Previously Loved Treasures

by Bette Lee Crosby

  Hope and Fear

  In the days that followed, Caroline and Rose settled into a relationship so comfortable one would pass the salt shaker before the other thought to ask. They worked side by side in the kitchen and shared the cooking duties with neither doing more than the other. Before two weeks had gone by, hearty beef stews and apple pies flavored with cinnamon began appearing on the dinner table. Biscuits, light and fluffy as a cloud, came piled high in serving baskets and were eaten down to the very last crumb.

  While in the other rooms of the house Rose quietly observed life, inside the kitchen she came alive. In the kitchen there were no barriers, no subject untouchable. Caroline knew the secret of Rose’s identity, and she held tight to it. As far as the world was concerned, no one in Rose Hill had ever seen or heard of a Rowena Mallory.

  They seldom spoke of it but on the few occasions when they traded whispers Caroline would assure her, “There’s no need to be afraid. You’ve got a new name and a new look. He’ll never in a million years find you.”

  But having Joe find her was not the only fear Rose had. There was a dark corner of her heart where she hid a twisted thread of hope that he would come in search of her, and this time he would be a changed man, the man he once was. Whenever Caroline spoke of the past being forever gone, it caught hold of that thread and caused a strange weight of weariness to fall over Rose’s shoulders. Times like that she would turn to remembering something pleasant. Frequently it was a story of the early days when they first dated and fell in love. Despite the purple bruise that had now turned to a greyish yellow color, she remembered only the good times, the days when he held her gently and pressed his lips to hers. In the midst of just such a reminiscence Rose said, “I know I’m doing what I have to do, but the truth is I miss Joe.”

  “Miss him?” Caroline asked. “How can you miss a man who would—”

  “Joe’s not really like that,” Rose answered. “It’s only because he’s had a lot of tough breaks. He lost his job. He wasn’t ready for a baby—”

  Caroline cut in with words that were crusty and sharp-edged. “He is like that. You don’t make excuses for someone like him!”

  “I know what he did was wrong, but maybe if his life wasn’t so hard—”

  “So life is hard,” Caroline said. “That’s not your fault. He has no right to…” Her lower lip began to tremble. The memories were back, memories she believed long gone. “For Joe to do what he did was wrong. How can you forgive him for such a horrible thing? Don’t you know that Sara watching her daddy hit you will stay with her forever? Do you want her to grow up like me? Fearful, afraid of everything?”

  A flood of memories washed over Caroline, and she dropped into the chair. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh. But I know what that life is like. I had a daddy who was the same as Joe. He beat up on Mama until he got tired of doing it; then he walked off and left her. Left both of us. We had a miserable life with him, and once he was gone Mama kept right on being miserable.”

  “I didn’t know,” Rose stammered.

  “It’s not something I like to talk about,” Caroline replied. “It’s the sort of shame people sweep under the bed and hope nobody will notice.”

  For several minutes neither of them spoke; then Caroline gave a sorrowful sigh. “The funny thing is Mama’s heart was so full of missing Daddy there wasn’t room for anyone else. We were flat-outt miserable in that New Orleans apartment, but Mama wouldn’t move because she kept believing Daddy would change his ways and come back home.”

  “But Joe never left,” Rose argued. “I was the one—”

  “Whether you leave or he leaves makes no difference,” Caroline snapped. “Joe is just like my daddy. Don’t think he’ll change, because he won’t!”

  For a moment Rose stood there looking crushed. “But don’t you think it’s possible a man can change?”

  With her mouth in a narrow hard-set line, Caroline gave her head a saddened shake. “Is that what you really think?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question. It was pointed and sharp; it demanded an answer.

  The thought came at Rose like a razor blade slicing away whatever possibilities she’d hidden in the closet of her mind. She closed her eyes and saw the twin images of hope and fear. They stood side by side waiting for her answer. Choose me, they both said. Seeing them together, so alike and yet so different, she could at last see the truth.

  Rose knew she had to choose neither, for to choose one meant she got both. If she chose fear, she would stay hidden and forever live with the hope he would one day come to her as a changed man. If she chose hope, she could return to him, give him yet another chance, and forever live with the fear of what might eventually happen.

  Rose could lie to others but could no longer lie to herself. It was a long time before she answered, and when she did her voice was weighted with finality.

  “No, I don’t suppose he’ll ever change.” She blinked back the tears gathering in her eyes and stood there for several minutes before turning back to stack the dishes.

  That was the last time they mentioned Joe Mallory.

  ~ ~ ~

  Rose moved through the days without voicing her fear, but it was always there. At night when the house was dark and quiet, it came and whispered in her ear. He’s coming.

  He’ll not find me, she vowed. In the wee hours of morning when the only sounds to be heard were the soft whispers of Sara’s breath, Rose set a plan in place to make sure she and her child would remain safe. No one had seen them come, and as long as they remained inside the house they could not be found.

  For a while the child was content to sit at the table and color pictures as her mama and Aunt Caroline cooked. But Sara was five, not an age when sitting still comes easy. On occasion Rose would turn to slide a tray of biscuits into the oven, then turn back to find Sara gone. On several such occasions she found the girl chattering away with Louie or Harriet.

  “You mustn’t go bothering people,” Rose scolded, but it was easy to see that neither of them seemed to mind.

  “She’s no bother,” Louie said. Then he hoisted Sara onto his knee and magically discovered a piece of candy in his pocket. Two days later Harriet came home with a Cat in the Hat book she’d gotten for ten cents at a garage sale.

  It was the same with most of the other residents. Wilbur enchanted the child with stories of boyhood adventures: fishing, camping in the woods, the Scout trip where he’d earned his Woodsman Badge. “Ah, yes,” he said with a sigh, “Boy Scouts, that’s the making of a man.”

  “I wanna be a Boy Scout too,” Sara said.

  “Afraid not, Missy,” Wilbur replied. “But when you’re a bit older you can be a Girl Scout.” He told stories of the great adventures that awaited. “Why, pretty as you are, I bet you’ll sell more cookies than any Girl Scout in history.”

  That very afternoon Sara began asking Rose to make some cookies for her to sell. “I need to practice.”

  “I’ll make some cookies that you can sell to Mister Washington,” Rose said, laughing

  Little by little Sara made friends with the residents and gained greater freedom, but she was not allowed outside.

  “You can go visit Mister Washington,” Rose said, “or play with the boys, but do not step one foot outside the door.”

  “Okay, Mama.”

  “And stay away from Mister Sweetwater’s room,” Rose added.

  She didn’t need to warn Sara to stay clear of Max, because the child was already frightened of him. He seldom spoke to her, and when he did it was only to criticize her behavior or to tell her to get out of his way. On one particular morning he’d slept at a lady friend’s house and came stumbling in as Sara ran down the hall chasing after Clarence. First the dog ran into Max and threw him off balance, and then Sara came flying around the corner and got tangled up in his legs. Max slammed into the wall and thundered, “Get the hell out of here!”

  After that day, Sara avoided Max without anyone telling her to.

  ~ ~ ~
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br />   Max was the only resident who was off limits. The others were friends, and Sara thought nothing of tapping on the doors of their rooms. “You wanna tell me a story?” she’d ask. Even Doctor Payne would set aside the magazine he’d been reading and find time to chat with the girl.

  He was sitting in the parlor with the latest Dental News when she wandered in and wanted to know if he was reading a story.

  “Not a story,” Payne said. “It’s a professional magazine.”

  “What’s a professor magazine?” Sara asked.

  “It’s a book of information that helps you be better at your job,” Payne answered. “My job is being a dentist. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “A princess,” Sara answered.

  “Princess?” he repeated. “Princess is not an occupation. Have you thought about dentistry? Now that’s a fine occupation.”

  When a look of dismay slid across Sara’s face, Louie came to her rescue. “Princess is a fine occupation, and I think you’d make an excellent princess.”

  Sara’s smile returned.

  “Besides,” Louie added, “dentistry is for people who have no personality. You have lots of personality, way too much to become a dentist.”

  Doctor Payne gave a harrumph, then slid down behind the magazine he’d been reading.

  Sara went running off to the kitchen calling, “Mama, I got a princess purse-some-ally.”

  ~ ~ ~

  On the second Sunday after they’d moved in, Laricka came to the kitchen and asked Rose if Sara could go to the Rialto. “The boys wanted to see Indiana Jones again, and I thought it would be nice to have Sara join us.”

  While the thought still hung in the air, Rose said, “No.” Not the type of genteel “No, thank you” one might expect, but a flat, rock hard no, one without any margin of error.

  Laricka pulled back like someone bitten by a snake. “Well, excuse me! I was only trying to be polite, so there’s no need to—”

  Caroline stepped in. “Now Laricka, don’t be insulted. It’s just that Sara is too young for a picture like that.” She turned to Rose. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Rose answered, her tone softened and considerably milder.

  “Well, good,” Laricka said. “For a minute there I thought you just didn’t want her playing with the boys.”

  “Oh, no, that’s not it—”

  Laricka gave a wave that dismissed the thought. “I know they can be a bit wild. But they’re good boys, and they’d never do anything to harm Sara.”

  “Oh, I know they wouldn’t.” Rose’s voice had edged its way back to normal. “And Sara really does enjoy playing with them. It’s just that this movie—”

  Laricka nodded. “I know.” She started down the hall then turned back. “But Sara should get out more than she does. A child needs fresh air and sunshine.”

  This time Rose didn’t need to give an answer, because once Laricka had said her piece she disappeared down the hall.

  ~ ~ ~

  That evening when they finished putting the supper dishes back in the cupboard, Rose turned to Caroline and asked, “Do you think it’s safe to let Sara play in the back yard?”

  Caroline nodded. “I do. The wisteria bushes along the side of the house are so thick you can’t see the yard from the street, and that big wooden fence goes the whole way around.”

  “Is there any other way to get back there?”

  “No. The only way is to come through the house.”

  “Okay then.” Rose smiled.

  The next afternoon Sara’s boundary was extended, and she was allowed into the backyard. “But only the backyard,” Rose warned. “No further.”

  Caroline Sweetwater

  Having Rowena here is like having a sister. When we’re working together in the kitchen, that’s when I feel closest to her. She’s teaching me to cook, so naturally we talk about that, but we also talk about a thousand other things. After she told me she still had feelings for Joe, I explained what life was like with Mama. I think that changed her mind about wanting Joe back. Being crazy in love with a man is fine and dandy, but I don’t think there’s a man in the world a mother is ever gonna love as much as she loves her own child.

  Rowena is awfully young to have so much responsibility, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s not like most girls who fuss about their hair and makeup. She hardly ever thinks about herself; she just worries about taking care of Sara. There’s only a year or two difference in our ages, but she has a child and that makes a woman much more serious-minded.

  On second thought, that might not be true of all women. It sure wasn’t true of my mama. If Daddy had walked back in the door and said, Joelle, you’ve got to choose between me and the kid, I can’t say for sure who Mama would choose. I wish she’d been more like Rowena; I know for certain it would have made my life a whole lot better.

  I’ve got to stop thinking of her as Rowena, which is kind of hard to do. If I don’t keep reminding myself she’s Rose now, I’m liable to let her name slip. That happened day before yesterday, but luckily no one heard me. We were clearing the table and I said, Can you get the platter, Rowena? The words were barely out of my mouth when I saw her face turn white as paste.

  Afterward I told her not to worry. I said they’re safe here, but telling a person not to worry won’t make them not worry. Rowena’s still fearful; you can see it in her eyes. She says she’s not, but if someone drops a shoe or slams a door she jumps up and starts looking around for Sara.

  Sometimes I think we ought to tell the residents the truth about who she is and why she’s here. You know what, I think they’d line up to protect her. They all like Rose, and they’re crazy about little Sara. How could you not be?

  It’s been almost two weeks, and just yesterday Rose said it was okay for Sara to go outside and play in the back yard. “Don’t go near the front,” she warned. “Stay in the back.”

  Sara was out there all afternoon, and last night I saw where Doctor Payne had moved his lounge to the side of the yard and tied a tire swing onto the branch of that oak he’d been sitting under.

  Imagine him doing that. Doctor Payne’s one I never would have figured for being softhearted about a kid.

  Back in Mackinaw

  When Caroline drove out of Mackinaw with Rowena hunkered down in the back seat of her car, Joe Mallory was working his way through a bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring out the sorrows of his life to Ted, the bartender at Easy Aces. It was near daybreak when Joe finally stumbled back to the motel where they’d been living. After fumbling with the key for almost five minutes he pushed through the door calling for Rowena.

  “Didn’t you hear me trying to get in?” he yelled. “You couldn’t get off your lazy ass and—”

  The bed looked empty.

  “What the hell…” Joe rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and tried to focus on what he was seeing, or not seeing, as the case happened to be. Twice he squeezed his eyes shut then reopened them, but nothing changed. Rowena was not in the bed.

  “Get out here, bitch!”

  It was a small room, too small for anyone to hide anywhere, but the reality of that didn’t register. Joe continued across the room, first falling into the dresser and then bouncing off a wall.

  “Rowena,” he called. “Rowena, get your ass out here!”

  With almost a full bottle of whiskey under his belt, Joe swayed like he was standing on the Tilt-a-Whirl. The floor moved beneath his feet, and the walls slid away when he tried to reach for them. He smacked into the closet, then lurched toward the bathroom.

  “Rowena, I know you’re here!”

  Still screaming her name, Joe bent to look under the bed. As he leaned forward he passed out and went down face first against the iron bed frame.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was two o’clock in the afternoon when Joe woke. One eye was swollen shut, and his head felt like a hammer was banging against it. “I need a drink,” he grumbled and struggled to
his feet. For the moment, he didn’t think about Rowena or Sara. He wasn’t interested in where they’d gone or when they’d be back. His only thought was to get a drink and stop the pounding in his head.

  Stan’s Bar was two blocks over. Stan opened early, and Stan made a damn good drink. Joe needed a Bloody Mary, and he needed it now. He looked around the parking lot. The truck was gone. “Bitch,” he grumbled, believing Rowena responsible.

  Stan’s wasn’t that far; he could make it on foot. Joe started walking. Not so much walking, but just pushing one foot in front of the other and shuffling along. Twice he had to stop and lean against a lamppost to rest, but moments later he went back to moving his feet in the direction of Stan’s Bar.

  It took Joe forty minutes to get there, and by the time he arrived his throat felt parched and his head pounded like a kettledrum. He lumbered to the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled. The door didn’t budge. He pulled again and again, then kicked the door and pounded with his fists. Nobody answered. When the throbbing in his head became unbearable, he picked up an empty trashcan from the street and hurled it through the glass window. While the bits and pieces of glass were still raining down, Joe stepped through the window and headed for the bar. He was tipping a whiskey bottle to his mouth when the police arrived.

  ~ ~ ~

  Judge Barker was the law in Mackinaw, the only law. He was the one who said what was fair and not fair and he doled out punishment as he saw fit. Stan was the judge’s brother-in-law.

  Joe’s head still throbbed the next day when the judge banged his gavel and said, “Fifteen days for drunk and disorderly conduct. And,” the judge added, “it’ll be a whole lot longer if you don’t fork over the money to pay for Stan’s window.”