Shadow of Death

by Patricia Gussin

  She was dialing when Steve burst into the room. “It’s safe to go now. The roads are plowed.” He plopped down beside her on the double bed, nuzzling her neck with an unshaven jaw.

  Awkwardly, Laura caressed his hair. “I’m not feeling too well, hon. Could we wait a bit? I need to get something to settle my stomach.”

  Steve bolted up. “I knew it! My God, you’re pregnant! You’ve been sick to your stomach for a couple of months now. Explains your moods too. Babe, why didn’t you say something?”

  “Steve, I don’t know,” she managed. “I’m just tired and stressed. I can’t possibly be pregnant.”

  He looked into her eyes. “Why not? We’ve had enough sex, haven’t we? Even with all your excuses. No wonder you’ve been so tired.”

  Laura attempted a smile. “Yes, but you know I’ve been careful with the timing and all.”

  He sat down, slung an arm around her. “Never mind that. I just know it’ll be our first girl. Let’s go tell Mother and Dad.”

  “No, your mother will just get on my case about staying home,” Laura said, settling in the crook of his arm. “Let’s be sure first. You know I don’t really want to have another baby right now. I thought we agreed.”

  “Maybe you’ll spend more time at home.”

  “In the middle of a school semester?” Laura’s voice trembled. The nausea and vomiting, worse in the morning, now plagued her every day. After two pregnancies Laura certainly knew the symptoms, but she had ignored this unwelcome reality as long as she could.

  “Everything will work out, babe.”

  Laura stared at him. What did he mean? Was he actually happy about this pregnancy?

  Steve drew her close. “Now lie down, I’ll bring you some more tea and toast.”

  After Steve left, Laura shut the door and collapsed on the bed, her tears quickly soaking the pillow. What did Steve mean, spend more time at home? Was he going to make this an excuse for her to quit school? Maybe he was right. This was an impossible time in her life to be pregnant. Would the school kick her out? No, thought Laura with stubborn resolve. She’d worked too hard to get this far.

  She was aware that these were selfish concerns, dwarfed by a reality so frightening that she had forced it into the deepest recesses of her mind. Yet she’d have to face up to it. To go back and carefully calculate the onset of her last menstrual period and compare that to the onset of her morning sickness. Then she would have to ask the dreadful question: Who was the father?

  Staring out the window at the calm white expanse, Laura ruefully wished she had started on the pills her gynecologist had suggested she take after Kevin was born. She’d procrastinated, blaming her indecision on the Church, whose anti-birth control stance had stopped her from taking anything.

  A sharp knock on the bedroom door interrupted her thoughts. Steve walked in carrying a pot of tea on a tray with toast and jelly. Helen Nelson trailed sheepishly behind.

  “Laura,” she offered, “I didn’t know you weren’t feeling well. I did say to Steve’s father last night that you were looking so peaked,” she persisted. “Steve tells me that they’re working you way too hard. Hopefully you’ll be able to slow down now.”

  Slow down? She meant leave school. Obviously, that’s what they all wanted. Laura blew her nose and dabbed at her puffy eyes. “Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

  After shopping and napping, Laura finally reached her mother on the phone. The sound of her voice made Laura want to cry, though she tried to sound as positive as she could. Still, her mother immediately knew that something was wrong. “Honey, I don’t want to pry, but you’ve been sounding just so awful for too long. Your father and I have been wondering if the whole med school thing is the best idea just now. The boys are so young, and you and Steve have so many responsibilities.” Laura squeezed her eyes shut. Everything seemed to conspire against her. Now even her own mother, “I just miss you and Dad,” she cut in. “I wish we were in Florida for Christmas.”

  “So do I, honey,” Peg Whelan said.

  “Can I talk to Jan and Ted? Are they there?”

  “No. They’re still at the beach.”

  Laura sighed, longing to tell her mother about this pregnancy, but not trusting herself to hold back the truth. Instead, she said a quick good-bye and hung up the phone.

  That night, Aunt Hazel, enveloped in a full-length fur coat, charged into the Nelson household without ringing the bell. The drama of her entrance, combined with her flamboyance, stunned Laura. Hazel Harmon was the absolute opposite of her plain, plump sister, although they both had wavy blonde hair, almond-shaped eyes, and near identical facial features.

  Aunt Hazel headed for Laura with open arms. “I finally get to see my niece! My God, you’re beautiful. Much more beautiful than the pictures Helen sent me.”

  After kissing Laura on both cheeks, Hazel greeted Mikey who had ventured to her side, fascinated by her dangling jade earrings. The startled look on his face as she swooped him up, quickly turned to one of joy.

  “Mikey, why, thank God I arrived before you grew up completely. I’m your Aunt Hazel, and I intend to be your favorite aunt. And Steve, darling, you look absolutely fantastic. You really are the definition of handsome. Hard to believe it’s been five years since I’ve seen you. Much too long. You were a gangly young man with cute freckles then. Now this, a father two times over. I simply can’t believe it!”

  Both Steve and Mikey beamed as she handed the boy to his father. Hazel then turned to her sister and brother-in-law. “Jim and Helen, I’m so glad you invited me for the holidays. It’s been so long.”

  “Happy Holidays, Hazel.” Jim Nelson rose slowly from his chair to stiffly return Hazel’s hearty embrace.

  “It’s good to see you, Helen,” Aunt Hazel said quietly. Because Helen held the baby, Laura assumed, the sisters did not embrace. “It’s been too long.”

  Laura witnessed this scene with curiosity. A faraway look had crossed her mother-in-law’s face as she greeted her own sister. Was it admiration or irritation? Suddenly, the Nelson household was infused with energy. Intrigued, Laura planned to spend time with Aunt Hazel. Maybe she held the key that would unlock some of the secrets that lurked beneath the restrained facade of the Nelson family.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In Detroit, the bitter cold and blanket of snow made for a quiet Christmas Eve at the Jones home.

  “I hope Mama comes home soon,” Katie repeated for the third time. Her two older sisters tried to be patient. It was only 8:00. The youngest of the Jones sisters, Katie hadn’t quite grasped the impact of the tragedy that had struck the family. She still believed the holiday would bring magic.

  “Remember last year? We had the biggest tree. There was a present for everyone.”

  “She’ll be here soon. Don’t be a baby,” Rachel said glumly. She knew that everything was different this year. Her brothers, Anthony and Johnny, were in heaven. Now there was no Christmas tree and no presents. Her mama wasn’t home yet and neither was her oldest sister.

  “Mama’s gonna be real mad about Stacy,” Rachel added. “She’s not supposed to leave us home alone.”

  “Stacy said she’d read me a Christmas story before bedtime,” complained Katie.

  “She will, honey,” responded Sharon. The second oldest, she assumed the responsible role. Pulling out the fish sticks that she’d warmed in the oven, she offered a plate to her little sister. “Here, Katie, if you eat these, I’ll let you have some ice cream.”

  “Okay, but I want Mama to come home. Christmas is almost here!”

  “We can play Parcheesi while we wait for her,” Sharon said. “I’ll go get it. Rachel, play with us.”

  There was no sign of holiday festivity in the Jones house. The small black and white television in the sitting room had been broken for a week. That would have been a good distraction for little Katie. They could have watched some Christmas specials. Maybe it didn’t matter. The Jones family would be excluded from the rest of the world’s holiday
celebration this year anyway. It wasn’t fair, but Sharon knew she had to try to keep up their spirits the best she could.

  “Okay, roll the dice to see who goes first.” She laid out the well-worn Parcheesi board as Rachel joined them at the kitchen table.

  More snow began to fall in northern Michigan on Christmas Eve as the Nelson family sat down to a traditional Christmas Eve dinner. Helen had roasted a turkey and fixed all the trimmings. She refused to allow either her sister or her daughter-in-law to help her in the kitchen so Hazel and Laura had time to chat. When the family did sit down to eat, Laura could not help but notice that Steve’s mother had not even said one word to her sister. What could have happened between these two sisters to cause such tension? She was anxious to get Steve aside so she could ask. So when Mikey fell asleep during dinner, she followed Steve as he carried him upstairs to the bedroom that used to be his own. He lay the child down on one of the twin beds, and tiptoed over to check on Kevin in the crib. Then he went to the window and for a long while he stared at the snow-covered oak tree that dominated the back yard.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Laura whispered.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” At the sound of her voice, Steve jerked and turned toward the door. “Let’s get back down to the others.”

  Startled, Laura decided to hold her questions. Something was bothering Steve. Was it about her pregnancy? Did he sense something suspicious?

  Helen served the dark chocolate mousse cake when they returned and Steve gulped his piece in two huge mouthfuls. He then reached over to Laura, grabbed her arm, and announced, “Well, folks, Laura and I are going to bed. Thanks for dinner, Mother. We’ll see you all in the morning.”

  “I’ve got to help your mother with the dishes,” Laura insisted, pulling her arm away. “She did everything herself, and I want her to relax.” Laura had watched her mother-in-law grow increasingly tense through the course of the meal.

  “You look tired, and it’s getting late.” Steve stood abruptly, waiting for Laura to do the same. “Kevin will have us up soon enough.”

  “See you in the morning,” Laura mumbled as Steve reached for her arm again, practically forcing her up.

  “What was that all about?” she demanded, tugging her arm away from his as soon as they had closed the door to their bedroom.

  “You need your rest. Besides, Mother and Aunt Hazel need time to talk and get caught up.”

  “Helen hasn’t said a word to her all night, or haven’t you noticed? I was just getting to know your aunt. I really like her. She’s so different from your mother even though they look so much alike. Underneath the make-up and the styled hair. Are they twins?”

  “They are,” he said, going to the closet. “You stay here while I get the presents down to the tree.”

  As he left the room with an armload of gifts, Laura lay down with a mind full of questions, but sleep came along and took them away.

  When she awoke, a thin film of perspiration covered her neck and arms. A dark form had pressed her down and slashed her throat. She was paralyzed, unable to reach the gun in her purse. When she managed to turn her head and open her eyes, Steve was snoring beside her. She didn’t want to wake him, yet she was afraid to go back to sleep. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed out of the bedroom. The grandfather clock in the hallway was visible in the dim light. It was 2:30 A.M. To her surprise, there was a light on downstairs.

  Laura headed toward the living room. She could make out someone sitting in the large comfortable chair traditionally reserved for Steve’s dad. It was Aunt Hazel, dressed in a black satin peignoir. Her hair hung down to her shoulders, and she looked quite beautiful. In her hand was a brandy snifter. With a wan smile and a nod, she gestured for Laura to sit down in the chair next to her.

  “Aunt Hazel, what are you doing up so late?”

  “Lost in memories I suppose. I grew up in Traverse City. Left in ’52 for good, and I haven’t even been back to visit in over five years. I had hoped things would change, but except for you and your darling children, they haven’t. Helen hates me. She still blames me for everything.”

  “Blames you for what?”

  Hazel studied her. “You don’t know, do you?” she said softly. “I’m the evil sister. Totally to blame for Phillip’s accident. And for what happened between me and Jim.”

  Hazel stiffened before leaning down to lift the brandy bottle from the floor. She refilled her glass. “You’re in this family, and it’s time you knew some things.”

  The rest of the house was completely quiet as Laura sat on the couch and listened to Aunt Hazel. An hour later she walked Aunt Hazel to her room before returning to Steve’s side as he slept in the double bed. She took care not to rouse him and lay awake for another hour, watching the moonlight fill the room. She thought about Aunt Hazel’s story, amazed and hurt that Steve had never told her what had happened. Long ago, Steve had been through a terrible trauma. But so had she, and hadn’t she promised herself never to tell him? Could she blame him for keeping something like this to himself?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  By 11:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve, Lucy Jones was exhausted. She had worked two additional shifts at General Motor’s headquarters this week, which meant that she had not had a day off in more than three weeks: except for Anthony’s funeral. After pushing the heavy, industrial vacuum cleaner through endless offices and hallways, she was physically and mentally numb. She hadn’t counted on the extra mess and debris strewn about during the office Christmas parties. Besides the plastic glasses, empty bottles, and wrapping paper, ashtrays overflowed. The restrooms, always a mess at the end of the day, were littered with paper towels, spilled cosmetics, and even some forgotten gifts. These she wrapped carefully in paper towels to take home for the girls.

  Working this extra time was the only possible way Lucy could afford a Christmas tree, which had to be small enough so she could carry it home. Last year she had two healthy boys to accompany her. Anthony and Johnny had hoisted the tree over their strong young shoulders, laughing and joking.

  On the way home, Lucy got off the bus on Woodward near a roadside stand and selected the best of the scrawny trees still available. Then she began her journey’s last leg, half carrying and half dragging the small but unwieldy tree the last four blocks to home. Wet snow soaked Lucy’s feet. As she began to shiver, despair began to seep inside. With each step, she sunk deeper and deeper into darkness. She pushed herself to go on; the few colored lights burning along her path only deepening her depression.

  Lucy soon came to the corner funeral parlor where Johnny, and then Anthony, had been laid out. She shuddered, frozen with grief. Years ago, she had buried her husband here. Poor Daniel. Just about to get his associate’s degree from Detroit Junior College. Just about to decide what to do with the rest of his life. He had instilled a love of learning in her. It was Daniel that let her really dream for the first time in her life. There was a way out of poverty, and it was by learning. Lucy sobbed. After the deaths of her sons, she kept on going each day for the sake of her daughters. Her pace slowed to a halt, and she found herself suddenly slumped against the concrete wall of the building as the snow fell. She half lay and half sat in a semi-conscious heap, the meager Christmas tree and the last-minute gifts in a bag at her side.

  A dark blue Buick careened around the corner. A tall nun in the black and white habit of the Sisters of Mercy was at the wheel — a shorter passenger, also attired in a full habit, beside her. The two nuns had been friends since their novice days, though they now lived in different worlds. Still, they’d made a pact to return to the motherhouse in Bloomfield Hills each year to spend Christmas Eve together. Tonight, after attending early services at the chapel, they’d walked over to Sister Portia’s nearby convent to relax and reminisce. Portia always played hostess, for her quarters at St. Mary-of-the-Woods Academy, where she taught art and music appreciation, were plush and comfortable. As usual, she drove Sister Mary Agnes home to her convent near St. Joseph’s, driving tens
ely through the ghetto streets of inner city Detroit.

  “Portia, what’s wrong with you?” Mary Agnes inquired. “Your driving is atrocious tonight.”

  As Portia slowed the car, her companion focused on a crumpled body slumped by a building.

  “Oh, my good Lord. You almost ran over that person. At least I think it’s a person. My Lord, Sister, how many glasses of wine did you have?”

  “I only had two, I swear.” Portia pulled the car to a stop a few yards beyond the street corner.

  “You swear? I think it’s a woman. What could she be doing here?”

  “What should we do?” Portia’s voice trembled.

  “Let’s get out and see if we can help,” Mary Agnes said matter-of-factly.

  “Do you think we should? This is such a terrible neighborhood, and it’s so dark.”

  “Whoever that is over there needs help. This is my neighborhood, Portia, remember? I’ve been here fifteen years, and I’m telling you everything will be fine. Back up now, please.”

  These foreboding streets were home to Mary Agnes. Though the neighborhood terrified many others, she knew that she would leave the order before ever returning to a middle-class assignment. Principal at St. Joseph’s School for the past five years, she lived with three other nuns in a nearby dilapidated building that served as a convent.

  Sister Mary Agnes was already stepping out of the car and hiking up her long skirt. Her reluctant companion followed tentatively.

  “Oh, good Lord Almighty, it’s Lucy,” she called. “Portia, get over here quick. I need help. Here, here, Lucy. It’s Sister Mary Agnes. What happened?”

  “Oh my, oh Sister,” Lucy responded slowly.

  “What happened?” Portia blurted. “Have you been mugged?” She glanced around furtively. “Lucy, are you okay?”

  Lucy Jones struggled to stand with the nun’s help. “I’m so embarrassed. Really, nothing is wrong, I been working too many hours, that’s all. I guess I just ran out of steam carrying this tree.”