Fall from Grace

by L. R. Wright

  “I have a friend,” Annabelle said. “Who’s in trouble.” Her daughters were listening intently. “Now it’s trouble of his own making, mind.” Camellia glanced at Rose-Iris. “There isn’t a thing I can do. To help him,” said Annabelle, rubbing the palms of her hands against her skirt. She had put on the blue and white sundress again, she noticed.

  She saw Rose-Iris look quickly at the door.

  “Here’s Dad,” said Rose-Iris, and Annabelle held her breath to listen.

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It is indeed. Herman is home,” she said to Diana over the pounding of her heart, which had moved up into her throat; if it stays there, she thought, it is going to be extremely difficult to talk, and to breathe, too.

  Herman flung the door open and stood in the kitchen, staring down at her. He didn’t seem to be aware that there was anyone else in the room.

  He knows, she thought, looking up at him.

  Everything went into slow motion then.

  They all stood up from the table, Diana, and Rose-Iris, and Camellia, and Annabelle. Diana took a step toward Herman, and then a step back. Camellia moved toward the wall. Rose-Iris placed herself between Herman and Annabelle.

  Nobody said anything. Through the screen Annabelle heard the truck motor making ticking sounds in the heat; Herman had driven it right up to the back door. She was glad he hadn’t driven it through the window wall.

  This was the last thought she remembered having.

  “You whore,” said Herman, breathing hard and fast.

  Annabelle turned herself into a sponge.

  “You been doin’ it again,” he said.

  Nobody moved, because everybody knew that if they moved, so would he, and everybody thought that maybe if they didn’t move, neither would he.

  “You filthy whore,” said Herman, his voice rising. “After what I done for you.” He raised his hand, which he’d made into a fist, and pulled it back, and came for Annabelle.

  “No! No!” cried Rose-Iris, and grabbed him around the waist.

  He flung her off and struck Annabelle across the side of the head. Annabelle fell to the floor, but scrambled clumsily back up again.

  “Don’t!” shouted Diana, and Annabelle saw her looking frantically around the room.

  Annabelle lifted her arm to shield herself but Herman struck her again, in the neck, this time.

  “No Daddy, no!” said Rose-Iris above the wailing of Camellia, who was crouched in the corner with her hands over her ears. Rose-Iris tried to cling to Herman’s arm. Herman threw her aside.

  Herman, sobbing, clubbed Annabelle again with his fist, and again she fell, and struck her forehead against the edge of the buffet.

  “Daddy please,” said Rose-Iris, crying, clawing at him, “please don’t do it.”

  “I ain’t your fuckin’ daddy,” Herman roared. He turned on Rose-Iris and picked her up by the shoulders and shook her. “I ain’t your daddy, you hear that?” He threw her to the floor.

  “Herman!” cried Annabelle, staggering to her feet.

  But Herman reached down and cuffed Rose-Iris, who was lying on the floor, trying to curl up into a ball.

  “Herman, no!” screamed Annabelle. Herman kept on hitting Rose-Iris, and from the corner of her eye Annabelle saw Diana reach down and pick up a chair.

  Annabelle turned, opened a drawer, and fumbled for a knife.

  Chapter 43

  WARREN PICKED UP Wanda at the ferry terminal in Langdale that afternoon; she’d been in Vancouver, at a bank tellers’ seminar. He was in his work overalls and she was in her city clothes. He felt proud of her, driving along the highway, taking sidelong glances at her whenever he could. She was a real pretty woman, Wanda.

  He didn’t have to go back to work, so when they got home Wanda changed and they went out into the backyard for a couple of hours before supper.

  “Maybe I should get a bunch of these,” said Warren, indicating the two railroad ties in the middle of the yard, “and make a raised bed back here.” He was taking a break from the siding to build boxes to surround the bases of the cherry trees. He planned to fill them with bark mulch.

  “What do we need a raised bed for?” said Wanda. She was sitting on her sloped-back red workout chair, lifting weights.

  “It’s easier on your back,” Warren told her. “You don’t have to stoop down to do the weeding. You sit on the edge of it, see, and you reach in.”

  “I don’t stoop down,” said Wanda, breathless. “I get down on my hands and knees.”

  There was a small garden beside the garage, which stood at the back of the yard. Wanda had planted some herbs there, and a zucchini, and a couple of tomatoes.

  “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have to get down on your hands and knees,” said Warren, measuring, marking the tie with a thick pencil, “if you had a raised bed.” He reached for the power saw.

  “That thing’s hideously noisy,” said Wanda when he’d finished. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and sneakers, and she had a headband on, and wristbands, too, to soak up the sweat.

  He started to say something, then stopped. “Did you hear something?”

  “Only that saw,” said Wanda, all concentrated on her weights. Warren used to think about doing weights. No way he’d do them now, though.

  He fitted the two pieces of tie together, marked the second tie, and did his sawing.

  “I hope that’s the end of that,” Wanda grumbled. “That’s it,” said Warren. “Now I’ve just gotta nail them together, and I’m through.”

  Wanda was naturally skinny; Warren couldn’t figure why she’d gotten so keen on getting fit, anyway. She said it was for strength and flexibility.

  Again, Warren thought he heard something.

  He had a very bad feeling. He wished for a moment that his backyard wasn’t enclosed by a six-foot cedar fence. He wanted to be able to see through it.

  He went to the gate, opened it, and looked along the side of his house. Nobody was there, and he heard nothing but the sprinkler on the lawn across the street, and he saw the back end of the van, parked in front of the house, and no other vehicles. He closed the gate and stood there listening, but heard nothing.

  He went back to the lawn and sat down. “Wanda, something weird’s going on.”

  Wanda, laboring with her weights, said, “I didn’t hear a thing, Warren, you imagined it.”

  Warren heard it again, whatever it was. He got up and went back to the gate and opened it. A cement walk ran along the side of the house and then around in front. There was nobody there.

  Suddenly a woman appeared around the corner of the house. She looked terrified. Warren had never seen her in his life before.

  “Are you Warren?”

  He nodded, speechless.

  She went back around the corner. Warren couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. But his heart was thumping, and there was a metallic taste in his mouth, and he absolutely knew something terrible was going to happen.

  He watched the corner intently. And suddenly Annabelle appeared.

  “Wanda,” said Warren, quietly.

  It seemed to him that she was beside him in an instant. She looked at Annabelle and sucked in her breath. Warren didn’t know what to do. He felt Wanda slip past him, ducking beneath his arm. She walked toward Annabelle and as she got closer she walked faster, and her arms lifted, and when she reached Annabelle she put her arms around her and drew her close, and all Warren could think of was that Wanda was getting blood all over her.

  Chapter 44

  ANNABELLE WAITED IN a room that had no windows. It was painted green. There was a rectangular table in it, and two wooden chairs. It wasn’t a particularly threatening room, but Annabelle wished there were some things on the walls. It wasn’t threatening; but it wasn’t clean, either. Annabelle didn’t sit down on a chair, at the table, because neither the chairs nor the table were clean.

  She wiped the palms of her hands again and again down the sides of her blue-and-white-st
riped sundress. The dress was stained, of course. Annabelle was pretending that the stains were gravy.

  At least her skin was clean now. Her hands were clean. She looked at them again, making sure. She held them out in front of her, inspecting closely around the nails. She thought she could see flecks there, around the edges of her fingernails; flecks of gravy.

  That’d teach her, she thought, rubbing the palms of her hands against her dress, that’d teach her to cook a roast in the middle of the hottest summer in the world. If you cook a roast and then you cut it with a dull knife, why that’s what’s going to happen, the blade’s going to slip and oh God you’ve cut yourself you’ve cut yourself now, there’s gravy all over your dress no too red too bright it’s juice from the roast you’ve cooked it rare Herman’s going to be mad…

  She knows she felt it go in, she knows she has to think about that but she can not think about that now—now she only hears the sounds, the grunting, and cursing, and shuffling, and hard breathing, and then some shouts, children crying, oh dear God no please and yelling it out, no no no, and Herman sobbing and then a thwacking sound

  and then oh God his shriek—

  Annabelle had never before in her life heard such a sound. But when she heard it, she recognized it. It was the sound you make when it’s the last sound you’ll ever make. It was the shriek of dying.

  Chapter 45

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU call me?” said Alberg to his daughter.

  “She wanted her brother. She said her brother would call you. He did, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “So that was okay, wasn’t it?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “It was self-defense,” said Diana, ashen-faced. “And her daughter, he was beating on her daughter, too.”

  “Sit down, Diana.” He stepped out into the hall. “Keep her in the interview room,” he said to Sokolowski. “Tell the rest of them I’ll see them in a minute.” He went back into his office and closed the door. “We’ll need to get a statement from you.”

  “It was self-defense.” Her voice was shaking. So were her hands.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. You’ll be okay. You just tell it exactly as you witnessed it.”

  “We were sitting at the kitchen table—”

  “Not now,” said Alberg quickly. “Not to me. I want you to tell it to Sid Sokolowski.” He took her hands, which felt very small and cold. He looked at her helplessly. “I love you, Diana.”

  “I love you, too, Pop.”

  “It’s a damn circus around here,” muttered Sokolowski from behind his desk. “What with all these damn kids.”

  And Bobby Ransome had disappeared.

  “Any word from Thormanby?” said Alberg.

  Sokolowski shook his head.

  Alberg leaned on the desk. “Listen, you know Diana was there when the Ferguson thing happened; would you take her statement?”

  “Sure,” said the sergeant. He looked down, pondering something, and Alberg knew what it was. He was wondering what the hell Diana had been doing out there. He wanted to know that himself.

  “Do you have to talk to the kids?” said Warren. He put his arms more tightly around the girls; eight-year-old Arnold was sitting on Wanda’s knee. He hoped she knew how good she looked, with a kid on her lap.

  The big blond cop looked at the kids and smiled. “I’d like to talk to them, yes.” He got down on his haunches in front of Warren and the girls. “Would that be okay with you?” he said to Camellia and Rose-Iris. They both nodded. Well they were a lot calmer now, thought Warren, and the cops were probably used to talking to kids, so it’d probably be okay. He felt uncertain, though, because he was the only relative around—the only functioning relative, anyway.

  “I’ll tell you, sir,” he said to Alberg, “I’d feel a lot better if I could call my folks. Would that be okay?”

  “Sure,” said Alberg.

  “They live in Fort Langley. It’s long distance.”

  “That’s okay,” said Alberg. He stood up and said to the woman behind the reception counter, “Would you make a call for Mr. Kettleman here, Isabella?”

  So Warren gave her the number.

  And then he and the kids went with the big cop behind the counter, and Warren talked to his dad, who said they’d get over to Sechelt right away, and that’s sure what Warren had wanted to hear.

  “The police want to talk to the kids, Dad,” he said, trying to keep his voice low, even though he knew this Isabella woman could hear every word.

  “Well sure they’ll want to talk to the kids, Warren,” said his dad.

  “Is it okay then?”

  “Sure it’s okay,” said his dad.

  But Warren was very glad somebody else had been there, too, so the cop had more than Annabelle’s word, and her kids’ word, to go on.

  He stayed there with them when the cop asked them questions. And then he got asked some questions, too. And so did Wanda. He looked around for the girl who’d brought Annabelle to the house but he didn’t see her.

  “She’s talking to another officer,” said Alberg, when Warren inquired, “down the hall there.”

  “So what’s going to happen to Annabelle?” said Warren finally, since nobody was volunteering any information about this.

  “I’m going to talk to her now,” said Alberg. “Meanwhile, you and your wife can take the kids home with you.”

  “Yeah, but before I go,” said Warren. He stood up then, for some reason, and with his right hand on Rose-Iris’s shoulder, and his left hand on the top of Camellia’s head, he said, “I want to know what’s going to happen to my sister.”

  “I can’t tell you that just yet,” said Alberg. “But I’ll know a lot more after I’ve spoken to her. Give me half an hour or so. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Warren reluctantly. Wanda stood up, holding Arnold’s hand, and the five of them went outside to Warren’s truck. He was very surprised to realize that it was still Friday, and only four-thirty in the afternoon.

  Chapter 46

  “MAY I PLEASE CHANGE my clothes?” said Annabelle.

  Her upper lip was badly swollen, she had a black eye, and there was a bandage on her forehead, just at the hairline.

  “In a few minutes,” said Alberg. “Your sister-in-law has brought something for you to put on.”

  “It won’t fit me,” said Annabelle, clasping her hands.

  “They’re your own clothes,” said Alberg. “She went to your house to get them. First of all, Mrs. Ferguson, I must inform you that you have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay.”

  She was shaking her head.

  “And that if you can’t afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you.”

  “I don’t want a lawyer.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. I’m going to turn this tape recorder on. Now, tell me what happened.”

  Annabelle shook her head back and forth, back and forth. “Oh no, oh dear, such a mess, such a mess.” She began to weep. “God forgive me. It was me. I killed him.”

  “No,” said Alberg. “You didn’t kill him.”

  Annabelle froze. “He’s—I—he’s not dead?”

  “He’s going to be okay.”

  Every trace of color washed from Annabelle’s face. “Thank God,” she whispered. She ran her fingertips over her face, repeating “Thank God, thank God,” touching her injuries, stroking them tenderly. “But I hurt him,” she said.

  “He’s hurt, yes.”

  “Will I go to jail?”

  “That’s not up to me.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  Alberg sat down in the other chair. “No, Mrs. Ferguson. You’re not under arrest. But you have to tell me what happened.”

  She turned away from him, touching her face again.

  “Mrs. Ferguson.”

  “How are my children?”

  “They’re fine. They’re with your brother and his wife.”
/>
  “Arnold, too?”

  “All of them. All three of them.”

  Annabelle wiped her cheeks with her hands. “Where’s—where’s Herman?”

  “In the hospital. Tell me what happened,” said Alberg gently.

  She stood up, and went around to the other side of the table.

  “I don’t know if I can,” she said, looking at the door.

  Alberg waited.

  “He hardly ever hit me in front of the kids.” She leaned against the wall. “I don’t know how he found out,” she said wearily. “Maybe he didn’t.” She pushed her hair away from her face, and winced when her hand brushed against her swollen lip. “He guesses. And of course I feel guilty. Because either I am guilty, or I was guilty, or I will be guilty. And so part of me thinks I deserve it—part of me,” she said, and for the first time Alberg saw that there was anger in her. “Only part of me.”

  She slumped against the wall again. “He came into the kitchen, we were sitting down having a cup of tea—” She looked at Alberg. “Your daughter was there,” she said, as if she’d just remembered. “She was there. And in the middle of it all, I saw her looking around, and I knew she was looking for something to hit him with.” She turned away, weeping, her cheek against the wall. “She’s a stranger. And she was going to hit him.” She closed her eyes and took a big breath. “She was going to hit him, and Rose-Iris was hanging on to him, and I was just standing there. Waiting for him to beat me some more.

  “I could see on his face that he didn’t want this to be happening. I felt so terrible for him, just for a minute.”

  She turned away and moved hesitantly to the end of the room, her left hand never leaving the wall, as if she were blind.

  “He’s never known what to do about me. So he hits me. But he never hit the kids before. Never.”

  She stopped, huddled in the corner. Alberg got up to hand her his handkerchief. She took it, and wiped her face. He sat down again.