, not sure exactly what I meant to do. I knelt down and slipped my arms around her from behind. She stiffened at first, but then she melted into me. I could feel her heart beating under my hands. “Why didn’t you come out to see about me?” I asked into her hair.

  “We thought you wanted to be by yourself.” She turned around in my arms and her face was inches from mine. She smelled like dewy grass.

  “You want me to go,” I said, trying to control my breathing.

  “No, Johnny.” There was an eyelash on her cheek, a tiny black crescent. I raised my hand slowly between our bodies and Carolina caught her breath. I brushed delicately at the eyelash with my finger. Then her eyes widened a little. She was looking over my shoulder. I stood up and turned to see Ford standing there, holding the gas can he kept under the trailer. It was March and time to mow. The look on his face was not one of anger but of fear. Carolina stood up, too, and moved away from me. I reached out and took hold of her arm instinctively, pulling her back, not wanting her to leave my side.

  “Let go of her, Johnny,” Ford said. When I didn’t release Carolina’s arm his eyes hardened. My possessive gesture must have said it all. Carolina looked down at my hand on her arm and then up at me, her face sad and pleading at the same time.

  “What have you two been doing?” Ford asked.

  Carolina turned to him, shocked. “Nothing, Ford.”

  He stared at me. “I saw in a vision you’d betray me. I didn’t want to believe it.”

  Carolina looked stricken. “He never betrayed you, Ford.”

  Ford took a step toward me. “I’ve treated you like a son,” he said.

  I was stunned when he launched himself at me, knocking my breath out against the porch. We grappled and fought and it was strange to feel him on top of me, to be that close, the stink of his sweat, the heat of his breath, and the weight of his bones. As much as I had always wanted to hurt someone, it was no good. We couldn’t best one another. He was surprisingly strong for an old man, especially one who had been so sick. We wrestled in the yard for what seemed an eternity, the dogs barking and snarling all around us, and Carolina wailing like a wounded animal herself. I don’t know which one of us caught sight of her first, but she was the reason we both gave in at the same time. She was crouched by the porch steps, hives like bright red welts covering her face and neck and chest. I had the thought that we were killing her. We staggered to our feet, panting and spitting blood. She gaped at us, clutching at her middle, and then ran into the trailer.

  Ford and I stood in silence for a long time. The dogs circled around our legs, growling and snapping at each other. “Shit, Johnny,”
Ford said at last. “I can’t blame you. I know better than anybody what it’s like to be around her.”

  I took off my shirt and wiped my throbbing face with it. I looked down at the blood smeared there. When I raised my head and saw the look in Ford’s eyes, I knew he’d answer me this time. “How’d you lose it?” I asked. “How’d you lose that finger?”

  “All right, Johnny,” he said softly. “Here’s the truth. I was working at a furniture factory down in Oliver Springs. Damn drill press cut it off. That’s all it was.” We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then he turned and limped across the yard, back into the woods with the dogs at his heels.

  I watched Ford’s sagging back until he disappeared from view. Now I knew the story of his missing finger, the one I had hoped might somehow be rotting to yellowed bone in my mama’s box. Like always, the truth had turned out to be disappointing. But in that moment I didn’t care who my father was or what kind of curse I carried in my blood. I turned around and walked back to the trailer. As soon as I opened the door, I knew that it was empty. There was a note on the kitchen table. It said, “I can’t stand this. Don’t forget I love you both.” I heard Ford’s truck starting up and bolted outside. She was pulling out of the driveway as I leapt off the porch and skidded in the grass. I ran to the road and watched as her taillights disappeared around a curve. The land looked deserted for miles. I had a familiar feeling that the whole past year had been a dream, one long hallucination. Maybe I had been there by myself all along, having a vision of my own.

  LAURA

  I still don’t know if the hospital or Clint’s mama sent that woman. As soon as I seen her, I knowed what she came for. I had gone to the door with Sunny in one arm and a wet dishrag in the other. The house was a mess where I’d been feeling bad them last few weeks of being pregnant. The day that woman came I had been working on a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

  I was expecting Louise. She’d cooked spaghetti and was bringing me the leftovers. She was always dropping off food for me that way. She knowed how tired I was. When I opened the door my belly was growling, but soon as I seen that woman I got sick. My legs got weak. The only thing that held me up was Sunny in the crook of my arm. If I fell it might have hurt him. Right off that feeling of going wild came over me. She said, “Are you Laura Blevins?” I didn’t answer. My mind was racing, trying to figure out what I was going to do. There was black spots in front of my eyes but I still seen her badge necklace. She had on a blue pantsuit. There was a big purse on her shoulder and a clipboard in her hands. She looked hard and rocky. Not like creek rocks, but jaggedy ones. Her eyes was empty. I could tell she didn’t care about me and Sunny. She wouldn’t notice how cute it was when he sucked his fingers. She wouldn’t see his cheeks like two fuzzy peaches. “I’m Pat Blanchard, with the Department of Children’s Services,” she said. “We had a call that you might be having some trouble taking care of your baby.”

  If she said anything else, I never heard it. Because that’s when she turned her eyes on Sunny. She moved her hand toward him, the one not holding a clipboard. Looking back on it now, she might have just meant to touch him. Maybe she wanted to tickle his foot that had come out of the blanket. Or she might not have been meaning to touch him at all. She might have just been gesturing toward him. But her movement broke something inside of me that was loose for a long time. It’s hard to tell exactly what happened. I wasn’t in my right mind. I just wanted her to go away. From what I remember, I did the best I could to drive her off with the arm that wasn’t holding Sunny. I raised up the wet dishrag and started whacking her with it. I slapped that woman Pat Blanchard over and over, across the face and hands and arms. I believe I was screaming and crying. She tried to cover her face. There was a big red welt across her nose and cheeks. Then the worst thing happened. She stumbled backward trying to get away from me and fell down them steep porch steps. After that, it got quiet. She laid there groaning at the bottom, like she wasn’t all the way awake. It’s awful, but I wasn’t worried if she was okay. I was just worried about how to get out of there with Sunny and where to go.

  The first person that came to mind was Louise. I went down the porch steps and stepped over Pat Blanchard. I headed down the street toward Louise’s. I don’t remember how long I ran with Sunny, both of us crying, before Louise’s car slowed down and stopped beside of me. She rolled down the window and said, “Lordy mercy, what’s happened?” I yanked open the door and nearly set down in the spaghetti she was bringing me. I said, “Take me to Zelda’s.” It was a comforting place where the best day of my life happened. I’d think better if I could stand on that deck where me and Clint got married. Louise didn’t ask any questions. She just drove me there. I cried the whole way, still half out of my head. Sunny slept in my arms, even though Louise had a car seat in the back she’d found at a yard sale. I couldn’t stand to let go of him. We pulled up in the Thompsons’ driveway and Louise had to help me to the door. Zelda answered it with her hair rolled up in pin curls. I seen all the color go out of her cheeks. Louise said, “She won’t tell me what’s wrong.” They led me inside to set down with Sunny. Zelda brought me a glass of water. I told them as much as I remembered about Pat Blanchard coming to the door and what I did to her. They looked at each other with big eyes. Mr. Thompson had come in from somewhere. He was standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He said, “Somebody’s got to call an ambulance for that woman.”

  Zelda said, “We can’t, Ralph. She’ll get in trouble with the law.”

  Mr. Thompson said, “Think about what you’re saying.”

  Louise said, “He’s right, Zelda. She might be hurt bad.”

  Zelda said, “Laura heard her making noise. I bet she’s all right.”

  “Why don’t you talk sense?” Mr. Thompson hollered. I’d never heard him raise his voice that way. It made me feel like crying again. “We can’t let somebody lay over there with bones broke and their head busted and no telling what all else.”

  Zelda turned to me. I seen her trying to be calm. “Listen, honey. I believe you’re in shock. Why don’t you take Sunny in my bedroom and rest until you’re feeling better.”

  I didn’t want to rest but my head was too addled to argue. I let her lead me down the hall to the bed with Sunny in my arms. I gave him to her while I climbed on the bedspread with roses on it. She put him down beside of me and he snuggled up to my belly. He was rooting around for my breast in his sleep. I pulled up my shirt for him. Feeding him made me calmer. It was almost like nothing bad had happened. I dozed off looking at the scissors on the nightstand, where Zelda had been clipping coupons in bed.

  I must have slept quite a while. The room was dark when I woke up. I heard a strange man’s voice in the living room and switched on the lamp. I got out of the bed, careful not to wake up Sunny, and cracked the door to hear better. He was saying, “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take her in. Miss Blanchard is pressing charges.”

  “She’s resting right now,” Zelda said.

  “Will you have to use the handcuffs?” Louise asked. I could tell she was crying.

  “She’s a good girl,” Zelda said. “She was just scared for her baby.”

  “I can’t help it, ma’am,” the policeman said. “I’ve got a warrant.”

  I looked at the window and then at Sunny. It was too high off the ground and I might drop him. I would have to go out the kitchen door, onto the deck. I thought of the children at my wedding, fluttering down the steps like butterflies. I wanted to cry but there wasn’t time. I got Sunny up from the bed. He whined a little bit, but he was a heavy sleeper and he didn’t wake up. I opened the door as quiet as I could. It was going to be hard because it was a small house, but I could go through the dining room to get to the kitchen. It was right across the hall from the bedroom. I crept across the hall and into the dining room. The mahogany hutch was shining in the dark. I headed for the light of the kitchen. I could already see the black panes of the door leading to the deck
with the kitchen’s reflection in them. If I could make it there, me and Sunny would be free. But as soon as I stepped on the kitchen tiles I seen Mr. Thompson by the sink. It was like he’d been expecting me. My heart dropped to my feet. He said, “Honey, you won’t get very far with that baby. It ain’t no kind of life for him anyhow, running from the law.”

  That’s when I heard another strange voice in the living room, a woman that sounded so much like Pat Blanchard I thought for a second it might be her. Then I figured Pat Blanchard wouldn’t be in any shape to get out and take somebody’s baby after what I done to her. I knowed they’d sent somebody else to take Sunny. There was probably twenty more just like her. Zelda asked, “Can the baby stay with me or Louise until we get this mess straightened out? We’re the only family Laura’s got.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “In a case like this, the baby always goes to a blood relation. The paternal grandmother will be taking him.”

  She might as well have shot me through the heart. It was all I could do to keep from sinking down right yonder in the floor. I had to make myself get moving again. I lunged for the door but Mr. Thompson stepped in front of it. I crashed into his belly and bumped my head on his chin. Sunny started crying so loud it hurt my ears. It hit me that Mr. Thompson was probably the one that called the police on me. Then all of a sudden they was in the kitchen, the policeman and the woman that sounded like Pat Blanchard and looked something like her, too. I was still trying to get around Mr. Thompson. I’ll never speak to him again, even though I know he just wanted to do the right thing. The policeman was moving toward me saying, “You’ll have to come with me, Miss Blevins.” Zelda was begging, “Now, wait just a minute.” Louise was standing with her hands over her eyes, bawling out loud. I was looking around, trying to find an escape route and hold on to what was left of my mind at the same time. Then the policeman had ahold of my arm that wasn’t holding Sunny. I hollered out, “Wait, he’s hungry! He’s hungry!” trying to be heard over Sunny’s and Louise’s crying. It was all I could think of to do.