Rosalind

by Stephen Paden

  He walked by her, kissed her on the head and then set the crate down. "I'll be in my study," he said.

  "You're peaches," she replied, never taking her attention away from her carrots.

  He crept past the stairway and went to his study where he closed the doors quietly. Inside, he sat down at his desk and pulled out some paperwork from the drawer. He didn't notice what he grabbed and it didn't matter. The sounds and motions were all that mattered and to anyone outside of the den, he only wanted to assume the illusion of being busy. But he sat in his chair and looked at his desk. He grabbed his crotch and thought about Rosalind.

  Upstairs, Rosalind sat on her new bed and stared at the walls. The room was bright and for all intents and purposes, it was a pleasant room to sit and think, but after spending one night at the Byrd house, she was beginning to miss the comfort of Nancy's couch. She was beginning to miss Nancy even more. She's with momma now, she thought. Although she suspected that someone like Nancy and her momma wouldn't run in the same social circles, she pretended that they were looking down on her together, and that maybe Heaven was a place where differences didn't matter.

  An hour after Rosalind heard the door to the house open and close, Susan called upstairs that dinner was almost ready. Rosalind set the picture of the woman next to the lamp and turned it off.

  ***

  Without being told, Rosalind entered the kitchen and started grabbing plates from the cupboard. With an old wisdom, she knew exactly where they were and she set them in perfect order on the kitchen table.

  Susan brought a plate of carrots and a bowl of mashed potatoes to the table. "Can you knock on Mr. Byrd's door and tell him dinner's ready?" Rosalind got up and went to the sliding, double-doors of the den. She looked at the floor and the lights were on. She pressed her ear to the door but she didn't hear anything. Just as she was about to knock, the doors sung open in unison and she jumped.

  "Sorry, my dear! I can hear my wife from a mile away. Would you be so kind as to tell her that I'll be working on the quarterly taxes this evening? If she could make me a plate, I'd consider myself a lucky man." Rosalind bowed her head and nodded. "Oh, I got you a surprise. Mrs. Byrd will give it to you. Thanks, sweetheart." He quickly closed the doors. A cloud of the pipe-smoke managed to escape the room and it filled her nose. She didn't like it. It smelled like cigarettes, only fruitier.

  When Susan brought the roast out and placed it on the table, she asked Rosalind where Mr. Byrd was.

  "He wants a plate for later. He's doing qua—quarter taxes," Rosalind said.

  "Ugh," Susan grunted. "The man works night and day. But you know, he started out small and built himself a little empire." She disappeared back into the kitchen and reappeared with a glass bottle of dark liquid. Susan took a can-opener and popped the lid. She set it down by Rosalind's plate. Rosalind had never seen such a bottle, but she did see bubbles and she got excited. Susan sat down and grabbed the corn bowl.

  "Sometimes," she continued, "I think he's in there plotting to take over the world. But he works hard, and I couldn't ask for a better man."

  Rosalind took the bottle in hand and then sipped it. The bubbles raced into the back of her throat and the sweet caramel flavor clung to her palette and tongue. It had a different taste than the Coca-Cola, but the result was still the same. She was in heaven.

  "Is it good? I didn't know which brand you liked?" Susan said.

  "Yes ma'am," replied Rosalind.

  "Please don't call me ma'am. You can call me Susan, but I think for now Mister Byrd would be best for the General in there," she said, rolling her eyes.

  When they were finished eating, Susan got up and fixed her husband a plate, covering it with tin foil. She placed it in the top tray of the oven, where John always knew to look. Rosalind brought the dishes to the sink and started filling it with hot, soapy water. Susan put the rest of the food into some plastic containers that Rosalind had only just, for the first time, seen last week in the cupboards at Nancy's house.

  Poor Nancy, she thought.

  She liked Susan, but there was an edge to her; something that needed to be kept at arm's length.

  Nancy's house had been the nicest house she had ever seen until she came to live with the Byrds. Rosalind looked around the living room at all of the shelves and the knickknacks. There were pewter horses and glass dolphins; printed dishes on wooden stands; pictures of John and Susan's wedding, a dinner party, and one of John accepting an award from a man with no hair and thick, horn-rimmed glasses. Rosalind's walls had pictures like these back home, but nothing so glamorous. Her family photos were burned in her mind, and all she remembered about them was that they looked like people waiting to die. There were only three of them; one of her parents standing in a yard, holding each other, a baby picture of Rosalind, and a baby picture of Jared. The picture of her parents she never understood, but her mother had explained to her on one occasion that it was their wedding. Rosalind had seen a wedding on television once and didn't see the resemblance, but what did she know about them?

  Poor Jared, she thought.

  She thought again about her mother and father's wedding picture, and how it had seemed so ominous. The sky was overcast and neither of them smiled. She didn't know much about marriage, but she figured that if two people bothered to do such a thing, they would at least be happy, if not in reality then at least in the picture. But neither of them wore a smile. And their faces, she recalled, were as old as they were before she saw them melt in the blaze.

  She got up from the couch and went to her room and sat on the bed. The picture of the woman had slumped over a bit against the lamp, so she fixed it. The woman smiled at her and from that moment she decided that if she ever got married, she would smile at the camera.

  Chapter 25

  A month had passed without incident at the Byrd house, and Rosalind was quickly becoming acclimated to a normal existence. She had always thought that life in the woods was normal, but she realized that it had all been wrong. But before she could get too comfortable, old pains returned.

  The first time she got sick to her stomach was a week before Christmas, but she neglected to tell Susan about it. The vomiting that had landed her in the hospital had returned and her first thought was that she might again be pregnant. But she hadn't bled between her legs. This presented her with neither confirmation nor comfort—no bleeding was good, unless you were expecting it. She knew that she would have to tell Susan, but didn't know how she would react. Mrs. Peterson had reacted so compassionately when she confronted Rosalind about it, but the circumstances were different then. Since knowing that what her father had been doing was wrong, she was able to project backwards and remove the guilt that had come with being pregnant, but her father was dead and he could not be the one who had done it. She thought about the intruder who had broken into Nancy's house, but dismissed him and thought about Nancy instead.

  I miss her, she thought.

  But how would she tell Susan? And again, how would Susan react? She hadn't told anyone about the break-in at Nancy's, and didn't quite know how to approach the subject. But her condition was real. She needed to tell someone.

  Sheriff Hanes had been making regular visits to the Byrd farm, but with Christmas coming, he told Rosalind that he would see her after the holidays were over. And while her family's death in the fire two months ago was big news for a small town, it had fallen off the town's radar and the need to place Rosalind into a foster home became less important to Sheriff Hanes, thanks to the Byrds.

  Rosalind could tell the sheriff. When she thought about it, he was the best person to tell, but his visits were less frequent now and he only came over when John was home. She didn't yet trust John. There was something about him. Sure, he had bought her soda, but there was something—

  She decided to tell Susan. She would do it tonight.

  Susan was in the kitchen making dinner, and John was still at work. Rosalind walked in and leaned against the counter while Susan rinsed
out a bowl in the sink. If Rosalind had been more versed in the art of conversation, she would have worked her way into it, but instead she just said, "I ain't got my monthly yet."

  "What, honey?" Susan said, taking a hand towel and rinsing the bowl then putting it in the strainer.

  "I think I got a baby in me," Rosalind said. Susan just looked at her. She moved her hand to cover her mouth but absently hit a glass that was sitting next to the sink, sending it over into the empty, metal basin. It shattered and startled the both of them.

  "What?" Susan repeated, this time paying attention.

  "I—"

  "I heard you," Susan said. Rosalind's father had impregnated her before, but Susan also knew that she had had a miscarriage after speaking with Sheriff Hanes. A dark thought crossed her mind. There were only two men who'd Rosalind had been around since coming to live with them: her husband and Sheriff Hanes. She felt ill. But she pushed that back and let reason proceed. "Honey, that isn't possible. You know how babies are made, don't you?"

  "Yes ma'am," said Rosalind.

  "Then you know that can't possibly be the case," Susan took her gently by the arm and led her to the dining room table. She wanted badly to squeeze that arm as hard as she could. The girl's ignorance, while endearing at first, had become like a cheese grater on her brain, but she just sat down next to her and rubbed her shoulder. "Now tell me, why would you say such a thing?"

  "Well," Rosalind said. "It's been over a moon since I got my monthly, and I don't get no cramps no more. But I get sick in the morning. It feels like before."

  She counted by the moon? Didn't they teach this girl anything in that home of hers? Susan thought.

  "That could just be a late period, honey. It does happen. It happens to me, sometimes. Rosalind, have you…fooled around with a boy or something in the last month? You know, sexually?" Rosalind knew what sex was now, and that it could be something pleasurable, but she had never experienced it. She had to tell Susan about the incident at Nancy's. She was afraid that she would get in trouble for not speaking up sooner, but she had to tell her. If she lied, then she would have to go to another home. Isn't that the way it had worked so far?

  "A man came to Nancy's house. He came through the back door," Rosalind whispered.

  "Nancy's? That was a month ago! You never told anyone about that. Why?"

  "He said he'd hurt me. Kill me. I don't wanna die," Rosalind whispered. "Is the sheriff gonna make me go somewhere else now?" Rosalind started to cry, and Susan did nothing to console her. She had to tell the sheriff. And this simpleton act was getting under her skin like the head of a tick.

  "Young lady, you are just too naïve. Are you sure you didn't invite a boy over and he just got you in trouble?" Susan asked.

  "Yes ma'am," Rosalind said through the tears. "I don't know no boys." It was probably true. Rosalind hadn't been in town long enough to really meet anyone, and after what she'd been through, Susan was smart enough to understand that sneaking in some 'playtime' with a local boy just might be the very last thing on Rosalind's mind. But if what Rosalind was saying was true, then something was completely wrong.

  "Jesus Christ in Heaven," Susan whispered. "Well, young lady, tomorrow we will just have to take a trip to Hampton and visit a doctor. That's the only way to be sure, but I need to call the sheriff first. If this gets out, and you bet your red hair it will, it will be a scandal. And I won't tolerate you ruining my husband's good name." She thought about that for a minute. If she told the sheriff, then he could mitigate the damage by filing a police report on the break-in. She would have to do that first before taking this thing to a hospital and getting the whole affair on record. Yes, she would have the sheriff take care of this. Her husband was an important man in this town, and something like this, the mere hint of it, would destroy him. "We'll talk to the sheriff in the morning. He'll know what to do," she said absently. "Don't you say a word about this to anyone, especially Mr. Byrd." Rosalind nodded. "I think it's best if you grab something to eat and then head to bed.

  Rosalind did as she asked and went to her room. She grabbed the picture that had found a permanent home propped up against her lamp and held it to her heart.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, Susan kissed John goodbye and handed him a lunch consisting of a ham sandwich, a banana, and some vanilla flavored cookies. She went to Rosalind's room to wake her up, but found that Rosalind had already gotten dressed and was sitting on her bed, staring at the page from the catalog. Susan sighed and then motioned for her to get ready to go to town.

  They drove to the sheriff's office and went inside. Sheriff Hanes had not yet arrived, so Susan told Rosalind to sit in one of the chairs next to the window and be quiet while Susan filed some paperwork.

  The sheriff came in at 9 A.M. sharp, like he always did, and was surprised to see Rosalind.

  "Well, what a pleasant surprise. I've been meaning to come visit you. How are things?" he asked.

  Susan rose from her seat, glared at the sheriff and motioned for him to follow her into his office. Once inside, she closed the door. Rosalind watched from them behind the glass and saw that the sheriff's face had turned from pleasant to despair. She knew at that moment that she was in trouble. She hung her head and kicked her feet back and forth across the carpet of the office.

  A minute later, the sheriff and Susan emerged. Susan grabbed her purse and the sheriff walked over to Rosalind.

  "Rosalind, is what Miss Susan said true?" Rosalind just hung her head. "Honey, you aren't in any trouble. You can be honest. Did someone break into Miss Nancy's house while she was gone?" Without looking up, Rosalind nodded. "Why didn't you say anything?"

  "He said he'd kill me," she said, still looking at the floor.

  "Did you see who it was? What made you tell Miss Susan all of a sudden?"

  "Because I got a baby in me now. I don't want to lose my baby again, sheriff," Rosalind said. He stood up and rubbed his eyes. His daughter was not much older than Rosalind, but he could not imagine her ever uttering those words. Her cares were about clothes, school, and boys. He figured that Rosalind had never once had those cares. He was beginning to think she never would. It wasn't unheard of for young girls like her to get in trouble like this, but he had never come across anything like it. He knew it was possible, and that there were sick people in this world. He even knew that back-woods folks sometimes operated in this fashion, but again, he had never heard of it in these parts—in his small part of the world. Whispering Pines was looking less and less like the idyllic small town he'd come to love and cherish over the course of his life.

  "I'm going to talk to Hank Fletcher about some details. If this happened the way you said it did, then there would have been a mess for him to clean up. I'm surprised that he didn't call in the damage to his kitchen door, but with Nancy's passing, I guess it just wasn't on his mind to do so." He turned to Susan and nodded. "Tell Hampton to keep this quiet. It's part of an investigation. They'll do so or else I'll give 'em an earful."

  "Yes, sheriff. Let's take a trip, Rosalind," Susan said. The two left the office and the sheriff went back into his to start a report. He left a few minutes later and headed to Hank Fletcher's to dump on him even more bad news, although he figured leaving out the alleged rape might be for the best.

  Susan and Rosalind arrived at the hospital a half-hour later. Susan walked Rosalind to a set of waiting chairs near the nurse's station, and motioned for her to sit. Rosalind complied and Susan went up to the wiry nurse who sat behind the white counter. The nurse peered over her pointy black glasses at Susan. "Yes ma'am, how can I help you today?" she said.

  "I need to schedule…well…I need to get a pregnancy test done," Susan whispered.

  "When was your last period?" the nurse asked.

  "What, me? No, no, no. It's for someone else."

  The nurse leaned to one side and looked at Rosalind sitting in the chair. She straightened back and then glared at Susan. "Ma'am?" the nurse said.


  "Look, I was instructed to tell you by the sheriff of Whispering Pines that this would be confidential. It's part of an investigation and we don't need everyone and their sisters knowing," Susan said.

  "Ma'am, she looks like she's ten years old. I'm going to have to report this to child services. That's the rules," the nurse stated.

  "She looks young for her age. She's actually sixteen and the sheriff will verify this." Susan grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from her purse and wrote down the sheriff's number. The nurse looked at her in disbelief.

  "Sixteen, huh? Has she been here before? She looks familiar."

  "Yes," Susan replied.

  "Was it for the same thing? Seems like she needs a little education on the matter of reproduction."

  "It wasn't like that at all. Can you please just be a peach and help us out?"

  The nurse contemplated the situation and then sighed. "Fine, have her fill this out," she said, handing Susan a clipboard with a form on it.

  "She can't read, is it okay if I fill this out for her?"

  "Well isn't she just a gift from heaven," she said in a snarky tone. "Fine, just make sure it's all filled out," the nurse said in her monotone voice and then returned to her charts. Susan smiled and took the clipboard back to where Rosalind was sitting.

  "That woman is no peach, let me tell you," Susan said to no one in particular and sat down next to Rosalind. Susan asked her a series of questions and then filled in the blanks of the form. Rosalind didn't know specifics like family history or previous illnesses other than her miscarriage, but she only knew to refer to that as "when my baby died."

  Susan completed the form and turned it back in to the nurse. The nurse took it and told her to have a seat. Forty-five minutes later, another nurse called her name, and led Susan and Rosalind to a small white room with an examining table. Rosalind climbed onto the table and Susan sat in the chair in the corner. A doctor came in a few minutes later, looked Rosalind over and then consulted the chart the nurse created. He set the chart down and walked over to Rosalind.