Vanessa

by David Howells

Chapter 17 – MADNESS

  Earlier, the witnessed daily tragedy was over. ‘One, two, three, red light’. Children played that game. Vanessa wondered briefly if she had when she was a child. She didn’t remember. Did Mad Annie play that game with the soldiers? What was it she said, or did, to stop their motion like that? They were all faced east in order to see the goal they were prevented from achieving. They were all stock still, quiet; horses, too. Some of them had reached about a hundred feet beyond the porch, with the rest strung out and scattered behind. Then, as always, they faded and were gone.

  After the Union men had passed into their oblivion, Vanessa looked at where the children had been. Not a sign of them was left. Mad Annie was still standing on her porch, as always. In the past, she and Ryan had left her alone at this point. That was about to change, immediately. She felt the rage of impotence well up within her as the spectacle just witnessed coalesced with the Grace Church fire. In front of her, in the direction she found herself helpless not to walk towards, was their MOTHER! No mother, no matter how insane, could consign flesh of her flesh to this. She had to say something! What to say was beyond her at the moment.

  From clenched teeth came Vanessa’s words: “Mrs. Annie Edwards, I would like to have a word with you.”

  But Annie looked different. The fire had ebbed to a dull ember, but it could still be seen. It was like ‘after glow’, in an obscene sort of comparison. The passion act had risen, culminated, abated. Now, she just stood there looking violated in her torn dress, but, satisfied? Disgust rose in Vanessa’s heart at the wicked sexuality of the whole thing.

  Could that be part of it? Could that be IT? Was Jed Patterson her illicit lover? A grim smile momentarily passed Vanessa’s face. Jed might be looked upon as Mad Annie’s ‘old flame’. Yet, that look of pleasure on Mad Annie’s face gradually disappeared. What was left looked more confused than anything.

  Mad Annie began to become aware of her surroundings, turned her head at the noise she had heard a moment ago.

  “There you are. You are the one who played with my children. They seemed to be having so much fun. But it’s late and I had to put them to bed. A mother’s work is never done, you know. I was hoping you might come up to the porch for a spell. I get a little lonely sometimes and it would be right pleasant to pass a little time in good company. I see you aren’t keeping company with that Union sympathizer that used to work here. Ryan was his name if I recollect. A spy for the North, probably. That’s just fine, Dearie, just fine. We Southern girls hare to stick to our own kind. Texan indeed! I remember him telling me that. Pish tosh. If he’s Southern, then the world is upside down.”

  Now there was a social data-dump. Vanessa thought of that last sentence. “Maybe it is, Annie. It sure is for you.” Vanessa wanted to lash out, but sensed something important had changed and she needed to find out what it was.

  They sat down on the porch as the process of starting the visitor wind-down was done by the ‘help’. The sun was about an hour and a half from sunset and there was a cool breeze coming in from the north, judging from the way the trees swayed. Annie babbled on about how much a chore it was to keep a good home while the man of the house was away defending their country. Vanessa thought, “Her mad self still thinks the war is on? Ryan thought so before, so her denial is still intact.”

  “Mrs. Edwards...”

  “Call me Annie, Dearie.”

  “All right, Annie. Please, call me Vanessa. Where is your husband right now?”

  “Why, knowing my Archibald, he’s giving the Union the fear of God itself. That Sherman, the son of Beelzebub himself is on the march with his minions and my Archibald is helping General Hood to stop them. God bless Jefferson Davis.”

  There was the uncomfortable feeling that she was walking on thin ice, talking to Mad Annie. What was worse, beneath the ice wasn’t water, but fire.

  “I really enjoyed playing games with Jason and Rebecca.” Vanessa set her face to be passive, to hide her grief. Fortunately, the mad are usually not as observant of others true feelings as the sane are. “Where are they now, Annie?”

  “Why, sleeping of course. Young’ns need their rest. Maybe someday you’ll be a mother and learn these things. Fed them a good meal and sent them off to bed after they washed up and said their prayers. Let me tell you how hard it has been taking care of two children, the farm, and all the other things that...”

  On and on she went. Mad Annie was sure a lot more chatty now than her other self, but it was one-way chat, mostly. At night, it had always been a give and take, an even split. Now she rambled, mostly sounding sensible to a casual listener but having very little connection to reality. WHAT good meal? WHAT prayers? Had she blocked out the trampling of her children just now?

  “I couldn’t help but notice, but didn’t a troop of Union soldiers just come by here?”

  “Heavens no, child! They aren’t due through here till tomorrow. Not to worry though. My Archibald will be here in time to rout those roustabouts all the way back to Dishonest Abe himself. We’re perfectly safe. The South is going to win this war yet. You’ll see! Robert E. Lee is the greatest general there ever was. He’ll see to it. You just wait and see.”

  Mad Annie went on describing how wonderful her Archibald was, who, by the way she told it, would be winning the Civil War single handedly. The sun was beginning to set. Perhaps another forty minutes or so remained. Could she learn any more about Annie, something they could use? A weak spot? How do you find a weak spot that a sane person could use against someone whose grip on reality was fleeting at best? “Hmmm...”

  “Thank you, Annie. I feel much safer now. Say, I’m a bit hungry. Might there be a few leftovers from dinner? We could go inside and chat there. What do you say?”

  Mad Annie’s smile faded. She looked unfocused, confused. “Sorry Dearie, kitchen’s closed. Dogs got the scraps. Everything’s put away. Cook went home. Sorry.”

  “Oh, that’s all right (what dogs?). Say, I couldn’t help but admire your garden right over there. It looks just wonderful. What do you grow there?”

  Mad Annie seemed to relax. So did Vanessa, sensing that the ice she was standing on cracked a little just moments ago. The smart thing to do would be to take off as soon as politeness would allow, but something held her there. She had to know more.

  “Why child, don’t you know that the Edwards Homestead has the best fruit trees in the county? And our tomatoes and potatoes are the talk of Milledgeville at the county fairs. We grow the biggest squash and, I don’t mean to brag, but I’m told I make the best cornbread in these parts. You can ask any man. Don’t ask the womenfolk, though.”

  Annie laughed at her jab at her neighbors’ jealousy of her cooking and agricultural wherewithal. “You can see right from here the peach and apple trees. Look at the fruit hanging there! We'll be getting ready for harvest any day, now. We’ll make sure none of the sweat from Southern brows feeds Yankee mouths.”

  “They look wonderful, Annie! Say, I feel uncomfortable going into someone else’s garden. Would you be a ‘Dearie’ and fetch us a couple of those wonderful looking peaches?”

  The defocused look came back. Annie looked at the peaches. They were there, in plain sight. She couldn’t say that the kitchen was closed now. There they were. So, why not just do the right neighborly thing and go pick a couple? She took a step and then stopped. Annie’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, trying to find a way out of the trap, looking like a fish out of water.

  It was Vanessa’s turn to watch like a hawk. She had maneuvered Mad Annie into a conundrum. Whatever was operating her mind was stuck in the mud, not able to go backwards or forwards. “Caught your hand in the cookie jar?”

  Annie was a hospitable Southern woman of good reputation. She had a guest who was hungry. “When I came to your door hungry, you fed me”, the Good Book said. It would only take about forty
or fifty steps to get to the first tree. The fruit was ripe. The lowest branches were well within reach. She took a second step and a look of panic began to show on her face. A third step, this one shaky, her hands began to rise as if to ward off a blow to the mid-section.

  “Oh my look at the time I have to check on the kids and get the wash done and get ready for guests tomorrow and I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to talk and you better get going and you can pick one or two peaches on your way out and thanks very much for stopping by and for playing with the children and come back tomorrow and I’ll make sure you get some real Southern hospitality and cooking thank you good bye see you tomorrow.”

  With that frantic outburst, Annie rushed into the house. This time, not even bothering to walk through the door but plowing through the wall.

  The sun continued to set. From the porch, Vanessa watched the colors of dusk begin to tinge the clouds with a glow worthy of a religious painting. “How can such beauty follow such ugliness?” Then, as always, the colors began to fade, the skies darkened. “Why is it that children must suffer for what adults do?” Vanessa stood there, looking west, looking like a part time replacement for Mad Annie. “How can God allow this to continue?” She was detached from everything but that which was racing through her mind. “Does He even know?” So much had happened in the last half day. “Does He even care?” What did it all mean?

  A voice came from behind. “Hello Vanessa, Dear! What a pleasant surprise. Won’t you sit and chat for a while? Hello? Hello! Honey, are you alright?” Vanessa’s desire to cry bubbled up and was barely suppressed. A desire to scream followed on its heels. Suppression failed. Two very old women then talked for hours.

  A young woman sat at a desk. She had been hitting the MiDi’s for hours, now reading sentences over more than once and not getting anything out of them. She rose, closed her PC, and walked down the hall and to the room next door where her new friend was. She knocked and heard, “Come in.” When the door opened, Barbara saw one bleary-eyed Barbie enter her room. “Where do you want the body sent?”

  “Funny. Mind if I take a seat?”

  “Sure, take the other chair. If you hit the bed you probably won’t get up. Hit a wall, did you?”

  “If you hear a gentle knock at your door in about three minutes, I’d appreciate it if you would open it. It’ll be my butt.”

  “Good one. I’ll pass that one along. OK, how important are tomorrow’s assignments?”

  “The math is a must, no prisoners taken and the professor is a bitch cubed. I’m ninety percent on that but my eyes don’t accept more information. Maybe it’s true that blonds are dumb.”

  “Can the sexist crap right now or turn around and get out. You are not dumb. Common sense is another thing altogether. I’m getting a little woofed myself, so let’s get out for a while. You jog?”

  “I can stair step you into the ground, lady,” said Melissa with no small amount of pride.

  “Gym’s closed. Grab your sports bra. We’re going for a run. It’ll wipe out the cobwebs.”

  Ten minutes later, the two students were padding around the complex, over to the field house, up to the skating rink, around Samaritan Hospital and back to the dorm. Much to her displeasure, Barbara was much more out of breath than Melissa was. “I give up! How’s a Barbie babe outdo a regular jogger?” Stair-steppers were OK, she had done that. But jogging was different in Troy where just about everything was built on a hill. It could be a real killer.

  “Well, you’re in pretty good shape for a book nerd. Let’s take a look at your room fridge.” The two by two room unit opened to reveal; “No wonder! Soda, chocolate milk, peanut butter, whole milk, cheese.” A peek into the closet shelves showed sugary cereals, Ritz crackers, and a variety of other snack items available at the school store. “Get a bag.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “This crap is why your butt laughs at your jogging, why you’ve got enough zits to pass for a map of the Swiss Alps, and why you’re sucking wind. That’s also why I get more calls from guys than you do. Lady, you could look real good if you would just apply a little more common sense to your diet.”

  “Hey wait a minute. I’m OK with myself, you know? A social life screwed up your scholastics, right?”

  “Yes, it did. Screwed up a lot more than that, if you must know. I was at one end of the spectrum. You’re at the other. We both need a balance, Barbara, so let’s make sure you don’t turn into a well educated and lonely overweight zit farm.”

  “Hey, I didn’t ask for your help, you asked for mine. Now, get back to your room and crack those books and I mean NOW.”

  “OK, mind if I study here? It’s a little lonely.”

  “Sure, take the chair and spread out your stuff on the bed.”

  If any man had been watching, he would have been mystified. After men have a head on, they mutter, plan revenge and kick themselves for too-late-comebacks. Women more often tend to blow off their tension with verbal mini-booms. Then, once the air is cleared, get back to the business at hand, relieved rather than morose. There are exceptions to that rule which, to the delight of women everywhere, confuses men even more.

  Vanessa looked like she had been through the wringer. Her clothes never changed, or her hair, so Ryan could only tell by looking at her face. Especially her eyes. They are the mirrors of the soul and, with spiritual entities, the soul isn’t buried as far from observation as it is with the living. Those that see spirits will often readily sense a mood or emotion, when the same people might be clueless in dealing with living people.

  She related the events of the day and omitted no details, even if painful. She couldn’t take the chance that some detail she might leave out might just unearth the winning ticket. Marianne sensed it coming and made sure her purse was close at hand as soon as Ryan began translating. Rachel was catching on and already had her tissue stash ready in her own purse just in case the narrative took a turn for the weepy.

  First, Vanessa went over the day’s playing with the children, the stories told them and how they enjoyed them.

  (click/open, click/open)

  Ryan continued to pass on how each child had asked her to move away so that she didn’t get hurt when the men and horses came.

  (crinkle, crinkle, pull, pull, dab, dab)

  Finally, starting to choke, Ryan managed to croak out the scene of the children holding hands as the wave of resisting soldiers rode over them, and how they never looked away from her.

  (pull, pull, blow, pull, pull, blow, sniff, snort, bawl)

  Taking more than just a moment to get a drink of water, Ryan resumed relating the bizarre conversation with Mad Annie, followed by the unnerving return of Nighttime Annie. He would fill Gustav in tomorrow, after breakfast.

  It took a little while before the Mother Hen Waterworks Company wound down on production. When it finally did, the Old Man of the Sea took the helm and said, “People, we are mental puppy chow. Tomorrow is day three of the count down. Let’s get our cobwebs cleared with a good night’s sleep and be fresh in the morning.”

  Allen thought to himself, while walking to the bathroom and from there to the sack, “Annie almost short-circuited. Can we use that?” He went over the possibilities while getting rid of some coffee side effects. “She still believes the war is on. Will that make or break our surprise?” He ruminated over this one while brushing his teeth, flossing and changing into pajamas. Allen was actually a shy man, at least with any not considered to be a significant other. His need for sleep was quietly insistent, and his brain began to wander along paths that had little to do with things at hand; a natural mechanism where the conscious brain distances itself from too much reality focus that would rob it of both perspective and of needed sleep. Still, he was in question mode and the last verbalized thought he was able to muster was, “I wonder what Melissa is doing right now, (yawn) who she’s with, where she is...”
As it turns out, Vanessa was looking in on him just then and she smiled. A side scheme began to form, something less weighty and more fun than the task that had occupied them for so long.

  Gustav continued to sleep his exhaustion away. In his dreams, he wandered to old places, finding friends long gone. People and places seemed distant to him, yet close. He could reach out to them, but was unable to touch them. He found his childhood home, but others lived there now. No one looked at him, no one answered him. How sad. Oh, well.

  Rachel and Marianne lay on Marianne’s bed and talked for a while longer. Hotels wisely kept tissues handy in all their rooms, never knowing what sort of human activity or emotion or virus might be revealing itself. The women kept their emergency stashes in their purses and used the hotel’s when possible. In this business, you never knew when you would need to dry your eyes, or someone else’s. As the night wore on, both women gradually and gently nodded off as their last mumbled words became unintelligible.

  When they woke up the next day, cuddled together, it was instantly agreed not to pass on that little bit of trivia to anyone. They were platonic, plain and simple, but rumors get started like that.

  Ryan laid his head back on his pillow, satisfied with boxer shorts for sleepwear. PJ’s never cut it in the Navy and he never got out of the habit despite northern climes. He liked his bedrooms warm, like they were back in Galveston. Vanessa came in and, as usual, wished she could slip in next to him. His eyes looked into hers and he said, “I’m so sorry, my Love. That must have been so hard for you, today. Maybe it would be better if I went tomorrow.”

  “No. The children trust me now. There isn’t time to change things. Besides, Mad Annie thinks you are a Yankee spy. She doesn’t think I’m with you anymore and that pleases her. Maybe I can get more out of her tomorrow. I’ve got to try. Think about it and see if there’s something you can suggest for me to do or find out.”

  “Vanessa, you’re doing more than fine on your own. That was pretty slick with the food approach. Trouble is, I don’t know if you were close to a break though, or an explosion. Remember what Natalie told you about avoiding confrontation. She may know something we don’t. She has to. Did you figure out anything on that bracelet thing she did?”

  “No, not a thing. It looks the same, feels the same, no difference as far as I can tell.” Vanessa and Ryan looked at it. It was simply made, mostly yarn of different colors, French braided into a wrist wrap. There was a flat wooden piece that bore Vanessa’s name, carved carefully with a penknife, probably. Natalie told Vanessa long ago that her father had done the carving, but she had done the yarn work. It wasn’t the first or last present her school children had given her, but it was one that she valued highly. “Never mind that for now. You need rest too, Sweetheart. Close your eyes and rest, and way your dreams be sweet. I love you, always. Oh, and Honey?”

  (Yawn). “Yes, Baby.”

  “One little question.”

  “Sure, what is it?” Yawn.

  “Since you and Allen have been doing so much with figuring out ancestry, do you think you and he could shed a little light on something that has been on my mind for almost sixty years?”

  A little of the sleepiness left Ryan. If something was that important to his soul mate, after what she had been through today: “Honey, you name it. What’s on your mind?”

  “Was Astro on the Jetsons a direct descendent of Scooby Doo?”

  Ryan’s mouth was open to give a kindly response to a deep question. It stayed open, with nothing to say. His eyes were now wide-open, sleepiness gone. Everyone else was on the verge of sleep and he didn’t dare make the kind of noise he sorely wished to right now. Vanessa, on the other hand, took full advantage of the situation and her uniqueness with a long, loud laugh at her Love’s expense. He’d been had, he thought.

  Then Ryan smiled. He’d been had by the best.