The Seventh Mother

by Sherri Wood Emmons

  Within minutes, I heard her breathing settle into a soft, regular snore.

  I pulled the photo album from the drawer I’d hidden it in, and lay on the futon in my bedroom, staring at pictures of my mother. My beautiful, dead mother whose blue eyes I had inherited.

  32

  Emma

  I woke with a start from a dream, a bad dream about Micah and Andrew. A dream about losing my baby.

  Judging by the angle of the sun in the window, it was late afternoon. How long had I been asleep?

  “Jenny?” I called.

  She emerged from her bedroom.

  “What time is it?”

  “Four,” she said.

  “God, I can’t believe I slept so long. I thought you were going to wake me up.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was . . . reading.”

  “Oh, well.” I sat up and rubbed sleep from my eyes. “So much for getting anything done today.”

  “Can I have another cookie?”

  “Sure.” I rose from the couch and hobbled into the kitchen, where the plate I’d made for Mrs. Figg still sat on the table.

  “Why don’t you take those over to Mrs. Figg’s first?”

  Jenny pulled on her jacket and boots, took the plate, and slogged through the snow while I watched from our front porch. She banged on the door and waited. I could hear the beagles baying from inside the house, but no one answered.

  “She’s not here,” Jenny called.

  “Look in the window,” I called back, worried now. Where was Mrs. Figg?

  Jenny looked through the front window and then turned and yelled, “She’s on the floor at the bottom of the stairs!”

  “Try the door!” I yelled, then stepped inside to pull on my own coat.

  I limped across the yard, praying that I wouldn’t slip and fall again, while Jenny jiggled the handle to Mrs. Figg’s door. It swung open as I reached her front porch.

  “Wait,” I said to Jenny. “Stay here.”

  I stepped past her as one of the beagles bolted out the door.

  “Catch the dog!” I yelled to Jenny. I walked into the house and the other beagle jumped up on me, whining piteously. Mrs. Figg lay on the floor, not moving.

  “Mrs. Figg?” I knelt beside her and touched her shoulder, but she didn’t respond.

  “Is she okay?” Jenny stood behind me, staring.

  “Call nine-one-one,” I said. Mrs. Figg’s face was cold and ashen-looking. I felt for a pulse while Jenny dialed the phone.

  “We’re at our next-door neighbor’s house,” she said. “I think she fell down the stairs. She’s not moving.... I don’t know, I came over after lunch but she didn’t answer the door then.”

  She stood staring down at Mrs. Figg’s lifeless body, her eyes wide.

  “Here,” I said, “let me talk to them.”

  I took the phone, gave the dispatcher the address, and slapped Mrs. Figg’s cheek lightly. But I could see she was already gone.

  The beagle beside me was licking Mrs. Figg’s face, whimpering.

  “Why don’t you put this one on a leash and take him out to find the other one,” I said. I didn’t want Jenny just standing there staring at a dead body.

  “Is she okay?” Jenny made no move to leave.

  “No, honey,” I said, my voice soft. “I think she’s gone.”

  Jenny sank to the floor beside me, wrapped her arm around the beagle, and touched Mrs. Figg’s face with one finger. A tear slid down her cheek.

  “She must have fallen down the stairs,” I said, putting my arm around Jenny.

  “Do you think if I had checked earlier we could have saved her?”

  Her voice shook.

  “I don’t know, honey. Probably not. We don’t know how long she’s been laying here.”

  The beagle that had bolted out the front door was now scratching to get back inside. I rose and opened the door and the dog ran to Mrs. Figg and lay down beside her. Both dogs whimpered softly.

  “Poor Daisy,” Jenny said, stroking one of the dogs. “You miss her, don’t you?”

  The ambulance arrived within minutes. The paramedics asked some questions, then gently covered Mrs. Figg’s body with a sheet.

  “Looks like an accident,” one of them said. “The sheriff’s on his way.”

  Sheriff Wylie arrived minutes later.

  “Oh, Lilah,” he said, his voice gentle. “Poor old girl. I told her years ago she shouldn’t be living here all by herself.”

  He turned to me. “You found her like this?”

  I nodded. “Jenny brought a plate of cookies for her.” I pointed to the plate she had dropped on the front porch. “She came right after lunch, and Mrs. Figg didn’t answer the door. Then she came again, and when she still didn’t answer I got worried.”

  “How did you get in the house?” He had his notebook open now and was writing in it.

  “The front door was unlocked,” I said.

  He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s not like Lilah.”

  I shrugged.

  “Did you see anyone around here today? Anyone on her porch?”

  “No,” I said. “But I wasn’t watching or anything.”

  “Do you think someone killed her?” Jenny’s voice came in a whisper.

  “No, honey.” Wylie smiled at her. “I’m just covering all the bases. It looks like she fell down the stairs. I’ll have the medical examiner look at her, of course. But it looks like an accident.”

  “What’s going to happen to her pets?” Jenny’s arm was still around the beagle.

  “I’ll call animal control,” he said. “They’ll find homes for them, don’t worry.” He smiled at Jenny again.

  “You-all can go home now. We’ll take it from here.”

  Jenny rose and took my hand. We paused at the front door and she looked back into the house.

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Figg,” she whispered.

  We walked back to our house and left our coats and boots by the door.

  “Do you want some cocoa?” I asked.

  She shook her head and sat down by the front window, staring across the yard to Mrs. Figg’s house.

  “It’s sad, honey. I know it makes you sad, but she lived a long life.”

  “I hate that she died all by herself,” she said.

  I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her.

  “Daisy and Beauregard were with her,” I said. “I’m sure they never left her side.”

  “Poor Daisy,” she repeated.

  We sat for a while just watching the house next door. We watched as they wheeled Mrs. Figg’s body out to the ambulance, put her inside, and drove her away. Then a big white van pulled up in front of the house, and two men got out and began unloading pet carriers.

  “That must be animal control,” I said.

  “I hope they find good homes.” Jenny was crying again.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Brannon walked in from the kitchen. We hadn’t even heard him come in through the back door.

  “Mrs. Figg died,” Jenny said. “Now they’re taking all her animals away.”

  Brannon looked out the front window and shook his head. “What happened to her?”

  “They think she fell down the stairs,” I said. “I sent Jenny over with some cookies and she didn’t answer the door. So we got worried and went inside.”

  “You went in her house?”

  “Yes,” I said. “She was lying on the floor by the stairs. We called nine-one-one, but she was already dead.”

  “You took Jenny into a house with a dead person?” Brannon’s voice rose. “You let my daughter see that?”

  “I was worried about Mrs. Figg,” I said. “We could hear the dogs barking and her car was in the driveway, but she didn’t answer the door.”

  “So instead of doing what a normal, sane person would do, you took an eleven-year-old into the house to see a dead body?”

  I stared at his angry face and felt a rush of anger mysel
f.

  “A woman died, Brannon. I did what I had to do.”

  He returned my stare for a long, tense minute, then wrapped his arms around Jenny.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said softly.

  “They’re taking the dogs away,” she said, staring over his shoulder out the window.

  A man walked from Mrs. Figg’s house with the beagles on leashes.

  “Please, Daddy,” Jenny said. “Can we take Daisy?”

  “What?” Brannon stepped back to look at her. “No, honey, we can’t take any of the old lady’s animals. Hell, she probably tripped on one of them and that’s how she fell down the stairs.”

  I stared at him, and a small shiver ran up my spine. First Damon Rigby and now Mrs. Figg . . . Death seemed to be following us somehow.

  I wrapped my arms across my belly and shook my head. Accidents happen, I thought. You’re pregnant and hormonal and letting your imagination run wild.

  Brannon rose and wrapped his arms around me.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I took a long nap this afternoon.”

  He smiled and kissed my forehead.

  “How about we order pizza for dinner?” he said. “That way you don’t have to cook.”

  “That sounds good.”

  He dialed his cell phone and walked into the kitchen. I sat in the rocking chair and closed my eyes, trying to erase the image of Mrs. Figg’s lifeless body on the floor. Jenny cried softly, watching out the window until long after the animal control truck had driven away.

  33

  Jenny

  “What did she look like?” Lashaundra’s eyes were wide.

  “She looked like she was asleep, I guess, except she was on the floor.”

  “I never saw anyone dead before.”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, she’s in heaven now.”

  Lashaundra sounded pretty sure of herself.

  “What do you think heaven is like?” I asked. I hadn’t thought much about it before. Daddy always said dead is dead, and only fools believe anything else.

  “Heaven is like everything you ever wanted all the time,” she said, smiling. “Mama says it’s better than anyplace in the whole world.”

  “Do you think Mrs. Figg’s husband is there, too?”

  “Probably,” she said. “If he believed in God and stuff.”

  We sat on her bed, our English homework spread out, untouched, beside us.

  “What if he didn’t believe in God?”

  “I guess then he’d be in hell,” she said. “But I’m sure he believed in God. Almost everyone believes in God, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  I didn’t tell her what Daddy said about people who believed in God.

  “And he must have been a good person,” she continued. “I mean, he let her have all those animals.”

  “He even put up a swing for the pig,” I added.

  “I’m sure he’s in heaven, and she’s there with him.”

  She sounded so sure of it all.

  “Do you think Damon Rigby is in heaven?”

  She raised her eyes and stared at me for a long minute.

  “I don’t know,” she said finally. “He was pretty mean.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “But even so . . .”

  “Mama said he was mean to his wife and his kids, and that’s why Jasper is the way he is. Mama says we should try to forgive Jasper, even if he is a jerk.”

  “Maybe Mr. Rigby’s dad was a jerk, too,” I said. “Maybe that’s why he was so mean.”

  “Maybe, but he was an adult. He didn’t have to be like that.”

  I stared at the notebook in my lap, but all I could see was the picture of my mother holding me in the rocking chair. Had she believed in God? Was she in heaven? Would I see her one day when I died? And if I did, would she even recognize me? I had changed a lot since she died.

  “Mama is taking us to the animal shelter this weekend to get a cat,” Lashaundra said. “Maybe we’ll get one of Mrs. Figg’s.”

  I sighed heavily. “I wish Daddy would let me take Daisy. She’s such a sweet dog.”

  “Maybe Emma could ask him,” she said.

  I shook my head. “No, she’d better not. He already said no, and if she asks him again, he’ll probably just get mad.”

  “He gets mad a lot, doesn’t he?” Lashaundra’s voice was cautious.

  I shrugged.

  “My daddy said he gets in a lot of arguments at work. He almost punched a guy last week, because the guy got in his way and made him drop a package.”

  “He doesn’t usually get mad,” I said.

  I was lying, I guess, but I felt like I should stick up for Daddy. He was my dad, after all.

  “I heard Mama and Daddy talking one night, when we were still in the trailer. She said she heard him yelling at Jackie one time. She said she almost called the police, but then he stopped yelling. And she said Jackie was fine the next day.”

  “He yells sometimes, I guess. But not at me. He hardly ever gets mad at me.”

  “Well, Daddy said the guy who got in your dad’s way at work is a jerk, anyway. So maybe that’s why he got mad.”

  I smiled at her. Lashaundra was my best friend.

  “Does your dad ever get mad?” I asked.

  “Sometimes, I guess. But he doesn’t yell. When he gets mad, he gets really quiet.”

  “Was he mad when the sheriff came to your apartment after Mr. Rigby died?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He didn’t act mad, anyway. But Mama was pretty upset. She called the sheriff a cracker.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Why did she call him that?”

  “That’s what she calls people who are racists. She says they’re redneck crackers.”

  “He was nice when he came to Mrs. Figg’s house after she died,” I said, remembering Sheriff Wylie’s kind smile.

  “Well, you’re white.” Lashaundra’s voice was flat. “He’s probably nice to most white people. But when something bad happens, crackers always blame black people. That’s what Mama says.”

  “She doesn’t think that Emma’s a cracker, does she?”

  “No.” Lashaundra smiled. “I think she did when we first got here, but she likes Emma pretty well now.”

  I smiled back at her. Who wouldn’t like Emma, after all?

  34

  Emma

  I was sitting in the rocking chair a couple weeks after Mrs. Figg died, making lists of baby names I liked, when the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Emma? Hi, this is Shirley Rigby.”

  “Hi, Shirley.”

  “I was wondering if you could meet me for coffee this afternoon?” Her voice was soft and sounded anxious. “Maybe one o’clock at the diner?”

  “That sounds great,” I said. “I have to pick Jenny up from school at three, so that gives us a couple hours.”

  “Perfect, thank you!” she said. “I’ll see you then.”

  She was waiting at a booth when I walked in.

  “I ordered coffee for us,” she said, smiling at me hopefully.

  “It’s decaf.” Resa set a cup in front of me. “No caffeine for you.”

  She set another cup in front of Shirley.

  “Emma’s expecting,” she said.

  “How wonderful!” Shirley reached across the table and put her hand on mine. “I’ll bet your husband is just over the moon.”

  “We’re pretty happy,” I said.

  “There’s nothing better than bringing a child into the world. I remember when Della was born, that’s my first-born. I couldn’t believe how much love I could feel for something so tiny.”

  I nodded, thinking about Andrew.

  “Is Jenny excited, too?” Shirley nodded at me, anticipating my reply.

  “She is,” I said. “We’re all excited.”

  “Well, of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be?”

  She
sipped her coffee, her cheeks reddening slightly.

  “How many children do you have?” I asked.

  “Seven,” she said. “Well, six that lived. I lost one.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Now I put my hand over hers. “I know how hard that is. I lost a baby, too. There’s nothing worse in the world.”

  “What happened to your baby?” she asked, not meeting my eyes.

  I sat a moment, wondering if I should tell her the truth. Then I took a deep breath. I’d told the truth to Resa and to Brannon. And neither of them had abandoned me.

  “My first husband was abusive,” I said, straining to keep my voice calm. “My baby, Andrew was his name, he got a respiratory infection when he was still just tiny, and my husband wouldn’t let me take him to the hospital. And . . . he died.”

  She stared at me now, her eyes wide.

  “So you know . . . I mean . . . you know what it’s like?”

  “I do,” I said. “I got married very young, and Micah, my first husband, he was mean as a snake. I was pretty much scared to death of him.”

  “What happened to him?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “As far as I know, he’s still in Arizona being mean to some other woman. After Andrew died, I left. I left while Micah was out of town and I never went back.”

  “I left Damon once,” she said. “When I was pregnant with Della, he hit me so hard he knocked me down. I left while he was at work the next day. I went up to stay with the nuns at the convent in Loretto. I was raised a Catholic. I even went to Catholic school until high school. Of course, when I married Damon I joined his church. He was a Baptist, you know. They don’t like the Catholics much. He said I wasn’t going to raise his children to be Pope followers, so that was that. I had to become a Baptist before he’d marry me. I did miss the nuns, though. They were always kind to me.

  “Anyway, my sister Theresa worked in the kitchen at the convent in Loretto. So I drove up and stayed a few days. The sisters were so kind to me. I could have stayed there forever. But Damon figured out where I was. It wasn’t hard for him to guess. And he came and got me. He promised me he’d never hit me again. He promised we’d be happy.”

  She took another sip of coffee.

  “I almost left another time. When I was pregnant with my third, he came home drunk one night and beat me up bad, real bad. I lost the baby.”