Rosalind

by Stephen Paden

  "Everything alright?"

  Mavis Noonan was clawing at her arm begging for scraps while Jeanie Bedford waited patiently for the dish. Alice and Geraldine Parker were bouncing up and down. But Susan kept her cool and revealed nothing. This was no time for gossip, especially in front of a church.

  She grabbed John's arm and walked him quickly to the car, leaving the ladies without so much as a crumb of information. They returned to their circles and filled in the missing pieces (which were all of them). Tonight, there would be twenty different stories rolling around the households of Whispering Pines.

  Susan had John drive her to the station, but offered no clue as to why. They pulled up, got out and went inside where Sheriff Hanes was sitting on the edge of Susan's desk.

  "Close the door," he said.

  John followed Susan in and she closed the door and locked it. His heart began to race and he was expecting to be arrested, but Sheriff Hanes quashed that when he said, "I need a place for that girl."

  What girl? John thought. He was confused, so he interrupted. "What's going on, exactly?" he said.

  "Honey, Nancy Fletcher was killed in a car accident last night," Susan said, holding his arm. The sheriff looked at the two of them.

  "Oh," he said, relieved. He had to be careful, because he almost smiled.

  "Which means we have a problem. I have a thirteen-year-old girl who was already an orphan a month ago when her parents died in that fire," said the sheriff. "Now, I get to tell her she's not only an orphan again, but she has nowhere to go."

  Without thinking, John spoke, "Can't you call a service? There's a service like that for children, right?" Thirteen, he thought. Those tits were at least twenty-one.

  "I'm afraid I have to," the sheriff said. "But with all she's been through, I sure hate to do it. She really found something here with Nancy. Goddamnit."

  Susan just stood there, but then John spoke. "She can come with us, sheriff."

  "Honey, I don't—"

  "Well, hold on Susan, let the man speak," the sheriff said.

  "Come on, Susan. We've got to set an example for the community. What was her name again?"

  "Rosalind," said the sheriff.

  "Beautiful name and I'm sure she'll be no problem at all, right Susan?" he said. She started to hate Rosalind even more. This…thing…was going to live in her house. This girl would be nothing but a constant reminder of Susan's inadequacies; her shortcomings as a woman. She pretended to mull it over and then reluctantly nodded her head. They did have a spare bedroom down the hall. It was going to be a nursery, but instead it had become a tomb of lost hope that Susan had all but condemned and sealed.

  "You saved my life. And it's only until I can find something more permanent."

  "I think it'd be a smart thing to do," said John. "I hope you don't think less of my wife, but she informed me of this young lady's sordid past. I think it'd be for the best of the town if something like that never left our house."

  "I'm not sure I would call it that. It's not like any of it was her fault," he replied.

  Her fault, thought John. It was her fault. That little innocent act…no, she knew what she was doing.

  "I guess we should make room for her," Susan said. She didn't want her in her house, but John had a way of putting things. He was a bit more abrupt this time around, but he was right. They had a reputation to uphold and why not add to their status by providing a little shelter for an orphan?

  John, in a quick fit of anxiety, questioned his own wisdom. He thought back to the previous night and made a mental inventory of the scene. It wasn't that he thought he left something behind, he just hoped that she wouldn't recognize him. He was careful not to wear any cologne or clothes that would be unique to him. The overcoat and the hat were fine. It was dark, he thought. And if by some miracle she did figure it out, he'd just play it off and slip on the charm.

  He'd play it cool at first. Go for the hard approach, don't be too nice, play from a distance. Let Susan bring her into the fold and warm her up until it was time to feed.

  "It's a smart idea," John said.

  "It's the only one, at the moment," the sheriff interjected. "And I'd appreciate it."

  "It's a fine idea," Susan relented.

  "And now the hard part. I have to go tell her," said the sheriff.

  "Honey, I think it'd be good to have a woman there. I'm going to go close the shop for the day. It's not that busy. I'll go home and start getting that spare room ready," John said.

  "Okay," she said.

  "You're a good man, John. Thanks for doing this," said the sheriff.

  Leaders lead, and they do it by example, he thought. He shook the sheriff's hand and gave his wife a kiss then stepped out onto the sidewalk. He looked up at the stars even though it was still daytime. He didn't care, he knew they were there. They were there and they were shining down on him.

  Chapter 21

  Susan and the sheriff pulled up to the Fletcher house and the sheriff turned off the car. He turned to Susan. "I have no idea how's she's going to react, but I need to tell you some things about her. Things that weren't important at the time, but now it seems they are." Susan was intrigued and still a little hollow from the news of Nancy Fletcher's death. They had never been friend friends, but she knew her well enough to be on a first name basis.

  "Okay," she uttered.

  "You know she was pregnant."

  "Yes, you told me. She lost the baby."

  "Right, but you don't know how she got pregnant." He stared out of the cruiser's front windshield. "When Stella died, I didn't know what to do. I had to raise a daughter by myself. Luckily, she was almost a teenager, which made it easy. Easier, maybe. But now, I look at her and I see my wife. I love my daughter more than anything in the world. I'd do anything to protect her. But—"

  "What are you trying to say?"

  He gripped the steering wheel tight and then loosened his grip. "I could never imagine doing to my daughter what Rosalind's did to her. It never would've crossed my mind unless I had heard it from Nancy."

  "Oh my God." Susan understood. And at that moment she felt guilty for hating Rosalind. There was still a hint of jealousy lingering in her mind, but the outright hatred she felt for the girl was gone and in its place she tried to install sympathy.

  "I think it'd be for the best if you didn't bring that whole thing up. Can you do that for me? For her?"

  "Yeah, I think so. Oh my God."

  They got out of the car and walked up to the house.

  Rosalind was peeking out of the window while they were sitting in the car. She ran to the door and answered, letting Susan and the Sheriff come in. Rosalind ran back to the couch, huddled in the blankets that she had been in all day, and gripped her picture of the woman in the yellow dress as tight as she could.

  "Rosalind honey? We've got some bad news to tell you, and I'm gonna need you to be real strong right now, okay?"

  It couldn't be any worse than the news she got last night, she thought. He told her the best way he knew, and by the look on Rosalind's face, it was the worst thing she had ever heard. She burst into tears and clutched the piece of paper tighter. Susan ran over to the couch and consoled her, but she wouldn't stop. The sheriff stood up, helpless to do anything but watch what little of this girl's world that was left crumble before his eyes. He hated himself; not because she was sad and crying, but because the only thing he could think of at the time is that he wanted to cry right along with her.

  He held a deep secret that he never told anyone. He hated coffee. It was the only excuse he had for visiting Nancy as much as he did, and he had this little girl to thank for even another excuse to come by the diner. But at that moment he knew—he knew he would never again go inside that diner.

  For the fourth time in as many weeks, Rosalind had to pack her things and move to an unfamiliar house. But there was one thing in the back of her mind that gave her comfort. She wouldn't be alone.

  Chapter 23

 
When her things were packed, she drug the red suitcase along the ground and to the car. She looked back at the house, the one place she had ever felt safe until the night before, and waved goodbye. From that moment, she knew she would never really be safe and that anything could happen anywhere. She was learning. She was learning the unspoken rules of the road or maybe life itself. Wherever you go and whatever you do, there'd be a price to pay, and if happiness was ever her goal, she figured that it was going to cost her big time.

  The sheriff loaded her suitcase into the trunk of his cruiser and they sped off down the road. They took main street out of town and came to a road that only turned one way. They turned left on it and then a mile down made another left into a dark driveway with a single tree in the front yard. There was a red barn on the left-hand side and behind it was a cornfield that reeked of neglect.

  The house itself looked warm and inviting. Two windows rested on the top floor of the house, and both lights were on, as well as the light in the dining room. And in the window Rosalind saw an empty basinet next to the window in the dining room. She smiled and thought of her brother Jared. He probably would have liked that basinet much better than the tomato crate.

  Susan led her into the house and put her red suitcase on the floor. A man in a suit and tie stood at the base of the stairs facing the door and smiled. He had a pipe in his mouth and smoke was coming out of it. She had only ever smelled cigarette smoke until now and the aroma coming from the pipe was new and smelled strange to her. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, but it was strange.

  "I've fixed up the nursery for you," the man said. Rosalind thought he looked familiar. Maybe someone she saw around town. But there was something about his voice.

  Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, so Susan went to the kitchen to fix her a glass of water with an Alka-Seltzer tablet. She had no idea what effect this would have on Rosalind, only that the soothing bubbles always relaxed her. The man shook hands with the sheriff and the sheriff walked over to Rosalind and knelt down. "What you've been through in such a short time," he whispered, "is more than a person should ever go through in a whole lifetime. He stroked her hair and she pushed her head into his hands. She trusted him completely, and deep down, she could tell that Nancy's death was affecting him as much as it was her.

  Rosalind took the crumpled page from her hand and then unfolded it. She showed it to the sheriff and pointed to her name. "She showed me how to write. That's my name," she said. The sheriff pushed back the tears, kissed her on her forehead. He put his hat back on and then nodded to John and Susan, making as quick an exit as he could. He went back to his cruiser and cried.

  "Well, I'll let you ladies get set up. I hope you like the room." He was tempting fate, but he walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She felt something uneasy, something off about him, but he'd shaken hands with the sheriff, and she trusted the sheriff more than anyone. "Please make yourself at home, my dear." The man walked over to the room off of the living room and closed the sliding doors.

  "That's his den. If you need to ask him a question, just remember to knock, okay? He hates to be disturbed." Susan leaned down and smiled at her. "Even by me," she said. Rosalind smiled and then put her hand on his stomach.

  Susan grabbed Rosalind's suitcase and carried it upstairs. Rosalind followed her as she turned left down the hallway and then another immediate left into the room. It was brightly lit and the walls were yellow. They were, as Rosalind mentally noted, the same yellow as the dress her woman wore. There was a basinet in the corner of the room that was smaller than the one downstairs. A small nightstand with a lamp on it sat next to the window she'd seen from the yard, and next to it was a single sized bed.

  "You were lucky, we had that in the other room across from ours for visitors. Even though we never have any. I'm not sure why he didn't leave it and just put you up in there. But, I guess the walls in here are brighter. And honey, you need some brightness about now," Susan said. Rosalind unfolded the page in her hand and walked it over to the nightstand. She had never had a nightstand before, so she propped the page up against the lamp and sat on the bed. It was more comfortable than the couch and no comparison to the mattress that her father had raped her on every week for the past three years.

  "What do you have there?" Susan asked. Rosalind followed her eyes to the page, and then grabbed it. She folded it up and placed it to her heart. "Oh, honey I'm sorry. I was just curious. She looks really pretty," Susan said. Rosalind looked down at the picture and the held it up for Susan to see. Susan sat next to her on the bed and pulled out her reading glasses from her blouse. She studied the picture. "She's beautiful. Her name is Margaret Simpson. She was in a few movies, but this is where she got her start, I guess. How old is this?" Rosalind held up her right hand, showing three fingers. "That's an awful long time to carry something like this around. It looks beaten to heck. I have a new catalog downstairs. What do you say tomorrow, we get you a new one?"

  Rosalind jerked and then grabbed the picture. She didn't want a new one. She pointed to the scribbled letters below the woman and said, "This is my name. It says Rosalind."

  Susan looked at the picture closer and smiled. "I guess it does. You probably want to get some sleep."

  Rosalind agreed. The possibility of another incident like the night before would always occupy her thoughts. However, she was with people again, and while there was an innate sense of safety in numbers, she didn't feel very safe. Susan seemed nice, but there was a distance to her; something in the tone of her voice that indicated this arrangement wasn't her idea.

  It was a fresh start, but how many fresh starts was she going to need? She hoped that this was the last one, but with all that had happened in the last month, she didn't dare dream it.

  ***

  After Susan left, she collapsed on the bed and curled up in a fetal position. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  Susan came in a few moments later and tried to take the catalog page out of her hand but her grip on it was too tight. She looked down at Rosalind and pondered the situation. She had often dreamed of watching her own child sleep and thought about how that would make her feel. It was a motherly thing to do. But the girl who now lay on the bed John had hauled out of the guest room wasn't her daughter. She was something else, and Susan didn't know what that something else was.

  Chapter 24

  John looked up at the clock. The drivers were coming back in for the day, and he thanked his lucky stars he didn't have to make the routes anymore. He was the boss now, and routes were grunt work. The clock said 4:16. He tapped his finger on the desk, wishing it would move faster, but it clicked and clicked with constant measure. He could close early, but Susan would suspect him. He was on edge. He needed to see her; his red. Just seeing her filled him with that hunger, that lust that put out fires in his soul. He burned for her every minute of the day. He didn't know how much longer he could wait until their next meeting. Oh sure, he'd see her around the house, flaunting her chest and that innocence that drove him insane, but when would they—

  "John, your wife is on the phone," Joe Bishop said, sticking his head into John's office. He hadn't heard the phone? He picked up the receiver.

  "Hi honey, is everything okay? Is our girl getting settled in?" he said.

  "Yes, she's fine. Could you possibly bring home some soda? I can barely get this girl to say a word, but at lunch she made it known that she likes soda."

  "Anything she wants," John replied, which Susan thought was strange. "What kind?"

  "I don't know, the cheapest I guess. It's soda water with flavoring, what does it matter?"

  "Alright, I'll be done here shortly so I'll stop at the IGA on the way home," he replied.

  "Okay, thanks honey." He hung up the phone. Susan was a genius. Any way he could endear himself to Rosalind, he would do it. If it took a little longer than usual to charm his way in, then he always had his regulars to fall back on. He thought about that for a moment
and realized that he hadn't even thought of them since meeting Rosalind. Right then he knew—he knew he was in love with her.

  The drivers turned in their keys and he placed them on the hooks in his office. He locked his office door and then the main door to the building. He hopped in his car, and sped to the IGA.

  ***

  The soda aisle had quite a few selections and he wasn't familiar with any of them. He didn't drink soda. There were small packs and then there was the family pack that contained twenty-four of them. He grabbed the RC twenty-four pack and headed to the register. He paid the cashier and walked them outside to his car. He was glad to be out of there. If the only grocery store in town weren't owned by Sheldon Buckle, he would have been a happier man, but it was what it was. At least the fool wasn't there to taunt him. Sheldon Buckle had never actually taunted John Byrd at any point, but John considered his presence the world as an eternal bother. He despised the man. John started the car and drove home.

  ***

  John lugged the crate of RC Cola up the stairs of the porch and set them down just before reaching the door. He was winded. Years away from the hard farm work that his father had forced on him left his arms and legs slightly atrophied which was nothing compared to his lack of will to perform manual labor. He saw it as a weakness of sorts. If a man couldn't survive in this world on his wits alone, he wasn't worth the weight of his bones, he would always say. He heaved the crate and balanced it between his right arm and his body, then swung the door open and went inside.

  The plan was to sneak the cola into the kitchen and put it by the fridge before anyone could see him. This 'hands off' approach was his best defense against any recognition that might spark in that dull brain of Rosalind's, but he was dismayed when he heard the noise from the kitchen. He took a deep breath and walked through the dining room and passed through the French doors that separated it from the kitchen. He was pleasantly surprised to see that it was only Susan, chopping some carrots on the cutting board.