The Unforgiven

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Maggie said, dismissing the idea hurriedly.

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  Maggie eyed the girl quizzically. “Why would you want to do that, Evy? I mean, we’ve hardly been friends.”

  “It’s up to you,” said Evy. “Now that Jess is gone, it seems silly to fight.”

  Maggie considered her words sadly. Then she leaned forward and peered at Evy. “Don’t you blame me for what happened to Jess?” she asked.

  The girl looked at her, wide-eyed. “Why should I? He drowned, didn’t he? That’s what they said. It was an accident.”

  Maggie fell back on her pillow. “Yes,” she murmured. “It was an accident.”

  “So, do you want me to?”

  Maggie gazed at her uncomprehendingly. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “To come get you.”

  Maggie thought for a moment. Then she nodded. “That would be a big help.”

  “And then maybe you’ll go to the memorial service with me?”

  “I told you. I don’t want to go.”

  “It just doesn’t seem right,” Evy persisted.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Oh, I know why,” said the girl sagely. “You’re afraid of seeing everybody. After all the things they’ve been saying about you.”

  Maggie stared at the girl.

  “But what about Jess?” Evy went on. “Don’t you want to go for his sake?”

  Maggie thrashed her head from side to side on the pillow. “I don’t know. I just dread the thought.”

  “It won’t be that bad,” the girl reasoned. “You’ll be with me. If I’m not mad at you, why should they be?” She stood up abruptly. “Well, I gotta go.”

  “I’ll think about it. Maybe I will want to go,” Maggie said. “Thanks for coming, Evy. It was nice of you.”

  “See you in the morning,” said Evy, starting for the door.

  Maggie sighed, then flopped her head over on the pillow. In the morning. She wished she could leave tonight.

  “I’m home,” Evy called out as she slammed the back door shut. She glanced at the kitchen clock. It had taken her longer than she thought at the hospital. And she still had a lot to do.

  She selected a bruised banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and began to peel it. Thoughtfully she took a bite and considered what was next, like a hostess planning a party. She had already gotten rid of Owen with that fake phone call from New York. Now, at least, he wouldn’t be getting in the way. She still had a few things to do over at Thornhill’s. So that everything would go smoothly tomorrow. And so that afterward there’d be no doubt in anybody’s mind about what happened.

  And she still had to find her grandfather’s pistol. She knew it was still in the house. Her grandmother kept everything. Evy decided that she had better get started.

  She tossed the skin into the wastebasket and fastidiously wiped the remaining pulp of the banana off her fingers with a paper towel. Then, absorbed in her planning, she started through the living room toward the stairs. A crash from the direction of her grandmother’s room arrested her. Instantly alert, she walked down the hall and pushed open the bedroom door.

  “What’d you do here?” Evy demanded.

  The old woman stared up at her with baleful eyes.

  Evy entered the room and looked around. Then she saw the old telephone extension, which usually sat on the bedside table, resting lopsidedly against the table leg, the receiver hooked on the bed frame, the cord caught on the knob of the table drawer. The girl bent down and picked up the phone, replacing the receiver and moving the phone across the room.

  “We really ought to get rid of this,” said Evy. “You don’t need it anymore. You couldn’t very well answer it if it was ringing. I always have to do it. We should get it moved up to my room.”

  The old woman followed her with her eyes as Evy paced around the bed.

  “What happened to your dinner?” Evy asked sternly, pointing to the bedclothes. A tray of food lay at an angle on the covers. The plates and cup had slid down to one end. A corner of buttered toast clung, buttered-side down, to the faded quilt. A large wet stain in which some noodles were stuck spread out across the bedclothes. Scattered and curled in the dark wet circle, the noodles looked like little organisms trapped in a biologist’s slide.

  “I don’t know,” Evy sighed, then began to collect the dishes, wiping up desultorily with a greasy, crumpled napkin. “I suppose it’s not your fault. I haven’t had much time for you lately. When this is all finished, we’ll have to figure out what to do about you.” Evy leaned over and roughly wiped the corners of the old woman’s slackened mouth.

  “Now, you sit quietly,” said the girl, smoothing the soggy bedclothes over the heaving, spindly rib cage. “I have things to do.”

  For a moment Evy stood, lost in thought, tapping her upper lip with her forefinger. “Come to think of it,” she said, “you’ve probably got what I need right here.” Crossing over to the huge mahogany dresser in the corner of the stuffy room, Evy squatted down and began to tug at the handles of the bottom drawer. The swollen wood creaked and made cracking noises. Patiently, Evy rocked the drawer until she was able to pull it open. Then she sat back on her heels and gazed in at the contents.

  The scent of rose sachet issued in a stale cloud from the open drawer. An expression of delight transformed the girl’s sallow face as she reached in and gently touched the items in the drawer.

  “Oh, look, Grandma,” she exclaimed. “All Mama’s things.” She reached in and gingerly lifted out a silky, quilted bed jacket, which she held up to her cheek. Then she ran her fingers lovingly over a gray suede pocketbook with a clasp shaped like a horse’s head. Evy replaced each item carefully where she found it, until she came across a lacy white handkerchief.

  “Oh, I want this now,” she cried, holding the handkerchief close to her breast. “You said these things would all be mine. You told me that when Mama went away to that hospital,” Evy reminded her grandmother ruefully. “I need this now.” She held up the hanky in front of her to scrutinize it.

  “Mama’d put the collection money in it on Sundays. While the priest’d be talking, she’d be holding it, doing like this.” Evy demonstrated as she spoke, twisting the pressed white linen into a tightly packed wad. She let it loose and the handkerchief hung, limp and ribbed with wrinkles, from her hand. “I won’t keep it,” she assured the old woman. “I’m just going to borrow it.”

  Laying the handkerchief to one side, she resumed her search through the drawer. She lingered over many of the objects she found, admiring aloud a strand of amber beads and stopping to gaze at the high school graduation picture in a cardboard frame, which showed a cool-eyed, thin-lipped face, incongruously crowned by bouncy blond bangs. The shiny, golden hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Reluctantly, Evy replaced the photo in the drawer. Then she let out a little exclamation of victory as she pulled forth a soft black sweater with a round neck. “This is what I want,” she cried. Then she searched carefully in the drawer until she drew out a black lace mantilla, which she folded into a triangle at the bottom.

  She shook out the veil and examined it for any rents or tears. “It’s just like mine,” she told her grandmother. “That’s why I wanted a black one. I remembered it on her,” she said eagerly. Her eyes softened, recalling a long-forgotten picture. “It looked so pretty on her. Those black lacy flowers on her yellow hair. It always made me think of black-eyed Susans.” Evy stared down at the veil, which had fallen into her lap.

  “Why’d she have to go away?” she asked.

  The old woman lay on her bed, remembering. Her eyes were raised to the ceiling. Her lower jaw trembled.

  “You know why,” said Evy slyly. She gathered up her treasures in a little bundle and clutched it to her chest. Then she slammed the dresser drawer shut with an angry shove.

  “You told me why. Now you pretend you don’t know. Well, I know why.” She scrambled to her feet, he
r knuckles whitening from the pressure of her grip on the top drawer of the bureau.

  “Where’s that gun?” she demanded, tugging at the handle until the drawer flew open, nearly knocking her backward. She rifled roughly through the objects in the drawer until her hand emerged, clutching the old pistol that had belonged to a grandfather she could not even remember. “Now I’ve got it,” she cried. She held the gun aloft in one hand, the sweater, gloves, hanky, and veil she had collected in the other.

  “She has it coming to her,” said Evy. “If it weren’t for her, Mama wouldn’t be in that hospital. Daddy wouldn’t be dead and I wouldn’t be here with you. Isn’t that right? Poor Mama. She got so sick because of it she doesn’t even know me now. She has to live in that hospital forever. All because of that woman. Well, tomorrow she’ll get what she deserves. Just like you always told me.”

  The old woman watched her grandchild with glistening, frightened eyes.

  “It’s only right,” said the girl. “Now, you be quiet up here,” Evy ordered. “I have some things to do downstairs.”

  Harriet Robinson watched Evy’s distorted face until she turned away and left the room. Then her eyes traveled over to the telephone, which the girl had moved to the desk top by the far wall. It was no use, and she knew it. Even if she could reach it.

  She listened intently, staring at the ceiling, as Evy undid the latch and opened the door to the basement. Then she flinched as she heard the echo of the girl’s footsteps going down.

  The back porch light was still burning at the Thornhill house. Between that, and the feeble glow of her flashlight, Evy was able to find her way around to the back of the house without tripping and falling. She moved stealthily across the unweeded lawn, testing the doors and windows, which were all locked. The last time she had come, to take care of the dog, they had all been open. She did not really expect to find them so tonight.

  For a few moments she stood ruminating in the ankle-deep weeds. Then she picked up the string bag hooked on her arm and opened it. She shone the flashlight in on its contents. The light flashed off of the silver tie bar with WME III engraved on it in a florid script. She reached into the bag and extracted the worn billfold she had retrieved from Emmett’s suit jacket before she burned it. At the bottom of the bag a gold class ring and a monogrammed cigarette case jingled against the tie bar and one another. She was tempted, for a moment, to keep one of the objects as a souvenir, but she thought better of it. She had to plant them in the house. Somewhere they could be found after a thorough search. For a moment she was stymied by all the locked doors. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. She turned her flashlight on the ground in front of her and picked her way over to the toolshed behind the house. She pulled open the door and shone the light inside. There, just to the left of the doorframe, a set of keys dangled from a nail driven into the wood.

  “They’re all alike around here,” she thought disdainfully. She slung her string bag over the nail by its cord handle, then closed the door to the shed. She could take care of hiding Emmett’s effects in the house in a wink, after she got her other mission done.

  Returning to her car, Evy looked in every direction, but the road was pitch black, and utterly silent. Satisfied, she lifted the trunk door and gazed in at the bulky zippered garment bag which filled the trunk. It was funny. She had looked at that garment bag, hanging in the hall closet, for years and never imagined how useful it would turn out to be. She bent over the trunk and reached into it. She heaved the bag out onto the ground. She glanced over in the direction of the embankment by the stream where the old root cellar was. It was a good thing she had remembered. It was too dark to see anything, but she could picture it in her mind’s eyes. It was a long way to go. With a sigh, Evy decided that she had better begin.

  Slowly, she began to drag the bag along the ground through the whispering grasses, jerking and tugging at it when it got snagged on a small stone or a root. It will take a lot of mothballs before we can ever use this bag again. She moved a little faster now, accustomed to the weight. Good thing I’m strong, she thought. Two years of lifting her grandmother had hardened her muscles. Just a little bit farther.

  She reached the embankment and began to drag the bag down it. Just as she was nearing the door of the root cellar, her foot landed on a mossy rock. She slipped, gave out a tiny shriek, and let go of her bundle. The bag tumbled down the embankment, landing with one edge of it in the rushing stream. Evy caught herself and regained her balance, then she flashed her light down the rocky slope and felt her way carefully down to retrieve the bag.

  Grunting and straining, she pulled it back up the hill and halted outside the heavy wooden door. With one hand she grasped the iron ring that served as a handle, then forced her weight up against it.

  The door to the root cellar flew open. Inside, the damp air was redolent of earth and apples. Evy pulled her bundle inside and shone her flashlight into the corners of the dark, long-deserted cellar.

  “Perfect,” she breathed. It saved her the trouble of digging a hole. And worrying that a good rain might uncover it sometime. No one would ever bother looking back here. Even if they did, they would still place the blame on the late Maggie Fraser.

  She knelt down and placed the flashlight beside the bag. Then, taking in a deep breath and holding it, she gently drew down the zipper. Released by the open zipper, the flaps of the plastic garment bag gaped apart, exposing the putrid, decomposing remains of William Emmett.

  22

  “Having trouble with that?”

  Maggie shook her head stubbornly, refusing help. With renewed concentration she tried to force her trembling fingers to finish buttoning her blouse.

  The nurse, Mrs. Grey, a cheerful, bland-faced woman, brushed Maggie’s fingers away like gnats and completed the job quickly and expertly. “You’re going to be a little shaky,” she assured Maggie.

  “I’m fine,” Maggie insisted. “I’m ready to go.” For the twentieth time that morning she looked out the window of her room for any sign of Evy. Then she sighed and turned back to find the nurse unfolding a wheelchair in the narrow corridor between the foot of the bed and the wall.

  “I don’t want that,” said Maggie.

  Mrs. Grey ignored her. “This is for when you leave,” she said pleasantly. “Just to the front door.” Then she padded out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Where is Evy? Maggie thought impatiently. She regretted having entrusted the girl to come for her. Now she felt constrained to wait. I could have called the taxi and been home by now. In the time I’ve been waiting I could have packed. Home. How silly that sounded now.

  She had been awake since dawn, occasionally taking a fitful nap, but mostly waiting for the moment of her release. It was a gray morning like this, less than a month ago, when she had sat, waiting for another release. The neighbor, Mrs. Bellotti, had come for her at the prison, fed her that night with her family, and had taken her down to the basement where she had stored the few possessions she had salvaged for Maggie after her mother’s house was auctioned. Mrs. Bellotti had been kind, but anxious about keeping an ex-con in her house. After the first night, Maggie had gone to a hotel for a few days while she got ready to travel. To come here. A feeling of gloom settled over her when she considered the failure of her brief stay on the island. It was all she had counted on in that last year of prison. Emmett had offered a new life to her, and she had managed, in a few short weeks, to ruin it. Emmett. She wondered for the hundredth time when he was going to reappear. God—what would he think of his little attempt at rehabilitation. Well, there was no point in thinking about that now.

  Maggie reached down and grabbed her pocketbook, which was slumped beside the bed. She found the ferryboat schedule and checked her watch. There were still two more boats before noon. Maggie glanced worriedly out at the rain. There was a constant drizzle, but it was light. Surely the boats were running. They couldn’t stop running every time there was a little shower. Once again she got up and
walked to the window.

  She had not really expected to see anything, so she started when she spotted Evy, poised by her car, just across the street from the hospital.

  The girl was hatless in the rain, her white hands clutching a paper bag to her narrow chest. She was looking out for traffic before she crossed, her expression at once intent and somehow distracted. The wind ruffled the spiky ends of her hair, which stood straight up from her head, making her appear absurd and wild-looking.

  Maggie frowned, shaking her head at the sight of her. An unlikely friend. For a moment she thought of the good-natured Mrs. Bellotti with a pang. Just then, Evy looked up. Her eyes met Maggie’s. Maggie flinched, forcing a jagged smile. Evy just stared at her, then her eyes fell back to the road. She quickly crossed the street.

  In the time it took Maggie to slip on her shoes and retrieve her coat from the closet, Evy appeared in the doorway of the room.

  “You ready to go?” Evy asked.

  “I’ve been ready for hours,” Maggie admitted.

  “I had things to do,” the girl replied defensively.

  “Oh, that’s all right. I’m just anxious to get going,” Maggie soothed her. “I’ve got to ride in that,” she added, jerking her head in the direction of the wheelchair.

  “I’m used to those,” Evy observed. She bent over and expertly pressed on the joints of the chair, testing its readiness. Then she stood up and produced the paper bag that she had been holding under her arm.

  “I brought you these. I thought you might want to wear them today.”

  Maggie emptied the bag on the bed and frowned as she held up the black sweater and mantilla.

  “For the service,” Evy explained. “I figured you might want to wear something black.”

  “Oh.” Maggie sat down heavily on the side of the bed. “The service.”

  Evy picked up the sweater and held it by the shoulders, displaying it for her. “They’re having some prayers at the church first, and then they’re going on up to the cemetery where Jess’s brother is buried.”