The Eyes of the Doe

by Patricia Taylor Wells

  “My grades in French are good.”

  “Well, what good is French? If I were you I’d find something practical to study. It’s not easy to make a living these days. Besides, who are you going to speak French to? It’s a waste of time to speak more than one language if you ask me.”

  “Let her do what she wants,” Daddy conceded. “You don’t need to get all worked up about it. She’ll probably change her mind several times before she settles on a career. Besides, at her age, she’s not going to listen to any suggestions we make.”

  “You’re probably right,” Mother agreed. “Holly will have to lie in whatever bed she makes for herself. I’ve done my best to make her understand the importance of keeping her grades up and learning something worthwhile. One of these days, she’ll see how right I was.” Mother squeezed more lemon in her ice tea as she looked over at Randy. “Would you please pass the potatoes?”

  Mother, in her usual fashion, had summed everything up as if it had as much importance as a bowl of mashed potatoes. She had always believed there was no escape from life’s drudgery. I doubt if she had ever had a dream of her own. The fact that she had stayed with my father despite their unfit marriage proved it. Losing Jake had only driven my parents further apart; yet, I was certain they would stay together forever, making each other miserable for the rest of their lives. Neither one of them was ever going to change.

  I had thought about telling my parents I was planning to spend the summer in Land of Goshen with Mama Hendricks, but decided against it. Summer was too far away and there was no need to upset them just yet. We were the unhappiest family I knew of—each of us journeying through the darkness alone. I wondered if we would ever find the light that would bring us together again.

  After supper, Kathleen and I walked outside. Mother had insisted on doing the dishes without our help.

  “Did Mother ever talk to that psychologist Aunt Sybil recommended?” Kathleen asked.

  “No, she told Aunt Sybil she didn’t like outsiders knowing her business. I think she should have gone to see him. She never talks about Jake—not a word. But the least little thing reminds her of him. I just leave the room when she cries. It upsets me too much.”

  “What about Daddy?”

  “He’s not drinking, if that’s what you mean. That’s the only good thing that’s come out of this. Daddy keeps to himself most of the time. He doesn’t try to comfort Mother when she cries. I guess he doesn’t know what to do.”

  “Hmmm. That doesn’t sound good. Have you decided what you’re going to do once school’s out? I don’t think Mom and Dad want you to hang around the house all summer.”

  “We haven’t really talked about it. Mother has always wanted me to take art lessons. For some reason, it’s okay for me to be an artist as long as I don’t speak French. I don’t know, though. I think I’d rather do some volunteer work at the hospital—you know, be a Candy Striper or something. I may even spend the summer with Mama Hendricks.”

  “Well, you can always come over and spend some time with us. I could use some help with Jennifer. She loves you so much, Holly. She misses Jake and keeps asking where he is. I think it will be good for her to have a baby sister or brother. I haven’t told Mother and Daddy, but Randy and I have decided to name the baby after Jake if it’s a boy. Actually, his name will be Jacob Randolph, after Jake and Randy.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “Of course it is. Randy and I see it as a special way of remembering Jake. Maybe it will even help us get over being sad every time we hear his name. We need to go on with our lives.”

  “I’m never going to get over losing Jake. I’ll never stop thinking about him. I’ll always wonder what he would be doing if he were alive and how he would look at every age. A baby with the same name is not going to change that. At least not for me.”

  Kathleen looked away. I guess I shouldn’t have said anything. I knew how important this baby was to her, but she had to realize that no one, including her baby, could ever take the place of our brother.

  “So, Mother took you shopping?” Kathleen asked.

  “It was more for her than for me. You know how she is—always tries to buy my love.”

  “That’s just her way. You know that.”

  “She can’t say I love you like most mothers. I sometimes wonder what she would do if she ran out of money.”

  “You really are angry, aren’t you? It must be difficult living at home right now. I’m so glad I have Randy to talk to. I don’t know what I would do without him.”

  “You’ve definitely got it better than me,” I assured her.

  “What did Mom and Dad do with Jake’s things?” Kathleen asked. “There aren’t any reminders of him anywhere.”

  “Mother put all the toys she and Daddy bought him for Christmas back in their boxes and stacked them inside his closet. I don’t think she will ever be able to give them away. She’s made it quite clear no one is allowed in Jake’s room. It’s like a shrine in there. Sometimes late at night, I hear her crying behind his closed door. I’ve actually gone in a few times myself, when Mother and Daddy weren’t home. Mother would be so upset if she knew I had taken things out of there.”

  I had gathered small fragments of Jake’s life on my secret visits: his spelling book, his faded Boy Scout cap, and a folded blue origami rabbit he had made in art class. I kept them hidden away in a wooden box Papa Hendricks had made for Daddy when he was a boy. I felt closer to Jake when I held his personal belongings next to my heart. They still smelled like him. But even in the few moments I was able to break free of my grief and cherish my memories, anger hung in the shadows. I was angry with Mother and Daddy for putting Jake through all the useless treatments; but most of all, I was angry with God. Angry with what others had said was God’s will. I had stopped going to church. I had lost too much by trusting in God. Never again. Never again would I sit back and take a chance on letting some prayer to God handle my affairs. It was this reckless, random power called God that had thrust me into darkness and I would never trust in it again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  There is nothing more burdensome than what others expect of us.

  Jewell

  IT WAS A blustery night in March when I got Randy’s call. He was at the hospital. Earlier, he had rushed Kathleen down the rain-drenched streets of Dallas—all the while praying that the gut feeling he had was as unreliable as the weather forecast that had called for clearing skies. After several hours of premature labor, Kathleen lost the baby she had hoped to name after Jake. She had made it past her second trimester this time—a triumph compared to her other short-lived pregnancies.

  I dreaded having to tell Holly the news when she came down for breakfast the next morning.

  “Kathleen lost the baby.” I buttered my toast while I waited for her to sit down.

  “When?”

  “Last night. I want her to stay with us for a few days. Randy is bringing Jennifer over tonight. He can’t work, look after a sick wife, and take care of a young child all at the same time. I expect you to pitch in and help, too. I can’t take off work anymore—not after all the time I missed . . .” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. “I’ll find someone to stay with her each day until you get home from school.”

  “Why does she bother?”

  “What?” She caught me off guard.

  “Why does she bother?” she repeated. “Why does she keep trying to have babies? They all die. I don’t understand why she keeps doing it. Haven’t we had enough death around here without her adding to it?”

  “That’s enough. You act like it’s her fault. You don’t know what you’re talking about. She just lost a baby and you’re trying to blame her for it.”

  “It is her fault if she knows she can’t carry a baby long enough for it to live and she continues getting pregnant. Why doesn’t she just tend to Jennifer and forget about having any more? I’m sick of death. How many unborn babies does this make? Two? Three?
I’ve lost count. I don’t feel sorry for Kathleen. Why should I?”

  “I said that was enough. You should be ashamed for talking like this. Oh, don’t start Holly. You don’t have a thing to cry about. I hope you never lose a child. It’s the worst thing that can happen to anyone.”

  “Do you think I don’t feel anything? Do you think that only you, Daddy, and Kathleen have suffered any loss? I lost my brother. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  “Nobody said you didn’t feel anything.” Why did she have to start up about Jake? “But I’ll tell you one thing; I’ve had about all I can take with your attitude. We never had this kind of problem with Jake. He never popped off the way you do.”

  “No, I guess he didn’t,” she retorted. “Jake was perfect, wasn’t he?”

  I slapped her across the face.

  “Yes, Holly. Yes, he was perfect,” I screamed. “Jake was always perfect and don’t you ever let me hear you say he wasn’t.”

  My hand stung from having hit her so hard, but the harshness of her words stung even more. How dare she? Holly was the proverbial middle child, always competing for recognition, always wanting to be better than everyone else. In her twisted little mind, she was living in the shadow of Kathleen’s mistakes and the glaring light of Jake’s hallowed image. She had no respect for what I’d been through. All she could think about was her own selfish needs. That’s the thanks I got after all I’d done for her. She was never satisfied.

  Holly held her reddened cheek and flashed her eyes before stomping out of the room. She could throw a tantrum all she wanted. She wasn’t going to do me this way.

  “Holly’s going through a stage,” Ross said when I told him about the episode.

  “I hardly think it’s that simple,” I maintained.

  I hated Kathleen had lost the baby, but at the same time, I was somewhat relieved there wasn’t going to be another baby. It wasn’t the same relief I had felt the first time Kathleen miscarried shortly after she ran off with Randy and got married. Back then I was just glad no one, especially Ross, had to know she was pregnant when she eloped. No, this miscarriage was different. Kathleen had told me she was naming the baby after Jake if it was a boy. She thought I’d be happy about that. But how could I be? Didn’t she understand that no one could take Jake’s place in my heart? And now, she and Randy were talking about having a memorial service for the baby they lost. That was just foolish. We didn’t know this baby. Why would she put me through something like that? I didn’t know which one of my two daughters would drive me to my grave first.

  My head hurt as I tried to figure out what to do about Holly. Our relationship had worsened over the past few weeks. It was all I could do to bare the angry outbursts which occurred almost daily. Holly’s grades had continued to slip and she had skipped school several times. I had no idea what she did on those days. She had even forged my name on excuse notes. I didn’t want to get her in more trouble than she already was, so I told the school secretary I had signed the notes. That was the best I could do. I didn’t have the energy to do more and she certainly wasn’t making it any easier for me to deal with all her problems.

  By April, bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes had spread like wildfire along the highways. The world was too beautiful for the way I felt. Every day was a struggle. The constant aching in my heart had drained my soul. I got up, made breakfast, and went to work; then came home, cooked dinner, and went to bed. Only I didn’t sleep. I would get up and go into Jake’s room—the only place I could truly let the feelings I kept locked inside escape. Sometimes I stayed in his room two or three hours. After a while, I would feel completely empty. I would return to bed and lie awake in darkness. It was as though the night air sang a sad song and I could hear it in my heart as I tried to suffocate my tears. If Ross was aware of my suffering, he kept it hidden. He approached life’s problems by avoiding them all together or trying to drown them with a pint of Jim Beam. We never talked about Jake anymore. It was too painful.

  For a while, Ross and I had gone to church, hoping to find an answer to what had happened to us. But after Holly stopped going, we drifted away, too. I wanted to believe there was a reason for everything, but I couldn’t where Jake was concerned. I was tired of being told by my own mother I had to accept Jake’s passing without question. We had done everything in our power to keep our son alive and it wasn’t enough. God had turned his back on us.

  Maybe I should talk to that psychologist Sybil recommended. I’m not sure I could bare my soul to a stranger. I didn’t see how talking to someone who didn’t know me or care about what I’d been through could possibly help. People would think I’m crazy, or having a nervous breakdown. What if someone at work found out about it? I might lose my job. No, it was better to leave well enough alone.

  Life certainly hadn’t turned out the way I hoped it would. I could remember being so in love with Ross. I was so excited when he came home from war, only to find myself totally frustrated over his disappointment that his first-born had been a girl. And then there was Holly—an even bigger disappointment. The day Jake was born was the happiest day of our lives. Now that he was gone, I couldn’t imagine anything ever making us feel that way again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Faith is the lodestar that steers us out of darkness.

  Ross

  “WHAT’S THIS?” I held up the engraved invitation Jewell had opened earlier.

  “Cynthia Blake’s wedding,” Jewell explained.

  Saint Agnes Catholic Church jumped out at me as I read where the honor of our presence was kindly requested.

  “You know I never have and never will set foot in a Catholic church.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. We have to go. I work with Cynthia. I’m not going to make up some flimsy excuse on your account.”

  “Being Catholic is the next worst thing to being Republican.”

  “You voted for Kennedy and he was a Catholic.”

  “That was different.” I still got a lump in my throat when I thought about one of the greatest presidents that ever lived. I hated we never got the chance to string up the bastard who shot him. I hated even more that Dallas would always bear the shame for Kennedy’s tragic end.

  “Going to Cynthia’s wedding isn’t going to make you Catholic,” Jewell said.

  “Well, I’m not going do all that nonsense the Catholics do.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, dipping my hand in holy water and making the sign of the cross.”

  “Ross, just go to the wedding. No one expects you to do anything you don’t agree with.”

  I WAS A bit awe-struck when we walked through the heavy plank doors of Saint Agnes. It made the church I grew up in seem shabby. The large, gilded interior and arched ceiling almost dwarfed the young bride who swished past us in what Jewell later referred to as satin whispers. She strolled down the aisle on her father’s arm to the front pew, where Cynthia handed her mother a red rose. Her father lifted her veil slightly and kissed her on the cheek. After letting go of his daughter’s hand, he made the sign of the cross and genuflected before taking his place in the pew next to his wife. Cynthia ambled over to a walled statue of the Virgin Mary. After laying a rose across its mantle, she gazed at the Virgin while the soloist sang “Ave Maria.” I felt my jaw tense. I never had understood the Catholic love affair with Mary.

  The ceremony lasted over an hour. Jewell and I remained seated while the majority of guests took communion from the same cup. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what the Lord’s Supper had to do with getting married.

  As soon as the couple said I do I was ready to yank off my tie and scurry home, but Jewell insisted we attend the reception being held at a nearby hotel. I felt uneasy walking into a room full of people I didn’t know. I nervously reached for a Marlboro after seeing that several men across the room had already lit up. They were standing around a silver fountain with pink champagne flowing from its belly. Jewell was busy chatting wi
th a coworker, so I headed in their direction. I may as well make the most of being here, I decided.

  “Ross Hendricks,” I introduced myself to the group, shaking hands with those nearby. Before long, I was entertaining them with my stories of life in the East Texas oil patch. As a Landman, I had run across some of the most memorable characters God ever made. The men were laughing so hard that people were staring. It wasn’t long before Jewell and Holly were glaring at me from the other side of the room. I excused myself and headed their way.

  “You’ve had enough,” Jewell said.

  “We just got here,” I slurred.

  “I think we should leave.”

  “Come and have a glass of champagne.” I took Holly’s hand and pulled her away.

  “What are you doing?” Jewell demanded. “Holly is fourteen. She’s not going to have any champagne.”

  “You’re the one who dragged me to this wedding. Now that I’m having a good time, you want to leave.” I turned and walked back to the fountain.

  Two women who worked in Jewell’s office had joined the circle of smokers. I suspected they were the women that Jewell often described as hussies because they smoked, drank, and laughed out loud. Marge appeared to be in her late thirties with jet-black hair, false eyelashes, and pointed breasts. Her friend Angie was slightly younger, bleached blonde and better looking. When Marge toppled on one of her high heels, I grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling.

  “Well, thank you very much,” she said rather breathlessly. She then puckered her big red lips and planted them on my cheek.

  Angie, who hadn’t said much up until now, moved closer to me. After another round of drinks, the women were hanging on either side of me, alternately pecking me on the cheek as they giggled like school girls. When Marge attempted to press her lips against mine, I quickly turned my head, causing her to miss her mark. I pulled out my handkerchief and wiped away the evidence, but it was too late. Jewell was making a beeline to where we stood. Holly wasn’t far behind.