The Unforgiven

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “Carla’s.”

  Maggie’s attention wandered, and her eyes drifted back to the boys, who were noisily chewing on her pie. Suddenly, as she watched, Martin’s face assumed a curiously disturbed expression. He brought his hand up hesitantly toward his mouth. Just then, the older boy started and let out a guttural noise.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Grace, turning to them.

  Maggie looked at Martin’s face. The little face was pale, his large eyes staring up fearfully. His mouth worked automatically, like a machine he couldn’t stop. As Maggie watched in horror, a little speck of foamy blood appeared under his upper lip. At the same instant, a gash seemed to open spontaneously in his tender lower lip, and a rivulet of blood began to seep down the shiny chin.

  Grace shrieked and ran to the boy. Maggie’s eyes darted to Raymond, who had dropped his blood-spattered plate and was bringing his hands up to his own face. He parted his lips, and she could see the blood outlining his teeth in scarlet. Slowly it began to stream out of each corner of his mouth.

  “Martin!” Grace cried.

  “Raymond too,” screamed Alice Murphy, who had materialized out of the crowd that was gathering.

  “Spit it out,” Grace screamed at her son. “Don’t swallow it.” Forcibly she opened the child’s mouth with her fingers. The pulpy mass of apples and pastry was stained through with blood. Grace reached in and scraped out what she could with her fingers. The curly-headed child began to gag violently.

  A man in a flannel shirt had Raymond pressed up against his knee, and he was thumping on his back. “Spit it out,” he commanded. “Whatever it is, boy, get rid of it.” The older child’s eyes seemed to bug out of his head as he expectorated the pie filling, then began to vomit.

  Grace clutched her youngest’s pale, sweaty forehead to her breast and tried to shake the offending apples congealed in blood off her fingers. As she rubbed her fingers she cried out, then looked closer.

  “Glass,” she whispered. She looked up slowly at Maggie, who had watched the scene from where she stood, rooted to the ground behind the table. “There’s glass in this pie,” she muttered, her eyes widening first in horror, then in a gathering fury.

  The man in the flannel shirt lifted Raymond up in his arms and spoke sharply to Grace and to the people in the crowd who were watching helplessly. “We’ve got to take these boys to the hospital. Somebody help Gracie there with Martin.”

  Urgent hands pried the swooning child free from his mother’s viselike grasp and helped the woman to her feet. “Come on, Grace,” said Evy, who had joined the group surrounding her.

  Grace looked at Maggie in uncomprehending, unspeakable fury. “Come along with your boys,” insisted Alice Murphy soothingly.

  Grace tore her wrath-filled eyes away from Maggie’s. “Martin!” she cried out plaintively. “Raymond!”

  A tide of people bore the mother away, close behind the men who were hurrying toward a nearby station wagon, carrying her sons.

  Pale and stiff, Maggie watched as the commotion obscured the injured boys. Her head felt light and dizzy. Slowly she noticed that several of the people who remained had turned toward her and were directing menacing glances at her.

  “What kind of a monster would put glass in a pie?” cried a woman with frizzled blond hair, glaring at Maggie.

  Maggie brought her hand to her chest, as if to shield her heart from their penetrating stares.

  “I don’t know,” Maggie murmured.

  The frizzled blonde jabbed a finger near Maggie’s face. “You made that pie. I heard you telling them.”

  Maggie shook her head in dumb protest as more people in the crowd turned to look at her.

  “Didn’t you make it?” the woman demanded.

  A party of people were shepherding Grace and her injured boys toward a waiting car. Maggie watched their movement as if she were a statue with a living brain. She struggled to make her mouth work. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and at her hairline.

  “Didn’t you?” shrieked the woman.

  Among the people in the crowd, Maggie’s eyes suddenly focused on Evy, who stood to the side of the people hovering over the boys. Evy seemed to sense that she was being watched, and she looked up. She returned the stare for a moment and then turned her back. In that moment Maggie discerned a flicker of scorn in her eye that galvanized her.

  Maggie’s hand shot out in front of her like a bayonet. She poked at the red-faced woman who was blocking her path and shoved her away. A hand reached out for her but she shook it off. Eyes blazing, Maggie advanced on the knot of people who were arranging the boys in the backseat of the car. Peripherally, she could see a weeping Grace being forced into the front seat, then the door slamming. Maggie trained her eyes on Evy and strode toward her. She could hear shouts coming from behind her, but she could not make out the words through the pounding in her own ears.

  A hail of dirt and gravel shot out behind the tires as the car started and shot away from the curb. The bystanders watched it go, distress etched in their faces. Evy turned and saw Maggie barreling toward her, wild-eyed. Quickly she pivoted and began to hurry away from the approaching woman.

  Maggie broke into a run and overtook the girl. She grabbed Evy’s thin upper arm with a force that jerked the girl back to a position where they were facing each other.

  “Let go of me,” Evy insisted, avoiding Maggie’s maddened stare.

  “You did this,” Maggie cried out hoarsely, tightening her grip on Evy’s arm.

  Evy’s eyes widened. Her pale skin was like tissue paper, and a blue vein throbbed in her forehead. Fear rose like a vapor in her eyes. “You’re crazy,” she said.

  Maggie shook the girl, grabbing her other arm and drawing her face up close to her own infuriated visage. “Don’t play the innocent with me. You told me to bake that pie. Then you put something in it. You wanted to get back at me because of Jess. Because you’re jealous. Admit it. I won’t let you go until you do.”

  Evy squirmed to free herself from Maggie’s grip, but the older woman only shook her harder. The stunned silence of the bystanders who had heard Maggie’s shouted accusations began to dissolve into an angry buzz. “Let her alone,” one man called out.

  Evy’s head lolled back and forth as Maggie shook her. “Tell them. Tell them what you did. I’m not letting go until you tell them.” The girl suddenly went limp in Maggie’s grasp. Maggie gave Evy’s unresisting form one last jerk, and then she stared, still clutching her arms, into Evy’s pale eyes. For a moment their eyes met, Maggie’s furious, Evy’s vague and stunned. Then, as Maggie watched, the girl’s blue irises rolled back, and the lids came down to almost cover them. A thin, crimson drop appeared in Evy’s left nostril, and then a trickle of blood began trailing down her upper lip.

  Maggie released her immediately, as if her flesh burned, and the girl slumped over. Another stream of blood, scarlet against her white skin, rolled from Evy’s right nostril.

  “Somebody help her.”

  Maggie jumped back as two men came forward and put their arms around the fainting girl. Maggie trembled uncontrollably.

  “She’ll be okay. It’s a nosebleed,” said the familiar voice of one of the men who held Evy. “Okay, Evy?”

  Maggie watched as Jess supported the frail girl and tried to cajole a sign of understanding from her. She could feel the angry eyes boring into her from every direction.

  “I didn’t mean to,” Maggie whispered. “I just…”

  “Why’d you grab her like that?” the woman with the blond frizzy hair began castigating her. “She didn’t do anything to you.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Maggie said. “I didn’t want to hurt her.…” Her voice became a cry, choked by the tears she was swallowing.

  Jess looked up at her for a moment.

  “Tell them I didn’t do it, Jess,” she pleaded.

  The sadness and confusion in his eyes undid her. He shook his head helplessly and turned back to Evy.

  Maggie whe
eled around and began to push through the crowd. A few people reached out to restrain her, but she shook herself free of their grasp. She began to run, tripping and staggering away from the circle around Evy.

  “You’re sick,” a woman called out angrily, as Maggie staggered away. The sound of the voice reached her, but the words were blurred and held no meaning for her as she ran.

  12

  Jess opened the passenger door of his car and looked in worriedly at the girl who rested limply there, her head angled back against the top of the seat. “We’re home,” he said softly.

  Evy’s bluish, translucent eyelids fluttered, and she gazed up silently at him.

  “You think you can make it?”

  Evy nodded and swung her legs out onto the gravel in the driveway. Jess offered her his arm, and Evy stood up. She took a few tentative steps, and then they slowly began to make their way toward the back door of her grandmother’s house. They had gone about fifteen feet when the girl’s knees buckled, and she sagged against Jess, who was holding her arm.

  “I got ya,” Jess breathed. Slipping an arm behind her knees and another under her back, he lifted her up and began to carry her across the high brown grass of the untended lawn. Evy’s head drooped against his shoulder, and she clasped him tightly as he steered them toward the house.

  “You’re light,” he said in mild astonishment as he easily took the back steps and opened the door with the use of one free finger and his foot.

  “I’m too skinny,” she stated sadly.

  Jess smiled at her. “You’re just right,” he said, entering the kitchen. “Where’s Grandma?”

  “Back in her room, probably. In bed.”

  “Well, let’s get you to bed, and then I’ll talk to her,” he said.

  “To the left and up the stairs,” said Evy, pointing to the kitchen door. “I can walk if you want.”

  “No,” said Jess, shifting her weight slightly in his arms. “I’ll take you up.”

  Jess carried the girl through the gloomy living room, which was crowded with heavy mahogany furniture and a faded, stuffed sofa and chairs. The house smelled spoiled and musty to Jess, but he tried not to wrinkle his nose for fear that the girl would be hurt by his show of distaste.

  Evy seemed to sense his thoughts. “I guess I should open a window in here. It’s just that Grandma gets a chill so easily.”

  “It’s fine,” Jess assured her. He began to climb the stairs toward Evy’s room.

  “Over there,” she pointed as they reached the top step. In the dark hall, Jess could see the door, slightly ajar, to which she pointed. He pushed it open further with his foot and carried her in. He tried to conceal his surprise at the sight of the room, which was that of a much younger girl, complete with a doll perched on a nearby skirted chair. As he set Evy down gently on the quilted bedspread and sat down beside her, he felt protective of the girl, like a parent carrying a child to a sickroom. He arranged the pillow beneath her head, then looked down at her wan face.

  “Just like a bride,” Evy said thoughtfully. “Being carried over the doorstep.”

  Startled, Jess stared at Evy. “Do you need a blanket?” he asked abruptly. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she said solemnly. “I’m okay.”

  “Good,” said Jess gruffly. “Now, you know what the doctor said. You just rest, and take it easy…”

  “You’ve never been here before…” the girl observed.

  “In this house? Why, sure I have,” Jess protested. “Several times.”

  “In my room,” said Evy, looking down at her hand, which still rested on his taut forearm.

  With a feigned casualness, Jess crossed his arms in front of his chest and squinted in an exaggerated display of concentration. Evy’s hand dropped to the coverlet. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “I don’t think I have.”

  “Is this how you thought it would look?” she asked.

  Taken aback, Jess hesitated for a moment. He was about to say that he had never thought about it, but the expectant look in her eyes made him stop. “It’s very nice,” he said kindly. “It has a lot of you in it.”

  “I’ve imagined you here,” she said earnestly. She raised herself up on one elbow. “Sitting here with me, just like this.”

  “Well,” said Jess heartily, “you should have invited me.” Instantly he regretted the remark, but Evy did not seem to have noticed it, intent as she was on what she wanted to say.

  “And now, all of a sudden, you’re here.”

  Jess studied the serious, intense expression on her pinched face and felt a twinge of sadness for her. The girl’s loneliness seemed to whisper through the walls of the shabby room. A room that preserved the relics of a childhood she had never really enjoyed. “You’ve had a lot to contend with,” he said quietly. He reached over impulsively and smoothed down her disheveled hair. “Now you should rest.”

  Instead of lying back, the girl suddenly sat up and slipped her arms around Jess’s neck. She clung to him, her damp cheek pressed to his rough one, her arms locked awkwardly around him. “Please don’t leave,” she whispered. “Stay here with me.”

  Jess felt his heart constrict with alarm. He resisted the urge to push her away, instead patting her gently on the back in a rotating motion, as if she were a child.

  “It’s all right now,” he murmured, although the tightening of her arms made it difficult to speak. “Lie down now. You have to take it easy. You heard the doctor.” As he spoke he rubbed her forearms, gently prying them off his neck. “You need to get some rest. You’ll feel much better when you do.”

  “No,” she croaked, still clinging to him. “I love you, Jess. I need you to stay here with me. You can do whatever you want with me. It’s all right. Just please stay.”

  “That’s enough now,” Jess interrupted her. “You’re very upset. You have to rest.”

  “No,” Evy cried. “I mean it. I need you.”

  Shaken by her outburst, Jess groped for a soothing answer. “Listen,” he began. “We’re friends, right? We’re good friends. And you’re very tired, and you’re upset by all that’s happened. So you’re saying these things, but you’re not yourself.…” He hesitated.

  Evy slowly loosened her grip and fell back to the pillow. She did not look at Jess. Her face was white and still. The room was silent.

  “Are you okay?” Jess asked softly.

  “Yes,” she said, staring at the wall.

  “Can I get anything for you?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Okay.” Jess sighed unintentionally and tried to cover it with a cough. “I’m going over to the hospital now, see how the boys are getting along.”

  Evy did not respond to his words.

  “I’m sure they’ll be anxious to hear how you are. Can I tell them you’re feeling better?” he asked.

  “I don’t care,” Evy whispered.

  “Evy,” said Jess earnestly, taking her frail, unresponsive hand between his own. “This has been a terrible day for you. You’ll feel more like yourself tomorrow. And we can talk, if you want. I think it would be good for us to talk…”

  He watched her face, but it remained expressionless. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. Finally, he plunged on. “What happened today at the fair. Well, that was very painful, but I know the kind of person you are. You realize that Maggie didn’t mean to hurt you. I know you’ll be able to forgive and forget…”

  Evy stared at him, her face an icy mask. “Are you still going back to her? Even after all that happened today?” she asked.

  Jess frowned and looked down at their entwined fingers. Then Evy jerked her hand from between his. “I’m tired,” she said, then rolled over on her side, her back to him.

  With another sigh, which he made no effort to conceal, Jess squeezed her shoulder and got up from the bed. Evy did not turn around.

  Jess closed the door to her room behind him and descended the stairs. Snorting once again at the distasteful smell of the house
, he poked through the rooms on the first floor until he found the bedroom of Evy’s grandmother. The old woman was lying in her bed, swathed in rumpled sheets and blankets. All the shades were drawn and the room had a dark, unpleasant odor all its own. One lamp burned dimly on a table near the bed. Jess approached the bedside and leaned over.

  “Harriet,” he said softly.

  The woman’s feeble eyes moved to his face. She opened her mouth with great effort and tried, unsuccessfully, to speak.

  “Harriet,” Jess continued. “I’ve just brought Evy home. She’s up in bed. She got in a little accident at the fair today and she had a nosebleed, but she’s fine now. Dr. Sorensen looked at her,” he said, speaking in loud, slow tones so that the woman could follow his words, “and he says she’ll be fine. She just has to rest.”

  The old woman stared beseechingly into Jess’s face, and her dry, cracked lips twitched spasmodically. Jess could see that she was trying to lift her disabled hand to grab at his shirt. “It’s all right,” he insisted, patting the withered hand. “Really. She’ll be okay. She’ll probably be down here in no time to take care of you. Is there anything I can get for you now? Tea or something?”

  Oblivious to his reassurances, the woman’s eyes continued to plead silently with him, her hand clawing helplessly at the bedcovers.

  “What is it?” Jess asked, his eyes filled with pity. “I wish I could help you. I guess your granddaughter is the only one who can really understand.”

  The young man straightened up and gave the old woman’s hand a squeeze.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he started for the door. “Evy will be fine. Really.” As he reached the doorframe to go out, he turned around and waved. The old woman made a last, desperate effort to lift her hand to call him back, but he was already gone.

  The effort to try to speak had left her nearly breathless, and her birdlike chest heaved as she lay, bound up in her wadded bedclothes. She heard the back door of the house slam shut. A few moments later she heard the sound of the engine starting up in the driveway, as Jess’s car pulled out.

  For a moment, throughout the house, all was silent. The old woman raised her eyes to the ceiling where, on the floor above, her granddaughter rested. Then, all her useless muscles drooping, she closed them again, as if in surrender. As if to shut out everything she knew.