Wiping her eyes, Opal ran.
Opal felt like a trapped animal as she crouched at the top of the steps. Was she going to get a whipping or not? If she was, she wished her father would do it and get it over with. He should have come after her by now, but maybe her grandmother’s stroke was worrying him. She made a face. Nothing worried her father.
She strained to hear her parents’ voices. She wished her mother would speak louder. All she could detect from her father’s voice was anger. If that was the case, then her mother wasn’t talking at all.
Suddenly the voices were nearer, in the hall. They were heading for the stairs. Opal inched her way into her room on her backside so as not to make a sound. She heard her mother say, “I’ll change my dress.”
“No need for that. A dying woman isn’t going to care what you’re wearing. You walk fast, woman, before that busybody starts telling tales about us.”
Opal hunkered down over her history book. Wasn’t he going? Bubba was his mother.
“If ... if your mother should ask ... what should I say, George?”
“She won’t be doing any asking,” George said firmly. “You see if you can find that ring before my brothers get home. This is the perfect time to search for it. There’s no one to stop you. I don’t expect you to come back empty-handed.”
They were on the steps now. Why had they come upstairs? Opal wondered. Of course. Her mother had come up for her shoes. At this time of day her feet were always swollen and pink. Opal knew it must have been painful to squeeze her shoes on, and now she had to walk all the way over to her grandmother’s. She wanted to cry for her mother, but Ruby had said not to cry. No, she had said not to let them see you cry, but when she remembered that, she didn’t feel like crying anymore. All she felt was relief that she didn’t get a whipping.
Opal ran to the window and saw her father striding down the street, way ahead of her mother, who was walking slowly, almost limping. He wasn’t going to Bubba’s house, he was going back to Riley’s Monument Works.
A delighted giggle burst from Opal’s mouth. She danced around her room. She was all alone in the house for the first time in her life. She could do anything she wanted, say anything she wanted, even cuss if she wanted to. Not that she would. She realized in dismay that there wasn’t a thing she wanted to do in this house. Not a single thing except to read Ruby’s letter and her library book. Maybe she’d answer the letter, too, but where would she get a stamp? Her grandmother had always provided the stamps. Maybe Mrs. Zachary would lend her one.
Mary Cozinsky knew she was dying. What she couldn’t understand was why it was taking so long. She wanted to get on with it and join Mikel. She had so much to tell him. While she couldn’t talk now, she knew she’d be able to talk once she got to heaven. God would see to that.
It was so hard to breathe, and she knew there was something wrong with the left side of her face and neck. She couldn’t move her left arm or leg. It was time to let go, to leave this earth. She wouldn’t be sorry to go. If she had any regret, it would be that she wouldn’t see Ruby and Opal again. Opal had been here today, but she hadn’t come upstairs. Adelaide Matia had seen to that, the old sour face.
She had no idea what time it was. Her vision was so blurred she could barely see, not that there was anything to look at. She was alone. The doctor had come and gone, and her sons would be here before long. They would call her daughters, and they would come, too. Ruby wouldn’t come, though. She was never going to see Ruby again.
Now what had she been thinking? There was something wrong with her brain. One minute she could think clearly and the next she couldn’t.
There was noise in the room. Her breathing. No, steps. The doctor then or Adelaide Matia. The voice, though, didn’t belong to Adelaide but to ... dear God, Irma, her daughter-in-law. She was babbling something Mary didn’t want to hear, not from Irma, not from George. Was George in the room? She didn’t want George in her room. George who? Irma who? She was choking, trying to cough.
“Let me help you,” a gentle voice said. Strong hands tried to pull her upright, to brace the pillows behind her head. Who was it?
“That should help you a little. I would have come sooner, but I didn’t know;” the gentle voice was saying. “They shouldn’t have left you here by yourself. What kind of doctor would leave you like this?”
Mary felt something cool on her face. She sensed a certain trembling, agitation, in the soft ministrations. The pain in her chest was like the heat of a branding iron. It wouldn’t go away. If only she could see ... the gentle voice was whispering now. Again she sensed movement, the covers being straightened, the coolness again. “I’m sure your daughters will be here before long. Hank and John will come, too.”
Irma wished then that she’d spent more time with George’s mother, but there was no time in her day for a trip over here, and George ... with his estrangement, she knew she wasn’t welcome. She liked Mary Cozinsky even though she knew the old lady thought her weak and ineffectual. Amber told her once that her mother-in-law called her a doormat. She was, she couldn’t argue the point. She was worse, she was practically a slave to her husband. To be otherwise would incur his wrath, and she’d had to experience that only three times never to let it happen again. He’d dragged her to the cellar and beat her unconscious and she couldn’t even remember why, what she’d done to warrant such a vicious attack. He’d left her there with her neatly lined jars of pickles and peaches. She remembered coming to with the smell of coal dust in her nostrils. She was lying on the earthen floor in the root cellar, her clothes torn and ragged. He’d beaten her with his wide three-inch work belt, the buckle gouging her back, her breasts, her thighs. All places where it wouldn’t show. What could she have done that was so terrible? She should have gone to a doctor, knew she needed a doctor, but then the whole town would have known what happened. The beating was terrible, but what was worse was having to sleep that same night with the man who beat her. Amber was five, Ruby two that day, neither one in school.
That night, long after George had emptied himself into her, she realized he was capable of beating her children senseless. Whatever she had to do, whatever she had to become to prevent that from happening, she would. And, of course, she prayed, daily, hourly, as she went about her housework. She’d shed enough tears to form a lake, but nothing changed. Pure and simple, she was afraid, afraid of showing affection to her children, for if she did, George would ... she didn’t know what he would do, but he would do something. Kill them maybe. She couldn’t risk the lives of her little jewels. How she loved them. They were more precious than the czarina’s ring she was supposed to be searching for. Well, she wasn’t going to do it. She wouldn’t steal from a dying woman. Not for George, not even for her children. And if she had to suffer a beating, she would.
Irma pulled her chair closer to the bed and positioned it so she could see the hallway through the open door. She reached for her mother-in-law’s hand and started to talk, not knowing, not caring if the old lady could hear her or not. She was finally going to purge herself. She was realistic enough to know it would help for the moment, but as soon as she went home, everything would be the same.
Mary lay helpless, listening to the garbled words that made no sense to her. All she heard was sound, but she was still aware of the gentleness.
It was so dark in the room and the gentle voice was fading away. Her chest felt like a giant balloon about to pop from too much air. She had one split second of lucidness. Mikel was waiting for her, but he wanted her to do something. What? He was trying to tell her, but the golden light behind him was so bright, she could hardly see him. He was pointing to something. She wanted to go to him, to the bright light where there would be no pain. She wanted to join her cossack and ride across the steppe again, where they would join all those who had gone before them. What? she screamed silently. What do I have to do before I can cross over? The letters, of course, Mikel was pointing to the pile of letters on her dresser. She struggled
then, in that split second, to make her deformed mouth work, to say the words to the gentle voice. They catapulted from her lips in an explosion of garbled sound. “Ruby’s letters!” She left then, a young girl dancing her way to the golden light and Mikel’s arms.
Irma bounded from the chair, her swollen feet almost giving out under her. She grabbed the edge of the dresser and saw the pile of letters. Her eyes swiveled to the bed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She made the sign of the cross. Gently, she closed the wide, staring eyes. She had to call the priest. She should have done it before, done it sooner. George would never forgive her. None of his brothers and sisters would forgive her. For so long she’d obeyed orders without questioning them. She never thought for herself, never exercised her mind in any way. Mary had ordered her with her last words. How clear they’d been. Ruby’s letters. She tottered to the dresser and picked them up. So many. Where in the world was she to hide them? Where? She wanted to read them, all of them, more than anything in the world. Maybe if she kept just one, the last one, the one on top. She had to hide the rest, though, before they came. She had to call the priest, too. In her frenzy she leaned over and blessed her mother-in-law, knowing it wasn’t the same, but still she did it.
As fast as her swollen feet could walk, Irma made her way down the hall to the staircase. Pain shot up her legs, but she didn’t stop. Her hands gripped the banister for support. She fumbled with the phone and dialed the rectory. In a trembling voice she reported Mary’s death. Next she called George, who listened to her shaking voice. When she finished he demanded to know if she found the ring.
“It’s not in her room. Mrs. Matia was here for a while and I couldn’t look. I’ll look now until Father Flavian gets here.”
She had to hurry. George had long legs; he’d be there in a few minutes. She had to hide the letters. She finally wadded them into the back of the walnut radio. No one would be playing it for a while, not with a death in the family. The top letter, the one she kept, she folded into a neat square and slipped it into the pocket of her dress. If only she could take off her shoes. She couldn’t, not with the priest coming. Someone had to call the undertaker, but who? She didn’t think it was her place. Or was it? She didn’t know anything anymore. She hobbled up the steps, stopping to stare at her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror. How awful she looked. So plain and dowdy. She’d been pretty once with a nice complexion. Almost as pretty as her three jewels. Opal was going to be a beauty someday. Amber would be pretty, too, once she learned how to be happy. Ruby’s face swam into focus. Ruby would be pretty once she got rid of the anger and hurt. “I did it so you could all survive,” she whispered as she made her way down the hall to the big sunny bedroom where her mother-in-law lay at peace. If she had a choice, right now, this very instant, she would choose to follow Mary Cozinsky to that place from which there was no return.
She wondered why she had married George Cozinsky. He wasn’t George Connors when she married him. That had come later. Why had she been so stupid? She should have seen, sensed, that he was like a devil, but she hadn’t. He was handsome, charming, and such a churchgoing Christian, her parents had been delighted. “A good man,” they said over and over, until she began to believe them. Her friends all thought he was a good catch; she did, too. He was confident, arrogant, and seemed to want to please her. They picnicked, canoed, took long walks, and held hands in the movie house. He said he loved her and wanted to marry her. She walked on air. All her friends were so jealous.
Her parents had given her a wonderful wedding. They got so many presents. They went to Niagara Falls for their honeymoon, or nightmare as she now thought of it. She’d found out on those terrible seven days just how brutal George Cozinsky was. In bed. The rest of the time he was almost as bad. Two weeks after their marriage he changed their name. The whole town, including her parents, had whispered about that for months. He’d even been considerate of her, but he never listened to anything she had to say. The consideration stopped when her parents died. An only child, she’d inherited the house they now lived in and four thousand dollars, after the funeral expenses were paid, of which she’d never seen a penny. To this day she had no idea what happened to the money. If only she had it now, she would leave. She knew she was lying to herself. Where would she go, what would she do? Four thousand dollars wouldn’t last forever. Amber and Ruby certainly wouldn’t take her. How could they? First they had to forgive her, and they might never do that. Then there was Opal. She couldn’t leave Opal.
In the mirror Irma could see Father Flavian at the foot of the steps. “Please, Father, come up. It was so sudden. I wish I had called you sooner, but . . .”
“Don’t fret, Irma. It’s done. I’m certain the Lord has her in His arms even as we speak. Mary was a good woman and the Lord is forgiving.”
Irma waited in the hall, unable to watch the priest. She felt faint and needed the support of the sturdy banister. She looked around to see what was so special about this house that all her children loved. She wanted to believe it was the house and not the woman she called her mother-in-law.
She turned to see George’s brothers, Hank and John, walk through the door. Their eyes pleaded with her. She shook her head ever so slightly. As they passed her at the top of the stairs, she saw their eyes fill with tears. Seconds later, George walked through the door. It was all she could do not to put her hand into her pocket. How cold and unrelenting his eyes were, she thought as he passed her. There was no sign of a tear. She hadn’t expected any.
“I’ll see myself out, Irma, don’t bother coming down,” the priest said. Irma nodded gratefully.
“I didn’t call the undertaker,” she said, addressing the three brothers. “I thought . . .”
“You always think the wrong thing, Irma,” George said harshly. “Call him now.”
“No, Irma! George is the oldest, let him do it,” Hank said coolly. “He expects all the privileges of the oldest, so let him earn them.” He moved an inch or so in George’s direction, his brother behind him. They were as tall and as muscular as George, and younger by ten years. If they had a mind to, they could wipe the floor with him. A long time ago Irma learned that George was good only at bullying women. She watched him stalk off. She would pay for Hank’s intervention, but she didn’t care.
They were so handsome, Irma thought, look-alikes of George, but these two young men had feelings, feelings they weren’t afraid to show.
“I was holding her hand, talking to her . . . and ... and ... she ... went to sleep, I came as soon as Opal told us. I wish there was something I could do.”
“Did she ... did she say anything?” Hank, the youngest, asked.
Irma licked her dry lips as she looked over her shoulder.
“She . . . said ... very clearly . . . Ruby’s letters. That’s all. They were on the dresser. I ... I stuffed them behind the radio downstairs. I ... I kept one, the one on top,” Irma said in a low whisper, her back to George. Both young men nodded.
“I’ll get your mother ready. Show me where her things are. I imagine the undertaker will be here soon.”
“All her things are in that dresser. Her good church dress is hanging in the closet. She made us all swear we wouldn’t deck her out in one of those purple things the undertakers put on everyone. We have to get washed up. We’ll use the bathroom downstairs. My God, Irma, what’s the matter with your feet?” John asked, horror in his voice.
“It’s nothing. They swell up around this time of day. At home I usually wear slippers, but I had to walk over here.”
John’s eyes popped. “Like that! Didn’t George drive you?”
“No, I didn’t. I was at work the way you were. Don’t worry about my wife’s feet,” George said coldly.
“Someone should,” Hank said, pushing Irma gently to the only chair in the room. “John, get Ma’s slippers for Irma.” He tugged on the leather shoes until Irma thought she would scream. Free of the confining leather, her feet seemed to swell even more. She tried to fight
the tears in her eyes but failed. Oh, she was going to pay dearly for this, too. “Jesus,” both brothers said in awe as they stared at Irma’s feet. Even George wore a stunned look. “You sit there, Irma, we’ll get cleaned up, and we’ll wash up Ma. You can’t do it. We’ll drive you home.” Irma didn’t demur. There was no sense to it.
“You’re a very stupid woman, Irma,” George said coldly. “I thought you had more sense.” The look of disgust on her husband’s face frightened her.
Opal cowered at the top of the steps. Something terrible was going to happen. She’d watched her mother get out of Uncle Hank’s car. She could hardly walk. She lay down flat on her belly so she could see through the spindles on the staircase. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw her father punch her mother, who was staggering across the room. She leaned closer to the first step, craning her neck to see better. She wished she hadn’t when she heard the cellar door open and then watched as her father pulled his belt free of the loops on his pants. So far, the only sound she heard was a grunt. She turned, crablike, and crawled to her room, where she buried her face in the pillow. In the cellar Irma cowered on the floor. Her voice was a hoarse croak. “Why are you doing this, George? What did I do?”
“You made a horse’s ass out of me in front of my brothers with your stupid feet. By tomorrow every woman and man in this town will be talking about us, saying I prevented you from going to a doctor and my brothers had to take care of you. Every one of our neighbors saw you get out of the car. And you didn’t get the ring like I told you. You’re just like your daughters, you never do what you’re told.” He slapped out at one of the cellar beams with the belt. It was so loud, to Irma it sounded like thunder.
Seasons of Her Life Page 12
