The Devil's Madonna

by Sharon Potts

  Kali couldn’t believe Lillian was tracking this. “Yes. I just finished thirteen weeks.”

  “I had morning sickness with your mother. You should be over it soon. Of course I didn’t know it was morning sickness. I didn’t even realize I was pregnant. I was so sick with worry that I’d lost track of my time of month.”

  Worry? Hadn’t she been safe and secure here with Kali’s grandfather?

  “I was always hungry, but when I ate, it just came back up.” Lillian seemed to be studying her. “You’re a good girl, Kali.”

  Kali bit down on her lip. She wished she hadn’t promised Seth that she wouldn’t spend any more nights here. Just tonight and maybe tomorrow would have helped her grandmother get comfortable with the aide in the house.

  “I’m sure your baby will be fine.”

  Kali started, then realized her grandmother couldn’t possibly know about what had happened.

  “I didn’t know what to do when I found out I was pregnant.” Lillian’s fingers played with the border of the afghan. “I was terrified, but not to have it? To destroy my own flesh and blood?”

  “Wait. You were considering an abortion?”

  Lillian didn’t seem to hear her. She tugged on a loose piece of wool as she stared at the dark window. “How could I make that sacrifice when I’d already lost so much?”

  “What, Lillian? What had you lost?”

  Her grandmother looked like she’d been suddenly awakened.

  Kali tried to ease her back. “You were telling me about when you were pregnant with my mother. That you were—” Terrified? Was that really how her grandmother had felt? “Scared,” Kali said instead. “You were telling me you were a little scared.”

  Her grandmother’s blue eyes shifted around as she seemed to take in every detail of Kali’s face. “How pretty you are. You look a lot like me when I was young.” She nodded her head. “I was very worried, but everything turned out all right. I’m sure your baby will be fine.”

  The doorbell rang, a distant muted sound. Lillian tensed.

  “It’s just someone at the door,” Kali said. “I’ll get it.”

  “Probably that Rabin boy. He’s okay.”

  Kali went through the kitchen, then down the hallway into the front foyer. It was noon, so it was probably the aide, not Neil. But Kali hadn’t broken the news to her grandmother yet.

  She looked through the peephole, took in the short, stocky woman in hot-pink scrubs, then opened the door.

  The woman smiled. She had jet-black hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, black eyes, and flat, earthy features. “Mrs. Campbell?” she said with a Hispanic accent that Kali recognized from their phone conversation. “I’m Luisa Santos.”

  “Please come in. I’m Kali Miller. Mrs. Campbell is my grandmother.”

  Luisa rolled a small suitcase into the room and looked around at the foyer with its spiral staircase and marble floors. Kali had forgotten how impressive the house seemed to most people.

  “My grandmother will be staying in a room downstairs, since she can’t manage the stairs. You’ll be upstairs in my old bedroom.”

  “She here, your grandmother? May I meet her?”

  “Of course, but please give me a minute. We just got home ourselves, and I haven’t had a chance to tell her about you.”

  The soft rolling of wheels coming from the kitchen told Kali she was too late. Her grandmother stood just outside the foyer taking in the uniformed woman and her suitcase.

  “What was it you were going to tell me?” Lillian’s voice had resumed its familiar chill.

  Kali felt her face get hot. “This is Luisa Santos. She’ll be staying with you for a little while until you’re able to get around easily yourself.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Campbell,” Luisa said with a big smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  Her grandmother ignored Luisa and pushed her walker over to Kali. Her blue eyes were like lumps of ice; she barely moved her lips. “Ask her to leave.”

  Luisa looked from the old woman to Kali. “I wait outside.” She went out the front door pulling her suitcase behind her, as though she’d been in this situation before.

  The door closed.

  “Please, Lillian. You’ll need someone to help you get things from upstairs, to help with your meals.”

  “You can do those things.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “I have my own home, my husband to take care of.”

  Her grandmother shook her head.

  “It’s not forever. Just until you’re better.”

  “Better? I’m ninety-three. Do you really think I’m going to get better?”

  “Please, Lillian. Try it for a few days. Let’s see how it works out.”

  “I thought you were listening. I won’t have a stranger in my house.”

  “Luisa’s from a reputable agency. She has wonderful references.”

  “She’s not my flesh and blood.” Lillian took a step closer to Kali. Her jaw was clenched, her nostrils flaring. “She’s not my flesh and blood,” she repeated, enunciating each syllable. “Only you are.”

  25

  Lillian sat up abruptly, her heart pounding. She was on the sofa in the TV room. Someone had made it up with sheets, blanket, and a pillow. When had she changed out of her gray pantsuit into her cotton nightgown? How had it grown so dark outside?

  She heard unfamiliar footsteps above her going from room to room. It was that woman, the aide who smiled too hard. The one Kali had left in the house to keep an eye on her until she got well. But why was the woman really here? Had she been sent to go through my things, she thought.

  A toilet flushed. A door closed. Footfalls in the hallway.

  Then silence. Where was the woman now? In the master bedroom? Was she rifling through Lillian’s drawers? Her closet?

  She got up from the sofa bracing herself on the walker. It was dark in the room, but she didn’t need to turn on any lights. She’d lived here so long she could find her way around blindfolded. The pocket door that closed off the TV room was shut, and she jiggled it until it slid open.

  She pushed the walker into the living room, straining to pick up noises from above. The fireplace chimney went through both rooms, and acted as a megaphone in transferring sounds, but Lillian heard nothing coming from her bedroom.

  She walked into the dining room, which was directly beneath Dorothy’s room, and listened. There it was. A drawer closing, the creak of the floorboards, a window opening.

  Lillian held her hand to her heart. Violated. She felt violated. Couldn’t Kali understand how devastating it was to know a stranger was touching her most private possessions, sleeping in Dorothy’s bed, looking at her framed likeness?

  But she didn’t really blame her granddaughter. Kali was an innocent, a victim with no knowledge of her crime or the danger she might be in. How could she know, when Lillian had tried so hard to protect her?

  For these past seventy years, this house had been an asylum for Lillian, for her family. And while she’d never felt completely safe, Lillian had garnered a sense of security and privacy. And now that had been invaded.

  Even though Lillian was fairly certain this woman, this aide, would find nothing in the house to connect her to her past, there remained a fear that Lillian would inadvertently reveal something in her sleep. Or perhaps she had overlooked some giveaway detail, like the hidden painting in Dorothy’s closet. Or in the storage rooms. But the storage rooms were blocked by the étagère and the key was tucked away in the hidden sewing cabinet. In her bedroom. Which was next to the room where the stranger slept. Upstairs, where Lillian was now unable to go.

  The sounds upstairs stopped.

  She rolled her walker back into the living room. This was where she’d spend the night. At least in here, she could hear if any untoward noises came from her bedroom.

  The Queen Anne sofa was filled with goose feathers and she sank into the cushions and rested her head a
gainst the upholstered arm. The wingback chairs, fireplace, and built-in cupboards were all in shadows. Periodically a car went down the street, momentarily brightening the room. The walls were adorned with mirrors, brass candelabra, but there were no paintings. Lillian had sworn she’d never have a painting in her house.

  The clock on the mantel ticked loudly. The satin fabric felt cool against her skin.

  She heard the clopping of horses on the cobblestone streets and the glow of gaslight fell across his face.

  Altwulf smiled shyly, his blue eyes sparkling behind his spectacles, his hands both resting on the top of his walking stick. “There’s something I’d like to show you this evening.”

  Leli cocked her head. She had on a blue satin dress that showed off her legs, and a lovely summer hat with ribbons and a bow that she’d worn for a cigarette card photo. “Something I’ll like?”

  He took in a deep breath and patted his graying goatee. “I very much hope so.” He looked around, probably for Graeber.

  Leli felt revulsion when she spotted Altwulf’s ubiquitous student standing near the car at the corner of the street. His mop of thick blond hair shone in the light of the lamppost, and he was holding something to his mouth. She’d come to think of Graeber as a vestigial organ that Altwulf should have had excised. But when she hinted that she’d prefer the absence of Graeber’s company, Altwulf merely smiled at her as though she were a child asking for an unreasonable bedtime.

  “Ah, there he is,” Altwulf said.

  Graeber had been waiting outside while she and Wulfie shared a bottle of wine in the rathskeller. At least Altwulf never invited Graeber to join them when they were dining or having a cocktail. That would have been intolerable. Leli couldn’t stand how Graeber looked at her with his drippy eye and twisted smile.

  Leli took Altwulf’s arm and they walked toward the car. Graeber dropped something on the street, stepped on it, then brushed off his jacket. He quickly put on the dark glasses he always wore around Altwulf.

  When they got to the car, Graeber held open the back door for Leli. She smelled cigarette smoke on him. Apparently Altwulf did, too, because he scowled at Graeber and said something Leli couldn’t make out. Graeber lowered his head like a scolded dog.

  The three of them sat in silence as Graeber drove. They were in an unfamiliar, somewhat shabby neighborhood, but Leli felt no apprehension. Altwulf had been her protector and a perfect gentleman for over two years and she had no reason to mistrust him.

  Graeber stopped the car in front of a narrow red brick building on a treeless street and Altwulf helped Leli out. He said something to Graeber, then slammed the door.

  “This way, my dear.” Altwulf took her gently by the elbow and used a key to open the front door. There was no doorman, no lobby. Just a dismal hallway with a scarred wooden staircase and the stink of cooked cabbage.

  Leli was confused. “Are we visiting someone?”

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  He began climbing the stairs, using his walking stick to help him up.

  “Is there no elevator?”

  “I’m sorry. There isn’t. But it’s just one landing up from here. Can you make it all right?”

  “Of course. I was worried about you.”

  He smiled, then patted her arm.

  He stopped in front of an apartment, inserted a key in the lock, opened the door, and flicked on a light switch.

  Leli stepped into a large, high-ceilinged room with draped windows on two sides. The smell of turpentine hit her first, but then as she looked around, it seemed as though she’d entered a musty antique shop or museum. The room was overfilled with sofas, chairs, area rugs, and paintings. So many paintings! The walls were covered with large and small canvases in gilded frames, reaching almost to the ceiling.

  Altwulf went around the room turning on lamps.

  Leli could tell that the furniture and rugs were of a high quality. She approached one of the walls of paintings and examined an oil of a winding country road lined with cottages painted in muted blues and browns. Next to it was a still life of a floral arrangement, and beyond, Leli recognized a cathedral she’d often passed in Vienna. Then she noticed an easel set up in the corner of the room, where the light through the tall windows was probably strong during the day. There was a stool in front of the easel and beside it a table with brushes and a palette of paint.

  She got closer to the easel, which held a canvas with the outline of a grand edifice, then went back to the paintings on the wall. The artist’s initials were the same on all the paintings. They looked like ALT.

  “This is yours,” she said, with sudden clarity. “Your apartment. Your studio. Your paintings.”

  Altwulf looked down at his old-fashioned high-top shoes.

  Why was she surprised? She knew Altwulf was an art professor and he often spoke about his love of painting.

  “Wulfie, these are wonderful. You’re so versatile. Oils and watercolors, grand buildings and exquisite flowers.”

  “I’m pleased you think well of them.”

  He went to the sideboard and poured an amber liquid from the decanter into a couple of brandy glasses. He handed her a snifter. “To art,” he said, clinking his glass against hers. “And beauty.”

  The brandy burned her throat.

  “Your beauty,” he said.

  “I’m honored that you’d bring me here.”

  “What a kind thing to say.” He patted his goatee, as though embarrassed.

  She took his hand in her own. He was much older than she, but she felt great tenderness toward him. Perhaps even love. “I know you’re a very private person. Thank you for sharing your work with me. Your paintings are truly amazing.”

  He squeezed her fingers, then released them. He seemed unable to meet her eye. “No portraits, though.”

  “Why is that? Don’t you care for portraits?”

  “Oh, I do. I just hadn’t found the right subject.” He lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Until now.”

  A thump startled her. Lillian’s breath caught in her throat. Where was she? Why was it so dark?

  She heard a creak of floorboards. It was coming back to her. Her house. She was in her house. With a stranger. Some stranger who had come here to discover her secret.

  Lillian threw her feet over the side of the sofa and pulled herself up with her walker. She had to stop this. Had to stop it now.

  She pushed herself to the stairwell, trembling and dizzy. She must get up the stairs before it was too late. She grabbed the banister with both hands and pulled her right foot up on the first step, then dragged her left foot after it. One step at a time. She lifted herself up to the next step, then the next one. She was breathless, but she had to stop the intruder.

  It seemed to take forever pulling herself up the stairs, but finally she reached the top. Her heart was pounding and she wanted to sit down and rest, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

  Where was the woman? Was she in Lillian’s bedroom? In the closet? Had she found the key?

  The floorboards creaked. There was a dense shadow in the hallway.

  “Mrs. Campbell,” said the shadow, surprised. Then the voice changed and became stern. “What are you doing up here, Mrs. Campbell?”

  “Me? What am I doing up here?”

  From outside came the rumble of thunder.

  Lillian flung herself against the woman, smacking her, tearing at her clothes, her face, using every ounce of strength to stop her. But the woman was too strong. She held Lillian’s arms with a firm grip until all the fight seeped out and Lillian’s legs folded beneath her.

  “Stop,” Lillian tried to shout, but it came out like a baby’s whimper. And she dropped down to the cold, hard floor and began to sob.

  She could hear the rain hitting the roof, as though the sky had opened up, and all the angels cried with her.

  26

  Kali’s cheek rested against her pillow and she looked at her husband. There was a film of perspiration on his skin
, beneath his matted chest hair. He was still breathing hard. This was the first time they’d made love in over a week—since before her grandmother’s incident.

  A flash of light filled their bedroom, then came the rumble of distant thunder.

  “How you doing?” Seth whispered.

  “Good. Very good.”

  He snuggled against her. She tensed, then relaxed.

  “I’m always afraid of hurting Bucephala,” he said.

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  “I know, but still. They say fetuses can hear music and sense their mother’s stress. I wonder how they react to their parents having sex.”

  “Probably results in some interesting Freudian analysis when they’re older.”

  “Yeah. Talk about delving deeply into the past,” he said. “Can they do that though? Extricate memories from the womb?”

  “I’m sure there’s someone out there who says he can.”

  “There’s always someone who makes improbable claims. What’s amazing is all the people who believe it.”

  “Like the people in the story admiring the emperor’s new clothes. It took a little boy to get them to see that the emperor wasn’t wearing any.”

  Seth laughed. Kali felt the vibrations in his chest. This was how things were supposed to be. Easy, comfortable, laughter.

  There was another flash of light and clap of thunder.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “For what?

  He didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers danced down Kali’s back, caressed her buttocks, and squeezed. She felt him harden against her.

  “So if you’re sure we won’t be creating a sociopath,” he said, “what do you think about doing it one more time?”

  She raised her mouth to meet his, but he rolled her over. His chest hair brushed against her back as he cupped her breasts. They rocked as one, picking up a rhythm, while outside the rumbling grew. The rain hit the roof and windows hard, like hundreds of rice pellets, and the white canopy undulated like a bride’s veil in the wind.

  “Oh, baby,” Seth said, breathing hard.

  A phone rang, shrill and startling.