Bruce dragged his finger across Elisabeth’s back as he joined her. “How’s Dad?” he said.
She smiled at him, her tiny ray of sunshine in a sky of storm clouds. But she couldn’t stop the tears. That made him cry too, but he kept telling her, “It’ll be all right, Mama. It’ll be all right.”
“Actually, it won’t,” she said when she was able to gather herself. “Bruce, I would never tell the normal child your age what I’m about to tell you. You’re a special boy with a bright future for God, but with that comes great responsibilities. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
Elisabeth told him all about Will. She had rarely rendered him speechless and now feared she had done the wrong thing. He appeared to try to form a response but was unable to say anything. Finally he whispered hoarsely, “We can’t see him until Saturday?”
She nodded. “I’ll see him every day, but you kids must keep up with school and everything else.”
His face contorted. She knew he wanted to comfort her. That was his way. He looked away, and his tears came again. “Isn’t there anything I can do?” he managed.
“Just pray,” she said. “And I’m going to need a lot of help.”
He nodded, sobbing. She took him in her arms and they wept together.
Saturday was awful. Neighbors advised Elisabeth not to try to drive all the way to Kalamazoo with the temperature nearly twenty below zero. But she started the car early, giving it plenty of time to warm up, and it seemed to run fine. Blowing snow across the road left thick sheets of ice that sent cars and even trucks into the ditch. Elisabeth averaged barely fifteen miles an hour, and the trip took ninety minutes.
The weather was giving Betty the only degree of relief she’d had in ages, so at least Elisabeth didn’t fear an asthma attack during the visit.
Elisabeth had made sure the staff knew Will’s children were coming. He had been shaved and bathed and looked remarkably fit in the dayroom, where he sat near a clicking radiator.
“Look at you all,” he said. “So cute.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Betty said.
Will smiled at Elisabeth and said, “Dad.”
“You remember Benjy,” she said.
“Benjamin,” Benjy said, but she shushed him. “We need to help him remember,” she whispered, “not make it harder.”
“I’m Benjy, you’re Dad,” he said, scowling. Will smiled at him.
“Dad,” Will said.
“And Betty. This is our daughter, Betty.”
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, still shy.
“Daddy,” Will said.
Bruce looked as serious as Elisabeth had seen him in ages. It was clear he hated to see his father this way, disengaged, seemingly unaware and apathetic. She turned Bruce around and steered him toward Will. “And this is our baby—” Elisabeth began.
“Bruce!” Will exulted, throwing open his arms. Bruce hugged him fiercely.
“Figures,” Benjy said, sitting several feet away. Elisabeth motioned for him to return, but he would not.
Will took Bruce into his lap, and while the boy was too big for that, he didn’t protest but laid his head on his father’s shoulder. After a while Will said, “I have to go soon. I’m going to a Christmas party.”
“Here?” Bruce said.
“At work.”
Bruce looked at Elisabeth, who put a finger to her lips and shook her head. “We need to get going too, Will. Say good-by to your children.”
“Good-by, children,” he said, still smiling, maddeningly looking no different than he had a month before. Elisabeth knew that would change.
Benjy drew a little closer, as if to see if his dad would acknowledge him. Will opened his arms for another hug from Bruce. Then he let Betty hug him. He opened his arms to Benjy, who came no closer but said, “See ya, Dad.”
“Dad,” Will said.
“I love you, darling,” Elisabeth said, embracing him.
He did not return her hug but smiled and said, “I love you tomorrow. Every day.”
“Yes, I love you. And I’ll see you tomorrow and every day.”
“Every day,” he said.
“Can we pray with you, Will?”
“In Jesus’ name, amen,” he said.
“Gather around and let’s hold hands, kids,” she said. “Let’s pray with Dad.”
Benjy refused. Betty groaned. Bruce held Elisabeth’s hand and reached for Will’s, but Will said, “Dad,” stood, and walked away.
An orderly asked Elisabeth, “Are we done here, then?”
“I guess,” she said.
They watched as Will was led down the hall, telling the orderly about the Christmas party.
Thick smoke billowed from the chimney when Elisabeth pulled in the driveway.
“Benjy!” she snapped.
“Benjamin,” he said.
“I left that fire low and told you to leave it alone.”
“I did! There was a lot of wood already in there.”
On the way into the house she argued with him. “Before dinner it was down to a couple of logs, which should be embers by now.”
“I swear I didn’t touch it, Ma.”
She knew he was lying. She dragged him to the fireplace where a fire still blazed. “Benjamin, we were gone nearly four hours! I did not put that much wood in there.”
“You just forgot, that’s all. Or maybe somebody came over and did it for us.”
“People don’t do that. It’s dangerous.”
“Well, don’t ask me.”
“And where’s the newspaper? You didn’t kindle those big logs with newspaper again, did you?”
“I told you! I didn’t do anything with the fire!”
“Just the same, you’re off firewood duty.” It had been years since Benjy had been accused of anything related to fire, but Elisabeth couldn’t take any chances.
“Good!” he said. “One less job.”
While the kids were getting ready for bed, Elisabeth stoked the fire and spread it out, letting it die a bit. She selected three large logs from the stack Benjy had brought in and set them aside. Before she retired, she would put them atop the accumulating bed of coals.
As she made the rounds of the children’s bedrooms, as had been Will’s and her custom, Benjy made it clear he wanted that to end too. “I don’t need to be tucked in like a baby,” he said.
“But I want to be sure you’re praying and that you’re all right and will sleep tight and won’t let the bedbugs bite.”
He groaned and rolled onto his side with his back to her. “Do whatever you want,” he said. “But I don’t need this.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue.
Elisabeth found Betty weepy. “Benjy said he didn’t want to see Daddy ever again, and I said ‘Me neither,’ and now I feel bad.”
“It’s hard to see Daddy this way. And it won’t get easier.”
“I hate this. Why did God do this to us?”
“God didn’t do it, honey.”
“Then who did?”
Elisabeth didn’t know how much Betty would understand of a fallen world. “Bad things happen to everybody. They test our faith. The important thing is how we react to them.”
“My faith isn’t too good.”
“Sure it is.”
“I’m sick all the time, Mama. Even when I can breathe, I’m still sore and tired of this.”
“I know.”
Betty fell asleep as Elisabeth prayed for her.
She tiptoed out and into Bruce’s room. He put a bookmark in a volume of the Book of Knowledge and set it atop a pile of them next to his bed. “Dad’s going to be worse every time we see him?” he said.
“I’m afraid so.”
“I’m not going to like that. He’s going to remember me as the one who hugs him, even if he doesn’t recognize me.”
“Probably.”
“So I’d better keep going.”
They prayed and Elisabeth slid his books closer to the head
of the bed. “I don’t want you tripping if you have to get up in the night. Now goodnight, sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite. For if they do, I’ll take my shoe, and beat them till they’re black and blue.”
How many times had he heard that and laughed with glee regardless?
As she headed toward the stairs, she saw Benjy dive into his bed. “I thought you were asleep!” she said.
“He was standing right behind you in the doorway when you were in here, Mom!” Bruce yelled.
“Shut up, Big Mouth!”
“Benjamin!”
“I mean, ‘Shut up, Bruce!’”
Elisabeth ran a hand through her hair. How could three so different children have come from the same womb? Downstairs she swept debris from in front of the fireplace, set the logs, replaced the screen, and watched as the fire leapt. Back in her room she lay on her side of the bed. She would never again have to worry she was crowding Will or hogging the covers, but she avoided his side as if doing otherwise would besmirch his memory. She gathered his pillow to her breast, buried her face in it and smelled his essence, and cried herself to sleep.
She awoke gasping for breath, a child atop her, shaking her. It was Betty. She was wheezing so badly she could barely get out the words. “Mama! Mama!”
“The flue’s probably shut!” Elisabeth said, pushing Betty toward the stairs. “Get outside where you can breathe! I’ll get it open again!”
She followed Betty down the steps and tried to get near the fireplace. The smoke was so thick she couldn’t see and didn’t dare inhale, but one thing was frighteningly clear: the fire had escaped the fireplace, and that entire end of the room was on fire.
Betty stood frozen at the front door, coughing and gasping. Elisabeth recalled how dangerously cold it was as she backed toward the stairs. The oxygen from the open front door fueled the fire and it filled the room. “Betty! Get out! Go next door and call the fire department!”
Elisabeth eluded huge licks of flame that singed her hair as she charged up the stairs two at a time, screaming for Benjy and Bruce. “Get up!” she shrieked. “Get up! Fire! We’ve got to get out, boys!”
Benjy’s room was the farthest, so she went to get him first, planning to grab Bruce on the way back. “Get up, Bruce!” she screamed as she passed his door. He lay motionless and she feared that the smoke had already gotten to him.
She burst into Benjy’s room, yelling for him. Nothing. No movement. She felt all over his bed, then dropped to her hands and knees and checked underneath, then the rest of his floor and the closet, all the while frantically calling him. She hollered down the hall, “Benjy, are you up here? Get out! Get out now! Bruce, get up!”
She moved to Benjy’s window and peered out. The neighbors’ lights were on, Betty was huddled with a woman in the driveway, and it looked like Benjy was with a man. She raised the window and shouted, “Is that Benjy down there?”
“Yes!” the man shouted. “Firemen are on their way! Get out!”
Elisabeth whirled to see the hallway lit bright orange. The draft from the window had drawn the fire up the stairs. She tried to shut it but it was jammed. “Bruce!” she screamed. “Get up! Get out!”
She moved into the hall where the flames lapped at the walls around Bruce’s doorframe. She leaped into his room and found him curled in a ball in his bed, the covers over his head. She yanked them off and used all her strength to lift him. He was limp as a doll and she was sure he was not breathing. She had forgotten how heavy a boy could be. How long had it been since she had carried him?
She slapped at his face and shook him, hoping to rouse him so he would be more than dead weight. But the fire burst in from the hall and enveloped her. She nearly dropped Bruce, flailing at a ribbon on her nightgown that had caught fire.
Elisabeth was out of options, standing there in the middle of the night with her youngest child in her arms, the two of them about to be incinerated. The fire, originated in the fireplace, fueled from the front door, and drawn by the open window in the back bedroom upstairs, was a raging monster hungry to devour everything in its path.
Elisabeth shifted to hold Bruce tighter, buried her seared face in his neck, and backed toward the window. The room was engulfed in flames now, and she had seconds to get out or burn. She felt for the window frame with her backside, then moved forward a step and drove herself back. The twenty-foot fall might kill them, but they had a better chance in the snow than in the inferno.
She was upright when she hit the window, the center of the wood frame catching her at the waist without any give. Her sleeves were afire, now her hair. She screamed, bent over as far as she could without dropping the boy, and backpedaled through the window, her seat smashing through the pane.
The back of her head caught the middle of the frame, and it seemed she was watching her own death in arrested time. Her dark-haired boy was sandwiched between her torso and her legs. She hung out the window, the arctic wind biting into the sweat on her neck. Her bare feet seemed but inches from her face, and again the draft drew the fire.
Elisabeth hung there for an instant, suspended between heaven and earth, the soles of her feet and the top of her head roasting while her seat and her back froze. If she couldn’t dislodge the back of her head she knew it would serve as kindling to the holocaust. Mustering her last trace of strength and exhaling to make herself as thin as possible, even with a boy attached to her middle, she tucked her chin as deep into her chest as she could.
Gravity pulled her farther out the window, the window frame catching her hairline at the back and tearing it away from her skull. With the hem of her gown ablaze, Elisabeth rocked hard, felt her scalp tear free, and knew if she felt anything more, it would be a horrible collision with the cold, cold ground.
Elisabeth was amazed at the amalgam of images that passed through her mind in the next split second. She must look like a burning marsh-mallow, all white and puffy, flung off a stick at a midnight roast. Her instinct was to throw out her arms and try to turn so she would land any way other than on her back or her head. But she would never let go of the boy. She believed their only chance was together. Separate free-falling objects would likely both be smashed beyond mending. She and Bruce were in this together, for life or for death.
She was aware of smoke above, stars peeking through, the wind rushing up under her nightclothes, Bruce suddenly weightless as they seemed to float together. She hung on to him for all she was worth, and in the next instant the wind was driven from her lungs in a great gush and she heard the crack, crack, cracking of twigs and branches and then a big branch. The leafless tree on the east side of the house had broken her flight.
Bruce and her feet rotated above her as she continued to hold him tight. Even in the face of death, modesty made her grateful that any audience was on the other side of the house. She feared landing, unable to move, her nightgown over her head.
For a flash she thought she had stopped, lodged between branches, but they gave way and she rolled, another branch changing her direction yet again. Then she landed roughly on her side in the snow and felt Bruce’s sternum smash into her ribs. That drove air from his lungs and he expelled smoky, blackened phlegm and mucus that allowed him to breathe.
A fire truck slid up to the curb, and half the crew sprinted for her, diving to douse the fingers of fire that flitted about her. She ached all over but was able to sit up, then help get herself on a stretcher as she watched the men attend to Bruce. He was shaken, puzzled, scared. But fine.
A nasty tear above Elisabeth’s neck at the hairline in back would require stitches. Her feet and face and hands were blistered, her hair singed, her eyebrows and lashes gone. She had cracked a rib in back and one in front. And she had suffered damage to her upper spine that would never be accurately diagnosed or treated. It would bother her for the rest of her life, but she would also let it remind her of the night of the fire and another miraculous deliverance of her blessed son. God had allowed her to pluck him from the jaws of
death yet again.
As she was carried to an ambulance, her attention was drawn to the west side of the house where a figure stood next to the neighbor man and jumped up and down, seemingly unable to stop. It was Benjy, shouting hysterically, laughing with each breath.
“What’s that crazy boy saying?” a fireman said.
Suddenly the wind shifted and they heard him clearly. “Now there’s a fire!” he screeched. “There’s a fire all right!”
“I’d lock him up,” another fireman said.
“I’d shoot him.”
“If this turns out to be arson, he’s the first one I’d talk to.”
Which it was, and which they did.
The night had been so cold that the remaining shell of the house was ice encrusted for the next several days. Fire investigators found that there was still a pile of logs near the fireplace that had been only charred. The cause of the smoke and fire, they said, was a stack of huge books thrown on the fire that probably blocked the exhaust when the pages flew up to the wire mesh near the top of the chimney.
Bruce would never have done something like that, especially with his precious volumes. All the evidence pointed to Benjy, who denied the charge with everything he could muster. The closest investigators got to a confession, they said, was when he allowed, “If I had anything to do with it, it had to be in my sleep, because I don’t remember anything about it.”
Because of his age, nothing more could be done anyway. The most incriminating evidence: Betty said Benjy was already outside when she got there. He claimed he had heard someone yelling “Fire!” and he had run.
The family was shuttled from member to member of Christ Church during the months it took to rebuild the house. Elisabeth was never so glad to move back home, but she lived in fear for their safety as long as Benjy was around. She could hardly believe he was her own son. She loved him and prayed for him and scoured her memory for some key to his despicable behavior. And she was scared to death of him.
Elisabeth took the kids to see Will every Saturday for a few months until it became too difficult for all of them. He was soon unable to walk, to dress, to feed himself. His speech became childlike, then nonsense, then just sounds. He drooled. His hands and feet curled. He did not recognize his family, though sometimes he maintained eye contact with Elisabeth and with Bruce for several seconds at a time. Elisabeth detected wonder if not recognition, and she constantly talked to Will as if he could hear and understand.
Though None Go with Me Page 18
