The Eyes of the Doe

by Patricia Taylor Wells

  Holly rose from her chair and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. I tried to make eye contact with her, but she dodged me once again. I had hoped she would say goodnight to Jewell and Ross who were talking to neighbors in the dining room, but she stole past them without their notice. I pitied this young girl. Nothing in her life would ever be the same again.

  Not long after Holly had gone to bed, Mrs. Lake from across the street approached me and asked if I would go upstairs with her and Jewell to see if Holly was all right. I got the impression that this was Mrs. Lake’s idea, not Jewell’s. No doubt, Jewell was totally empty inside and unable to deal with the needs of her daughter.

  I followed close behind Jewell and Mrs. Lake as we walked up the stairs to Holly’s room. For a moment, we just stood outside. I wasn’t sure what the plan was, so I took the lead and opened the door. A sliver of light angled across Holly’s bed. Mrs. Lake widened the opening. I stepped back and waited in the hall while the two women barely entered the room.

  “Holly, are you awake?” Jewell asked. Her voice was a timid whisper.

  “Yes,” Holly answered.

  “Do you want something to help you sleep?”

  “Like what?”

  “I have some mild tranquilizers.”

  “Okay,” Holly said.

  I frowned over the kind of comfort being offered. Although Jewell and Holly were only a few feet away from one another, the distance between their hearts was millions of miles.

  Mrs. Lake volunteered to get Holly a glass of water from the hall bath. She was the one who brought the glass and pill to Holly’s bedside while Jewell remained frozen in place. I felt like pushing Jewell across the room, forcing her closer to her daughter. Maybe then, one of them would cry. Were they both trying to be strong or were they both too numb to feel anything at all?

  “Brother Howard wants to speak with you,” Jewell said as she motioned for me to come forward. She then turned and walked away with Mrs. Lake.

  Holly sat up, pulling the covers to her chin. I dragged her desk chair over to the bed and sat down.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I guess so.” She was doing her best to hold back her tears.

  “This is the most difficult part of my job,” I began. “I wish there was an easy way to explain these things, but there isn’t. It takes a lot of faith and courage to carry on when we lose someone we love.”

  “Where is Jake now?” Holly asked. “He wasn’t baptized. Don’t you have to be baptized to go to heaven?”

  “I have no doubt whatsoever that Jake has entered the Kingdom of God. He asked me to baptize him on Christmas Eve. He made his proclamation, Holly, and that’s all that counts. I know what you were taught. It’s the same thing I’m supposed to tell you. If Jake had lived another week, he would have been baptized. I don’t think God is going to hold that against him. You don’t need to worry about Jake. Through Christ, our Lord, he is saved.” I was sure this had been bothering her all evening. I took her hand. “Can we pray?” Although she nodded, she pulled her hand away.

  “Our Father in heaven,” I prayed, “bless this child, your daughter and beloved sister to the son you have called home. Give her the courage, the wisdom, and the strength she will need to face that which you have declared to be your will. Help her find peace in the knowledge that her dear brother, whom we all loved, is with you now and forever more. Amen.”

  I waited for Holly to speak, but she remained silent.

  “I’m going to leave you now,” I said. “Don’t turn your back on God, Holly. He has His reasons for everything that happens. It’s not for us to ask why.”

  As I rose from my chair, Holly slid down under the covers. I stood there a moment, wishing I had been able to break through all the hurt she was holding onto. It was going to take a long time, I decided, before Holly could let go of it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Burying a child is life’s darkest assignment.

  Jewell

  THE RATTLE OF pots and pans and the smell of bacon woke me from the fitful sleep that had plagued me all night. Surely, Ross wasn’t cooking breakfast.

  I threw on my robe and hurried downstairs. Mrs. Lake was standing over the stove, hastily turning bacon while trying to keep the eggs from sticking to the skillet.

  “Breakfast is almost ready,” she announced, as if it was customary for her to be in our kitchen cooking for us. “I’ve just about scrambled the life out of these eggs.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I said. “Where’s Ross?”

  “He was leaving as I got here. Said he needed to fill up the tank and get some cigarettes. I hope he’s back before everything gets cold.”

  I poured myself a cup of coffee—black the way I liked it. I wasn’t in the mood for small conversation. Although I appreciated my neighbor for coming over this morning, I couldn’t stomach her sympathy. I walked over to the den and sat down on the hearth where she couldn’t see me.

  The sun, just topping the horizon, had cast a faint glow over the dark paneling of the room. Other than the ticking of the mantle clock, which seemed to echo against the walls, it was quiet as a tomb compared to last night’s deluge of family and friends.

  I sipped my coffee, staring at the murky brew as if it held the answers to all my questions. How was I going to get through this day, or the next one? How was I going to live another minute without my precious Jake? What meaning could my life possibly have from now on?

  I buried my face in my palms, pressing my fingers hard against my temples to lessen the constant throbbing. A dog was barking nearby and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the dog’s owner calling it home. A train threaded the tracks on the outskirts of town as its long, low whistle haunted the air. Such ordinary sounds for the day after my son passed away. I folded my arms and rocked back and forth until the room became quiet again.

  Amid the stillness, I became aware that Holly was standing in the doorway. She looked completely needy, like a pitiful orphan who longed to steal back to the time when life had no meaning for her other than securing the warmth and nourishment of her mother’s breast.

  I turned my head, hoping she would take the hint and go away. When I reluctantly looked back around, Holly mistook my gesture as an invitation and came toward me; timidly at first, and then suddenly, she rushed forward and threw her arms around me. Holly clung so tightly to me that her tears wet my cheeks and streamed down my neck. I felt like I was suffocating.

  I wanted no part of this. What was she thinking? I took her arms and threw them off of me.

  “Get away,” I screamed.

  Holly’s eyes popped from shock and her face reddened. She gasped as if I had knocked all the air out of her lungs.

  I didn’t need her blubbering all over me right now, causing a scene with her tragic grasp for pity. I just lost my son. My God! I just lost my son. Why can’t everyone leave me alone? I can’t feel anything but my own sorrow.

  Holly’s sobbing was so loud that Mrs. Lake peered around the corner to see what was going on. She quickly led my daughter down the hall, speaking so softly that I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I didn’t care. I wanted Holly out of my sight.

  When Ross came home, I could hear him talking to Mrs. Lake, but couldn’t make out their conversation. After a while, Mrs. Lake came into the den.

  “Ross went upstairs to check on Holly,” she said, barely looking at me. I knew she thought I was a horrible mother. “I’m going to leave now, unless there’s anything else I can do for you.”

  “You’ve done enough already.”

  After Mrs. Lake left, Ross came downstairs and sat at the table she had set for breakfast. He didn’t say anything when I joined him. I took it he was unhappy with me. Holly must have made more of what happened than actually did.

  “Drew will be here around noon,” Ross finally spoke. “He’ll drive our car and Sybil will follow in theirs. I told Holly to be ready.”

  “She’s pouting, isn’t she?” />
  “She thinks you don’t give a damn about her. I wonder that, too.”

  “Why does she have to start up? Not now. I can’t deal with her now.” I had observed this act played out too many times. When things didn’t go her way, Holly would either shout in your face or run to her room and slam the door so she could stifle her screams by biting the nose of the old teddy bear Papa Hendricks had given her. One of Fuzzy’s button eyes was missing and to this day, his nose still reeked of stale perfume from Holly’s early experiments with the French atomizers that lined my vanity. Holly had tied a shoestring around the bear’s neck to hide the uneven stitching that kept his head attached. Later, she hung him on the wall above her bed. For all his years of abuse, Fuzzy still remained intact.

  “I told her you needed some time alone,” Ross said.

  “I don’t want her coming around me crying like she did. I can’t take it.”

  “She’s just a child, Jewell. You’re not the only one who’s lost Jake.”

  “I know that.” I got up. I didn’t need a lecture from Ross. “What time is it? I need to get dressed and pack my bags.”

  I went upstairs and sat down on the bed next to the empty suitcase Ross had put there for me. Why, oh why, had this happened to me? I lowered my head and rested it in my hands. I closed my eyes, hoping to muster every bit of strength I could. I couldn’t break down now. I had to decide on songs and prayers for Jake’s service, make sure his Boy Scout uniform was cleaned and pressed for his burial; and worse of all, select the coffin where he would sleep for all eternity. Things no mother should ever have to do. I would never see my son become a man. I would go to my grave longing for the young boy who had brought me so much joy and left me in so much pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A strong spirit is the only thing that warms us when a cold wind sweeps across our soul.

  Holly

  I FELT LIKE I had been pushed off a cliff when Mother shoved me aside. Nothing could have prepared me for being rejected for wanting to comfort her. Late last night, I had heard her crying as she and Daddy carried all of Jake’s belongings from the hospital upstairs. The train set and all of the other toys they had given him as early Christmas presents were now hidden away in his room. I was glad they hadn’t put them under the tree. That would have been unbearable. I hadn’t turned on the tree lights since Jake’s angry outburst over not waiting until he came home to decorate it. This morning, I noticed that Jake’s door was shut tight. I was tempted to look inside, but knew, even without being told, that it was forbidden.

  I was embarrassed knowing that Mrs. Lake had witnessed what had happened that morning. Afterward, she followed me to my room, as though I was a wounded bird that needed tending. I fell across my bed and buried my face in the pillows. Mrs. Lake sat on the edge of the bed and patted my shoulder.

  “Do you want me to help you pack?” she asked. “Your Uncle Drew will be here shortly to drive you all to Land of Goshen. Lord knows, your parents have no business driving a car in their state of mind.”

  “I don’t want to ride with them.”

  “Holly, your mother is upset, is all. She can’t bear to show her feelings right now. Such a terrible loss, what all of you are going through.”

  I sighed and waited for her to leave.

  “You didn’t answer me, dear. Do you want me to help you pack?”

  “No, I can do it myself.”

  “Well, okay. I’ll leave you alone.”

  I waited until the last minute to pack my bags. I didn’t know what to wear to my brother’s funeral, but I wasn’t going to trouble Mother. Why did Jake have to die before Christmas? We would never be able to celebrate again. Christmas would always remind us that he was gone from our lives.

  MOTHER SAT UP front with Uncle Drew on the way to Land of Goshen. A few scattered derricks hammering the earth offered the only relief to the flat, tedious landscape that floated past us as we rode through an oil patch near Kilgore. The dismal hum of tires rolling along the highway buffered the occasional sob that broke from Mother’s throat.

  After a miserable three-hour ride, we arrived in the small town where my parents grew up and had expected to live their entire lives. Daddy asked Uncle Drew to drop me off at Uncle Martin and Aunt Libby’s house before going to the funeral home. He and Mother wanted to spend time alone with Jake’s body. Even though that was not something I wanted to be a part of, I felt like I was being pushed aside once more.

  My aunt and uncle’s white clapboard house with its black shutters and widow’s walk above the verandah looked the same as it always had. It was here that Jake and I spent a week each summer with our twin cousins, Caroline and Carl. Carl came out on the porch when we drove up. He was tall and lanky, like Jake. They looked so much alike that my heart quickened. I thought about the time Jake and Carl had teamed up against me and Caroline, spraying us with imaginary gunfire. We went screaming into the house, making such a fuss that Aunt Libby hollered at the boys to leave us alone. In retaliation, Jake loaded Carl’s air rifle with BB pellets and aimed it directly at me. Spurred on by Carl, he slowly pulled back the trigger, laughing at my angry cries to put the rifle down. There was a pop, and I doubled over in pain. The thick elastic waistband of my shorts had kept the BB from penetrating my skin. Aunt Libby immediately took the rifles away and locked them up. Prior to putting me in their lineup, the boys had honed their skills on a lizard wandering around the backyard. I remember seeing it the next day, still alive, but sporting a dusty Band-Aid that one of the boys, feeling some remorse, had slapped across its scaly back.

  It was sad to think that those days were over. Jake would never be part of my life again. I would keep growing older, keep havingexperiences thatJake wouldnever have. One day, I would be fifty; my life would have changed a thousand ways. But Jake’s life would always be what it was until now and nothing more. He would always be thirteen.

  I was grateful for the idle chatter that kept our minds off of Jake when the family gathered that evening. It was going to be a cold winter according to Farmer’s Almanac. Luke Haley was already getting rheumatism in his bad knee, and that was a sure sign of a rough season ahead. Did anyone know if what everyone was saying about Sheriff Carson’s daughter was true or not? That she was supposed to have a shotgun wedding, but the damn scoundrel ran off before Sheriff Carson could chase him down?

  None of this mattered, of course. We all knew that. We all knew how fleeting and unforgiving life could be. Our inability to step back into the past and recapture a single second of our existence, or to move forward safely beyond the boundaries of an injurious moment, bound us to the present. The only thing we could do right now was to numb ourselves with mindless chatter. Tomorrow, we would have plenty of time to hurt again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  No matter how different we are, we all weep the same

  Old Miss Trudi

  I BEEN MISS Libby’s housekeeper for the past seventeen years, before her twins was born. Even though I only work for her on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I come early Friday morning to set up the dining room for the family gathering. This is the first time Mrs. Wharton tell me not to come to her house on a Friday. She say Miss Libby need me more and go on over there.

  I never call Mrs. Wharton by her first name like I do all my other ladies; not after the hard frown she gave when she heard me answer the telephone with “Miss Pearl’s residence.” Mrs. Wharton frowns most the time. Maybe it ’cause her son died fighting in Korea. No one knows the whereabouts of her daughter, Elizabeth, who everybody still calls Backseat Betty for carrying on with the entire football team. Land of Goshen too small a town for something like that go unnoticed. When Mrs. Wharton got whiff of it, she sent her girl off to some fancy school far away. Miss Betty ain’t never come back. I hear she out West somewhere teaching college. Humph. I bet she still carrying on out there. It funny what you think about at a sad time like this.

  The first thing I does when I get to Miss Libby’s is post a
polite sign on the front door that reads please enter so I won’t have to stop what I’m doing every time the doorbell ring.

  Family, friends, and just about everyone who ever said hello to the Hendricks’s drop by all morning leaving cakes, casseroles, and potted poinsettias with comforting words scrawled on tiny cards. There was scarcely enough room to display them all, but Miss Libby insisted on showing off what everyone brought. The two of us set the potted plants on top the piano so they brighten up the living room. We put all the cakes, pies, and casseroles on the breakfast table in the kitchen. I hid the stuff not worth eating. Some things even the pigs won’t eat.

  By mid-morning the sun had disappeared behind gray clouds and every now and then, the rain come down. It was the kind of day made for a funeral. The whole house wore a sad face. I ain’t seen Mr. Ross or Miss Jewell all morning. They off with the preacher making final arrangements for putting their boy in the ground. Lord, did I know something about that! Two of mine gone—one right after he born and the other shot to death when the gas station he work at got robbed.

  Miss Holly was nowhere to be seen either. Early that morning, Miss Libby sent the twins off to school, said they could come home for the family meal. Everyone be here in time for lunch according to Miss Libby. I was glad they all gone and not getting in my way trying to make everything the way it need to be. It not easy keeping hot things hot and cold things cold, or shooing folks away who want to nibble before everyone at the table.

  The first to show up was two of Miss Holly’s friends; girls she go to school with when she live here. I seen them around town, but don’t know them that well. One of the girls’ parents drive them here, so I had to find a place for them to sit and offer them some coffee to keep them out of my hair.

  “Do you know where Holly is?” one of her friends ask me just as I about to take the ham out of the oven.