The Eyes of the Doe

by Patricia Taylor Wells

  “Looks like someone’s in trouble,” Marge whispered as they approached.

  “I think you know my wife,” I said to the women when Jewell and Holly came upon us.

  “We do,” Marge replied as she eyed Jewell. “We just didn’t know you were her husband until now.”

  “I’ve come to take you home.” Jewell scowled at me.

  “In a while,” I grumbled. “They haven’t even cut the cake yet.”

  “Holly and I are ready to go now.”

  “See what I have to put up with?” I winked at Marge.

  “Don’t go,” Marge pleaded. “We’re having so much fun.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Jewell said in a huff. She grabbed Holly by the arm and walked toward the door.

  “Sorry, girls,” I said to Marge and Angie.

  By the time I got to the car, Jewell was already behind the wheel. She revved up the engine before I could open the door. I thought at first she was going to run me down. God, I hated it when she was in one of her moods.

  I took my place in the passenger’s seat since Jewell wasn’t about to let me drive after all the champagne I’d had.

  “I wish you wouldn’t smoke,” Jewell complained when I lit a cigarette. “I have a headache.”

  I quickly snuffed out my smoke and turned slightly so I could see Holly who was staring out the backseat window.

  “So what did you two sourpusses think of the wedding?” I asked. Neither one of them responded. “Well, I had a good time, despite all that Catholic mumbo jumbo.”

  “From the looks of things, you had a better time than we did,” Holly uttered.

  “Yeah, I had a good time, so what?”

  “It was embarrassing.”

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, young lady.”

  “Could you both stop it?” Jewell pleaded.

  We rode home in silence. After Jewell and Holly went to bed, I rummaged through the kitchen until I found Jewell’s latest hiding place for my bottle of whiskey. I poured myself a drink and slouched in my favorite chair. It wasn’t long before I began to think about how miserable I was, especially since losing Jake. If someone had shot me through the chest it wouldn’t hurt as much as my heart did now. I began to sob.

  Around midnight, Holly came downstairs and confiscated my cigarette to keep the ashes from falling on the floor.

  “You’re going to set the house on fire one of these days,” she scolded.

  I raised my swollen eyelids and attempted to sit straight.

  “You worry too much,” I assured her.

  “You don’t need to be down here in the dark feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “It’s my own damn fault, baby daughter. I’ve done some bad things in my life and God is punishing me for it. Do you know what it does to a man to lose his only son?”

  “Daddy, please . . .” Holly tried to shush me.

  “A man needs a son to carry on his name.”

  “You still have Kathleen and me.”

  “It’s not the same. I love you both, but you can never take Jake’s place. I thought for sure you were going to be a boy. When I found out your mother had given me another girl, I walked out of the hospital. My heart was so set on having a son I couldn’t even bear to look at you.”

  “Do you think I don’t already know that?” Holly countered. “I’ve heard you loud and clear all my life.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  A resentful heart is like a garden full of weeds choking all its glory.

  Jewell

  I WISH WE had never gone to Cynthia Blake’s wedding. Since then, Ross has been drinking regularly. When he did, he was as mean as a rattlesnake. I was weary of having to stave off his venom. I was equally weary of Holly’s bitter attitude. What did she have to be angry about? I was the one who was suffering.

  “Where have you been?” I demanded one Friday evening as Holly tried to sneak in the back door.

  “At the movies,” she mumbled. “Sorry I’m late.”

  I looked at the clock. It was a little past eleven.

  “I thought I told you to be home by ten. Your father is fit to be tied.”

  “It’s not my fault. We had to wait on Marilyn’s mother to pick us up.”

  “Why didn’t you call?” I heard Ross get up from his chair. He rarely backed me up when it came to disciplining our children, so I wasn’t sure if he was coming to my aid or not.

  “I said I was sorry. I’m not a baby, you know. None of my friends’ parents make them come home by ten on weekends.”

  “We’re not your friends’ parents. You know how worried we get if you don’t come home when you’re supposed to. A girl your age shouldn’t be out all hours of the night.”

  “If it were up to you, I’d never leave the house. You never let me do anything. You treat me like a prisoner.”

  “As long as you’re under our roof, you will do what we say,” I insisted. “Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand.”

  “It’s ‘yes, ma’am’ when you talk to me.”

  “You let Kathleen do anything she wanted when she was my age. Now I’m being punished because she ran off and got married.”

  “We don’t want you to make the same mistakes Kathleen made, is all.”

  “I’m leaving home as soon as school is out,” Holly asserted.

  “And just where do you think you’re going, Miss High and Mighty?”

  “You’re not leaving the house for the next two weeks,” Ross said.

  Holly pouted. “That’s not fair.”

  “For all we know, you could be out smoking, drinking, and carrying on with boys,” Ross accused.

  “You’re one to talk,” Holly popped off as she turned and headed upstairs.

  “God damn it!” Ross exploded when he heard her door slam. “I’ve had enough of her smart mouth.”

  “Wait, Ross.” I blocked his path. “I don’t know why you have to have a few drinks before you’re upset enough to be the man in charge. Why don’t you come to bed? We can both talk to Holly tomorrow.”

  “Out of my way.” Ross’s face was red like a poppy exploding in the sun. He pushed past me and dashed upstairs. I caught up with him as he burst into Holly’s room.

  “You have two choices,” he shouted. “You can apologize right now, or you can get your things and get out! I’ve had enough of your attitude.”

  “I don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Holly stated boldly.

  “Where have you been all night?” Ross demanded.

  “I was out with my friends.”

  “Out with friends doing what?”

  “I was at the movies with Marilyn and Connie. I’m home now. I’m in my room. I didn’t do anything wrong. Can you please get out and leave me alone?”

  “This is my house, so don’t tell me to get out. If you can’t show a little respect to your Mother and me, you don’t belong here.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave tomorrow. You don’t care what happens to me, anyway.”

  “We care what happens to you,” I said, “so don’t start on that. Both of you need to settle down. Ross, you’ve had too much to drink, and Holly, you need to keep your mouth shut. Why can’t you be more like—”

  “More like Jake?” Holly asked. “Well, I’m not like him. And I’m not like Kathleen. I’m tired of having both of them crammed down my throat all the time.”

  “Jake never gave us any problems,” I said.

  “You never bothered to notice.” Holly threw more fuel on the fire. “You wanted to believe he didn’t do anything wrong, that he was always perfect.”

  “He was perfect!” I said. “He never did anything wrong. Jake was perfect from the day he was born to the day he—”

  “Died.” Holly emphasized what I couldn’t bring myself to say. “Well, that’s just it, Mother. He is dead. I guess that makes him perfect. He can’t do anything wrong if he’s dead.”

  Ross grabbed Holly by her shoulders and shoved her backward onto
the bed.

  “You take that back, or I’ll squeeze every last breath out of you.” He wrapped his hands around her neck.

  “I meant what I said,” Holly sputtered.

  “Let go of her!” I screamed. “What do you think you’re doing? Let go of her this minute!”

  Ross released his grip. His face was ashen and his eyes were blank, as though he had awakened from a bad dream and couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing. I walked him down the stairs and waited until he settled down before coming back to check on Holly.

  Holly was curled up on her bed with her face buried in her pillow.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “He tried to kill me,” Holly dramatized, sitting up for full effect.

  “He did no such thing. He just got carried away, is all. You should know better than to say things that will upset him when he’s drinking.”

  “You’re blaming me for this?” Holly charged. “I can’t believe you keep putting up with him. He’s getting worse. He’s going to hurt you or me one of these days. I’m scared of him and you should be, too. I don’t care if you do think it’s my fault that he behaves like a maniac; he tried to kill me.”

  “He would never hurt you, Holly. The best thing you can do is just forget about this and go to sleep.”

  “I can’t just forget about it. I can’t believe you expect me to. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what happened tonight for as long as I live. I can’t take this anymore. I’ve already made up my mind. I’m leaving home as soon as school is out.”

  “You can’t leave home. You’re not old enough to go out on your own.”

  “I want to spend the summer with Mama Hendricks.”

  “In Land of Goshen? What on earth would you do there? Your grandmother can’t take care of herself, let alone a girl your age.”

  “She doesn’t have to take care of me. I can help Antarctica take care of her. Mama Hendricks is always asking me to come and visit. Please call her, Mother. You saw what happened. If I stay here, things will only get worse.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. But you have to promise that you won’t say anything to your grandmother about this. We don’t need to upset her. She didn’t raise her sons to drink and I don’t want you to tell her otherwise. Is that clear?”

  Holly had more spunk than me. Nevertheless, she ought to keep her mouth shut rather than argue with Ross when he’s drinking. I shuddered to think what might happen the next time he put his hands around her throat. I would call Mama Hendricks tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Loneliness is not a matter of being alone, but feeling unloved.

  Holly

  I COUNTED THE days until school was out by marking off the calendar on the door of the kitchen pantry. Mother and Daddy frowned at the idea of my going away for the summer, but nothing could make me to change my mind.

  “You’re going to wish you were home after a night or two,” Mother predicted as she loaded an oscillating fan into the trunk of Kathleen’s car. The temperature was already approaching ninety. Mama Hendricks did not have air conditioning. I had forgotten what it was like to kick off the sheets in the middle of the night or to wake up drenched with sweat. The air was so thick and humid that even the birds that congregated each morning in the old dogwoods and sweet gums surrounding Mama Hendricks’s home seldom left their perch.

  Kathleen drove me to Land of Goshen the first week of summer vacation. Mother and Daddy had visited Jake’s gravesite once a month, but I never went with them. Tall grass shadowed the ragged remains of wildflowers on either side of the highway, making me wish I had come at least once just to see the bluebonnets before they had withered away.

  Mama Hendricks’s stately clapboard house with black shutters and pouting gables greeted us like a beacon in a storm. Hydrangea bushes hid the red brick foundation. They no longer received my grandmother’s tender care. Antarctica wasn’t much of a gardener, but she fretted over their sad condition just the same. She would pick clusters of flowers in hues ranging from cornflower to periwinkle and put them in the cut-glass vase by Mama Hendricks’s bedside at least once a week. That was all the pruning they needed, she claimed.

  Antarctica stuck her head out the door as we were getting out of the car. She mopped the beads of sweat around her neck with the ends of her checked apron.

  “They’s here, Miss Ada!” she announced.

  Mama Hendricks was sitting in her wheelchair on the sleeping porch off her bedroom. Each morning, she passed the time by watching the Haroldson twins ride their bikes, Jimmy Larson delivering mail, and old Miss Taylor who walked to and from town unless it was raining. Around noon, even the porch was uncomfortable on a hot day.

  Antarctica had her own quarters at the opposite end of the big house. Two large armoires stood on either side of the wide hallway that separated her and Mama Hendricks. Crocheted blankets and patchwork quilts embroidered with the year Mama Hendricks had completed them lay neatly stacked inside one of them. Having no daughters, she had hoped her granddaughters would continue the tradition, but her crippled hands had ended her quilt and blanket making long before any of us knew what to do with a needle and hook.

  Whenever I visited my grandmother, I always stayed in the bedroom that adjoined Papa Hendricks’s library. The wallpaper had faded and in a few places had turned brown from a leak in the roof. A huge sycamore tree blocked most of the sun from entering the two large windows that overlooked the front walk. The room was dimly lit by candlestick lamps on either side of the dressing table. Its tri-fold mirror had dark flecks where the silver had gradually worn off. There was a little doll bed on top of the chest-of-drawers that had belonged to Mama Hendricks when she was a girl. Two porcelain dolls rested their heads against the bed’s dainty lace pillowcases. Over the years, their faces had crackled, as though they had aged along with their mistress. There was no closet in the room, only hooks on the wall and a corner post for hanging coats and hats. Antarctica had stuck some of Mama Hendricks’s hydrangeas in a scalloped urn for my arrival. The faded, drooping blooms complimented the sweet, old-fashioned charm of the room.

  Kathleen and I finished unloading the car while Antarctica warmed up the chicken soup she had made for lunch. Every time I passed the kitchen with another load, I could hear her muttering to herself as she stirred the big pot on the stovetop.

  “That girl got no bizness being here. She ain’t gonna stay here mor’an a week. All this moving and carrying on be for nothin’, I says.”

  Antarctica was as bad a cook as she was a gardener, but Mama Hendricks never complained so there was little reason for her to improve. My grandmother used to make the best buttermilk biscuits I ever tasted. Her fingers were too snarled now to show me or Antarctica her secret, which I gathered was her light touch with a rolling pin. She always claimed that nothing in life, especially dough, took well to a heavy hand.

  “Is you gonna stay the night, Miss Kathleen?” Antarctica asked as we ate our lunch while Mama Hendricks took a nap. I ran my fingers along the edge of the table where Daddy had carved his initials many years ago after receiving a pocketknife for Christmas. That had prompted Drew and Martin to do the same.

  “No, I have to get back to Jennifer. My mother-in-law can only put up with her for short periods.”

  “Well, I reckon.” Antarctica placed a small plate of sliced white bread on the table and refilled our iced tea glasses. The tea was loaded with enough sugar to make syrup.

  “I sure was sorry to hear ’bout that baby of yours,” she said gingerly.

  “It was a difficult time for all of us,” Kathleen acknowledged.

  “That baby better off with Jesus, what with all the meanness goin’ on.”

  “I think I will have some more soup,” Kathleen said. “What did you put in it? It’s very good, isn’t it Holly?”

  I nodded, even though I didn’t particularly agree.

  After lunch, we sat down with Mama Hendricks and showed her the photo
album we had brought with us.

  “I declare,” Mama Hendricks exclaimed over the recent pictures of Jennifer. “She sure has grown. I wish you had brought her with you.”

  “I’ll bring her when I come back for Holly in August,” Kathleen promised.

  “She’s my only great-grandchild, you know. It seems like yesterday when the two of you were that young, romping and playing. Jake, too. It breaks my heart thinking about him. I always thought I might lose one of my sons with all three of them serving in the war, but I never expected one of my grandchildren to pass on to the Good Lord before me.”

  “It’s time for your pills,” Antarctica interrupted. She placed a pill in Mama Hendricks’s mouth and then held a glass of water with a straw for her to drink. It shocked me to see how helpless my grandmother had become. I had grown accustomed to seeing her in her wheelchair, but had given little thought to the fact she couldn’t feed herself or even blow her own nose. Antarctica did everything for her. No wonder Mama Hendricks never complained about her cooking.

  After Mama Hendricks nodded off to sleep, Kathleen kissed her on the forehead. She said goodbye to Antarctica, then motioned for me to follow her outside.

  “Are you sure about this?” Kathleen asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Well, don’t let your pride stand in the way. You can always go back home. I know Mom and Dad would welcome you with open arms. They mean well; they really do.”

  “You’re making me feel guilty for coming here.”

  “You’re all Mom and Dad have left. You’re growing up faster than they want you to, so they feel like they’re losing you to the world. All they want to do is hold on to you as long as they can. Is that so difficult to understand?”

  “You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve been away so long. Daddy drinks all the time. He used to go crazy thinking about the war, and now he has Jake on his mind. I never know what will set him off. No matter what it is; Mother always blames me for it. I hate him when he’s drinking. That’s why I came here. I had to get away.”