The Killing Tree

by Rachel Keener

  I promised to stay hidden, and started walking through the ditch that ran by the road. Cars would pass me and I’d duck low, hiding myself in the brush. I was thankful Della lived on the outskirts of the valley, in a trailer park where none of Father Heron’s people would ever go. She lived in a single-wide, the lowest of all trailers. But it was a mansion in the eyes of her mom, because Della had spent much of her childhood playing on the dirt floor of a garage. Before Della’s dad died, they had all lived in a home owned by the coal company. It was a cute little home with blue shutters and a front porch that they could live in as long as her dad worked the mines. Della couldn’t remember living there, though when we passed it she always waved to it. My real home, she called it. After her dad died, her momma and all five children were homeless. They didn’t have any family on Crooktop to take them in. So the church did.

  For a little while they lived in the sanctuary, earning Della the nickname Church Mouse, at least until she grew up and went wild. Eventually the preacher convinced a rich man to move his lawn mower and give Della’s mom an old garage. The garage had originally been attached to the rich man’s home, but he had built a new garage, and cut and moved the old one to the far end of his property to store his lawn mower in it. Everybody pitched in to divide it into two rooms. One bedroom and a general room. The rich man agreed to allow electricity to be connected to the garage from his house. So they were able to hook up an old stove for Della’s mom to cook on. And the folks on Crooktop donated items they no longer wanted—a rusty bed, a dresser without knobs or handles, a broken radio that would only work when it stormed, an old washtub for bathing. So there were six people, piled in a bed and on the floor. A dirt floor with two braided rugs. There was no running water, but the rich man allowed Della’s mom to carry water back from the wash-up sink in his basement. But only if he or his wife was there.

  Over the years things had gotten better. Especially after the other four children escaped. They could remember the little house with the blue shutters. And they had to outrun the garage that stole them away. The three boys found work and started sending a little money home. It wasn’t enough to change Della and her momma’s life, but they didn’t have to beg for as many handouts. Della’s momma got a job too. And a boyfriend. And then another boyfriend. And another.

  Somewhere between all the boyfriends, the garage was abandoned and Della and her momma moved up in the world, to a single-wide trailer. They even managed to get a car. But the trailer never fully replaced the little white house with blue shutters.

  As I neared the trailer, I noticed a girl sitting on the cinderblocks that were stacked up like steps to the front door. I walked up and recognized her as Della’s co-worker from the Ben Franklin.

  “Hey,” I said. “You here to see Della?”

  “Ooohhh,” she said, her eyes growing wide. “I don’t know where she is. Nobody answering the door here, but Boss says I can’t leave ’til I see her.”

  “You need something?”

  “Her apron. She left with it and it’s store property. If she’s trying to keep it, why that’s the same as stealing. Boss said I ain’t to come back without it, but there ain’t no telling where that crazy girl could be. Probably runned off somewhere by now. I would if I was her.”

  “What happened?”

  “It ain’t polite to gossip,” she said, ready to explode with her eagerness to tell me.

  “Well, it’s not gossip, since we’re Della’s friends. We ain’t trying to hurt her.”

  “Okay. Since you’re a friend I guess it won’t hurt nothing. All I really know is that her and the boss were hankying around, you know? And then one day, the boss’s wife comes in and asks to see him. And Della looked at her and said that he wasn’t taking any visitors that day. And his wife says, ‘Well, I reckon I ain’t a visitor if I’m his wife.’ And the look on Della’s face! Why she looked like a ghost! I swear she did! Plum scary, it was. And the wife says, ‘Is something wrong?’ And Della says, ‘Shouldn’t you be shopping for cat food?’ And we all started giggling because that was just a crazy thing to say to the boss’s wife, now wasn’t it?

  “And the wife, she was a real sweet little woman, just looked so confused. She said, ‘I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I just want to see my husband. Besides, I can’t have any cats anyway because the doctor says they’re dangerous if you’re expecting.’ And Della, why I thought she was gonna die right there. Her eyes fell to that lady’s tummy, and sure enough it was as round and hard as a watermelon, ready to pop with a Boss Junior.

  “So the lady says to Della, ‘Are you sure you’re okay, honey, you look like you might have a fever, is my husband working you too hard? If he is you just tell him that I said to give you a break, okay, honey? Don’t let Randy push you around, because it’s all an act anyway, he’s just a cuddly teddy bear inside.’

  “Well, Della started screaming at her. She pointed at that nice lady and screamed, ‘You ain’t fooling me! He told me all about you! And your cats! The ones that you feed steak! And you won’t let him touch you! So you ain’t fooling me. I know you! I know you!’ Della’s face, it was so red it made her hair look pale. She was having an honest-to-God fit, right there in the store. I felt plum embarrassed for her, I really did.

  “And oh, I just felt so sorry for that lady. She didn’t know the boss was hankying around. And there she stood, in her husband’s own store, with her belly ripe with his baby, and this red-faced crazy girl screaming at her about cats. That lady’s eyes, why they just grew wider and wider. And her neck became all blotchy, like she was getting hives. ‘RANDY!’ She started screaming. ‘RANDY!’ Not an angry scream. But Lordy, it was a scream for help. ‘RANDY!’

  “And the boss came running out of his office. And boy oh boy, the look on his face when he saw the two of them standing there face to face. ‘Laurel?’ he said. ‘Laurel, you should be at home! You are in no condition to be out shopping. I told you I’d take care of all those errands, you need to take care of yourself and the baby.’ ‘But Randy,’ the lady said. ‘Who is this girl? What’s going on?’

  “Well, the boss looked at Della. And I could almost see Della shrinking down right then and there. ‘Randy?’ Della whispered, like somebody had slashed her voice box. Then the boss said to his wife, ‘She’s just some stupid high school dropout that can’t work a register to save her life. She’d try and seduce a fence post, too. Anything that comes around her with pants on is fair game. And I’ve told her, Laurel. I’ve told her time and again that I have a wife, a perfect little wife who’s gonna have my baby. But she just don’t get it, and every day she’d think she could flirt me into forgetting about you. That’s how I knew she was crazy. ’Cause I could never forget about you. I almost fired her. Then I thought about how you’re always saying people deserve another chance. But this is the last straw. I can’t have her upsetting you with her crazy talk.’

  “Then he turned to Della. ‘Della!’ he screamed. ‘THIS IS IT! Turn in your apron, and go on home.’ And then everybody hushed. And we all just looked at Della. But, I swear, it gives me chills just thinking about it. It was like there was no Della there! It’s like she was already gone. She just stood there with a thin little smile on her face. And those eyes, why they were as blank as a clean sheet of paper. I guess she does have some mental problems after all, to look like that. Why you’d have to, to be able to look like that.

  “And the lady, well she just said, ‘No, Randy! You don’t have to take her job away, it was just a misunderstanding.’ She was just the sweetest lady. Especially after the way Della had treated her, screaming at her like that! You know, Della should have really been more careful. Why my momma said Della could have sent that poor lady into labor right then and there! But anyway, Della just walked out with her apron still on. None of us have seen her again. And Lordy has the boss been in one bad mood! Shew! It’s got me thinking Della’s the lucky one to be gone!”

  Her face was red whe
n she finished talking, and her eyes glowing. She was loving the scandal of it all. A young May Flours.

  “Get on outta here,” I whispered lowly.

  “Can’t leave ’til I see her. Boss says so.”

  “Tell him she’s done gone to the ocean.”

  She gasped. “The ocean? Lordy me! Well, she is the lucky one, ain’t she?”

  She shook her head in amazement and then hurried away, eager to tell everyone that crazy Della had run off to the ocean. I knocked gently on the door. There was no answer.

  “Della?” I called out. “I’m back home!”

  There was still no answer, but when I laid my head against the trailer I could hear movement inside. There wasn’t much those thin metal walls could hide.

  “I know you’re in there. C’mon, let me in. You mad at me for leaving? You know I’d never leave you for good. We promised, remember?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I’m coming in!” I opened the door. Slowly.

  The trailer smelled like stale bread. There were beer cans scattered on the floor and old ashtrays piled high. My eyes kept falling to clumps of red-brown that dotted the floor. It rose in little piles around the trailer. And it was everywhere. Scattered across the floor. On the counters. The old orange couch. I felt dread, sinking like a weight in my stomach. Something was wrong. Bad wrong.

  “Della?” I called out again, my voice half whispering.

  I could hear bedsprings squeaking. Creak, creak. I peered around the corner into her room. And I saw her. My beautiful, pitiful Della. Curled into a little ball on her bed rocking back and forth. With empty eyes staring wide open. Her hair was completely gone.

  “Hey,” I whispered.

  There was no answer. Just the squeak of bedsprings as she rocked back and forth.

  “Oh Della,” I whispered as I walked over and sat on the edge of her bed. She hadn’t heard me. I wasn’t even sure she saw me. So I just sat helpless and watched her. There was real pain in that room. It was hanging thick on the walls, dripping from the ceiling. The pain of a little girl who could never wear a white dress because she would ruin it on her dirt floor. The pain of a girl who only remembered her daddy in dreams. The pain of a woman who handed her love-glass to a man and watched him stomp it.

  I thought about Mamma Rutha. How she touched and blessed to heal my wounds. I touched Della’s hand. The hand that had instinctively searched out mine when she had a new secret to tell. I pulled her fingers open, unclenching her fist, and touched her open palm.

  I touched her arm. Caressing from her shoulder to her palm. I began to sing the verse Mamma Rutha sang to me as a child whenever the dark scared me.

  “You will abide under the shadowof the Almighty, and He will cover you with His feathers. Under His wings you will take refuge, and no longer be afraid of the terror by night.”

  As a little girl, that verse sent me running to the oaks to look for God. Made me defend birds from Father Heron’s dogs, just in case they were trying to kill God. I longed to find the bird that would hide me from the terror of night.

  And now it was Della’s terror of night. I traced her spine. The little knobs raising from her skin. I touched her shoulders. Pressed the muscles over the blade. And then I touched her head. She flinched as though the touch were painful. The rocking stopped. And she lay still.

  Out with the old, in with the new! she used to say with a laugh as she changed her hair after a breakup. And this was the new. Her head felt so smooth. Silkier than her hair. And cold. I stroked her head, singing to her as she lay still, with shocked eyes. And then she lifted her hand, trembling and thin, to her head. She touched the naked scalp and let her hand fall limp by her side.

  “You’re still beautiful,” I told her. “Always beautiful. Nothing could change that.”

  She lifted both hands and cradled her head. A shudder ran through her body. She was weeping. Without a moan or a sob escaping her lips. Without tears escaping her eyes. I folded her in my arms. And I sang until she grew still. Until my voice grew hoarse and my throat dry. When she finally slept, I pulled the blanket around her and left the room.

  I walked through the trailer and picked up the hair. There was so much of her long, thick hair that had been sexy and teasing, tossed over round shoulders. And now it was dead. I wanted to get it out of the house before she saw it, so I tied the bag off and threw it in the yard. I washed the dishes and swept the floor. And opened the windows to let in some fresh air. I looked in the fridge to see what I could fix her to eat. There was beer. And wine coolers. A small bag of pot. Some dog food. Nothing for Della except a pack of old bologna. There was never anything for Della in that trailer. I had a few dollars in my pocket, so I walked down to a little market nearby.

  “How’s Della doing?” an old man behind the counter asked.

  “What?” I didn’t know him. And I didn’t know how he knew Della.

  “Well, I seen you go into the trailer. Della’s mom done took off. Says she couldn’t handle her and was scared of her, waving a pair of scissors around. So she took off to stay with somebody else for a few days, because she said Della done gone crazy. Crazy over some man too. Imagine that, Della DeMar, heartbroken. After all the hearts she’s done broke, seems odd, don’t it?”

  “Where did Della’s momma go?” I asked.

  “Dunno. Probably to a boyfriend’s. But I dunno who that’d be these days. She’s real torn up about it all, though. Just a weeping. Saying somebody hurt her baby. She loves Della. Just some things a momma can’t take, I reckon.”

  “Well, if you see her, tell her Della’s calm now.”

  “Hmpph. Yep, I’ll tell her. Good thing you’re here. Crazy Rutha’s your grandma, ain’t she? Craziness probably don’t scare you none, now does it?”

  “Don’t know who you’re talking about,” I mumbled. “Don’t know nobody named Crazy Rutha.”

  I ducked behind the aisle and hoped that he believed me. Prayed that he didn’t know Father Heron. I picked out a loaf of bread, some milk, cheese, and butter. A couple cans of tomato soup. Some oatmeal pies. And I thought about how wrong he was. Craziness scared me. When I saw Mamma Rutha naked and wild in her garden, or a shaven Della curled in her bed, it took my breath. These people were a part of me. And that made me wonder if it was too. If the thing that made them stand naked or shave their head was just waiting for the trigger moment.

  A Mexican man walked in the store, and I recognized him from camp.

  “Hey,” I called out to the clerk. “You got some paper and a pencil I can use?”

  “Sure,” he said. “You writing a note for Della’s mom?”

  I shook my head, and wrote Trout a note telling him that something had come up with Della and that he was to meet me by the fire trout stream Monday. Instead of tomorrow. I told him that everything would be okay, and that I loved him. I took the note to the Mexican man, and asked him to give it to Trout. He shook his head in confusion.

  “¡Trucha!” I said, hoping his Spanish name would trigger a memory.

  “Oh. Trucha. Sí,” he said as he pocketed the note.

  I paid for the groceries and carried them back to the trailer. With the dishes washed and the windows opened it already smelled better inside. As I put away the groceries, I could hear Della starting to stir. I warmed the tomato soup, made a couple of grilled cheeses, and carried them back to her room.

  She was sitting up in bed when I walked in. Her eyes were a little less vacant.

  “Hey. Hungry?”

  “Mercy,” she whispered, and gave me a weak smile.

  “Yeah, I’m here. You need to eat.”

  I tore a corner of the grilled cheese off and held it up to her lips. Her mouth parted slightly, and I pushed the food in. We sat like that, me feeding her bit by bit, spoon by spoon, until I was satisfied that she had eaten enough.

  “You sleepy?” I asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Well, you sleep. I’ll be right outside. And when you wak
e up, we’ll have oatmeal pies.”

  “Is my momma here?” she whispered, her lips trembling.

  “She had to step out for just a little while. But she’ll be right back. She told me to tell you she was coming right back.”

  Della nodded and curled back under her covers.

  “I’ll be right outside,” I said as I gently closed her door.

  She still wanted her momma. I could feed her. Sing to her. Rock her. But she still wanted her momma. That never stops. Even when they die. Even when they leave you.

  I laid down on the ragged orange couch and fell asleep. Soon I was at the ocean. I was on the ocean, standing on the water. And it was smooth and calm. Trout was standing across from me. Look, I said. We’re standing on mirrors. And he gave me that smile. The one that didn’t hold back. I took a step toward him and the water rippled, sending waves all around us. Easy now, Trout said. Don’t break the mirror. I took another step. Bigger waves came. Just hurry up and get there, I told myself as I took another step. My foot sank and soon I was beneath the mirror, staring up at Trout. He was all alone and the waves were growing high. Mercy! he was calling. Mercy! And all around him the waves were growing higher and higher. Until they crashed over him. He disappeared.

  I startled awake and hurried outside.

  It’s gonna be okay. He’s okay, I whispered. I couldn’t stop shaking. A surging heat filled my body as my knees pulled me to the ground. My hands groped the grass as I retched and gagged. Hot foam spilled from my mouth. Was it bitter seawater?

  I stretched out long and straight on the ground, until my body grew calm. Della began to move around inside. I walked back in and found her on the couch. A good sign.

  “Hey sleepy,” I said.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “Where you been lately?”

  “Long story. You hungry? I got some oatmeal pies. And milk.”

  “No. I don’t reckon I want anything just yet,” she said.