“Yes?”
“Now that you know the truth about my daughter, will they stop giving me shock treatments?”
“Possibly.”
She blinked. Was this all he was going to say? Wasn’t he going to offer her a consolation prize, like an extra dessert?
“Is there something else, Dorothy?” He stared at her over the rim of his glasses.
“No, I guess not.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow, same time.”
She walked back to her room and lay down on the bed. The nurses didn’t like for the patients to stay in bed. No, they wanted you to play shuffleboard with homicidal maniacs—it was the truth. Some of the patients were criminally insane. It was all so tiresome. She shut her eyes. The shock treatments had blotted out much of her recent memory. If only it had burned away the past. 1958 was a little too clear. She could still see Clancy Jane drive up in that ancient black Plymouth. The window was down and Frankie Avalon’s voice drifted out. The engine sputtered and died, and the music snapped off. The door creaked open and Clancy Jane stepped out. Her hair was longer than Dorothy remembered, and blonder. It was tied back with a blue chiffon scarf, but a few strands tumbled around her cheeks. She looked narrow-hipped and big-breasted in blue pedal pushers and a sleeveless blouse. On her feet were white sling-back flats. Dorothy had never seen anything so stylish in Crystal Falls.
The passenger door opened, and a little brown-haired girl hopped out. This had to be Violet, but she didn’t have a look of Clancy Jane. The child had straight, dark hair and a sallow face. Her dress was yellow and wrinkled, and it hung below her knees. She was thin and wormy-looking, and she kept reaching down to scratch her ankles, which were covered in red scabs and welts. Next door a screen door slammed, and Dorothy looked away from the child. She saw her mother running across the grass, her arms open wide.
“I don’t believe my eyes!” cried Miss Gussie. She grabbed Clancy Jane and they danced sideways. Then Clancy grabbed her mother’s shoulders and steered her around the car, toward the little girl.
“Mama, look here,” cried Clancy. “This is Violet, your grandbaby.”
“Well, my goodness,” said Miss Gussie. She knelt in front of the child, her hands clasped together. The child reached down and scratched her legs. “You’re just so precious.”
Clancy Jane’s eyes met Dorothy’s and she called, “Hey.”
“Hi there!” Dorothy cried, and the last five years just dropped away. She opened her arms and said, “Get over here and give me a hug.”
Just then there was a whirring noise above her head. She glanced up and saw a mockingbird fly across the yard. It made a beeline for her brand-new Coupe de Ville—pale yellow with a powder blue roof. The bird lifted its tail and splattered the windshield. Then it circled back, ready to drop another load. It was the fifth attack this week. And if it continued, Dorothy would be forced to carry an umbrella at all times.
The bird flew over to the Cadillac and perched on the hood ornament. It looked at Dorothy. Just last spring, the mockingbird had made a nest in the dogwood tree. The babies had fledged long ago, but the bird continued to guard her empty nest. Mockingbirds were mean and territorial—they would attack humans at the drop of a hat. Dorothy had read all about them in the World Book Encyclopedia.
From across the yard, Miss Gussie called up to the bird, “Aren’t you a pretty little thing. See the birdie, Violet?”
The child tilted back her head but said nothing. Clancy Jane stepped up to Dorothy. If she’d noticed the bird—probably not; she never worried about anything—she gave no indication. The sisters embraced. Clancy’s hair smelled faintly of soap, but her breath was sour and fruity, like old Mrs. Minchey’s from down the street who had sugar diabetes. Dorothy gasped and shut her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw Miss Gussie and Violet walking across the grass, swinging their hands, chatting like two old friends.
“You look terrific,” Dorothy said, pulling away from her sister. “How long will you be staying?”
“I’m not sure.” Clancy Jane shrugged.
Miss Gussie was leading Violet next door, toward the screened-in porch. She glanced back at Clancy Jane and called, “Are you hungry? I’ve got a chess pie cooling on the counter.”
“Famished,” said Clancy Jane. She walked across the driveway, those pretty little shoes scraping in the gravel. Dorothy’s stomach growled—she just loved her mother’s pies—and she hurried after her sister. When she started up the back steps, Miss Gussie turned and said, “Let me get them settled, and then you can visit. Is that all right?”
“Of course.” Dorothy nodded. She watched her mother go into the house and shut the door. Dorothy staggered toward her own yard. The g-ddamned bird swooped out of nowhere, flew over the Cadillac, and spattered the windshield, this time on Dorothy’s side. Then it flew into Miss Gussie’s walnut tree. Its chirruping sounded triumphant.
Dorothy sat in her knotty-pine kitchen and waited for the phone to ring. One hour passed, then two. She got up and made a two-layer cake, Betty Crocker’s vanilla. The phone still hadn’t rung, so she whipped up a batch of pink icing and began decorating the cake. In pale blue icing she wrote: “Welcome Home Clancy Jane & Violet.”
She glanced at the clock. It was time to think about supper for Albert and the kids. She’d planned meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, Jell-O salad, and corn bread. And of course that cake would be delicious. Didn’t she have more than enough for Miss Gussie and them? She walked across the kitchen and called her mother. “Hi,” she said. “It’s me.”
“I was just going to give you a call,” said Miss Gussie.
“I’m about to fix supper. Would y’all like to eat with us? I’m making—”
“That’s real sweet of you,” Gussie interrupted, “but the girls are tuckered out. They’re already in their nightgowns.”
“Well, I could fix y’all some plates and bring them over.”
“Could we just take a rain check?” Gussie paused. “You’ll get to see them tomorrow. I promise. I’m looking at them right now. They’ve fallen asleep on the couch. They’re my angels. Let me go watch them, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay, Dorothy?”
The next morning, Dorothy and her children walked over to Miss Gussie’s. Mack was tall for a seven-year-old, and he looked grown-up in his baby-blue Sunday suit and the plaid clip-on tie. Bitsy skipped ahead, her stiff braids hitting her shoulders. She was a year younger than Mack and wore a pale pink baby-doll dress. Dorothy was wearing a pink linen dress, cream spectator pumps, and the strand of pearls that Albert and the kids had given her last Christmas. She held an umbrella above her head, just in case that mockingbird was lurking in the trees.
“Who’re we meeting again?” called Mack.
“Your cousin, Violet,” said Dorothy.
“Why haven’t we seen her before?”
A good question. Dorothy didn’t have the answer. “Let’s scoot,” she told the kids. “Maybe y’all can take Violet into the backyard and play on the tire swing.”
“I can show her how to climb a tree,” Mack said.
Bitsy ran up the steps, her white patent leather shoes clattering. She started to open the screen door, but Miss Gussie’s voice stopped her. “My, what a racket,” said Gussie, frowning at Dorothy. “And what are y’all doing up so early?”
Dorothy reached around her daughter, opened the screen door, and herded the children inside. “It’s nine o’clock,” Dorothy said.
“Yes, I know what time it is, Dorothy,” said Gussie. “And please lower your voice. You’ll wake everybody up.”
Mack stood close to Dorothy, but Bitsy threw her arms around her grandmother’s legs. “Hi, Mith Guthie,” she lisped.
“Where’s the little girl?” asked Mack.
“Just come back later,” said Gussie.
“When?” said Mack. Dorothy nodded. She’d been just about to ask the same question. Gussie didn’t answer. She absently patted Bitsy’s head and gave Do
rothy a quizzical stare.
“Why are you holding an umbrella, Dorothy?” Gussie asked. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“No, but there’s birds,” said Dorothy.
“Excuse me?” Gussie’s eyes widened.
“A mockingbird is tormenting me.” Dorothy lowered the umbrella and tucked it under her arm. Hoping to change the subject, she added, “I told the kids they could meet Violet.”
“Well, she’s dead to the world,” said Gussie.
“Dead?” Mack gasped.
“No, no,” Gussie said. “I just mean she’s asleep.”
“Maybe y’all can come over for lunch,” Dorothy said. “I baked them a cake.”
“We’ll see.” Gussie pursed her lips.
“Well, give us a call when you’re ready.” Dorothy took Bitsy’s hand and steered her across the porch. Mack trotted behind.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Gussie called. “Don’t look so crestfallen, Dorothy.”
“You said not to yell,” Mack said.
Gussie placed one hand over her lips and nodded. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I broke my own rule, didn’t I?”
And my heart, too, thought Dorothy.
The children ran across the yard, but Dorothy lagged behind. The mockingbird shot out of a tree and swooped down. It seemed to pause in midair, right above Dorothy’s head. She tried to open the umbrella, but the bird was too fast. It pooped on her head, then soared up into a pine tree.
“This is it!” she cried and shook her fist. “I’ve had it with you.”
She hurried into her house, flung open the closet door, and reached for Albert’s old BB gun. Then she headed back outside, gripping the gun and pumping the handle the way she’d seen Albert do. She paused in the drive-way, looking up into the trees, trying to find that damn bird. She didn’t see it but she heard it. She crept over to her car, and the bird plummeted from the walnut tree. She lifted the gun and fired, but missed. The bird flew back to the walnut tree and perched on a branch, twisting its head and laughing at her. That twitter sounded just like Clancy Jane. Dorothy raised the gun, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The mockingbird fell out of the tree, and thudded onto the ground. A feather drifted in the air.
“Well? You had it coming!” Dorothy cried, her voice filled with despair. “I wouldn’t of done it, but you egged me on.”
The migraine had begun the minute she’d shot that bird, and by the time she’d thrown it in the trash, she was seeing double. Despite the heat, the bedroom window was propped open so she could hear the children in the backyard. She turned on her side, admiring her gauzy Priscilla curtains stirring in the afternoon breeze, sending dappled light on the pale blue walls.
From beneath her window, she heard children’s voices. She lifted the cold rag from her eyes and raised up on one elbow, squinting into the crape myrtles. “Violet, you can’t be Tarzan,” Mack was saying. “I’m Tarzan. You can be Jane or Cheetah.”
“I’m Jane!” Bitsy said indignantly.
“I ain’t no monkey!” Violet yelled. There were scuffling sounds and cries. Then someone was wailing. It wasn’t one of Dorothy’s babies. That high-pitched and nasal cry had to belong to Violet.
“I’m telling!” the voice shouted.
“Crybaby,” shouted Mack and Bitsy. Then she heard footsteps and a pummeling sound, followed by Violet’s plaintive howl. Dorothy settled against her ruffled pillows and put the wet rag over her eyes.
Minutes later, her doorbell rang three times, in quick succession. Then someone began to beat on the door. Dorothy groaned and pulled herself up. Holding the rag to her forehead, she shuffled down the hall. When she opened the front door, Clancy Jane was standing on the porch, her face contorted. She was gripping Violet’s hand. The little girl’s face was splotched red and tears were spilling down her grubby cheeks. Sand was clotted in her hair. She looked up at Dorothy with brimming eyes and began caterwauling, with snot running out of her fat little nose. No one in their family had a nose like that, with an ugly bulb at the tip. All of the Hamiltons had straight, beautiful noses.
“Bitsy threw sand in Violet’s eyes,” Clancy Jane said, her chest rising and falling.
“I’m sorry,” said Dorothy, rubbing her forehead.
“Is that all you can say?” Clancy Jane’s voice shook. “Aren’t you going to spank her?”
“Clancy Jane, please stop yelling. I didn’t throw the sand. I’ve got a migraine headache and I just can’t think straight.” She glanced next door, at her mother’s screened-in porch. It was empty. She just hoped it stayed empty. Because if Miss Gussie got wind of this fight, she’d swoop down on Dorothy.
“She could’ve blinded Violet.” Clancy Jane grabbed her daughter’s wide, tear-splotched face. “You can’t let Bitsy go around attacking people.”
“She’s never had before,” Dorothy said.
“Just look at her!” Clancy Jane kept squeezing Violet’s face, distorting the features. “Why didn’t you just get off your fat ass and stop the fight?”
Dorothy blinked. “Yes, I have trouble with my weight, but I don’t appreciate you pointing it out. I don’t want to fight. Just go back to Mother’s.”
“No, I’m staying here. You don’t own this land. Our mother gave it to you and Albert.”
“Yes, she did. It was a wedding gift.”
“At least I’ve never taken anything from our mother.”
Dorothy almost let that comment pass. It was a trap, a string-pulling trap; but she was still fuming over that remark about her being fat. However, the Bible said to turn the other cheek, and that was exactly what she planned to do. But she just couldn’t hold back.
“You nearly broke Mother’s heart when you ran off. She cried herself to sleep for two years. Anybody with a soul couldn’t let months and years go by without one word to her family.”
“I wrote after Violet was born.” A tear dripped off Clancy Jane’s chin.
“And didn’t bother to give a return address,” Dorothy said.
“I moved!”
“You could’ve written another postcard.”
“Stamps cost money!”
Dorothy glanced down at her sister’s feet and thought, so do white sling-back shoes. Then she glanced at Violet. The hem had come loose from the child’s miles-too-big dress. “Anyway, you could have picked up the phone and placed a collect call.”
“I didn’t have a phone.” Clancy Jane wiped her eyes.
“Let’s drop this. I don’t want to fight.” Dorothy nodded at Violet. The child was rubbing her eyes. She looked so pitiful that Dorothy added, “And don’t you worry, I will punish Bitsy. She can be too big for her britches. In fact, she’s outgrown most of her clothes. Why don’t we bring Violet inside and see if they fit?”
“I don’t want your hand-me-downs!” Clancy Jane cried. “But then I guess you don’t know any better than to offer them. You’re used to getting the dregs, aren’t you?”
“I just meant—”
“I don’t care what you meant.”
“I was hoping the children could get to know each other,” Dorothy said.
“And look what happened!” Clancy Jane shook her head, the blonder-than-blond hair whipping back and forth. She snatched Violet’s hand. “Come on, baby. We’re going back to New Orleans.”
She towed the child across the yard, through a rustling tunnel of forsythias, then they bustled onto Gussie’s screened-in porch and into the house. Dorothy rubbed her forehead, wondering how she could smooth this over. She’d be in the wrong—when it came to Clancy Jane, Dorothy had always been the villain. Gussie’s screen door opened. Clancy Jane and Violet ran down the steps, clutching paper sacks with nightgowns dangling out. Miss Gussie hurried after them, calling, “What’s the matter? Talk to me!”
Clancy Jane turned and pointed at Dorothy. Then she shook her head. Lord, what was she saying? Clancy Jane and Violet climbed into their car and backed out of the driveway, the tires spinning in the gravel.
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“Please don’t go!” Gussie cried. But it was too late. They were gone. Gravel dust was hanging in the air. Gussie jammed her hands into her apron pockets and marched over to Dorothy’s side of the yard. “Why did you pick a fight?” she cried, stepping close to her daughter. Tears ran down Gussie’s face, leaving streaks in her powder. “She said you were mean to her.”
“The kids had a little tiff. And to make up for it, I just tried to give Violet some of Bitsy’s old clothes.”
“And did you?” Gussie’s eyes flashed.
“Clancy Jane wouldn’t take them. She got furious—”
“I don’t believe it. Clancy doesn’t have an ungrateful bone in her body.”
“Well, she was insulted. But it’s not a disgrace to get hand-me-downs,” Dorothy said, then mentally added, I’ve been getting them all my life.
“It was probably the way you said it. Oh, I know how you can be, Dorothy. You’ve always hated your sister. And now she’s gone. I may never see her or Violet again.”
Dorothy’s eyes filled. She didn’t want to be Gussie’s favorite, but it would be nice to put her head on her mother’s shoulder.
Gussie wiped her eyes, then turned abruptly and headed back to her house.
“I’m sorry,” Dorothy called. “Really and truly, I’m sorry.”
Without turning around, Gussie lifted one hand and flipped it. She hurried onto her screened porch and slammed the door. Gravel dust floated between the two yards. Dorothy watched it float up into the trees, leaving a gritty film on everything it touched.
THE CRYSTAL FALLS DEMOCRAT
AND FALLS COUNTY NEWS
Vol. 99 * No. 82 Since 1888
POLICE SEARCH FOR MISSING TOT
Statewide Alert Issued for the Teenaged Mother
By Tim McCoy
Senior Staff Writer
Authorities have issued a statewide alert for a Crystal Falls woman who apparently bludgeoned her husband, Claude Edmund Wentworth IV, 19, and then kidnapped their daughter, Jennifer Wentworth, 7½ months. The tot hasn’t been seen since August 19. Falls County Sheriff Jeremy Prescott said, “Right now we’re concerned about the environment the child might be in.” Prescott identified the mother of the tot as Lillian Beatrice Wentworth, 19, who is also being sought on three warrants: attempted manslaughter, auto theft, and theft of personal property, including credit cards and a designer suitcase. Mrs. Wentworth failed to appear in court on September 15, 1972, to answer the above charges.
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