The River Widow

by Ann Howard Creel

  Adah resisted the urge to say, So what?

  Drucker breathed out, and his mouth odor was as bad as his body’s. “Any other tricks you turned out there?”

  Adah glanced at him, finally, and he winked. A shiver ran up her arms. There was no one else on the road. She hadn’t missed the predatory innuendo of his comment or the vulturine look on his face. “No. Never.”

  He smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

  Then he seemed to be waiting for something. He clearly enjoyed every moment of making her squirm.

  “Besides, the Branches know all about my past. I’ve never kept anything from them. Everything you’ve just said you could’ve learned from Buck or Mabel.”

  “Yep,” Drucker said. “I did hear about it from Buck and Mabel, but now I’m finding some records, too. Some facts, not just hearsay.”

  Adah doubted that but held her tongue.

  “Records are much more convincing than people’s accounts of things that done transpired. They provide much more cause, if you know what I mean.”

  “I think you’re going to have to explain. I’m not used to being threatened.”

  He laughed. “You think this is being threatened? Oh, darling, you have no idea.” His face grew serious again. “Once a judge done seen how you lived before you caught yourself a land-owning husband, it sure does give credence to motive for killing him. You must’ve been thinking you’d come out like the poor widow, only with a lot more money than you ever had in your life.”

  “How does a person’s past provide motive? Seems to me the past is just that—the past.”

  “That ain’t the way most people ’round here think. No, sweetheart, the good people here think it speaks of character. Why, pray tell, did no one take you in when you was just a youngster?”

  “Everyone died.”

  “Not likely. Must be there was something wrong with you from day one, and everybody knew it, and nobody saw fit to help.”

  His words burned, but she had to remain composed. “That’s not true.”

  He leaned back. “Well, I just wanted you to know I’ll be presenting my case for exhumation to a judge pretty soon, and I wondered if you might wanna save us all the trouble and just go ahead and tell me now what you done. You could save yourself a lot of sleepless nights, and confession now might make for a lighter sentence once you’re convicted of murder.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Adah said and then added, “since I’m innocent.”

  “Suit yourself,” Drucker said. “You want to do this the hard way, then that’s just peachy keen with me.”

  Adah put her hand on the door handle. She couldn’t remain in control much longer. “Are we done here?”

  He smiled. “We’re done when I say we’re done.” Adah held still for a few more tortured moments; then Drucker said, “Go on now. We’ll be seeing each other again real soon. You can mark my word on that.”

  After opening the door, she walked away back toward the laundry basket, in complete awareness that all Drucker had to do was run her down, and the Branches’ revenge would be enacted. He could say anything, that she’d resisted arrest, that she’d mouthed off, anything. So when he whipped the car around her and left her in the dust again, she was surprised to find herself still standing, still alive.

  But now she was vulnerable in another, newer, and more vicious way.

  From then on, she started picking up and delivering laundry at different hours of the day, sometimes early, sometimes late, in order to avoid another confrontation with Drucker. And she rarely stuck around to talk with her customers, instead returning as soon as she could and making herself helpful on the farm. But even though she managed to evade Drucker on the road, he ran around unbidden in her mind. She felt him closing in, running a spherical course that was getting smaller, tighter. She had no idea if he was doing what he told her he was doing—still working toward exhuming Lester’s body—or if he was doing something else.

  One thing was certain, however—he was doing something. And she had to come up with an escape plan before he pounced. Every day she concocted scenarios that she then had to discard because there was too much risk, too high a chance of failure. Soon it became clear that there was no easy solution, and whatever she came up with could end in disaster. She was being watched closely; she had no easy way out.

  At night, she dreamed of finding herself in the morgue with Lester’s body, now more decomposed, on the table in front of her. Then Manfred Drucker, dressed in surgeon’s attire, grinned at her from beneath his mask and, holding a scalpel, cut into Lester’s body, straight down the center of his right temple. Blood and brains. Cold metal handcuffs clamping down on her wrists, feeling herself shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller as Daisy’s voice was becoming fainter and fainter as it called “Mama” until it faded away altogether. She awakened, bolting upright in bed, clenching her hand against her sternum, barely stifling a scream.

  Her time was limited; this she knew even as she foundered helplessly with no clear plan. But she had to go on feigning innocence and acting as though there was nothing to fear. She had to go on living and breathing and keeping her head for Daisy’s sake. Time, her enemy now, seemed to be racing forward. The summer was heating up, the crops were growing, and each day felt like a lost opportunity.

  Late in July, the tobacco plants were shoulder height, and the flowers had to be broken off by hand in order to focus the plant’s energy on its leaves and produce a better crop. Adah had been taking Daisy into the fields when she could manage a break from her laundry work, and there she showed the girl how to snap the flowers.

  Daisy wanted to collect the flowers, and Adah fashioned together something of a bouquet for her, tucking a few blossoms into her hair. There was time for a few moments to play hide-and-seek among the rows, but otherwise it was endless work under the relentless summer sun. Over exhausting suppers, Adah’s mind drifted in strange directions. Any road sound outside reminded her of Manfred Drucker’s engine and that he could come out in his patrol car at any moment to arrest her. And when Buck cut into his pork chop one night with a steak knife, Adah saw a scalpel in his hands and heard a jail-cell door slamming shut, the freezing metal sound of her future confinement.

  One night, after a particularly grueling day, Buck and Jesse brought out the bourbon from a cabinet in the living room and poured themselves shots before dinner. Adah watched as Buck drank and drank without showing any change, while Jesse became a sloppy drunk. His eyes were ribboned with tiny red veins, and he was unsteady on his feet.

  When Mabel called everyone for dinner, Buck strode out of the living room into the kitchen without even the littlest waver, whereas Jesse excused himself and lunged for the front door. Adah peeked out of a slit in the curtains and saw Jesse retching into the front flowerbeds. She had to smile. Obviously Jesse couldn’t keep up with his father.

  The door flung open again, and Jesse walked back into the house with a halting gait. His eyes met Adah’s. “What’re you staring at?”

  Adah shrugged. “Nothing.”

  Jesse harrumphed and nearly fell to the side. Still sloshed even after throwing up. “Funny you said ‘nothin’.’ You think you’re somethin’, but one day you’re going to be nothin’, girlie. Nothin’.”

  Adah’s back went rigid. Jesse’s threats had never before felt so ominous. His eyes had never before looked so acidic. Something new was in the works; Adah knew it, but she had no clue what it was.

  There was no choice except to push forward, pretending to be calm.

  The family finally took a breather from the demanding farmwork one Sunday to herald the upcoming wedding at the summer church picnic. There, the engagement of Jesse Branch and Esther Heiser would be announced. Turnout for the event was expected to be large, even though it was a busy time on local tobacco farms. The weather was perfect that day, and everyone looked forward to a chance to gather after church, talk, taste others’ dishes, and watch children at play, a reprieve from grueling
farmwork.

  Mabel and Esther prepared side dishes, dusted off jars of homemade preserves, and dressed in their Sunday best, as did the men. Jesse had bought Esther a ring with three small diamonds set on a filigreed band, which she proudly wore on her left hand. Before they left for the church, Mabel told Adah, “This is a celebration, and we’re all happy about it. Got that?”

  Adah nodded, having absolutely no intention of shattering their public façade. Humiliating them would do her no good.

  The picnic was held on church grounds, with tables and chairs set under spreading oaks and maples and grass underfoot as soft and green as forest moss. The scents of hay and strong coffee floated on the air, which was alive with the sounds of bees, cows, and birds. There were so many casseroles and cakes covering the tops of picnic tables, it reminded Adah of the offerings of the New York delicatessen where she used to peer in, hungry as hell.

  She couldn’t help glancing around and noticing how large the crowd was getting to be. If only she had a means of transportation! She might have been able to slip away with Daisy while the Branches were otherwise engaged. Instead she and Daisy were never far from their eyes, and there was no way out.

  Daisy had the rare opportunity to play with other children, and she and another girl were somehow managing to play house among the thick ropes of some gnarled tree roots. With a white pinafore over her dress, Daisy reminded Adah of a fairy. The little girl she played with, Rebecca, was much like her—a sprite with sparkling blue eyes and thick, wavy hair that could only be held in check by a ponytail.

  As she did whenever they attended public events, Adah observed the wary but polite distance others typically maintained from the Branch family, even as they paid their respects and offered their congratulations about the upcoming nuptials. Watching carefully, Adah took note of the coolness with which Esther Heiser was treated as well. It was baffling. What did people have against Esther? Was it her power and position? Had it always been this way? Or was the coolness in anticipation of her soon becoming one of the Branches?

  Crazy as it was, Adah’s sympathy went out to Esther. No matter how strange, she wasn’t an evil woman, and Adah couldn’t help but be concerned for her. The wedding was planned for October, and Jesse and Esther had let it be known that Esther would not be returning to her position within the school district come fall.

  What would happen to Esther once her life became more and more isolated within the Branches’ stronghold? Did she really know what she was doing? Were marriage and possible children worth the price she apparently was willing to pay? Adah couldn’t get the alarms to stop ringing in her head. She spotted a single pure-white feather on the ground, picked it up carefully, and slipped it into her pocket.

  The picnic crowd began to filter away, but Daisy still played contentedly. Adah helped Esther clear away dishes, utensils, and tablecloths and take them into the church communal room, where the walls had been decorated with cross-stitched Bible verses set in wooden frames and there was a sink for washing, some dusty cupboards, and old tables and chairs.

  “What’s on your mind?” Esther said as she set down a stack of plates and turned to face Adah.

  Today Esther’s hair wasn’t pulled back as tightly as it usually was. There had been moments during the picnic when she’d actually seemed happy, when a smile had ridden over her face like a ripple crossing a pond. Perhaps she was truly in love with Jesse Branch, as unlikely as that seemed. That or the hope of having her own child was beginning to transform Esther. But her gaze was full of trepidation when she looked at Adah. Her caginess didn’t deter Adah; Esther was one of her only contacts with the outside world, and they knew things about each other that no one else did.

  “You’ve been following me around.”

  Adah’s chest tightened, but she had to seize this opportunity. “I’m not following you . . . but . . .”

  Esther crossed her arms over her chest. “What is it this time?”

  Adah focused on the softness of Esther’s cheeks, which today had been lightly powdered, and then gazed upward toward her eyes. “I’m worried about you.”

  Esther scoffed. “Worry about yourself.”

  Adah almost laughed. Esther was one blunt woman. “What does that mean?”

  Esther shrugged.

  Knowing their time alone was limited, Adah pulled in a breath, hoping it would make her feel braver, and, letting it out, finally said, “Okay, I don’t know how much time we’ll have, and I want to ask you something important. About those rumors about how Betsy Branch died . . .”

  Esther blanched, but her hands remained steady as she donned an apron and tied it about her waist. “I don’t listen to rumors.”

  “But you admit there are rumors.”

  “People gossip, that’s all I know for certain.”

  “Did you know Betsy?”

  Esther took one small step back. “Yes.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  Esther batted her eyelashes in a way that made her appear both sadder and younger as she gazed away, a far-off look on her face. Then she peered back at Adah. “You’ll find this odd. Believe it or not, she was a lot like you. She went to school with Lester and me. But she stuck to herself, she was kind of mysterious, also like you.”

  “So you weren’t friends?”

  “No. She was quiet, almost always serious. She was a good student, but she never went out on dates or came to parties. She had one good friend, who’s also a friend of mine. Kate was able to get close to Betsy, but none of the rest of us could. I tried once or twice. Betsy was a pretty girl and could’ve been popular, but she was a closed book.”

  Adah absorbed this information, trying to fathom why a woman so described would’ve married Lester Branch. Why had someone so cautious fallen for him? But then again, Adah had, too. “Do you have any idea why she was ‘closed’?”

  Esther shrugged again. “Her father disappeared when she was younger, when we all were still back in school. Ran off with another woman, they say, and her mother was left always working hard, trying to make ends meet. I don’t think Betsy ever got over her father taking off like that and her mother having to sacrifice so much.”

  “Did she have anyone else?” Adah asked this even though Lester once told her that Daisy had no living relatives on her mother’s side.

  “No, it was just the two of them, Betsy and her mother. After Betsy and Lester got married, her mother had to move to Louisville for work. I heard she got a job on the bottling line at Brown-Forman. I think that nearly killed Betsy. I heard from Kate she missed her mother something fierce, and she wrote her letters every few days.”

  Adah nodded, remembering the letters from the attic.

  Esther shrugged. “It’s odd, though. After a while, she started sending and receiving letters to and from her mother at Kate’s house.”

  All sounds disappeared from the room, and Adah’s flesh rose in goose bumps. She barely remembered to breathe while the sickest feeling overcame her. Something like a vision from the past clawed through Adah’s body. She looked outside and saw an image of Betsy Branch fighting for her life, like a bird with a broken wing, struggling on the hard ground, never to fly again. “She wrote her mother through a third party? Why do you think she did that?”

  “Funny thing. My friend Kate thought it was strange, too, but she never questioned it, just did the favor for her friend. Like I said, Betsy kept to herself.” Esther paused for a long moment and then set a firm, flat gaze on Adah’s face. “I think I know what you’re going after.”

  Esther was having the same thoughts; Adah knew it. A simple understanding ran between them now, back and forth during the hush between their spoken words. It didn’t need to be said. Esther wanted Adah and Daisy gone badly enough that she was willing to pass on information that might help.

  If Betsy had been communicating with her mother in secret, not wanting Lester to know about it, there had to be a reason. Perhaps there were letters that followed the ones Adah had f
ound in the attic, and maybe they would reveal what had transpired between Betsy and Lester before her death. What had happened to make Betsy Branch correspond with her mother in secret? Was she scared? Had her spirit been destroyed before her body was? Had every tiny bone in her bird body been crushed one by one?

  Adah’s voice surprised her when she spoke. She somehow managed to sound as if she was carrying on a typical conversation, while inside she was roiling in utter turmoil. “Will you help me?”

  “Of course not,” Esther barked. Then her voice calmed. “I can never help you, you understand. But . . . I won’t interfere, either.”

  “Do you think Kate would talk to me?”

  “I have no idea. What excuse could you possibly have to talk to her?”

  Adah searched for a reason. “I have some of Betsy’s letters from her mother. I found them in the attic. Her mother is now dead, is that right?”

  Esther nodded. “I think she died soon after Betsy did.”

  “All the more reason for me to keep her letters for Daisy. You could find out if Kate has any other letters and tell her I’m keeping them for when Daisy is old enough to read them. After all, that’s all she has left of her mother and grandmother.”

  “I can’t talk to Kate for you.”

  Adah gulped. “Then I’ll talk to her myself.”

  “What are you looking for in those letters?”

  Adah fought the urge to gnaw on her nails. She skimmed through the thoughts now pounding in her mind while trying to hide that she was trembling. She was walking a precipice with steep drop-offs on either side. But she had few options; there was no choice but to trust this strange woman and tell her the truth. They were, in some ways, allies. “Something that could help us both.”

  “That’s what I thought. But what about your part of Lester’s farm?”

  “I have to give up on that. I don’t have time to wait it out.”

  “So you’re really going to leave?”

  Adah held her breath. “I’m not sure. But it’s what you want, isn’t it?”