by Jayne Pupek
Now Mama clenches her teeth when she speaks. Her voice is thick and dark like cough syrup.
“I’m sorry I didn’t drink my juice, Mama.” I don’t argue. I hadn’t finished my juice this morning because she wouldn’t wait for me. She’d walked into the kitchen wearing her coat and said, “Come on, Ellie, we’re going to the market, now.”
I stay quiet. Left alone, Mama might settle herself, maybe pick up her knitting needles and work on the blue blanket for Baby Tom. That sometimes calms her.
I move to the sink. Dirty dishes are piled on the counter and fill the sink. A dead fly floats in the dishwater that’s been standing for days.
I’m falling behind on the housework; there is so much to do.
I squeeze a green glob of Palmolive onto a dishrag.
“Don’t use so much! They don’t give the damn soap away!”
“Yes, Mama.” I kneel on the floor and wipe up the spilled juice. I bury my face in my hands and sob. I miss Daddy and don’t understand how he could just go away. I miss Mama, who has gone away without leaving.
Mama walks around the kitchen, putting the groceries away, slamming cabinet doors. Then she goes into the living room to sit in a chair by the window. I watch her nervous fingers pick at a mole on her neck until it bleeds.
I go into the living room and whisper into her ear, “Mama, don’t hurt yourself.” My mother smells bad. Her hair, her breath, even her skin has a sour smell. She hasn’t taken a bath or changed clothes in days.
In the upstairs bathroom, I find a clean washcloth, wet it with warm water and soap. I wring some of the water into the sink, then walk back downstairs to the living room where Mama sits. I move slowly, trying my best not to say or do anything to upset her. She’s been tense all day, and the outburst in the market didn’t seem to calm her. Her knuckles are white, and she keeps digging at the mole on her neck. I hum to her. Then gently, like peeling a Band-Aid from tender skin, I pull Mama’s fingers away from her neck and lay the warm wet cloth where she’s bleeding.
The small mole on Mama’s neck hangs by a thin piece of skin. I don’t know how to take it off without hurting, so I leave it to dangle. Clara says some wounds heal themselves. I hope she’s right.
A knocking sound startles me. Somebody’s at the door. “I’ll get that, Mama,” I say.
Three days ago, Sheriff Rhodes said he knew Daddy’s whereabouts, then left for Tennessee. Maybe the sheriff’s brought Daddy home instead of putting him in jail. Or maybe Daddy’s come back like he promised, with his hands too full to reach into his pockets.
But it isn’t Daddy. It’s only Miss Wilder.
I try to smile. I don’t want her to think I’m unhappy to see her, but I’ve had my bag packed for weeks. I want my daddy so bad, it hurts. I close the door partially so she can’t see too far inside.
“Hi, Ellie. I just wanted to visit for a bit. Maybe see how your counseling sessions are going, talk with your mother. She hasn’t answered the notes I’ve sent, so I thought we could all talk together. Is this a good time?” she asks.
“No, it’s not a good time, not really. My mother is napping. She doesn’t feel well.”
“Oh, I see. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
Miss Wilder knows I’m lying. I can tell by her face, the way it seems torn between a smile and a frown.
I know that Miss Wilder’s noticed changes in me. She watches me when she’s at her desk grading papers or standing on the playground near the swings. Last week, I missed six of my spelling words and she’d asked, “Is everything all right at home?” I told her yes, but she hadn’t seemed to believe me. She’d asked again, “Ellie, are you sure? You know you can come to me …” and her voice trailed to that worried sound.
I’ve tried so hard, but I know I’m not the same girl. I don’t even look the same.
“Maybe you can visit another time.” Miss Wilder mustn’t see Mama, or the unswept floors, or the dirty clothes piled on the stairs.
“That would be nice.” Miss Wilder smiles again. “I really would like to visit. And please, I think the visit should be soon. The school year’s almost over, and we need to talk.”
Part of me wants to scream out to Miss Wilder, to tell her all the awful things that are happening, but I only nod. I’ve got to keep quiet. If anyone finds out how Mama behaves, the doctors will take her away. I’ll be sent to an orphanage or foster home, and Daddy won’t know where to find me when he comes back.
“Oh, I brought a cake,” Miss Wilder says. “It’s nothing much. Lemon-vanilla swirl. Just trying a new recipe.” She hands me a white Tupperware, and I open the door a bit wider to squeeze the container inside.
“Thank you, Miss Wilder.”
“You could bring the container back to my house if you like, Ellie. You remember where I live? I’d love your company. Belle has learned a new trick or two.”
I nod and thank her again. My bag is already packed for Daddy, and I can’t leave until he comes home, but for a moment, I think about going with her. I think about grabbing my bag and my sweater and walking to Miss Wilder’s house, where everything is clean and warm.
Instead, I close the door and lock it so no one can come inside. My mother needs me, and soon, my father will be home. I can wait a little longer.
After Miss Wilder leaves, I sit on the floor and open the Tupperware. Inside is a perfect cake, swirled white and yellow, and covered with glaze. The cake smells like lemons and butter, and I am hungry, but I feel too sad to eat it. I look at the pretty cake and remember the parties Mary Roberts and I had when we were friends. I think about the Sunday school picnic coming up this weekend, and how much I’d love to go.
A car engine rumbles outside and brings me back from daydreams. It sounds as if someone has parked in front of our house. I wonder if Miss Wilder came back? Or maybe Mrs. Roberts sent over the minister like she said she might. I leave the cake on the floor, then stand up to peek out the window.
Sheriff Rhodes opens his car door and steps out. He adjusts his wide-brimmed hat, but before he shuts the door, leans inside his car to speak to someone in back.
I cup my hands around my eyes to block the sun so I can see. The person is too small to be a man. I see the pale blonde hair, and I know.
Sheriff Rhodes has brought Tess, but where is Daddy?
FORTY-ONE
ONION SANDWICH
I DON’T WAIT FOR Sheriff Rhodes to come inside. I pull open the front door and shout, “Where’s Daddy?”
Tears stream down my face. “I want Daddy!” I pull on Sheriff Rhodes’s shirt. I’ll make him tell.
“Ellie, honey, please calm down.” Sheriff Rhodes places his large hands on my shoulders.
“You promised you’d bring my daddy back safe! Where is he? And why did you bring her? She doesn’t belong here!” I point at Tess.
“Now hush, Ellie. You don’t want the neighbors to come outside and see you acting this way, do you?” Sheriff Rhodes kneels in front of me and looks into my face.
I shake my head. I know about things you can’t let people see.
“That’s a good girl.” He pauses. “In just a minute, we’ll have to go tell your mama the news. But I’ll tell you first, give you a chance to let it sink in before we go inside, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper. My stomach tightens.
“I found your daddy, and I didn’t hurt him,” Sheriff Rhodes explains. “I kept my promise, Ellie. But he refused to come with me, said he was the only one who knew how to take care of Tess. He wouldn’t leave her. I had to get assistance from the Tennessee deputies to bring him in. He and the deputies got a little scuffed up in the process, but your Daddy is okay. Just a few bruises.”
“But where is he?” I wipe tears from my eyes. I’m glad Daddy was found safe, but don’t want to think of him struggling to break free. I don’t want to picture him bruised or hurt.
Sheriff Rhodes clears his throat. “Ellie, honey, your daddy is in jail. You know I had to …”
“
No, you didn’t! You’re the sheriff. You don’t have to lock anybody up unless you want to! You just don’t like my daddy.”
“No, Ellie.” He stares into my eyes. “I locked up your father because he killed a man.”
I forget about the neighbors. I hurt so bad inside I have to hurt someone back. I start hitting Sheriff Rhodes. “That’s not true! It’s not true!”
He doesn’t yell or smack me. Instead he puts his arms around me and holds me tight. And I cry. I cry until I think my face may break open like a shell.
“GOOD GOD, JULIA, what have you done?”
Sheriff Rhodes rubs his unshaven beard with both hands. He stares at Mama as if he sees a ghost.
In the days that Sheriff Rhodes has been gone, Mama hasn’t bathed, changed her clothes, or combed her hair. She’s hardly eaten and can’t sleep because Baby Tom is colicky and cries all night. She looks thin, sick, and dirty.
Mama picks at the mole on her neck, making it bleed again. She tugs at the mole, then touches her face, smudging blood on her cheek.
Mama stares at the sheriff. “Did you find him, then?”
“Yes, Julia.”
Mama wraps her arms around herself as if the room suddenly turned cold. She looks out the window, doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, then turns toward Sheriff Rhodes. “Where’s his little whore? Did you find her, too, George? Go on, you can tell me. Was he with his whore when you found him?”
“Mama!” I cover my ears with my hands. I don’t want to hear.
“Julia, listen to me.” Sheriff Rhodes kneels by Mama’s chair. He pulls his handkerchief from his pocket and wipes Mama’s neck, then takes her hand in his. “This is important, honey. Rupert is in trouble. We found the gun. There’s enough evidence to convict him. God knows, I wish that wasn’t true, but it is. He’s going to need a good lawyer, and I’m not sure you’re in any shape to take care of this. You’ve got to come up with the retainer. Might have to take out a loan, mortgage the house. You’ve got to pull yourself together. Maybe you should call your brothers in Georgia, ask them to help.”
Mama laughs. “If you think Charlie and Hunter are going to come up here and help Rupert Sanders, you’re a fool. They can’t stand him. Hunter would rather see Rupert fry in the electric chair than buy him a cup of coffee.”
I gasp. “Mama, please!”
“Hush, now. Nobody’s going to the electric chair. Not over a drunk like Mason Reed, that’s for damn sure.” He pats Mama’s hand. “Listen, I got the girl out in the car, Julia. She’s hardly able to speak, drools all over herself. Hell if I know what happened to her, some kind of brain damage, I think. I got to check her into the hospital, then find a social worker to see if she has any other kin to look after her.”
“I don’t care what you do with her.” Mama spits out her words.
“I understand that. All I’m saying is, I have to make some arrangements for her, and afterwards, go check on Rupert. Let’s see how he’s thinking after he’s had time to cool down. By then, it’ll be too late for me to come back tonight. Millie’s already been complaining.” He clears his throat. “But I’ll be here first thing in the morning. I’ll bring Clara, ask her to draw you a bath, maybe give you something to help you sleep. Then if you don’t call Charlie or Hunter, by God, I will. They might not care what happens to Rupert, but somebody’s got to look after you.”
“Ellie’s looking after me.”
“She’s a child, Julia.”
I take my hands away from my ears. “I need Daddy. He knows how to take care of Mama. He knows how to take care of me!”
Sheriff Rhodes stands up. “Everybody’s nerves are on edge. We all just need to take a deep breath. Ellie, soon as I leave, I want you to fix your Mama a cup of hot tea and a sandwich. Can you do that?”
I nod.
“Good.” He turns toward Mama. “Julia, honey, I hate seeing you like this. Things are going to get better. I promise you that. Just hang on another night, and we’ll sort this all out, first thing in the morning.”
Mama’s eyes fill with tears. “Go home to your wife,” she says, and turns her head away.
Sheriff Rhodes’s shoulders drop as he walks to the door. He stops and pats my head. “You’ll be all right tonight, Ellie? I’m going to find somebody to come in here and help. Clara. Maybe a nurse from the health department. Somebody. She can’t go on like this. I’ve seen her moody, know she has her rough times, but never like this.”
“Not a nurse. No! Have Clara come in the morning. She’ll know what to do,” I say, then add, “When can I see Daddy?”
“Soon, honey. Maybe in a day or two. I’ll be back in the morning with Clara,” he says, then walks out the front door.
I remember the cake Miss Wilder left and hurry to take it to Sheriff Rhodes.
“What’s that?” he asks, staring at the Tupperware in my hands.
“It’s a cake. I want Daddy to have it. Maybe it will make him feel better.”
“You didn’t slip a file in here, did you?” He smiles, but his eyes are sad.
“No,” I whisper. I know he was only joking, but I can’t smile. I’m trying hard not to cry again.
“I’ll make sure he gets it.”
I can’t say thank you. My voice is like a splinter stuck in my throat.
Sheriff Rhodes turns and walks to his car.
I watch Tess in the backseat. She presses her pale face against the glass and smiles.
I don’t smile back.
I DO AS SHERIFF RHODES asked, and make Mama tea and a sandwich. The tea is no problem, but there’s no meat in the house, and no mayonnaise or mustard. The peanut butter in the bottom of the jar is barely enough to cover one slice of bread. I could stretch it if we had honey or applesauce, but we are out of those, too. Mama bought so few things at the market, and most of those were the wrong things. So I end up smearing butter on bread and adding thin slices of sweet onions, and a little salt and pepper.
Mama only nibbles her food, spitting out most of the onion as if it is too bitter to eat. She chews a bit of bread and sips her tea. After she shoves her cup and saucer aside, she paces the floor and picks at her mole.
I don’t know Mama’s brothers but I hope they will come and help. I’m tired of trying to take care of everything. I’m tired of keeping secrets and looking after Mama and Baby Tom.
“ELLIE, HONEY, GET UP. There’s something the matter with the baby.” Mama’s cold hand shakes me awake.
I rub my eyes and try to focus in the dark. Moonlight through my window gives my room a milky glow. I see Mama’s white skin, then the jar with Baby Tom inside as she shoves it toward my face. In my half sleep, I see his mouth open.
“What, Mama? What’s wrong?”
“Well, he keeps fussing. I try to rock him, but he won’t settle. Look at his face. See how pained he looks?” Mama winces as if she herself feels Baby Tom’s pain. He’s like the tree she feeds from, her moods somehow tied to his.
“Maybe he’s hungry.” I don’t like seeing Mama press the glass against her naked breast, but feeding Baby Tom sometimes makes her sleep.
“I tried that. He didn’t want my milk. I think it was the onion on that sandwich. It made my milk bitter. Why’d you feed me onion, Ellie? Are you tying to turn my baby against me?”
“Of course not, Mama.” I need to think of another idea before Mama goes on about the onion. She scares me when she blames me for something bad. Recently, everything is my fault; I don’t want to be blamed for Baby Tom turning against her.
Still trying to wake up, I search my mind for an idea, and offer the only one that comes to me. “Well, he could be cold, Mama.”
Mama holds up one hand as if testing the room’s temperature. She must decide for herself, since she doesn’t trust me because of the onion sandwich. “Yes, that could be it.” She smiles slightly, then tells me she’s going to wrap Tom in the blanket she’s been knitting. “Good night, Ellie.”
“’Night, Mama.”
Aft
er she leaves my room, I close my eyes, but can’t get back to sleep. I think of Daddy in a cold jail cell with only a thin blanket to keep him warm. I think, too, about what Sheriff Rhodes said, how Daddy didn’t want to leave Tess. I remember the day he went away, how he didn’t look back. It was easy for him to leave me. What had I done to make Daddy stop loving me?
A sudden noise startles me. My voice catches in my throat. I know the sound right away. I’ve heard it many times, in the kitchen and in Daddy’s store.
Glass.
Breaking.
FORTY-TWO
TOO MUCH RED
MaMA IS IN THE HALLWAY, screaming. “No, no, no! Not my baby!”
I don’t have to see it to know what’s happened. She’s broken the jar with Baby Tom inside.
My stomach twists tight like a knotted rope.
Get up, Ellie. Walk into the hall and help Mama back to bed. The broken glass and formaldehyde must be cleaned up before she gets cut. Someone must pick up Baby Tom and find a place for him: another jar, a shoebox, a tin can with holes.
No, no, no.
“Why wouldn’t you stop crying? Why wouldn’t you just stop?” Mama yells. The blame shifts from me to Baby Tom. It isn’t my onion sandwich, but Tom’s own fault. He is dead, but still to blame. I’m glad, but ashamed. I’m more afraid than I ever knew I could be.
Thoughts flood my head. After I get Mama back to bed, I’ll have to make up with Mary Roberts to get more formaldehyde. Or maybe I could put him in vinegar. Or maybe salt water.
Clara will come in the morning. Maybe she’ll know how to keep a dead baby from going bad.
Mama screams again.
I need to go to her, but I can’t make myself move. I feel frozen in place.
In the hallway, Mama’s screams turn to sobs. There’s a dull banging sound, over and over, as if she’s hitting her head against the wall.
I have to go to her. There’s no choice. No one else can go for me. I am on my own.
My head spins when I stand. Please, God, don’t let me faint. I’m so afraid of what I’ll see on the other side of the door, I can barely breathe.