The Forgiving Kind

by Donna Everhart

  Stunned, Ross said, “The baby?”

  Trent said, “What happened?”

  I was speechless, unable to tell them how horrible it had been, how Mr. Fowler acted, and how I’d hoped he was going to the doctor, only he’d yet to come back. It was like he’d simply run off.

  Ross said, “Should we move her?”

  I gave a shaky answer. “I-I g-guess.”

  The sun would soon hit that side of the house and I didn’t want her in it. Ross lifted her shoulders, while Trent and I got her under the legs. Where the blood hadn’t dried, her skin felt slick and sticky. We stumbled through the doorway, clumsy but careful.

  I said, “Let me get some towels, then we can put her on the couch.”

  They laid her on the floor, and she moaned. We watched intently to see if she was waking up.

  I knelt beside her and touched her arm, “Mama?”

  She didn’t open her eyes, but she gripped my fingers.

  I told Trent, “Get them old towels underneath the sink in the kitchen.”

  For once, Trent didn’t say, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  As he hurried off, Ross still wore the look of disbelief, and he said, “When did all this start?”

  I put my finger to my lips and mouthed, wait.

  Trent hurried back with an armful of old bath towels Mama saved for rags. I went into the study with the hideous couch and laid them out. We got Mama situated, left the room, and only then did I finish what I wanted to say. It came out in a rush, my words, one after the other, like little tumbleweeds blown in the wind.

  “I was coming to help y’all when she called out from the back door. She was bleeding. He wouldn’t let her alone, kept saying she’d better not lose the baby. I wanted him to get a doctor, that’s what I thought he was doing. I haven’t seen him since he left. I called Doc Meade myself, and he’s on his way.”

  Ross’s hand shook as he scrubbed his hair. “We’re gonna do something. We’re gonna get out of here, somehow, someway. I’d rather take the chance at our own place. I’ll work day and night. Even if it means we eat nothing but beans, I’d rather do that than to stay around him any longer.”

  Trent and I agreed. Doc Meade arrived about fifteen minutes later. When he came rushing in, he smelled of healing, of making hurts go away, bringing a sharp scent of alcohol and something else clinical I couldn’t place. Doc Meade took one look at Mama’s waxy appearance, and sent us back out of the room.

  “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

  We went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I chewed on my nails while Ross began an incessant polishing of his head, and Trent went from the back door to the window. It didn’t take long for Doc Meade to poke his head in.

  He said, “She really needs to go to Duplin General over in Kenansville. They got a new hospital, just opened up. Where’s your stepdaddy?”

  We looked at one another, and then Ross said, “We thought he was coming to get you.”

  Doc Meade grunted, rubbed his chin, and said, “Maybe I passed him on the road.”

  I said, “What about the baby?”

  Doc Meade shook his head. “She ought to have come to see me before now. I could’ve give her something to help. Her age and all. I guess it wasn’t meant to be, but the Lord knows about such as this. He’s spared her, but not the baby. I sure am sorry. I need more old towels, if you have them?”

  I rushed off to get him what he needed. I didn’t know what to make of this news, not only hearing him say Mama needed the hospital, but that the baby was gone too. Before we even knew what it was or nothing.

  When I came back into the kitchen, Ross was saying, “Damnation. It ain’t right. If it wasn’t for him . . .” and he stopped, then he went on. “Sorry, but, I’m thinking he won’t like her going to a hospital.”

  Doc Meade studied the floor and said, “That don’t surprise me none. I’ll see what I can do for her.”

  He took the towels from me and when he came out minutes later, he was carrying a bundle. I could only imagine what was wrapped up in it. My tiny, barely there baby brother or sister. Innocent, blameless, murdered. I couldn’t think any other way. It rankled and gnawed at me. I felt like it would leave a hole in my middle.

  He said, “I’ve given her a shot to help stop the bleeding, and penicillin. She can take these for pain.” He rattled a big bottle, and set it on the table. “She doesn’t need to be up and about too soon. She needs to stay off her feet. Make sure she eats. Tell your stepdaddy what I said.”

  We only nodded, like what he said would be so simple. We knew better than that.

  I said, “How long?”

  “Least a week. And then, when she does get up and move around, it still doesn’t need to be doing anything too strenuous.”

  I pictured Mama waiting on Mr. Fowler the way she did, coddling him, and cooking and cleaning, and all the things he’d got used to.

  Doc Meade went out the back door, and his final words were, “Call me for anything, anytime, ’specially if the bleeding gets worse.”

  Mr. Fowler, he didn’t come back for two days and when he did, his clothes were torn and dirty, and he reeked of liquor and vomit. By then Mama was in the bed where she could lay on soft, clean sheets. I held cool cloths to her forehead, plied her with chicken broth I’d made myself, enticed her with soft scrambled eggs and buttery toast. I brought her cups of hot tea loaded with sweet honey. I read to her from the paper and magazines. I told her it was going to be fine as she stared at me, them hollow eyes of hers empty as a dried-up well. I talked about what a fine day it was, and didn’t the food taste good, and did she want a pain pill. She couldn’t seem to heal, and I kept hoping some color would return to her cheeks. It scared me bad her being so sick, but when he finally showed up in the bedroom doorway, I witnessed something in my Mama I’d never seen before. Pure, raw fear.

  Chapter 32

  Being around death, you can’t never get used to that feeling it gives you, just plain powerless in the face of it.The little brother or sister lost ignited an uncommon sadness, even though I couldn’t hardly bear the thought he or she would’ve been part of Mr. Fowler. Although Mama was frail, I believe we could have moved on, except Mr. Fowler got to behaving like she’d done it on purpose. A pall fell over the house and stayed put, and even if we’d been allowed to open the curtains to allow the sun in, it wouldn’t have helped. This was a different sort of gloom, one you sensed more than saw.

  He said, “You didn’t want him, did you.”

  As with me, this was not a question.

  “You didn’t want him, so you done something to yourself.”

  Mama was still weak, and she could only repeat herself, as before. “No, Frank. That’s not true. Doc Meade said there was probably something wrong.”

  “With you, maybe. Not with my boy.”

  “Frank.”

  “What. You don’t think I don’t know about these things? I know aplenty. Oh yeah. How women shove things up in there, and poke around. Messing with God’s business. Did you do that, Vi?”

  “Frank!”

  He’d taken to staring at her, until she dropped her eyes, shook her head, maybe trying to think of the right thing to say to fix this crazy notion of his. His mouth stayed turned down, and a new tightness consumed him that made his movements jerky. Who’d have ever thought a man like Mr. Fowler would’ve wanted a baby so bad? It was the most unlikely thing I would’ve ever associated to him, yet I began to think maybe it wasn’t about a baby at all. It was about the idea of it, a way for him to keep Mama here, and now he’d lost that advantage. As for us, when he’d look our way, it plumb scared me how his pupils would go large, making his eyes bottomless and cold. There was a threat hidden away in there.

  I spent a lot of time thinking, and periodically my mind went to Delores Fowler, wondering about her, while watching Mama’s zest for life get eaten up by him bit by bit. It was inside our old home, after we’d worked in our fields, that we decided w
e’d tell Mama what happened to Daniel. Ross had jimmied a window open, climbed through, and unlocked the door, and it was there we’d gathered late one afternoon and talked. I was sure this would save us, only finding the right moment was more difficult than we’d anticipated. We were afraid, not only ’cause of Mr. Fowler’s threats, but also ’cause Mama had a particularly bad spell when the anniversary of Daddy’s death came. We didn’t know how much more she could take.

  Then it was May, and then June, and we were once again free of school. By the time it was July, it was hot as a furnace outside, and cicadas sang nonstop. Mr. Fowler put big fans in the windows to draw out the hot air, but the house stayed dank and stale. Mama came out of her bedroom one day and I was struck once again by how thin, gray, and sickly she still looked, as if the house itself, and Mr. Fowler drew the essence of life straight out of her. She moved in a manner she’d never had before, hesitant and unsure.

  She was trembling as she walked, but she smiled a little at me and said, “Hey, Sonny.”

  I said, “Hey, Mama. You want I should get you something. You hungry?”

  She said, “No.”

  She looked so strained, so odd that, with alarm, I said, “What is it?”

  She grabbed my hand and said, “Oh, Sonny! I wished to God I’d never married him. He’s got something wrong with him. Really wrong.”

  She looked over her shoulder as if to make sure we were alone, and then she gripped me hard, the tips of her fingers digging into my shoulder bones. She plumb scared me the way she looked, sort of crazy eyed, her hair hanging in limp strands against her washed-out face.

  She said, “He makes me . . . I can’t tell you . . . dear Lord, how I wished I could undo this mess!”

  This was it. The opportunity. Even though Ross and Trent weren’t here, I couldn’t delay it any longer. I licked my lips. I would tell her, I would convince her we had to leave, that it was only going to get worse.

  “Mama, he did something else really bad.”

  She sucked in her breath, her eyes big and wide. Her voice dropped to an almost whisper.

  “Has he done something to you kids?”

  “Not to us. Him, and some other men, they got Daniel. They hurt him, Mama. They wore hoods, and they did it in the barn. Mr. Fowler, he made Ross and Trent watch. I could only hear it, but I know what he did. That thing he does to you.”

  Mama reared back in the same manner as when Mr. Fowler slapped her.

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth, and her eyes watered. “Don’t tell me that.”

  I was relentless. “He said he’d hurt us if we told. Mama, we can’t stay here with him!”

  “It ain’t that easy.”

  “What do you mean, it ain’t easy! We just leave . . . !”

  “Listen to me. We can’t do that. You don’t know all there is to know. What he’s capable of.”

  “What about Aunt Ruth? Can’t we sneak away, go to her and . . . ?”

  Mama didn’t answer me. She went down the stairs, and I trailed behind her, worried sick this would get out of hand now she knew. I was afraid she’d confront him and no telling what he’d do then. We went into the kitchen and she grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the table. I realized I hadn’t seen her smoke in weeks, not since she’d lost the baby.

  When she struck the match and brought the flame up, her hand shook so bad, I started to do it for her, but she somehow got it lit.

  She blew the smoke out and nodded. “We could go to Ruth’s.”

  That gave me hope and now I wanted to rush things along. I wanted it to all be over with. I didn’t want to wait any longer than I had to.

  She said, “Is Daniel okay?”

  “I don’t know. I ain’t seen him since it happened.”

  Mr. Fowler came in, screen door slamming behind him, and making Mama jump. She fell silent, and her shoulders rounded, visibly shrinking from his presence.

  He squinted at her and said, “What’re you talking about?”

  Mama brushed a hand through her hair. “Nothing. We weren’t talking about nothing.”

  Mr. Fowler said, “You look guilty.”

  “No I don’t . . .”

  “Yeah. You look guilty. You got the look of somebody up to no good.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Silly? Maybe what you really mean is stupid.”

  He grabbed her arm, and Mama said, “Frank, careful, you’re hurting me.”

  I said, “Don’t hurt my mama.”

  His gaze shifted to me, and it was like I’d fell into a cold black pit.

  He turned back to Mama and said, “Come on, you come with me.”

  He grabbed at her, but she moved quicker than I would have thought she could, so his hand swiped through an empty space.

  He clenched his mouth. “What’re you up to?”

  Acting like she didn’t hear him, she said, “Sonny, you want to go with me and see about them blackberries?” She turned to him and sighed. “If you must know, I was thinking about baking you them blackberry pies you love so good. That’s what we were talking about. It was going to be a surprise.”

  Mr. Fowler said, “Well now, that would be something else, you actually lifting a goddamn finger around here. What is it about women? The moment you marry’em, they ain’t worth a dime. Forget about that pie for now.”

  He went after her, stalking her, his mouth curled in a leery smile while the rest of his features were dull, like he was bored.

  Mama’s voice held a warning. “Don’t.”

  He whistled a little airy tune, advancing on her as she stepped backward.

  I had to do something, so like before, I blurted out a name, “Who was Delores Fowler?”

  Like when I’d mentioned Daniel, it worked.

  He spun on his heels, facing me. “Who told you about her?”

  “Everybody knows. It was in the paper, remember?”

  Mr. Fowler snort laughed while Mama looked puzzled. “You think you’re smart, eh, kid?”

  He looked too confident.

  He said, “It won’t in no local paper here, that’s for sure. That was in Parris Island, where I was stationed.”

  How I wished I’d not said a word. How I wished I’d taken a chance to read the whole thing.

  He gestured at Mama. “What you got here is a little snoop. I can’t abide by that, no sirree.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Delores was my first wife. Man who looks like me, you think I ain’t never had any other woman?”

  I said, “She’s dead, Mama.”

  Mr. Fowler’s arm shot out. He grabbed me so quick I squeaked like a mouse caught in a trap.

  Mama said, “Let her go, Frank!”

  He held on tighter like he wanted to tear my arm out of the socket. He went for the back door, and all I could think was the barn. I grabbed hold of the doorframe and held on, only he jerked hard, and one of my shortest, stubbiest nails came loose.

  I screamed, and Mama yelled, “You crazy son-of-a-bitch, let her go!”

  I think calling him crazy was what stopped him cold.

  He let me go, and turned to her and said, “What did you call me?”

  Mama raised her chin a little. “You heard me.”

  Quick as a flash of lightning, his fist connected to her cheek, and she dropped where she stood. He couldn’t let it go with that. No. He had to kick her too, right in the stomach, as if he was still furious about her losing that baby. I ran at him, and he shoved me, and sent me flying backward, hitting the floor. I lay stunned.

  Helpless against his strength, I rolled over, hid my face, crying, “Mama, Mama!”

  I heard her faint whisper, “Sonny, it’s okay, shhh.”

  I kept my face hidden until it got so quiet, I feared he’d done to Mama what I suspected he’d done to Delores Fowler. I lifted my head. I was alone. Where were they? I slunk into the hallway, and looked up the staircase. Kids at school had whispered it, hadn’t they? Heard he killed someone. I crept st
ep by step. I wanted to call out to her, let her know I was there, but I was too scared of making things worse. Again. I posted myself like a sentry in the hall, waiting, and like with Daniel, I hummed. There would be no going back from that afternoon.

  * * *

  Ross glared at Mama’s face, again the color of eggplant.

  He said, “I’m gonna kill him.”

  She put a hand on his arm, and shook her head. That wasn’t good enough for Ross. He decided to handle it another way, and took a chance when Mr. Fowler was overseeing work in a distant field, and when Mama was lying down on the couch, holding ice to her bruised face. He called the sheriff. The sheriff, when he came, rolled along the drive real slow, and that was odd, considering what Ross had told him. My brothers and I waited on the back porch, all of us nervous as a dog that’s been left on a chain too long. The sheriff put the car in park and sat smoking with the engine idling. After a while, he flicked the butt out the window and opened the door. I got the shakes, like Mama, when I saw who got out. Big Boy looked just as ornery as that day in the barn. Ross, having spilled his guts over the phone about an assault, looked like he might get sick.

  Trent mumbled, “Shit.”

  Big Boy came forward and we learned his real name.

  “Sheriff Ralph Biggs, what can I do for you, son?”

  Ross said, “Nothing.”

  Sheriff Big Boy smirked. “Hate I had to waste my fried fish dinner coming all the way out here for nothing. What’s this about an assault?”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “I thought you said your mama got beat up by your stepdaddy.”

  “I found out she fell. Everything’s fine.”

  “I see. So, without talking to her first, you called me, and then you went and talked to her?”

  “Yes, sir. That was dumb.”

  “Sure enough it was.”

  Big Boy spit on the ground.

  He said, “I want to hear you say it, and maybe that way you don’t forget. I want to hear you say, ‘I am dumb. Dumb as a rock.’”