Little Mercies

by Heather Gudenkauf

  Jenny couldn’t see Jimmy’s eyes, but she could see her mother’s through the rearview mirror. First they were filled with complete terror and then she closed her eyes. When she opened them again something had changed. The fear in her eyes was gone, replaced with what Jenny could only describe as meanness. And this frightened her more than anything that Jimmy had said.

  They were moving into a less populated section of Cedar City. There were more trees, no homes, just a scattering of businesses.

  “I didn’t want her here anyway,” Deidra said coldly. “I never wanted her.” Jenny felt like she had been punched. “Jesus, Jimmy. We left her behind six years ago. You think I want the headache of having her back? I don’t know how she found me. Why do you think I was so quick in getting her back to the bus station?” She turned to Jenny, the car swerving slightly with the movement. “Why did you come here, Jenny? What made you think I would want to see you? Now look what you’ve done.” A red flush crept up her mother’s neck, and her face was twisted with anger and disgust.

  Deidra sped up, passing a gas station, the last building before hitting the countryside, and swung the car onto the side of the road. “Don’t stop, keep driving,” Jimmy demanded, but Deidra slammed on the brakes and shoved the gearshift into Park.

  “Get out!” she shouted at Jenny. “Get out of my car.”

  The road was deserted. No cars approached from either direction. The gas station they had passed was over the hill and out of sight.

  Jenny was frozen in fear. “But I thought...”

  “What did you think, Jenny?” her mother spit. “That after six years I would want you to come live with us? I thought we made it crystal clear when we moved to a completely different state without you.”

  “Shut up, Deidra. What are you doing? Start driving,” Jimmy looked around nervously.

  “No,” Deidra said, her voice rising hysterically. She leaped from the car, and wrenched open Jenny’s door. “Get out,” she ordered, her face pinched in anger. “Get out of the car!”

  There was the crunch of gravel beneath tires and Jenny turned to see Maudene’s familiar car pull up behind them. On shaky legs Jenny slid from the car, her mouth agape in confusion as to how Maudene had found her. Jenny’s gaze flicked to Jimmy and then to her mother, who both looked equally alarmed.

  Maudene emerged from the car and reached her hand out toward Jenny. “Jenny, come here,” she urged, but Jenny found she couldn’t move. In a cloud of dust, the passenger-side door of Maudene’s VW opened and Ellen stepped from the car and, to Jenny’s surprise, said in a quiet, calm voice, “Deidra, it’s Ellen Moore. Do you remember me?”

  Chapter 37

  As my mother and I pull into the bus station we see a small charcoal four-door car driving away. At the wheel is Deidra Olmstead and next to her in the passenger seat is her husband. A small figure sits in the back. From a distance we follow the car to the outskirts of town where it parks alongside the road.

  I tell my mother to stay in the car but she is out the door before I can stop her and I carefully step from the car and try to keep my voice low and calm so as to not make an obviously stressful situation much worse.

  “Deidra, it’s Ellen Moore. Do you remember me?” I say again.

  Deidra turns her ire away from Jenny and on me. “I remember you,” she says bitterly, but her eyes are filled with fear. “Why can’t you people just leave us alone?”

  I glance at Jenny, who is standing just outside the car. She briefly looks at me, her face a canvas of tumult and hurt. “Mom?” she asks sadly. “Aren’t we going to Georgia?”

  Deidra gives a shrill laugh and shakes her head. “Stupid girl, you go on now. Go with the lady.”

  James Olmstead remains in the front passenger seat, his body is tense. I can tell he’s trying to decide how involved he should get in this conversation.

  “She’s a runaway,” Deidra says angrily. “She needs to go back to her dad. He has full custody.”

  “It’s okay,” I assure her. “We’ll make sure that Jenny gets to her father.”

  “Good,” Deidra says venomously. “Get her away from me.”

  “Jenny, come here,” my mother says imploringly. “You get in the car and come with us.”

  Jenny is crying despairingly now and shaking her head from side to side.

  Finally, James Olmstead decides to materialize from the car. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks.

  He doesn’t appear to recognize me and this makes me as angry as anything. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I want him to know that I know, that I’ve always known. I step close to him until we are merely a breath away from each other. “I’m Ellen Moore, James.” I whisper so that Jenny can’t hear. “I’m the social worker that visited your home before you pushed Madalyn out of the window.”

  His face turns an apoplectic shade of purple and he clenches and unclenches his fists. He’s itching to strike out at me. “You can’t prove anything.”

  “No,” I say, my voice quivering with fear, but I can’t stay quiet. “I can’t prove it. But I know it’s true and I can make sure you don’t hurt Jenny ever again. I know what you did to Jenny. I’ve seen the pictures.”

  I’m afraid that I might have said too much, gone too far. His hand twitches and I try not to flinch, my heart pounding so loudly I can feel it thrumming through my entire body. Instead of hitting me, he leans in even closer. I can feel his hot breath against my ear. “You will never be able to prove it,” he says so quietly that I almost don’t believe he’s said the words, “Jenny or Madalyn.” He pulls back, smirks at me, stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks casually back to the car. “Get in the car,” he orders Deidra, who is trembling so violently I don’t know how she will be able to drive the car.

  “Mom?” Jenny says, and takes a step toward her mother.

  Deidra turns away, slides into the car, turns the ignition and pulls back onto the road without a backward glance toward her daughter. The spinning tires stir up a cloud of dust and Jenny runs after the retreating car for a few futile yards, her flip-flops slipping from her feet, and stumbles to her knees on the hot asphalt.

  My mother and I exchange glances. We both know that we have just been in the presence of something evil, inhuman. Wordlessly, we go to Jenny, who can’t stop sobbing. Her hair is flattened against her head, slick with sweat, and her knees and palms are bloodied. My mother finally coaxes her back to the car, where she cries incoherently about Georgia, stars and Oreos. I try to steady my shaking hands by gripping tightly to the steering wheel and drive while my mother sits in the backseat with Jenny’s head in her lap. The only sound in the car is Jenny’s mournful weeping and my mother’s gentle murmurs of comfort. A few miles down the road I see a flash of red in a ditch and swing the car to the side of the road. James or Deidra had thrown Jenny’s beloved backpack out the window. Numbly, I step from the car to retrieve it. It’s no worse for wear, but a few of her prized possessions have tumbled from the bag. I locate two of her Happy Pancake figurines, a few articles of clothing, her cell phone. I always thought that one day I would come face-to-face with James Olmstead, but figured it would be in the grocery store or maybe at a restaurant. Not once did I imagine that I would confront him on the side of the road and accuse him of murdering his daughter. I lean against the car until my breath steadies, until my hands stop shaking.

  When we arrive at the house, even though Jenny is nearly my height, I pick her up and carry her into my mother’s home. “Upstairs,” my mother says, and I trudge up the steps and carefully lay Jenny amid the blankets and pillows in the white bedroom. Jenny halfheartedly protests, saying something about her dirty feet, but my mother shushes her and gently presses a wet washcloth to her bloodied knees and palms. I watch as my mother tends to Jenny in all the ways I have forgotten that she had done for me as a child. She bandages her w
ounds, wipes her tearstained face, lifts a mug of cool water to her lips and sits quietly by her side.

  After a few minutes, I leave the room and go downstairs to call Joe to let him know that we’ve found Jenny. I also call Ruth Johnson and, without going into detail about our encounter with the Olmsteads, tell her that we are in need of a social worker, one that isn’t suspended, who can make sure Jenny gets safely to Nebraska as soon as possible, one who will make sure that her mother and stepfather never come near her again.

  Chapter 38

  Back at Maudene’s house, Jenny tried to lie as still as possible in the big white bed. She tried to pretend that she was asleep, but her skin felt too small for her body and something hot and mean was writhing in her chest trying to squirm out. She didn’t know the last time she had cried so hard. Not when Jimmy had beaten her so badly. Not when she was first placed in foster care and realized that her mother wasn’t coming back.

  Maudene was trying to be nice but Jenny wanted her to go away, just leave her alone. Finally she batted away Maudene’s hand that held the antibacterial ointment that she was trying to put on Jenny’s scrapes, sending the tube flying through the air. “That hurts!” she cried. Maudene had apologized and said she would come back a little later to check on her.

  But that wasn’t what was hurting. It was the way her mother had turned on her so quickly. One minute they were running away to Georgia together, the next her mother couldn’t stand the sight of her. It would have been easier, Jenny thought, if when her mother found her sitting among the tall grass of the neighbor’s house she would have told her to leave, to get the hell away. Jenny had been expecting that. But her mother had invited her into her house, had fed her Oreo cookies and asked about her life. She had hugged her and cried. She didn’t understand how her mother could have chosen Jimmy over her own daughter. Again. Where would she go now? Maudene would let her stay at her house. Jenny heard Ellen and Maudene talking about temporary guardianship, which was another word for foster care. She didn’t think she would mind having Maudene as a foster mom, but the thought of being in the same town as her mother and Jimmy made her stomach burn. What if she ran into them on the street or at the grocery store? What if her mother started yelling at her the way she did earlier? No, she had to get out of town.

  She reached for her backpack, which Ellen had rescued from the side of the road. Jenny didn’t have much in her life, but what she did have was in that bag. Everything seemed to be in its place if a little dusty, but she went through it to be sure. Clothes, Happy Pancake toys, envelope. She opened the envelope. Her grandmother’s letter was still there, as was the map. The pictures of a beaten and battered Jenny were gone, but Jenny didn’t mind. She never wanted to see those photos again. Even the money she had hidden in a sock was still there. She scanned her personal articles lying before her and knew that something was missing. There was scratching at the door and a long brown nose pushed its way into the room. Dolly limped up to the side of the bed, sniffed at Jenny’s bandaged knees and, with surprising agility, leaped onto the bed. The dog turned around two times and plopped down next to Jenny. “I still don’t like you,” Jenny whispered into the silky folds of the old dog’s neck. Dolly gave an indifferent yawn and closed her eyes.

  Then she remembered her father’s cell phone. That was what was missing. Panic clawed at her chest. That cell phone was the only connection she had left to her father, the only way she could possibly contact him. It must have fallen out when Jimmy had thrown the backpack from the car. She pawed through the contents of her backpack, reaching into the deep corners and shaking out each article of clothing. Finally she checked a zippered side pocket and with relief she pulled it out noticing a few new scratches from when Jimmy threw it into the ditch.

  The more Jenny thought about all that had happened, the angrier she became at her mother, the more terrified of Jimmy she became. She hated this town. It was a horrible town where mothers left their babies in hot cars and mothers made their daughters feel like they wanted them and then said terrible things to make them go away. Jenny couldn’t wait to leave. She wanted to go back to Benton, but to be with her father, not to go to some foster home, and it didn’t sound like that was going to happen for a while.

  Jenny’s eyes burned hotly, but she knew what she had to do, who she had to call. Connie. Connie said she would come and get her if she wanted. Connie, who was the closest thing to a mother she had, even though it was only for a little while. Connie, who took her to get her nails done, who made her supper, watched movies with her, helped her with her homework. Maybe, just maybe, Connie would let her stay with her until her father got out of jail, got better. With rising hope she opened the phone, wiped away a smudge of dirt that clung to it from when Jimmy threw it out the window and pressed Send. The phone rang and rang and then went to voice mail. She disconnected and tried again but still there was no answer. Jenny sat on Maudene’s bed, her legs tucked up beneath her, Dolly at her side with her head on Jenny’s lap, and pressed Send over and over. No one answered. But still she tried, tears splashing onto Dolly’s collar as she methodically dialed, listened, disconnected until Maudene came into the room and gently pried the phone from her fingers and pulled her into her arms and held her until no more tears would come.

  Chapter 39

  The first thing I do after calling Joe to let him know that we found Jenny is call Adam. “How’s Avery doing?” I ask as I settle into a chair at my mother’s kitchen table.

  “She’s doing great. They’re talking about moving her out of intensive care and into a regular pediatric unit in a few days. Dr. Grant says that everything looks really good. She hasn’t had any more seizures, her temp is normal, her breathing is good.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I exhale in relief.

  “Is your mom still planning on coming up to the hospital to sit with Avery?”

  “You are not going to believe what’s been going on this morning,” I say, and explain Jenny’s disappearance and finding her with James and Deidra Olmstead.

  “Ellen,” Adam begins, and I can tell from the tightness of his voice that he’s angry. “Don’t you think you need to focus your energies on our children? What if that in-home FSRP person showed up and you were off chasing those crazed parents. And where are Lucas and Leah in all this? Were they tearing around town looking for Jenny with you?”

  “Of course not! I would never put them in danger!” Adam is silent. “Well, it’s all over anyway,” I say. “Ruth is taking care of what’s going to happen to Jenny.”

  “Good,” Adam says. “I know you’re just trying to help, but we need to focus on getting our life back. That social worker from Peosta County’s Department of Human Services came to see me.”

  “Oh?” is all I can say.

  “She asked a bunch of questions about us, you. Your reliability as a mother.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said you are a great mother. That this was a one-time thing. That it was both of our faults.”

  “Thank you,” I say simply.

  “What is the attorney saying about everything? How did your meeting go?”

  “We had to reschedule,” I say, afraid of what his reaction will be.

  “You mean you skipped it to go running off in search of some little girl that means nothing to us. You skipped the meeting with the man who can possibly make this whole thing go away to chase after a man who you think murdered his daughter while our daughter is fighting for her life! What the hell are you thinking, El?”

  My eyes fill with tears. “Please, Adam, please, it’s not like that,” I plead. “Will you please listen to me? That little girl’s life was in danger! James Olmstead is Jenny’s stepfather!”

  “Yeah, well, I have to go. I’ll call you later. You are watching after Leah and Lucas, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just going to pick them up f
rom the Arwoods’ now. Please don’t be mad. I can’t stand it if you are mad at me.”

  “I’m tired and worried, okay? I’m worried about Avery, about Lucas and Leah, and you. Just give me a little time to work through this in my head. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I have to do what’s best for the kids and I’m beginning to think that I don’t know what that is.”

  “But we do know!” I cry. “We will work through it together. The investigation has to be over in twenty days. Everything will be all right then.”

  “I don’t know that. You don’t know that. We have to look at all the options, all the different scenarios. Weigh and measure the implications of everything.” I can picture Adam, sitting in the hospital waiting room, raising and lowering his hands, palms upward, as if the heft of what I have done can be weighed in ounces, pounds or tons. “Please,” I cry. “I need you, Adam. Avery’s getting better, I’m going to see the lawyer right now and then I’m going to pick up Leah and Lucas. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  I hear Adam swallowing and I know he’s trying to hold back his own tears. “Okay, El,” he finally says. “I’m just tired. So, so tired. I’ll talk to you later.” And then he is gone.

  My mother is standing in the kitchen doorway, watching, frowning. “This is all my fault,” she says wearily, and comes to sit down next to me. “I should have called the police first thing when I found Jenny. I should have told you about the pictures, about her mother.”

  “You were doing what you thought was right,” I say patting her on the hand. “And I was, too, Mom. I know that Adam doesn’t see it that way. But I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to Jenny and I knew she was with the Olmsteads. James Olmstead is an evil man.”

  My mother nods. “It looks like Deidra Olmstead is no prize, either. I can’t believe all the hateful things she said to Jenny.”