Now in the deep of the late afternoon, Cecelia found herself sitting in Mrs. Sawyer’s wooden rocking chair, a homemade cushion fitting her comfort. How many evenings had Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer sat out here on the porch together to watch the changing horizon, but now keeping their thoughts to themselves? Nature brings its kindness as well as its wrath.
There is always time to have a few moments to oneself. And then again, Cecelia wondered about Mary Ann and if she were okay. Her thoughts passed on to James Patts; he might never be able to rejoin the police again; his wife would be pleased. And then to Phoebe, in her garden of flowers; it was a wonder she was able to part with any of them.
‘Tell me something about your daughter,’ began Cecelia. ‘Give me an understanding of what she was like, the things she liked to do, how she was with everyone and the way she looked. Those special moments when you would catch her looking and thinking and when she doesn’t know you’re watching her.’
His eyes moved to those thoughts of when she was here, laughing, and sad, thoughtful, and witty. She existed, lived, and was loved. Now though, she had made a great hole in their lives which could never be repaired. Again, Cecelia’s eyes watched him.
Was it the delight of Cecelia’s imagination to picture these thoughts in Mr. Sawyer? Perhaps. It was his eyes that said he was looking about for Jennifer. Now turning his head in response, she had called and come to him now, stepping out of the ghostly shadows. Jennifer had been waiting for him, he had heard her and now he smiled.
Daddy, have you missed me? Those questions we imagine would be said by those we love when the energy of their being is just shadows. A tear fell away from the corner of his eye. How could she ask him if he missed her? He was always missing her. Yesterday is such a long time away.
‘We had a feral bitch once come and land herself in our garden shed,’ said Mr. Sawyer as if he awoke from a dream. A different person had been recalled from a memory of a much younger man. ‘She wanted somewhere to unload her puppies and judged our house to be the safest place. Six pups and from the looks of it different fathers, but one of them was dead that’s what I thought.’
Cecelia was about to be treated to a treasured memory of his daughter; it was an honor; he had never told anyone else about it.
‘When I picked this little bit of life up it made no movement, I was just about to take it out to dispose of it when Jennifer stopped me. She asked if she could see it. I wanted to protect the puppy; she had a sensitive heart. It’s gone, I told her, there is nothing to be done for it anymore. She heard about the puppies and had come to the outhouse bringing the bitch some meat, knowing that the mother would be hungry. Jennifer was twelve years old and from her birthday money, she brought the mother some food. A strong-willed little lady, she was not going to let me go until she got the puppy.’
It looked as if he had a tear in his eye as he gently shook his head.
‘Leave the pup to me, daddy,’ she held out her hand to take the puppy from me. I remember the look on her face, yes, she was determined, she had great and admirable strength. I tried to explain that the puppy was dead, but she wouldn’t have it. I’ll bring it back to life even if it’s dead. She was an angel. She took the pup on, wrapped it in a piece of blanket which she had with her, and then she began breathing life back into it—I could have sworn it was dead.’ He placed his hand to his mouth to breathe through it, just as she might have done for the pup. ‘Oh, I miss her. I miss the sound of her voice—she had a lovely voice you know. She was in the church choir, and she could sing like an angel. Oh, my Jennifer. Why did He have to take and kill my beautiful little girl.’
Jennifer Sawyer was not an academic, instead of these skills she was given other talents. She could bake like the devil, no one could resist her bread and pies, she could make her own clothes as well—she had a promising future ahead of her. But for all of that, she just wanted to get married and set up her own home.
‘Was she a virgin?’ asked Cecelia before blushing. Mr. Sawyer turned quickly, sharp eyes almost in anger. ‘I’m sorry to ask, but I think this might be an important factor. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’
‘My Jennifer was a virgin. She believed in keeping herself pure for when she married. She used to say that when she was married, she was determined to make her husband happy—she was a traditionalist and there is nothing wrong in that,’ his eyes were defensive.
‘Of course,’ Cecelia found herself muttering.
‘She wanted to do everything right, and she would have made a wonderful mother. She told me she wanted six children like us.’ He suddenly looked down. ‘She thought Francine and I were happy. We were happy, but now we don’t talk to each other. How I hate her murderer with a passion. When they find him, I shall ask for the death penalty, and I hope he burns in hell.’
It made Cecelia envious to see such fervor from a father to his daughter. But is it only in death that anger forms its sorrow, and that regret understands remorse? Had her own father felt like that for her? No. Her father had been broken by his wife and become a wafer of a man. Her father had been too gentle for this life, he had nothing to defend himself with when the hyaena found him.
Crumpled with grey and tortured, Mr. Sawyer covered his eyes with his hand. ‘To be a good person, you are supposed to forgive those that trespass on you. But I can’t. I rage at God and ask Him why he took Jennifer, for what reason. Lord, you could have stopped this from happening, you could have sent one of your angels and taken Jennifer in your grace. Instead, you turned your back on her. Did you hear her screaming when he stripped off her clothes? Did you think it was okay that he should take her? Did you God, did you?’
It was compassion that made Cecelia want to stretch out to him, but she thought if she did, he would attack her. His eyes were crazed with thoughts.
For a long time, they sat in silence. She couldn’t say how long passed except the warm sun was losing its strength. Inside the house, Cecelia knew she wasn’t welcome. With a dead look, a young child of about six was staring out of the window.
‘If I need to talk to you again, would you mind if I came back?’
‘We’ll have to see about that,’ replied Mr. Sawyer recovering some of his indifference and aloofness, by climbing back into his shell of protection from the hostile world.
‘I’ll give you a call.’ Cecelia attempted to be light and cheerful.
‘You’ll have a problem with that. We don’t have a telephone and we’re not going to get one to accommodate the outside world.’
Lowering her head, Cecelia said she understood. Because she did. She had opened up their festering wounds again with no balm to heal. The trust which everyone takes for granted from the harmony of life had been broken. If she were taking something away from them, she needed to give something back, and it would be her words.
The Sawyers had left everything to start afresh with a family without that missing member. It was the only way they would be able to survive, but it hadn’t worked because the ghost of Jennifer had followed them to Roseland. She would not leave them alone, she was looking for something from them, but they hadn’t figured out what she wanted.
A life for a death. Cecelia had to do something for these people, leave something of significance for them to move on with their lives, especially for their children. This had to be her mission to dig down, get to the bare skeleton of her soul, and understand and feel like they felt. But to understand suffering a person has to suffer. It cannot be done on the perimeters of a blessed seashore, golden sands, and blue sweeping sky, but by the humbling of the soul. Perhaps in the telling of other’s pains, she too would also find some peace and even forgiveness for herself.
13
Having only traveled a few kilometers, and conscious of the incurring debt made against her, looking out of the cab window, it occurred to Cecelia that she was not far from Mary Ann’s house. A good idea was to stop off and reduce some of her debt by visiting Mary Ann. The rest of the way she w
ould walk, cut through the roads, and then catch the bus. Because that question kept on returning; why hadn’t Mary Ann telephoned?
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said Cecelia, tapping on the dividing window. ‘Can you stop the car now?’ One person’s fortune is another person’s debt. For his trouble, once again, she paid him a too handsomely. He took the tip with the look that this was due to him. But it was handing over money which she couldn’t afford. The price of her penance. Was it always going to be like this, paying atonement for the things she did from need? Changing her mind was her choice.
I must change my name to Clara. Being Clara, I was different, much more sure of myself, I had more pride and self-respect, thought Cecelia.
Hearing the cab pull off, Cecelia stopped for a moment and listened to the sound of the road. It was quiet, quieter than normal. A little breeze scooted up the road, picking up and turning over leaves in curiosity and lazily with all the time in the world.
Some two hundred yards away and moving swiftly, a man walked with determination from the opposite direction. Something about him made her slow down. With his head lowered, he looked awkward and even embarrassed by the way he held himself. Wearing a dark jacket of a navy woolen material with a scarf wrapped around his neck which covering half of his face, he was uncomfortable. Was it this that made him looked uneasy? Or was it the reason why he was here? Now, the direction of his shoulders changed. He was heading for Mary Ann’s house.
So, this must be her new beau, smiled Cecelia, pleased to see an actual person was looking out for her. It was a relief that the responsibility was not completely hers. So, this must be William. If he saw her, he might be embarrassed. Stopping for a moment, Cecelia pretended to look for something in her bag. If she were a smoker, she could pretend to look for a cigarette and light up. It would have been useful. But she was not. Keeping her brow down, her eyes stole upwards. Like a ballroom dancer, he swirled to the side, stepping nimbly on to the path of Mary Ann’s house. He was shy.
For a man, he was timid, yet how interesting he was. Alert and worried as if fearing that he would be caught, she must keep out of his way just in case she giggled to herself. Not a strong man, but strength is deceptive. There is no need to carry a ton of muscles to damage an opponent.
Swiftly, she saw him running to the door, and then he turned to look straight towards her. Did it matter if he had the key to the house? It was really none of her business? But upon seeing her figure hanging around, he leaped off the doorstep and went quickly on. Why?
Oh, what a shame. Was he so shy that he didn’t want her to see he was Mary Ann’s William? He should know that she wished them both happiness. Perhaps she had been a little jealous, but if Mary Ann could find happiness, then she was pleased for them both. But where was he now? Had she really frightened him away? Frowning, Cecelia walked thoughtfully to Mary Ann’s door.
This was so awkward. What was she doing here? To see if Mary Ann was okay. It was perfectly good to care about someone.
Touching her hair and straightening her dress; she agreed that she looked fine. One, two, three, and then press the doorbell, take a step backward and wait for the door to be opened.
I was just passing, so I thought I would look in; Cecelia rehearsed. Just to say hello. I hope I’m not interrupting anything. She smiled when she remembered again about William. That a man of his age should get embarrassed when visiting the woman he loved. But he would return once she had left; Cecelia was certain about this. These two definitely suited each other, Cecelia thought wryly. In truth, she had never had a successful relationship, but this was down to her habit of rebuffing men. Learn to trust and take the chance. Mary Ann had.
The door remained closed. To Cecelia’s sensitivity, the house felt empty, as if no one was home. How can no one be at home when Mary Ann can’t leave the house? No, she had to be there, she was tied to the house. But the question remained, should she press the doorbell again? Perhaps Mary Ann didn’t want to see anyone, not even her. Just one more press of the doorbell and then she’d go. The door opened.
Mary Ann was in her housecoat with a pair of dark glasses. Her hair was swept up in a towel, supplying the answer that she had been in the bath.
‘Mary Ann, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were having a bath?’
‘I wasn’t in the bath; I was lying down. I have a bad migraine.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll leave you alone.’
‘No. I’m feeling much better now. Please come in; it’s good to see you.’
Walking ahead of Mary Ann into a dark hallway, Cecelia felt uncomfortable. Something was not right; secrets were being kept, and it must have something to do with William. Now she understood. This was a grand affair. Had Mary Ann telephoned William to come and spend a very private evening with her? Absurd as it appears, had she frightened William away?
‘Go into the living room, I’ll put the light on for you.’
It was not dark outside, but the curtains were pulled. A new vase of red roses was arranged on the small table. The scene of a lover's nest and she had intervened.
‘I came to see how you were and to thank you for last night’s kindness.’
She wanted to apologize for scaring William off, but Mary Ann’s thoughts were somewhere else, tightening her long housecoat and making sure her towel was all right. No, something was wrong. The dark glasses slipped forward when she turned on the light, and in that swift glance, Cecelia saw Mary Ann’s eyes were very red and sore. Again, muttering to herself the apologies she felt for this friend.
‘I had only just risen from my bed,’ said Mary Ann, securing her dark glasses once more. ‘I didn’t realize it was so late. Rather like you,’ she smiled.
So why had you pulled the curtains?
‘Such a lovely surprise to see you,’ she touched her glasses to make certain they were still fixed on her nose. And then she smiled, which was disconcerting when only half her face was showing. ‘I would have been on my own if you had not visited.’
But you invited William.
‘I’ll go and heat the water for a cup of coffee or is coffee too late for you. Coffee doesn’t keep me awake, but I understand it does for other people. I can make you some cocoa. Yes, I think I’ll have cocoa too. I won’t be a minute,’ she said, leaving the room.
Still frowning and with the conscious discomfort that she had intruded, the desire to be absolved of her sins were accumulating. But what exactly was she looking for? A look, an expression or for Mary Ann to tell her that she was forgiven, Cecelia followed behind her into the kitchen with this need. The kitchen was also in darkness until Mary Ann flicked the switch and the room came tumbling into sense.
‘I had an interview with the Sawyers, the parents of Jennifer Sawyer,’ said Cecelia, following in the footsteps of her host.
Spinning like a top, Mary Ann whizzed around. She hadn’t realized that Cecelia had followed her. Cecelia took a step back scolded by Mary Ann’s look and posture as if a cat had attacked her. But, by the backdoor, laid across a chair was a coat, a dark navy-blue coat resting but taken off in a hurry. Mary Ann was not alone. The keen senses of the guilty had worked out the mystery.
So, he had sneaked through to the backdoor so that he wouldn’t be seen. A smile crept through Cecelia’s lips into a knowledgeable smile. Not needing to wonder or look what Cecelia was smiling about, Mary Ann understood she had seen the coat. Yes, William was here.
‘It’s William’s,’ Mary Ann looked to the coat. ‘I’m afraid it’s me that’s making him hide; it makes him nervous. He’s told me so,’ she smiled, trusting that Cecelia understood.
‘Oh please, there is no reason for you to explain, and there I was believing I had frightened him away.’
‘So, it was you, it makes sense now. William came dashing in saying he had been spotted?’ Mary Ann took off her dark glasses to reveal her bright blue eyes, amazing to look at, but defective. An unnatural color, but what an amazing effect.
It must have been Cecelia’s startlement at coming across such sharp bright eyes again.
‘Yes, I’m a freak,’ Mary Ann said, stroking a pacifying hand across her cheek. ‘A curse and a bonus, you can’t have both in this world. I have a condition called Waardenburg syndrome. People stare at me, but for all the wrong reasons.’
‘Because the color of your eyes is beautiful.’
‘How kind.’
But this time, her delicate eyes were stained with soreness.
‘I told William he didn’t need to hide, but he has taken on board not to be seen. Poor man, I hope he doesn’t become neurotic like me. And now you are wondering what I am talking about.’
‘Is he here?’
‘Yes, he’s upstairs taking a bath. Did you want to meet him?’
‘No, not now, perhaps another time.’ She was already embarrassed by deception. ‘But why don’t you want others to know you have a man friend?’
‘Oh Cecelia, I thought you of all the people would understand. I didn’t think I needed to explain that to you,’ Mary Ann’s eyes searched Cecelia’s face. ‘But I see I do. Don’t you remember that I was almost raped five weeks ago? I know it is not the same as Marcia Davis or Jennifer Sawyer or the others because I managed to escape, but for me, it was still traumatic.’
‘Yes, but I still don’t understand.’
‘I told the police I was raped, which suggests that a person who has just recently been assaulted will not have anything to do with men. You understand how having a man in my life would look when they already believe I made up my attack.’
‘I think I understand,’ Cecelia, nodding slowly.
Sixth Victim Page 15
