“You never come see me,” Isabelle says.
“Jewel is worse than a prison guard,” Freddie replies. “She tells me I shouldn’t make a nuisance of myself. That you need your rest.”
“I don’t know why she has me in solitary confinement. She won’t even let me go downstairs. She is so bossy.”
“It’s just easier to do what she says sometimes. Else she will just go on about it until you end up doing what she wants just so she will shut up. I think Mr. Odom has learned that already.”
“He won’t stand for it too much longer. You wait. They will have a fight sometime when she tells him what to do and he just tells her to go suck an egg.”
Freddie laughs. “I think I could enjoy that. It’s been an adjustment for everyone to be here together. Takes some getting used to.”
Freddie asks how Isabelle has been feeling, if the heat and the humidity are wearing her down, asks if she has packed a bag yet for the hospital. She does not mention the bleeding, does not want to embarrass her, frighten her to think that it mattered enough for Jewel to mention it. She gives her the Milky Way, still cold from the freezer. “I like them frozen like that,” she tells Isabelle. “Especially when it is so hot. Otherwise, they just melt.”
Isabelle breaks off a bit and shares it with Freddie.
“And I brought you this as well,” she says, pulling the envelope from her pocket. She holds it flat in her hand as she offers it to Isabelle. “It came for you yesterday. I figure whomever you wrote to all those months ago must finally have written you back.”
She can see Isabelle’s hand shake as she reaches out for the letter as if she is handing her a sacred relic, a charm. She studies it for a moment, as if to make certain that it is real and she is truly holding it, that it is not an apparition. She does not make a move to open it. After a moment Freddie backs away from the bed.
“I will let you have some time to yourself,” she says.
“Thank you,” says Isabelle, but Freddie knows she means more than just the offer to leave her alone.
The sun has begun to cast long shadows of evening before Freddie returns. She has not turned on any lights downstairs, letting the house cool as dusk settles over the farm. It is dark upstairs as well when she climbs the staircase, and as she stands at the top of the landing, she can hear Isabelle playing a song on the record player. When it ends, she picks up the needle and begins it again. Freddie walks to her room. It takes a moment to discern Isabelle’s silhouette obscured amongst the gloom. Isabelle makes no indication that she sees Freddie.
“Listen to this,” she says softly. A mournful guitar strums a tune. A woman begins to sing:
I went to your wedding
Although I was dreading
The thought of losing you.
The organ was playing,
My poor heart kept saying,
“My dreams, my dreams are through.
“She’s getting married,” she says, turning toward Freddie.
“The girl in the song?” Freddie asks.
Isabelle looks at her funny, as if surprised she does not understand. “Yes, her too. My friend Alice, though. She is the one I meant.”
“Is that who the letter is from?”
“No,” says Isabelle. “It is from her mother. Alice asked her to send it to me so I would know.”
Freddie knows this news has made her terribly sad, and Isabelle’s mood frightens her. She is the same as when they stood on the beach. Absent. She thinks to turn on the light but does not, afraid a sudden burst of light would startle her like it would a skittish animal. She walks over to her. She stands so close that she can smell the powder on Isabelle’s neck. She wants to place her hand on Isabelle’s shoulder—to comfort her. She does not.
Isabelle begins to sing along with the music:
You came down the aisle, wearing a smile
A vision of loveliness
I uttered a sigh, and then whispered good-bye
Good-bye to my happiness.
“Why are people so cruel?” she asks.
Freddie thinks suddenly of Lt. Calder, of the men whom she and Jewel have killed, the ruse that has brought Isabelle to this house. “Perhaps I am not the best person to ask. Each of us has our own share of brutalities to answer for. Our own selfishness. Our own greed.”
“Not Alice,” says Isabelle. “Not Alice.”
The song has reached its end, and a snappy pop melody fills the room. Isabelle grabs the arm of the record player so abruptly there is a scratch as she picks it up and returns it to where she wants.
“What do you notice about this song?” she asks.
“I am not good at music,” says Freddie. “It’s sad. It’s a sad song.” She knows Isabelle is reaching out to her, but feels lost, helpless. “I can’t say. I don’t even know who it is singing.”
“It’s Patti Page. But that isn’t important. That isn’t what I am asking you. What do you hear?”
Freddie listens closely to the music, finds the story hidden in the words.
“Someone she knows is getting married. Someone she loves very much. And she feels like her life is over.”
“Yes,” says Isabelle. “But there is more.”
Freddie listens intently, but she cannot hear what it is that Isabelle wants her to hear. She can feel the night on her arms, her legs, like it has reached in and swallowed them up inside it. She and Isabelle have disappeared into nothing—there is only the music. Their disembodied voices.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know.”
“She is singing to the bride,” says Isabelle. “The groom doesn’t walk down the aisle. Whoever heard a groom described as a ‘vision of loveliness.’ She is singing to the bride.”
And then, suddenly, Isabelle’s head is pressed against Freddie’s chest, Freddie’s arms wrapped around her. Isabelle begins to cry, and Freddie pulls her closer, close enough she imagines she can feel the baby in Isabelle’s belly kicking between them. She reaches up to stroke Isabelle’s head. The ribbon falls to the floor.
“There. There. Sweetie. Don’t you worry. Everything will work out. Just you wait. Now, why don’t you tell me everything?”
And Isabelle does.
Later, when she is alone in the kitchen, after Isabelle has cried herself to exhaustion, Freddie repeats the promises she has made to Isabelle, the confidences of her own that she has shared with her.
Isabelle has changed to her nightdress, washed her face. In the soft yellow glow from the small table lamp by the bed, Freddie can see her eyes are swollen from the tears. Freddie turns the covers down for her.
“What would you say if I told you that Mr. Odom was going to be leaving here very soon?”
Isabelle sighs as she scoots down into the bed.
“I would say ‘good riddance.’ But he isn’t going anywhere as long as there is free room and board for him here.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” says Freddie. “And after he is gone, I want you to know that you can stay here for as long as you need. As long as you want.”
“But what about your sister? Would she allow this?”
“You don’t have to worry about her. We are in agreement on the matter of Mr. Odom.”
“I had no idea.” Isabelle smiles. “I would sure like to see the expression on his face when you tell him.”
“Yes,” says Freddie. “I am certain he will be surprised.”
Freddie is still sitting at the kitchen table with her half-eaten plate of cold chicken and cucumber salad in front of her when Jewel and Mr. Odom return.
“My goodness,” says Jewel. “Are you just now eating dinner?”
“I forgot,” says Freddie. “I sat on the front porch watching the sunset and I guess I just lost the time.”
Jewel laughs. “You would lose your head if it wasn’t attached.” Freddie can see that Jewel doesn’t believe her excuse, but she doesn’t care. Things like that don’t matter anymore.
5
“
Good Lord Almighty!” squawks Jewel the next morning when Freddie enters the kitchen wearing her work pants, overshirt, and boots. “You could have given me some warning.” Freddie doesn’t speak to her, just goes to the cupboard, takes out her cup and saucer, pours herself some coffee, and leans against the counter.
“When you have her breakfast ready,” she says, “I will take it up to her. And put a couple of pieces of bacon on a plate for me while you’re at it, if you please.”
Jewel turns from the stove. She looks to speak, but Freddie stops her.
“I wasn’t putting that up for a vote.”
Mr. Odom has stopped reading the paper and sits slack-jawed, staring at her. She tips the saucer of coffee to her lips, drains it in a long gulp.
“Jewel doesn’t like for me to drink my coffee out of the saucer. Says it makes me look common.”
“If you are trying to shock me,” says Mr. Odom, “you will need to do more than drink coffee from a saucer. Or dress in men’s trousers.”
“Well, the way I see it, someone has to wear the pants in the family. I figured it might as well be me.”
Mr. Odom puts the paper down. “Miss Winifred, I think you are trying to pick a fight with me.”
“Not a fight, sir. And please do call me Freddie. It is what I prefer.”
Jewel puts a plate on the tray. “It’s grits and scrambled eggs. I made them the way she likes them. A piece of toast. Some preserves. I hope that will meet with your approval.”
Freddie smiles. “Jewel, you make a good wife. Yes, you do. Don’t you agree, Mr. Odom?”
She tops up her coffee and sets it on the tray. She finishes it sitting in the white wicker rocker near the window of Isabelle’s bedroom while Isabelle picks at her breakfast.
“You need to eat it all,” she tells her.
“Everything just tastes so salty,” Isabelle complains. “It makes me thirsty.”
“I will tell Jewel to make you a pitcher of lemonade. That should be nice on a hot day.” Freddie puts her cup and saucer back on the tray. “Now, Isabelle. I want you to promise me something.”
“Yes, what?”
“Just remember everything we talked about last night. Just remember that I told you I would make him go away from here.”
“Yes.”
“Well, it may take some convincing. So, you just stay up here. Play your records. And by this time tomorrow . . .”
Isabelle nods. “Do what you must. You don’t need my consent. He is a miserable bastard, and I will be glad to be shed of him.”
Freddie takes her hand in hers, squeezes it. “Then I will see you—afterward.”
It takes no effort to draw Mr. Odom into the barn. Freddie merely says she has something she needs to discuss. Undoubtedly, she imagines he must think she has another treat in store. Take the car again, why don’t you? The surprise, however, comes when she knocks him hard up side of his head with the ax handle she has purchased from Standard’s for just this moment. It doesn’t knock him out like a conk on the head does in the movies, but it does bring him to his knees. He instinctively brings his hand up to his temple, stunned, searching to see if there is blood. This delay provides her a moment to wrap the rope suspended from the pulley overhead around him, underneath his arms, cinched tightly behind. Easy as trussing a bird.
She pulls him to his feet, and then, just for good measure, hoists him so that he is forced to stand tiptoed.
“Holy shit!” he mutters. “Have you lost your mind?” He bellows for Jewel.
“If you think she is going to come and help you, I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed,” she tells him. “This is a working farm, Mr. Odom. I am sure you have noticed that, though I can’t see that you have actually contributed much in the way of labor.”
He starts to speak, but she prods him with the handle. “No, don’t, please,” she says. “The time for you to lend your support will come, rest assured.”
He shouts again for Jewel. This time, Freddie hits him with the end of the handle. “Ugh!” he grunts. “You crazy bitch. I will—”
Freddie hits him again. “You aren’t going to do anything. To me. To anyone. As I was saying, this is a working farm. Everything here serves a purpose. We raise crops, and we make a profit on them. We raise hogs, and then we slaughter those hogs in the autumn to sell. And we will turn a profit on you as well, Mr. Odom.”
She has his attention. He looks at her wide-eyed. “Please don’t hurt me,” he says.
Freddie laughs. “My plan, Mr. Odom, is to kill you. How much pain you suffer depends on you.”
“Oh, Jesus God. I am a sinner, but I don’t deserve this,” he cries. “Jewel! Jooo-el!” The rope catches him tight up under his arms, so that his elbows are thrust up and out above his shoulders. His breath comes in short gasps. “I never did a thing to you. Never. You have no right to treat me this way.”
“I am astounded by the audacity,” she says. It is oppressively hot in the barn. Sweat drips down the back of her neck. She takes out a kerchief and wipes her face, dries her palms. “The sheer nerve it must take just to be you. To get up every day and just be—you. Tell me now, if Jewel had come to you with the same pittance that you brought to us, would you have thought that a fair deal?”
“I told you, I have had setbacks, misfortunes. I was limited in my options. I could not travel and leave the girl.”
“Yes, I have heard them all, Mr. Odom. Answer my question.”
“No,” he says. “I would not have considered it a fair deal. But I never claimed to be anything that I am not. Now, please, if you—if Jewel—if my being here is a cause for distress, I will leave. I will leave today, and you will never see me again.”
“And would you want to drive the car? Or would you expect someone to take you to the train, to buy you your ticket, perhaps pack you a sack lunch?”
“Goddammit. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“The truth is, Mr. Odom, you are worth your weight in gold to me. I may just buy myself a tractor with the profit I will make off you. I could use a new tractor.”
“I don’t know what you want,” he repeats.
“What I want is for you to take responsibility. Own up—be a man,” Freddie says, resting the handle on her shoulder. “Now, tell me about the girl.”
“Isabelle? What do you want with her?”
“I want to know what you did to her.”
“Do to her? I did nothing to her. Anyone who says I have not been a good father to her is a liar. A goddamn liar. I may not have been able to give her much, but I have provided the best I could.” Freddie notices that his shirt has bunched up around his middle. She pokes him with the tip of the handle and watches as it sinks into his slack belly. “Tell me about Isabelle. Tell me how you provided for her. Tell me about the baby.”
“Fuck you!” he sputters. “I know what you are, Miss Freddie Bramble. Your sister and I talk about you at night in the dark. I know about you.”
She swings hard, catches him on his left side, just under his ribs. She can feel the bone splinter as she hits. He screams. “Why are you doing this? I never did hurt you. I never did hurt anyone.”
“Tell me about Isabelle. Tell me about the baby.” She pauses for a moment and steps closer to him, close enough to whisper. “Tell me about Alice.”
Panic floods his eyes and he kicks out at her. She steps away as he loses his footing and spins around like a ham dangling in the smokehouse.
“Vile. Unspeakable. Disgusting things they are. You all are. Her and that girl. That Alice. Has she come around here?”
“No, her parents have married her off to a boy from their church. Her mother sent Isabelle a letter. Said Alice had begged her to send it so Isabelle would know what had happened to her. Wouldn’t think she had just abandoned her. Said she only agreed to get married if she saw her put it in the mail.”
“God will punish you,” he says.
Freddie ignores him. “So Alice is gone. A wife. And Isabelle?�
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He begins to cry. “I raised that girl after her mama passed. I didn’t have to do that. I could have left. She’s no relation to me.”
Freddie aims for his left knee. There is a loud bang, like a pistol firing as it shatters. A dark stain runs down the front of Mr. Odom’s pants.
“Now she sits up there with your baby inside her, sadder than anyone should ever be. You did that to her. You should have let her go. Instead, you raped her. You raped her again and again. Lay on her and sweated and grunted and stuck yourself inside her. You made her pregnant with your baby. Her nothing more than a child herself. And not just a child. She was your child. You should have protected her. She had no one else.”
“I meant to make her right,” he sobs. “I only meant to make her right. I thought if she knew a man, I could make her right. I never meant for the other. Jesus as my witness I never meant for the other to happen.”
“You did it because you could do it. There was no one to answer to. You could do it and no one—especially her—had the power to stop you.”
“You don’t understand,” he says. “I only wanted to save her—from herself.”
“Enough,” says Freddie. “I can’t stand any more.” She steps around behind him, raises the handle, and brings it down full force on the back of his head. His skull caves in under the impact, the ax handle leaving a small, channeled indentation down the center. He goes limp and sags lifeless in the harness.
“You are a lying piece of shit,” she says as she leans the handle up against the wall. Freddie fetches the wheelbarrow from the corner and rolls it over to where Mr. Odom hangs. She positions it behind him and then untethers the rope, letting him drop. His head flops back, mouth agape. It is easier to cut the rope than try to untie it—she will only lose a few feet at most, so she uses a large pair of garden sheers to slice through it. She coils the rope and hangs it back where it belongs, hoists the handles of the wheelbarrow, and rolls Mr. Odom’s body to the house.
Lovesick Page 16