Old Wounds

by Vicki Lane

  “So, I decided to try to get up with the Mullins and see if they might be tempted to sell—quite a few years had passed since they’d moved and that big house just sitting there empty and losing value every day. I went to the deeds office and come to find out Mullmore had been handed over to some kind of foundation called Redemption Walk.”

  Sallie Kate paused as a voice in the background seemed to be asking her something and Elizabeth could hear her saying, “Lord, honey, I don’t know. Tell them it’s a good price and the owners are in no hurry to sell. Don’t let those people waste your time with a piddling little offer like that.”

  Then she was back. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Well, I couldn’t find out a thing about this so-called foundation, but I did learn the taxes on the property were paid through an attorney in Asheville. I got up with him and told him what kind of offer the Delaware people were prepared to make and, honey, he broke my heart. I had already mentally spent that commission and he more or less told me to get lost: Mullmore was not for sale. Lord, I was the one about to pitch a hissy fit when he hung up. I swear, if I—”

  “Sallie Kate,” Elizabeth, clinging desperately to her purpose, overrode her friend’s lamentations, “Sallie Kate, what was the attorney’s name?”

  “Oh, he was one of the Mullins. Hang on while I scroll down here…. Yeah, his name was Jared Mullins, Jared R. Mullins.”

  It was almost too easy, Rosemary thought, running her finger down the page of tiny print. No Jared Mullins, but two listings for a J. R. Mullins in the Asheville directory. One was followed by the designation “atty” and a downtown address; the second, evidently a home address, was a street that her mother recognized as being in the upscale Beaver Lake area.

  “Okay, Rosie.” Elizabeth pushed the phone across the table. “You’ve got your first lead. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to catch Jared at home. He’ll remember you, don’t you think?”

  Rosemary stared at the telephone as if it were some unfamiliar piece of technology, then slowly picked it up and studied the keypad. Jared. She remembered him—a handsome, oddly mysterious presence in the Mullins household—more like an uncle than a brother to his sisters—his stepsister and half-sister. Maythorn and Krystalle had both danced attendance on him in their different ways, eager for his approval. But there had been an uncle there, too, at least some of the time…

  She realized with a start that her mother was waiting for an answer. “I don’t know…. Jared didn’t pay much attention to me. He was…at least, he seemed… a lot older, almost a grown-up. He could drive and his parents let him drink beer and—”

  “And you were his sister’s best friend and in and out of their place all the time.” Elizabeth stood and stacked their bowls to carry to the kitchen. “Of course he’ll remember you. You see what you can find out; I’m going to go do these dishes.”

  Rosemary hesitated, bit her lip, then tapped in the number. Three, four, five rings, and she was about to click off—No way I could explain this to a machine—when suddenly there was a voice in her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “H-hello,” she stammered. “Is this Jared Mullins?”

  “Yes…” An instantly guarded response, as from one wary of telemarketers. “This is Jared Mullins. And you are—?”

  “Rosemary Goodweather. I’m Maythorn’s friend.” She heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a stifled sound, and hastened to clarify her words. “I mean, I was her friend, back before…My family lived …still lives just over the ridge from Mullmore. Maybe you don’t remember me—”

  “Rosie? Rosie from the next hollow? I almost hung up on you. I thought it was another one of those sick prank calls.”

  The voice at the other end that had been so coolly suspicious was suddenly warm, even welcoming. “Little Rosie…I can hardly believe it! You know, I haven’t thought about you or any of the good things about back then—well, in a long time. I guess it was easier just to forget it all.”

  “I know, I’ve been the same way.” Rosemary found herself nodding in agreement. “But recently…That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Maybe you can help me…. you see, I feel like I might be able to find out what really happened to her.”

  There was a silence and then Jared spoke. “Oh, Rosie…Rosie, Rosie, Rosie.” There was no mistaking the leaden ring of finality in his response.

  “No, I’m serious…really. Jared, I know it sounds absurd—after all this time, and I’m sure your family has done its grieving and moved on. Please, believe me—the last thing I want to do is reopen old wounds needlessly, but…but if it would finally bring a resolution to the whole mystery—”

  “Rosie, what makes you think that you can—”

  “I know, what can I do that wasn’t done nineteen years ago by the sheriff’s people and the tracking dogs and the private investigators. It’s just a feeling, but it’s so strong that I can’t ignore it—this nagging sense that there’s something I know about all this but have forgotten. That’s why I was hoping to get in touch with all your family—somewhere, somehow, I’m hoping for the word or the…whatever that will jog my memory.”

  When Jared didn’t comment, she hastened on. “I guess I sound like a lunatic. Believe it or not, I’m a fairly respectable academic—I teach English at Chapel Hill—and I am not now, nor have I ever been a psychic.”

  There was a short, humorless bark of a laugh at the other end of the line. “Oh yeah, we had a few of those call back then—they’d get everyone all worked up, just when we’d begun to accept the reality, the fact that she was gone and we’d never see her again. Even now, there’s one odiously persistent woman who keeps insisting that she has news of Maythorn from the Other Side. She calls me every year just around Halloween. When you said you were Maythorn’s friend…well, I thought it was just another sicko.”

  There was a deep sigh. “Rosie, I have to be honest. I don’t think you’re going to get anywhere with this, but I have to admit I’m curious. Tell me what you want and when we can meet.”

  Jared’s voice took on a curiously wistful tone. “You know, I never forgot you.”

  Ten minutes later, when the call ended, Rosemary went into the kitchen, where her mother had somehow been managing to keep herself occupied and out of the way by washing one saucepan, two bowls, and two spoons. Now she was wiping down the countertops and cabinet fronts with the purple contents of a spray bottle.

  Rosemary smiled affectionately at her parent. Good old Mum, she knows not to hover. Elizabeth tossed her sponge into the sink, poured two cups of coffee, and lifted her eyebrows. “So? I take it he didn’t hang up on you.”

  “No, he did remember me and he was quite nice. I told him what I was trying to do and he said he’d be glad to help. I asked about the rest of the family and he said his father and Patricia separated shortly after the family moved away and he wasn’t sure where Patricia and Krystalle were now but that his father would know.” Rosemary cradled her cup in both hands. “I’m supposed to meet him at the Grove Park Inn for a drink around five.”

  “Well, that should be interesting.” Her mother sat down beside her on the cushioned bench. “I don’t really remember Jared. I guess I must have seen him a few times back then, but I don’t have a picture in my mind of him. What did he look like?”

  Rosemary shut her eyes, remembering. “He was really handsome. He had that white-blond hair, kind of short except for the really long rattail. I remember thinking that was the coolest thing in the world. Didn’t I try at one point to get you to cut my hair that way? And those blue-gray eyes…sometimes they looked almost silver. I could probably recognize him by the eyes, even if he’s gone bald and gotten fat.”

  She sipped her coffee, remembering. She and Maythorn had been up in a giant beech tree by the old family graveyard on that little knoll just above the Mullmore swimming pool. They had been munching on sandwiches and reading comic books when the sound of someone bouncing on the diving board caught their attention. It was Jared, in the skimpy bl
ack Speedo that Maythorn’s little sister had dubbed a “wienie-boy suit,” and even now Rosemary could remember the vague stirrings that the sight of his tanned, long-muscled, nearly nude body had aroused in her ten-year-old heart.

  “I hope he hasn’t gotten fat.” The words escaped before she could stop them and she felt her face redden as her mother turned a questioning gaze on her. “I mean, it would be embarrassing if I couldn’t recognize him because he had gained so much weight.”

  “No doubt.” Elizabeth’s wry smile said that she, too, remembered the crush young Rosie’d had on Jared. “We’ll hope he still has the rattail too. But, sweetie, did you ask him about the foundation that owns Mullmore now?”

  “Yes, I did. It’s his dad—Jared said that his dad has put all his money into this foundation. Evidently he went through some kind of spiritual crisis after Maythorn disappeared and now he’s gone all saintly. He runs a homeless shelter in Asheville called Redemption House.”

  PATRICIA MULLINS

  October 1984

  YOO-HOO! A sudden rapping on the kitchen window accompanied the trilling call. Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?

  Rosemary, stretched out in a patch of sun on the blue-and-white vinyl floor, was playing with the new puppy Pa had brought home from the animal shelter last week. Dinah, a wobbly little black-and-tan hound, stiffened in alarm at the sight of an unfamiliar face pressed against the window, promptly left a puddle on the newly installed vinyl and scuttled under the woodstove, her toenails clicking.

  The woman at the window smiled broadly as Rosemary met her gaze. She waggled her fingers in a friendly way, then held up a basket with a huge orange bow on it and called out, Is your mama at home?

  Rosemary started for the door, pausing to call to her mother, who was up in the loft helping Pa paint the walls of their bedroom.

  Mum, there’s a lady—

  I know; we saw the car from the window. I wish I didn’t have quite so much paint on me. Her mother appeared at the top of the steep stairs, wiping her hands on an old T-shirt. Go on, sweetie, open the door.

  Elizabeth started down the stairs and Rosemary reached for the doorknob. The lady with the basket was very fancy. She looked like the Barbie doll Grammer had given Laurel for her birthday. Mum had made a face when she saw it. This lady had on tottery high heels and tight pants, just like Barbie. And fluffy yellow hair and big blue eyes. There was blue stuff on her eyelids and her mouth was very red. And, just like Barbie, her bosom stuck out a lot.

  I’ll bet you’re Rosie! Maythorn told us about you. I’m Maythorn and Krystalle’s mama. Just ran by to bring you all a little housewarming gift. She thrust the basket with its orange bow and decoration of paper autumn leaves at Rosemary. Beneath the transparent yellow plastic that covered its contents, Rosemary could see an interesting array of little boxes and cans and jars.

  How nice of you! Mum was downstairs now and smiling at the lady. I’m Elizabeth Goodweather, Rosie’s mother. Please come in. I’m afraid we’re a bit of a mess—we had to move in before the house was finished. It was getting too cold to stay in the barn any longer.

  Well, hi, Elizabeth! A belated welcome to the neighborhood! I’m Patricia Mullins. Our girls have gotten to be such friends and I’m ashamed not to have come over sooner. It’s just been hectic—all summer long Krystalle was doing pageants and I hardly had time to turn around. And this fall she’s started piano and tap and charm lessons—it seems like I’m back and forth to Asheville every day. I was just bringing Krysty and Maythorn back from their hair appointments and I said, Well, I’ll pick up a nice housewarming basket for our new neighbors and run it by.

  I’m going out and talk to Maythorn. Rosemary tried to slip past the lady, but her mother said, Do you have time to stay for a cup of tea, Patricia? I can find some cookies and milk or juice for the girls.

  Well, maybe just a quick visit. Rosie, tell Maythorn to hold Krysty’s hand coming up the steps.

  Rosie pulled on her shoes without bothering to lace them and hurried out to the car. It was big and shiny green. On the front it said “Range Rover” and there was a bumper sticker that said “Pageant Mom: Princess on Board.” She could see a car seat with a little girl about Laurel’s age in it. The little girl had fluffy hair just like her mother’s. There was no sign of Maythorn.

  Rosie stood on tiptoe and peered through the window. A muffled voice said, Go away. A small figure was slouched down in the seat, a red jacket pulled up to conceal her head.

  Maythorn! It’s me. You all are s’posed to come on in; Mum made brownies last night and we can have some.

  No! Go away!

  May-tho-orn’s ma-ad! chanted the child in the car seat. May-tho-orn’s ma-ad!

  Rosemary opened the door to the back seat and tugged at her friend’s jacket. Come on!

  The jacket slipped down and Maythorn stared defiantly up at Rosemary. Her glossy black hair had been cut and styled into a tangle of curls, and smeared traces of lipstick and blue eyeshadow gave her brown skin a bruised and wounded look.

  Now do you see why I didn’t want to come in? She told the lady at the hair place to do this. I wiped off the stupid makeup, and when I get home I’ll wash all this gunk out of my hair. I just hope it’s still long enough to braid.

  Maythorn! Help me down! I want to go inside and have bwownies! The child in the car seat was tugging frantically at the restraining straps. She too had been made up: pearly pink lipstick, a hint of blue eye shadow. Her blond curls were caught up with a shiny lavender bow that exactly matched the velvety little dress she wore. White tights covered her stubby legs and on her tiny feet were shining patent leather shoes with bows and low heels.

  Rosemary stared curiously at Maythorn’s sister and put her mouth to her friend’s ear to whisper, Is she a midget? She looks grown up but she’s so little.

  No, stupid. She’s only four years old. Maythorn undid the seat belt and held out her hands to help the child down.

  You weren’t very sociable, Sam, staying up there in the loft.

  From her room, Rosemary could hear them. Mum and Pa were in the unfinished living room, sitting in the rocking chairs by the woodstove.

  I had to finish the painting, Liz. Besides, I came to the top of the stairs and said hi before she left.

  You did that. And let me tell you, Sam Goodweather, you made quite an impression. When I walked her out to her car she kept going on about how handsome and manly you were. And how she’s always had a thing for redheaded men. I have a real feeling that’s why we’re invited over for dinner next Saturday.

  Oh? So the mighty Mullins have decided to take notice of the lowly hippies next door, have they? What do you think, Liz—will we have anything to talk about with these people?

  We can always talk about the kids—did you know that Rosie and Maythorn share a birthday? And Krystalle and Laurel are close in age…. But I doubt we’re going to have much in common beyond that….

  Mum made a disgusted sound and went on in a lower voice. Sam, did you see that child, how she was gotten up? She’s just six months older than Laurie and she had makeup on! Evidently Patricia drags her to all these kiddie beauty pageants. It’s kind of creepy; I suggested to Krystalle that she and Laurie go in the kitchen to play with the puppy, and the child just sat there with her ankles crossed and said she didn’t want to get dirty. Four years old! She reminded me of my aunt Dodie. And as different from Maythorn as night and day.

  Didn’t Rosie say that Maythorn’s real father is dead? Pa got up and shoved another log into the woodstove.

  Oh, Patricia gave me the whole story. She ran off with Will Blackfox when she was quite young, “almost a child” was what she said. She said she was “just swept off mah feet,” he was so handsome. He was a med student and she “just lost mah head like a silly girl.”

  Rosie smiled. Mum was making her voice all soft and breathless, just the way Maythorn’s mom talked. Maythorn’s mom had blinked fast while she talked. Her long, thick black eyelashes had looked like
spiders hanging on to her blue eyelids.

  So she married the handsome doctor? Pa’s voice was grinning.

  Well, no. I think she moved in with him and was planning a wedding. But when she found out that he wanted to live in Cherokee and run some sort of free clinic there, she backed right out of the relationship. And shortly after—and it must have been very shortly—she met Mr. Mullins. Who is known as Moon and who, according to local rumor, has more money than God. “Why, we just looked at each other and knew it was The Real Thing.”

  Pa was making a kind of groaning noise, but Mum kept on. “Why, it was a real whirlwind courtship. Moon just wouldn’t take no for an answer, and we eloped two weeks later.”

  And where does Maythorn fit into all of this? Was she already—

  Yep, already on the way. But Patricia said she had no idea. Right there in front of the kids, she described how surprised she was when the nurse brought her “this little brown baby.”

  Saturday came and the Goodweathers piled into their old Toyota Land Cruiser and started out for Mullmore. Pa had grumbled some but Mum had said that she really wanted to see this mansion that Dessie and Odus had talked so much about. Rosie did too; Maythorn had never said much about her home and Rosie was dying of curiosity. And Laurie was happy because she was wearing her new bright orange corduroy overalls and yellow turtleneck tee. She was strapped in her car seat and loudly singing: Here we go to Mullamoe, to Mullamoe, to Mullamoe! Here we go to Mullamoe…POP goes the weasel!