Sins of Innocence

by Jean Stone

“I’m glad you called,” he finally said. “Want to go for a drink?”

  P.J. smiled. “I’m really not much of a drinker, Peter. Besides, we’re both too young.”

  “Not at the Dew-Drop. I’ve been served there since I was sixteen. But it’s okay, if you don’t want to. We can do something else. Whatever you want.”

  It was music to her ears. “Whatever you want.” P.J. smiled. “I’d love some coffee. And I’d love to talk.”

  Peter thought for a moment. “How ’bout if I get us a thermos of coffee at the doughnut shop. Then we can take it out to the lake and have ourselves a real long talk.” He winked at her, and P.J. felt a warm rush between her legs.

  This could be dangerous, she thought, but she heard herself say, “Sure. Sounds great.”

  It was peaceful out at the lake. The moon glowed white over the water, the peepers chirped their low, melodic sounds. Peter poured hot coffee into paper cups, then popped an eight-track tape into the tape player of the truck. It was Johnny Cash, singing about his Folsom Prison blues.

  “I’m glad you finally called,” Peter said. “I’d about given up on you.”

  P.J. smiled and sipped the coffee.

  “How’s your aunt?” he asked.

  What should she do? Should she tell him the truth? P.J. looked down at her lap. The mound might be hidden beneath her tent dress, but it was there. It was real.

  “Peter?” she asked. “Peter, would you kiss me?”

  “Oh, God,” he groaned. He set his cup on the dash. He took P.J.’s from her and placed it beside his. Then he slid a muscular, T-shirted arm around the back of her neck. With his hand he cupped her chin. “God, I’ve been dreamin’ about this,” he said, and gently touched his lips to hers.

  P.J. kissed him back, a long, sweet kiss filled with the promise of things to come. She couldn’t think about the baby now. She couldn’t think about her mother or her father. She couldn’t think about Frank. There was only Peter. The moon, the peepers, and Peter.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jess

  On Sunday evenings Miss Taylor went out. She was always picked up in the same dark car, though it was impossible to see who was inside. Jess wondered if their housemother had a boyfriend, but she was afraid if she mentioned it to the others, they would laugh at her and call her a little kid.

  She sat on the veranda after supper. The sun had gone down, and she looked across the wide lawn through the dim light. It was almost the first of August, nearly six weeks since she’d come close to losing the baby. She couldn’t have borne that, not after losing her mother. But Jess was more than a little afraid of her life after Larchwood; she hadn’t, of course, heard from Richard. But that was Father’s fault, she reassured herself.

  The large front door closed, and Jess turned to see Miss Taylor walking toward her.

  “A lovely evening,” the housemother said, and sat in the wicker chair beside Jess.

  “Yes,” Jess replied. “Did you have a nice time tonight?”

  “Actually I didn’t go out,” the woman said. “My friend had a change of plans.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” Jess looked at her, judging the woman to be in her late forties. Despite that, Jess was amazed at how attractive she was. Her yellow hair was always perfectly in place, her dresses fresh and crisp, and her thinning lips always stained with that bright red lipstick. Jess wondered why Miss Taylor had never married.

  The woman interrupted her thoughts. “How are you feeling, dear?”

  “Oh, fine, Miss Taylor. I’m fine now. I haven’t even had morning sickness for a couple of weeks.”

  Miss Taylor patted the arm of Jess’s chair. “Good. That’s good. Tell me, dear. Have you talked with your father?”

  Jess stiffened.

  “Ah.” The woman nodded and quietly clicked her fingernails. “I thought not. He’s very upset with you, isn’t he, dear?”

  Jess felt her anger grow. It’s his own fault, she wanted to scream. If he hadn’t made my mother kill herself, none of this would have happened. “Yes. Yes, he’s very upset.”

  “If he’s like most men, he’s only upset because he’s frustrated. He’s probably not angry with you at all, but more with the baby’s father. I’ve often found that in these situations, parents blame the boy involved, not their daughters.”

  Jess twisted her ring.

  “What about you, dear? Do you blame the boy?”

  Tears filled Jess’s eyes. Her small body suddenly seemed even smaller in the large wicker chair. She pulled her feet up onto the seat and hugged her knees, coiling her body into a tiny ball.

  She felt Miss Taylor’s arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I love Richard,” Jess said. “But I never meant for this to happen. I’d never done anything like that before.” Her words came tumbling out.

  Miss Taylor hugged Jess more tightly, and Jess wept in her arms, warmed by the woman’s soft bosom.

  “Well, nonetheless,” the housemother said, “I’m certain it’s not you who your father is upset with. No parent could ever be upset with you, my dear. You’re too sweet a child.”

  They stayed on the porch until long after dark, and for the first time in a long, long time, Jess felt as though she had a friend.

  The next morning Jess awoke to a knock on her door. “Miss Jessica,” a coarse voice whispered. It was Mrs. Hines. “Miss Jessica, get yourself downstairs.”

  Jess rubbed her eyes and pulled herself out of a dream. She and Richard had been kissing. She and Richard …

  The knock came again.

  Mrs. Hines. Oh, no, she wondered. Have I done something wrong?

  “Mrs. Hines?” she asked.

  “Downstairs. Make it snappy.”

  Jess rolled out of bed and slid into her long silk robe and quickly brushed her wispy hair. She stepped into slippers, then darted out of the room. What could be so important for Mrs. Hines to wake her? Was Father here? Was Richard? Her heart fluttered with excitement.

  Downstairs, she heard the chatter of voices in the kitchen. She pushed open the big door and saw Miss Taylor and Mrs. Hines standing at the oak table. On the table was a large straw basket. The two women looked at Jess and smiled.

  Well, it wasn’t Father, and it wasn’t Richard. She held back her disappointment.

  “Good morning,” Jess said.

  “Good morning, dear,” Miss Taylor said. She was, as usual, dressed impeccably, even in this early hour. “Jess, something arrived here this morning which you might be interested in.”

  “What?”

  Miss Taylor smiled again, picked up the straw basket, and held it out toward Jess. “Take a look.”

  Jess reached for the basket and plucked back the red quilted fabric on top. There, looking up at her, was a pair of tiny blue eyes surrounded by fluffy white fur. The creature yawned and stretched out its little pink tongue.

  “A kitten!” Jess squealed. “Whose is it?”

  “It’s yours, my dear,” Miss Taylor said. “At least, it will be yours to take care of while you’re at Larchwood, if you like.”

  “Mine?” Jess couldn’t believe it. It was the prettiest kitten she’d ever seen. “Oh, yes, yes! I’ll take care of it! But where did it come from?”

  “The sheriff. Mr. Wilson,” Mrs. Hines said. “He found a litter behind the post office. He’s the postmaster, too, you know.”

  Jess remembered the scraggly man with the bulbous nose.

  “He dropped this one off,” Miss Taylor continued. “He thought you girls might enjoy having it around.”

  Jess felt a twinge of guilt over how she’d reacted to the man. “Isn’t that nice.”

  “Yes,” Miss Taylor said. “He is a very nice man.”

  “Well, what will we name it?” Jess asked.

  “It’s up to you,” Miss Taylor said.

  “I wonder if it’s a boy or a girl.”

  Mrs. Hines snarled, “Don’t rightly matter at that age! Can’t ri
ghtly tell too easily either. But no matter what you call it, if you want it, you take care of it. I ain’t cleanin’ up after no cat. Got me enough work around here.”

  Jess took the little bundle from the basket and held it close to her, trying to ignore the housekeeper’s sharpness.

  “Why don’t we name it something that would suit either a boy or a girl,” she said quietly, then added, “I’ve got it! Why don’t we name it ‘Larchwood’?”

  “Perfect!” Miss Taylor said. “Now I think Larchwood could use a saucer of milk!”

  Jess looked into the kitten’s blue eyes. Oh, Larchwood, she thought, you’re really too perfect. You and I will be very good friends. I will love you and take care of you. She held the kitten up to get a closer look. And when Richard comes to get me, you’ll be part of our family too.

  During the day Jess carried Larchwood around in the straw basket and took the kitten out to play as often as possible. Mrs. Hines grudgingly relinquished an old ball of yarn, which Larchwood loved to chase, batting it until it unraveled. At night the kitten slept quietly in Jess’s room in its basket; in the morning Jess snuggled with it and played with it under the covers, whispering to it her secrets and her plans, telling it all about Richard and about the wonderful family they were going to have. The kitten listened quietly and licked her hand as she spoke. In return Jess loved it and cared for its every need.

  One August afternoon Jess was on the veranda with the kitten. She had bought a tiny pink rhinestone collar for Larchwood and was trying to put it on the wriggling cat. P.J. came out onto the porch.

  “How’s little Larchwood doing today?” she asked.

  “Help me out, P.J., would you please? I just need her to sit still long enough so I can put her collar on.”

  P.J. stepped back. “I don’t know, Jess. When I was a kid, cats made me sneeze.”

  “It’ll only take a minute. Please?”

  “Oh, okay,” P.J. said, and reached for the kitten. “She really is cute.”

  Jess, the proud mother, started to loop the strap around the kitten’s neck.

  P.J. sneezed. Larchwood jumped from her arms and scampered across the veranda.

  “Stop her!” Jess screamed, and jumped from her chair. P.J. stood in place, sneezing. Jess ran after Larchwood, just as Ginny emerged from the front door. Ginny reached down and scooped up the runaway kitten.

  “Lose something?” she asked Jess, holding the kitten up high with one hand.

  “Oh, Ginny, thanks.” Jess reached out to take Larchwood from Ginny, but Ginny held the kitten higher.

  “Cats are terrible creatures,” Ginny said. “Their piss smells like sneakers, and the only thing they’re good for is catching rodents. They’re really disgusting.”

  Jess felt a twinge of fear. “Come on, Ginny, give her to me.” She reached toward the kitten again, but Ginny pulled it back. The kitten wriggled in Ginny’s palm.

  “Are you sure you want it? Cats carry all kinds of diseases, you know.”

  “Give her the cat, Ginny!” Miss Taylor had appeared behind the door.

  Ginny shrugged and handed Larchwood to Jess. “Christ, I was only trying to have a little fun. This place is so boring, it’s making me nuts.”

  Jess took the kitten and held it close to her. She nuzzled her gently and petted her. “It’s okay, little Larchwood,” she whispered. “It’s okay.” What a creep that Ginny could be, Jess thought. God, I don’t think I like her. Not one bit.

  P.J. had finally stopped sneezing. “Sorry, Jess,” she said. “It was my fault.”

  Jess shook her head.

  “Yes, it was,” P.J. persisted.

  “Christ, what a bunch of crybabies,” Ginny hissed. “What’s the problem? I’ll take care of it.”

  “No. There’s no problem. Never mind,” Jess said.

  “Christ, I said I’d help!”

  “I think you should, Ginny,” Miss Taylor said, as she disappeared back inside.

  “Okay,” Jess relented. “If you could just hold the kitten while I put on her collar.…”

  “Sure, sure,” Ginny said, taking the kitten from Jess. “But, Christ, don’t tell anyone I spent an afternoon playing house with a fucking cat.”

  Susan

  Inside the living room Susan could hear the annoying sounds of the girls arguing. Shallow stuff. Bickering. Always bickering. A favorite pastime of the ignorant. And Ginny was always at the root of it. The ultimate antagonist. God, she’d give anything to be around people her own age!

  Susan tossed aside the local newspaper in disgust. A few days ago Sirhan Sirhan had pleaded Not Guilty to Robert Kennedy’s assassination. Yesterday Ronald Reagan announced he was joining the presidential race on the Republican ticket. Reagan! A goddamn actor! What was this country coming to when a ne’er-do-well caught red-handed thought he could get away with murder, and a plastic face from Hollywood, no less, thought he could run America? And this goddamn newspaper! There was more in-depth reporting about church bazaars and who’s-marrying-whom than there was about important issues like peace and politics.

  “Screw it,” Susan said aloud. “I’ve got to get a real newspaper.” She got up off the sofa and decided to go find Pop. Maybe he’d let her borrow the station wagon to make a quick run into town for The New York Times. She knew she’d never have a shot at finding a Village Voice around here, but at least the Times could give her some intelligent insight into what was happening in the world.

  Choosing to avoid the commotion on the front porch, Susan walked through the kitchen and out the back door. She spotted Pop right away. He was bent over a huge bed of coral and pink impatiens, muttering to himself. As Susan approached, he looked up and wiped the sweat from his soiled brow.

  “Too hot. It’s just too hot for these beauties,” he said. “They’re losing their color and losing their spirit.”

  “I know the feeling,” Susan said. “Pop, would you mind if I borrowed the station wagon for a few minutes? I really need to get into town, and I don’t want to bother you.”

  Pop rubbed his chin. “Well, now, I’m not rightly sure, Miss Susan. I don’t think old Bess has any insurance to cover you.” He stressed the first syllable of the word, a habit Susan found irritating.

  “It’ll be okay, Pop. It’s just a couple of miles, and besides, I have insurance that covers me when I’m driving someone else’s car.”

  He turned back to the faded flowers. “Well, I guess it’ll be all right. Long as we don’t make a habit of it. Old Bess is all I’ve got. The keys are in her.”

  “Thanks, Pop,” Susan said, and with a newfound taste of freedom, however small, she skipped toward the station wagon. Susan got behind the wheel and adjusted the seat to accommodate her long legs and five-months-pregnant belly. She slammed the door, dimly aware of renewed chaos coming from the front porch. She started the car, threw it into reverse, and stepped on the gas. Over the sound of the gunned engine Susan heard Jess’s piercing scream. Then she felt a thump under the wheel.

  Susan stopped the car. She turned to see Jess, P.J., and Ginny racing toward the car. Jess was screaming; P.J.’s face was twisted in pain; Ginny had her hand to her mouth.

  “Jesus Christ!” Ginny shouted. “Jesus H. Christ!”

  Suddenly Susan knew what had happened. She jumped from the car. The kitten. That stupid little kitten Jess had been hovering over for days. Susan slowly turned to look beneath the car’s wheel. A clump of white fur was flattened and soaked with bright red blood. A small blue eye popped from its socket.

  “Oh, God,” Susan said.

  “Larchwood!” Jess screeched. “You’ve killed Larchwood!” She burst into tears.

  P.J. stared beneath the wheel.

  Ginny awkwardly put an arm around Jess. “Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t hold her tight enough.”

  Jess shook her head. “It’s not your fault. If Susan had watched where she was going …” Jess spun around to Susan. “I can’t believe you killed my kitten!”

  Sus
an stood motionless, speechless. She had never killed anything before. Not a kitten, not a spider, not an ant. Her legs felt like jelly.

  Pop emerged from the backyard, trowel in hand. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Susan killed Larchwood!” P.J. said, and pointed to the bloody mass on the ground.

  “Oh, Lord,” he said, then rubbed his chin. “You girls best get inside. I’ll take care of this.”

  Ginny steered Jess toward the house.

  Susan took a step forward. “Jess,” she called.

  “Shut up, bitch,” Ginny said.

  Susan didn’t know what to do. She felt as though she should help Pop remove the dead kitten. She felt as though she should follow the girls into the house. Instead, she stood perfectly still.

  “Out of the way, Miss Susan,” Pop said. “I’ll clean up this mess.”

  She moved aside, then looked up at the house. With mechanical steps, Susan began to walk. She had to apologize to Jess. She had to explain it had been an accident.

  She found the girls upstairs. P.J. was standing by the door of Jess’s room; Ginny stood in the hall. As the girls saw Susan approach, they stared at her. Susan walked past them into the room. Miss Taylor was sitting beside Jess on the bed, trying to comfort her.

  “Maybe Sheriff Wilson can find another kitten for us,” Miss Taylor was saying.

  Jess had stopped crying and sat staring, glassy-eyed, straight ahead. “No,” she finally said. “No, it’s no use. Everything I’ve ever loved has left me.”

  Susan was struck by the tone of her voice. Though the words suggested self-pity, there was none of that in the sound. What Jess was voicing was simply what she believed to be the truth.

  “That’s not true,” Susan said.

  The watery eyes looked up at her.

  “You have Richard.”

  Jess glared at P.J. and Ginny. They had told Susan. They had told her about the plan. She shifted her gaze back to the window.

  “What do you know about Richard?”

  Susan cleared her throat and walked to the bed. With Miss Taylor there, she wasn’t about to tell Jess that P.J. had told her of Jess’s plans to run away with Richard.