by C. Ruth Daly
Glynda and I froze—my cookie an inch from my mouth. Our eyes locked with each other and then darted toward the ceiling. Above us was Rita’s kitchen and small bath.
“My goodness!” exclaimed Mrs. Becker. “You girls had better high-tail it up there and make sure Rita is okay. Why I didn’t think she’d come back yet from Michigan.”
“I just talked to her Mrs. Becker.” I blurted out as Glynda and I shoved the last of the cookies in our mouths and ran out to the front porch and up the oak staircase to Rita Brennan’s apartment.
I pounded on the door. “Rita! It’s Glynda and Donna. Are you okay in there?” There was no answer.
“Rita!” we both yelled now and pounded on the door. It opened abruptly and we fell forward into the little living room. Ned Hollis was on the other side of the door.
“What do you ladies need?” He asked in his cool and elusive way.
“Where’s Rita?” I demanded.
Rita picked herself up from the kitchen floor. She was holding her hand to her cheek.
“I’m right here, girls. I um, just stumbled over the rug and I uh...hit my head on the s—side of the stove.” She stuttered as she spoke and I was not convinced by her story. Ned Hollis nodded slowly and looked at us, staring hard and deliberately at us to corroborate Rita’s account.
Then Rita stammered. “It’s... it’s time for you to go now Ned.” Hollis’s eyes bore into Rita. His cold gaze could have cut her in two.
“I want to make sure you’re fine, dear.” He spoke again. This time with an easy, callous tone to his voice.
Rita’s voice was shriller now and the redness of her cheek had expanded past the area she covered with the palm of her hand. “No, Ned. I think you should go. Now!”
“Very well, Rita. Put some ice on that, dear. It is beginning to swell. Are you coming over tonight for a nightcap?” He smiled slowly with his lips gradually pulling upward at each end while his gleaming teeth peaked through.
Rita seemed suddenly calmer. “Maybe. Maybe I will Ned. Shall I call you?” I couldn’t believe it. Glynda and I glanced at each other. I could tell that Glynda felt the same way I did. We were both stunned that Rita was going to call him. I was certain the blow to her face was not a result of a trip on the rug but rather a quick draw from the fist of Ned Hollis.
Hollis gave me the hard steady stare again with lips held tightly and turned to walk down the stairs.
“Are you okay, Rita?” It was Grandma Becker’s voice now coming up the stairs. She huffed and puffed with each step as she held up her apron and the hem of her dress so as not to trip on them. “My, that was quite a noise! Did you drop something?”
And then we saw Rita’s face. Rita’s hand dropped to her side exposing a swollen right cheek and an eye which was now even redder with hints of blue seeping through. The cheek and the eye were becoming one, growing together with the swelling.
“Oh, we need to get some ice on that quick.” Grandma Becker moved into action and headed to the freezer. “Don’t you keep any ice in here, child?” It was the first time I had ever seen Grandma Becker express frustration. “Glynda. Run downstairs and fetch me some ice from my icebox.”
Glynda ran down the stairs and I followed. She ran ahead to the kitchen while I watched through the front porch window to see Ned Hollis smoking a cigarette in his front yard. His eyes were fixed on Rita Brennan’s apartment windows.
“I wonder what he’s thinking.” I blurted to Glynda as she dashed past me and up the stairs with water dripping from the ice melting in her hand.
“I don’t know if he thinks at all. Hurry and come up here with me so we can help Grandma.”
I turned my attention from the window and fleeted up the stairs two at a time to Rita’s apartment. Rita had her head cradled on Mrs. Becker’s shoulder. Mrs. Becker had her arm around Rita with a cold washcloth pressed against the bruised cheek and battered eye. “Hand me that ice Glynda. Why her whole face is puffin’ up. Think you need a doctor?”
“No, I’m fine, Mrs. Becker. I won’t need a doctor.” Rita sounded broken and defeated. Tears began to slip from her good eye. “Maybe I’ll call my mom and dad tonight and see how their Easter was.” Rita was almost pouting now, trying hard to hold back the tears.
“Now there, child. It does a body good sometimes to talk to their mom and dad. You just rest here.” And Grandma Becker patted Rita’s head, gently directing it to her plump shoulder.
Rita complied. Soft whimpers escaped from her lips and then grew to sobs. Rita Brennan was wrecked with agony. She shook with every cry. Her body moved up and down with every spasm. Grandma Becker clicked her tongue and said an occasional, “There, There,” while Glynda and I stood and watched with disbelief and sorrow. Grandma Becker gave us a knowing look and we too returned the acknowledgement. I glanced out the window toward Ned Hollis’s house and back to Grandma Becker, who regretfully shook her head.
After awhile, after Rita’s storm had abated, and after Rita had been placed in bed with a good solid ice pack, a couple of aspirin, and a tucking in by Grandma Becker, the three of us headed back to the kitchen.
“My, my, that Ned Hollis is one evil man.” Grandma Becker shook her head as she poured us a cup of tea with honey and milk. She sat down at the table and shoved the plate full of cookies our way.
Glynda and I each took one and marveled at Grandma Becker’s insight. We were quick to learn that Grandma Becker was not enamored with Ned Hollis as were most other Burgenton residents.
“I’m sorry you girls had to see that. Why, a man who beats his wife or woman is one weak man. That Ned Hollis is one yellow-bellied, low on the ground coward.” She spoke with unabashed contempt. Never in the eight years that I had known Mrs. Becker had I ever heard her speak so disdainfully of another human being.
Grandma Becker sat, stirred her tea and stared thoughtfully into space. Her lips smacked with every word from her mouth and with every sip of hot tea brought to her lips. “Well, folks in this town think that Ned Hollis is just all high and mighty—just like he thinks of himself. I’ll tell you now, folks will be a changing their tune once word’s out that he’s gone off and punched the tar out ‘a that poor girl.”
Mrs. Becker was angry. And not only was she angry but she was full of revenge. She was going to seek justice for Rita Brennan. Not in a criminal court, but in the gossip pool of Burgenton women.
Leaving the last morsel of cookie on my plate, I excused myself and thanked Mrs. Becker. Glynda told her grandma it was time to go and reached over and gave her a big hug.
“Now lock your door, Grandma. I know you don’t ‘cause you say you don’t got reason to, but now you do. Now you know that Mr. Hollis is trouble.”
“Yes, I will tonight and every night as long as that Hollis fellow is living right next door to me. It gives me the chills to think about what he did to poor little Rita.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Becker. Thanks for the cookies.” I waved my goodbye as I stepped out on her front porch.
It was early evening, but starting to darken. I said bye to Glynda as she headed toward her house and I turned to go home.
Back at my house Dad was asleep in his recliner, Tim was snoozing on the couch with a handful of jellybeans slipping from the cup of his hand, and Mom was next door talking to Mrs. Randall. Anna was awake now and munching on the leftovers from our Easter meal. She had a plate full of ham, green beans and a pink glazed ear of Mom’s Easter Bunny cake.
“Hi Anna. Guess where I’ve been?”
“Should I care?” Anna was intent on devouring the plate before her.
“Yeah, you might care when I tell you.” I wanted to hang my information over her head and make her grovel for it.
Anna took a big spoonful of green beans and brought it to her mouth.
“I’ve been with Rita Brennan... and Ned Hollis.” I said the sentence deliberately and clearly.
She slowly returned the spoon to her plate and emptied the beans. “What’s going on?” Ann
a was genuinely curious. She was also respectful of the knowledge that I held over her. She knew I knew something she didn’t know, and it was painful for her.
Then I proceeded to tell her about Rita’s face: the swelling eye, the reddened cheek and Ned Hollis’s cool, but wicked demeanor.
Anna just shook her head and scooped up more food to her mouth. With a mouthful of green beans, she said, “Mrs. Becker and her gossip ring will hurt him more than anything else.”
Anna was right.
TWELVE
Lori Bell was back in the fold. Monday morning arrived sooner than expected and LBJ, Glynda and I were standing outside the school waiting for the doors to open. Spring in Burgenton was delightful. The weather did not have the blasting cold which came with winter nor did it have the rancid humidity of deep summer. It was just a sweet, even temperature.
“I’ve had it with men!” Lori Bell was fuming. Her new—or let’s say newer beau had dumped her over break for a well developed eighth grader.
Glynda and I exchanged the ‘here we go again’ glance.
“What happened, LBJ?” I was trying to sound truly interested, but felt that Glynda’s and my story was a lot more important.
“Oh, he left me for a taller girl with bigger boobs and that stupid laugh.” And she laughed the laugh I had heard Rita Brennan make.
Glynda gave her standard answer. “Maybe it’s just for the best, don’t ya think?’
“Oh, I guess it is.” LBJ pursed her lips and stomped her foot. She was suddenly over what’s-his-name.
“So are you still part of the team?” I carefully asked. After all, we were almost out of seventh grade and LBJ was in to boyfriends.
“You bet I am. Why? Do you have something to tell me?” She stood up on her tip-toes and then back down again. Her eyebrows moved with her feet.
“Ooo... You would not believe what happened to us this week.” Glynda was anxious to tell. “But we can’t tell you when everyone’s around.” Glynda scanned the crowd of middle schoolers and the few teachers. “We’ll talk later.”
The bell rang and the throng of kids standing behind us pushed us up the steps and into the building like a huge human wave.
Back in Mr. Roberts’s science class life resumed to normal. It was like we had not even left. Mr. Roberts looked exhausted. We all had known that his wife was expecting, but we didn’t know she would deliver so soon. During the first night of break, Mrs. Roberts delivered a healthy baby boy. Despite his exhaustion, Mr. Roberts related the tale of the mad drive to Kokomo at 2:30 A.M. and how his wife was in labor for thirteen hours. Baby Roberts was not delivered until the next day. With the story of his child’s birth, Mr. Roberts told us that it was time to cover the reproductive system in science. There were a few groans from the class and other people like Eda were knocked into silence.
Mr. Roberts coughed into his fist. “Uh, if any of you cannot participate due to other reasons, then here are the permission slips for you to go to the library during class time.”
He counted the permission slips and passed them to the first person in each row.
I looked around at the kids in class and saw Evan Miles sitting in the back row. He was unusually quiet since his sister’s murder. His pencil was the only thing that brought attention to him. He tapped it methodically as Mr. Roberts introduced the mini lesson on the fruit fly.
“Mr. Miles.” Mr. Roberts spoke and then gave him the hard teacher stare.
Evan continued tapping and tapping. The sound of the pencil drummed harder against the desk. Mr. Roberts quietly walked over to him, took the pencil and then wrote a pass for Evan to leave the room. It was no secret. Everyone knew Evan always had to leave the classroom to go to the school counselor. Although the murder had happened months ago, the ensuing trial was bringing fresh flashbacks to everyone’s mind including Evan’s. There were rumors around school that Evan was driving to Indianapolis every two weeks to talk with a psychologist. No one in Burgenton talked to a psychologist. Maybe they talked to a reverend or a priest, but not a shrink.
I watched as Evan walked out of the room, head down and lips lined together like a thin mark across his face. No one in the room said a word. We all sat afraid of our own emotions and fearful of the fact that we too, like Evan, could have been the victim of the insanity of a crazed murderer. Deep in the recesses of my mind sat the picture of Ned Hollis, calm and cool Ned Hollis who harbored a dark red streak of anger. And there was little Rita Brennan with a big welt on her cheek with her head lying on Mrs. Becker’s shoulder. Then in my mind rang the words of Mrs. Becker: “...once word gets out that he’s gone off and punched that girl, folks will be changing their tune.”
It was true. I met LBJ, Glynda and Eda at the cafeteria entrance and we lined up to wait for our hamburgers, green beans, apple cobbler and milk. The menu was posted right beside the entrance. In front of us stood a group of girls—the more popular ones who knew our names but never acknowledged them. They were whispering and giggling incessantly.
“Did you hear that Miss Brennan, you know, the kindergarten teacher? You know that a new man in town beat her and she’s in the hospital now?”
“Yeah, I heard that her lung collapsed.” Another spoke with silent conviction and then looked over her shoulder at us as if she were privy to information we did not have.
Glynda and I looked at each other. We knew that Rita had taken a few days off and had gone to her parent’s house down south, but we continued to listen to the fallout of the Presbyterian women’s gossip league anyway. I was curious to hear what came from the mouth of Mrs. Randall.
At the end of the school day I rushed home from the bus stop and caught my mother at Mrs. Randall’s back door. I knew there would be more news on the “outstanding citizen” Hollis.
I headed to the kitchen where I found my sister Irish sitting at the telephone table and talking on the phone. Her senior year was winding down so many of the seniors had an early dismissal. Irish worked part-time at Clovis’ Shoes. I wasn’t sure if she would be heading to work soon or not, but I did want to hear what was transpiring on the phone with her. After all, I had to report back to LBJ and Glynda with any new information. I casually opened the refrigerator door. The door opened to the right, which blocked me from Irish’s sight. She could not tell I was listening so I stood for a good two minutes and rummaged through the refrigerator pretending to find something to eat. Finally Irish laid the phone down.
“Just wait, Gil. Donna is running up the electrical bill.”
I grabbed a single slice of cheese and shut the refrigerator door. Irish had the mouth-piece of the phone cupped in her hand and she was looking at me.
“Are you done in here?” She asked me point blank. “I need some privacy right now and thought I could talk to Gil while Mom was next door. Can you leave?”
She was civil. Her civility caught me off guard, so I answered without being obnoxious. “Sure. I was just looking for something to eat.”
I grabbed my cheese and headed out the back door and wandered over to Mrs. Becker’s house in hope that Glynda might be there. I decided to take the alley, kicking up the limestone rocks as I strolled over to her house. I wadded up the cheese and stuffed it in my mouth then turned left down the alley. Ned Hollis’s house was a block away and I could easily see it from the alley with its huge corner lot and lilac bushes beginning to bloom. I smelled cigarette smoke and it woke me from my trance.
I stopped in my tracks and from behind an elm hedge lining the backyard of the house across from Mrs. Becker’s, stepped Ned Hollis. My heart pounded in my head and chest. I wanted to run but my legs were not listening to my brain.
“Hello Miss.” He was cool as usual as he brought the cigarette from his lips, turned his head then blew a puff of smoke.
“I’ve seen you around too many places. What’s your name? Oh no...wait. This is Burgenton and I know your name. I know everything about you, your friends, your family and that old woman in there.”
He motioned toward Grandma Becker’s, which was only one house away. I was thinking about running, but I thought I didn’t have anything to hide and if I needed to run and get help, I was standing at least two yards from Ned Hollis so he couldn’t grab me before I could bolt.
“Oh.” It was all I could say.
He laughed a slow even chuckle.
“Where’s my stuff?” His eyes bore down on me.
I honestly did not know what he was talking about. Then it dawned on me. The roll of film that Gil Rolf had in his fist that night.
I felt uneasy and stepped back a foot. A garage was right behind me, so I didn’t have too far to go.
He smiled. “You do know where it’s at?”
I tried to be cool but sweat was pooling in my armpits.
“What?” I muttered.
Hollis stepped forward. “I think you have something that belongs to me. I want it back. Look, kid, I’m rich. How much do you want for it?”
He had moved away from me now. No longer was he trying intimidation as a tactic. Ned Hollis was willing to cough up some dough.
“I dunno know what, wh...what you’re talking about.” I had blown it. I was too nervous and he knew that I knew something.
Hollis took another puff from his cigarette and exhaled in my face. He smiled his handsome smile at me.
“Good. I think you have it. But you’re just a dumb kid. Did you give it to Brennan? Or did Brennan take it?” He turned his head toward his house and then back at me.
Then came an icy glare that cut me in two. “STAY away from my house. STAY away from Rita Brennan. You don’t know who you’re dealing with, kid.” He stepped closer to me. I inched back. My hands were behind me feeling for the garage that was a few inches from my back. Ned Hollis brought his right arm up on one side of me, then his left. But before he could place his left hand on the garage side I ducked down, pushed his arm up and ran. I ran as hard as I could in the opposite direction of Ned Hollis and Mrs. Becker’s house. I ran for two blocks before I turned to see if Ned Hollis was anywhere close. My heart was pounding in my head and my mouth was so dry that my tongue stuck to its roof. Quickly glancing around, I looked for the closest place to go that was safe and exposed. I ran out of the alley and onto the street and sat on the yard high wall surrounding the Baptist Church.
