Rosalind

by Stephen Paden

  "I can't wait to meet her," said Rosalind. "Her name is Maggie."

  Susan nodded and stared at her stomach. "Maggie is a pretty name," said Susan. She sniffed up the snot and rose to her feet. She looked around at the walls and the pictures; the shelves next to the television and the knickknacks that populated each one of them; the empty basinet by the window. And then she looked down at Rosalind. Everything had been fine till she came along, but she wondered about the missing girl Jessica and how she fit into the picture. She went missing a county over, but John had been going out at night more frequently since Rosalind had lived there. Was there a connection? If he did have a taste for younger girls (and she put on her big girl pants to pursue this train of thought), did Rosalind become something of an eyesore when she started showing? It was just another clue that seemed to fit into the already tied knot that was growing bigger by the minute. Jessica was missing. Jessica was dead.

  "Let's go to the cellar," Susan said.

  Chapter 48

  John looked out of the window again, but Susan's car never returned to the office. It was five after five. He had sent the workers home at 4:30. Dreading going home, he sat in his chair with a magazine opened in front of him. He hadn't even looked at it.

  He put the magazine down and closed the shop. He still didn't have a ride home, but it was only a few miles home. He walked past the diner. A few people were inside eating at the booths and one was eating at the counter. It was the man in the police uniform. He whipped his gaze front side to avoid making eye contact and kept walking.

  An hour later he reached his driveway. The car was parked in its usual spot.

  Everything's fine, he told himself. You made some mistakes, partner, but we forgive you. At the very worst, you have one mistake left to take care of and she's just a few more feet away.

  He didn't know if the stars were talking about Susan or Rosalind. Rosalind was a problem. She was carrying his child, but there was no way to prove it, and you can't make something stick to the Rubber Man.

  He had done the county a service and taken her in, saving the sheriff's reputation to say the least. He chuckled to himself as he twisted the knob on the door.

  Sheriff's reputation. A lot of good that's doing him now.

  He walked in the house and to his surprise, Susan was on the couch, flipping through a J.C. Penney catalog.

  "Hello there," he said.

  "Oh honey, I'm sorry. I should have picked you up. I forgot you finally got rid of that rust bucket," she said. He detected a hint of sarcasm in her voice but he dismissed it. He had to be careful. If he started questioning her behavior, he'd be cooked. He never questioned her behavior. Why start now?

  "Not that long of a walk, I suppose."

  She looked back at the catalog, licked her right index finger and then pulled back another page. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of scotch from the top cabinet. He noticed that half of it was gone. He shrugged it off and poured himself a glass.

  "Honey," Susan called from the other room. "Could you pour me a glass?"

  He stuck his head out of the kitchen, smiled at her and said, "Sure thing."

  Her tone, he thought. It was pleasant, but wasn't it always this way? Was he being too sensitive? Keep it together, he thought. "Ice?" he called back and she responded, "Sure."

  He brought both of the glasses in the living room and handed her one. "Thank you," she said. He sat in the chair next to the couch and took a sip of the scotch.

  "How was your day?" he asked.

  "Fine," she said, looking at him for a few seconds. It made him uncomfortable. "I talked to Gene today."

  John stopped the glass at his lips and glanced over at Susan. She was still looking at the catalog, but there was something smug about the way she was eyeballing the pages. "Oh?" he mustered.

  "He couldn't find your suit. I hope it wasn't the black one, that really looked good on you."

  "The bla—ah, you know what? It was. You like that one, do you?" With her eyes closed she snapped her head in his direction and then opened them and smiled. "Yeah, I was always partial to that one."

  Suddenly, the drink that was in Susan's hand came flying at John's face. He didn't move in time and it hit him in the forehead. He was stunned. He grabbed the front of his head and blood ran down and trickled into his right eye. The room was blurry, but he looked up at where Susan was sitting and it appeared that she was standing. He felt something heavy fall into his lap and realized that Susan was sitting on him. She grabbed his hair and pulled it straight back. Then, he felt something sharp at his throat.

  "There isn't any suit, John. There isn't any suit, John!" she said, each word getting louder than its predecessor. "When did this start? When did you realize that I wasn’t enough for you?" John pushed her off and Susan went flying backwards onto the coffee table. She swiveled around and put the table between herself and John, holding the knife at arm's length.

  "Are you nuts?" he yelled.

  "Me?" she laughed. "When did you start smoking again? Huh? You couldn't even cover your tracks! I've always thought you were smart, but—no, you're not smart at all. Did you kill the Peterson girl?" Susan began sobbing.

  That was her name? John thought. His mistakes were piling up. The stars would be in hysterics now.

  "Who?" he said, wiping the blood from his forehead.

  "Oh, John! Stop lying! You did something to that poor girl, I know it. And Rosalind? How could you?"

  He bowed his head and cupped his wound. His head began to shake at first, but when he lifted it, Susan could see that he was laughing. His laughter got louder.

  "Susan," he said calmly. John walked over to her, Susan cowering and backing into the corner of the living room opposite his den. "What do you think you have, hmm?" When her back was against the corner, she held up her hands in defense, but no attack came. He grabbed her hands gently. "Let me make you a drink." Her lips shook but she nodded her head and sat down on the couch. John went to the kitchen and poured her another drink.

  When he came back, Susan was smiling. "See?" he said. "It's all going to be just fine." He handed her the drink and sat on the chair. She sipped it at first and then gulped it down.

  "Yes, it is," she replied.

  "Susan, we're—"

  "Shut up. Now you listen to me," she said. She placed the drink on the table. "I knew something was wrong. I knew something was out of place but I was too stupid to see it. I'm your wife, and I'm supposed to be enough for you, but apparently I wasn't."

  "Susan—"

  "No, it's my turn to talk." She stood up and folded her arms across her chest. "You have your…needs…and I have mine. I want a baby. And you," she started to sob but stopped and collected herself, " I guess you've given me that."

  "What? You're pregnant? That's great news!"

  Susan slapped him across the left cheek. John's face grew red with anger, but he sat there and listened.

  "I need you to see something." Susan went to the kitchen. John followed.

  They walked out of the back door to the house and down the hill towards the edge of the corn field and to the cellar. John noticed the locks and chains were in the yard. He grew angry. "Just what the hell is going on?"

  "Sheriff Wilkes is a phone call away. You can shut up and listen to me right now, or I can make the call." She forced the door open and walked into the dark tunnel. John breathed in deeply and exhaled and followed her in.

  Muffled sounds came from the dark room ahead. Susan turned on the light and at first John didn't see it. He saw the boxes against the far wall. He saw the work bench that hadn't been used in years. The shadows on the walls slowly came to a halt and then the muffled sounds started again. Susan was standing in between him and where the sounds were coming from.

  "You win, Susan. What is it?" he said, throwing up his hands. She stepped to the side and John saw her. Rosalind had been gagged and tied up in the corner behind a few of the boxes. Tears rolled down her cheeks and int
o the scarf that was tied through her mouth and around her head. Her eyes pleaded with him in a way that was unsettling to him, unattractive. For the first time he was repulsed by her.

  The dirt below her was darker than the rest of the floor. Her muffled screams were increasing in volume and frequency as Susan looked at him, smiling.

  "You've given me my baby," she said.

  John looked back and forth between Susan and Rosalind. "Susan, I had this under control. We're adopting the kid. There isn’t any need for all of this? She's just a kid!"

  "We can't adopt the baby, dummy. She was too young to sign it away. Your scummy lawyer dropped by and told me. And, kid? Just a kid! Oh!" she cried incredulously. "Now she's just a kid? Where was that sentiment when you were fucking her? You disgusting—" She forced back the tears.

  "What is that underneath her?" he asked.

  "Her water broke. Her contractions are getting closer together, rapist. She's going to have this baby soon. I guess you'd better figure out what to do, huh?" she said.

  The patience John had been able to maintain up until now fell away. He grabbed her and threw her to the ground behind him. He knelt down, looked at Rosalind, and stroked her hair. She recoiled but then a contraction hit her and she squinted her eyes and screamed through the scarf in her mouth.

  "I—I'll get you out of here," he said. He grabbed the twine that was binding her wrists and tried to unravel the knot, but it was tight and had been tied in not one, but three different knots. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I can't get them undone." He turned back towards Susan to say something but a black shape came from his right and landed on his face. What followed was a crushing pain on the right side of his face like lightning had hit him in the teeth. He fell face first in the dirt of the cellar floor and rubbed his jaw. Inside of his mouth, he felt a loose tooth accompanied by two that had fallen out in his mouth. He opened his mouth and spit them out. Blood poured down his right temple as he tried to push himself up. The pain from the side of his face immediately went through to the other side of his head. He grabbed it and fell back to the ground.

  "I'm a leader. I'm important," he whispered through blood and spit. "You can't do—" Another crash of the shovel in Susan's hand landed directly on the top of his head, but this time there would be no retort. The spit and blood continued to run from his mouth. That side of his head caved in from the second blow. Short breaths through his nose were only evident by a few bubbles of snot and blood, but after a few bubbles had popped, they stopped. He was dead.

  Susan stood above him, her face absent of emotion. She threw the shovel down and knelt down towards Rosalind. "Thanks for playing along, baby."

  Another contraction hit Rosalind. She jerked in her bindings and threw her head against the cement wall of the cellar, making a hollow thud!

  "Rosalind, you need to listen to me. You need to breathe. Deep breaths. You want to be strong for your baby, don't you?"

  "Maggie," she said through her clinched teeth.

  "That's right. I had to do it, Rosalind. You understand? I had to do it. What he did and what your father did? No little girl should ever have to go through that. Not ever, do you understand?"

  "Bad," Rosalind said, again gritting her teeth.

  Susan nodded. "Bad. Now let's get you to a hospital. But you remember now. No one ever needs to know about Mr. Byrd being the daddy."

  She untied the knots.

  "Get to your feet, Rosalind. Get to your feet." Susan said calmly. Rosalind pushed herself against the wall and pushed with her legs to slide herself up. Susan picked up the extra slack and lifted her the rest of the way until Rosalind was propped up against the cellar wall. A contraction hit her again, and she almost doubled over onto the floor, but Susan caught her.

  She walked Rosalind slowly out of the cellar. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, quickly followed by a thunderclap. Rosalind didn't flinch, she just braced herself against the side of the hill with one arm and groaned through another contraction. When Susan had locked the cellar, they both walked as fast as they could back to the house; Rosalind stopping a few times to bare down.

  Once inside, Susan went to grab her purse and the car keys. The windows rattled with another snap of thunder and rattled from large drops of rain. The wind picked up and raced through the tree in the front yard. Rosalind tried to concentrate on the sound, but her contractions were too close now. Susan also noticed.

  "We're not going to make it," Susan said, throwing the keys and purse on the couch. She led Rosalind to the stairway and up to her bedroom. Rosalind climbed into her bed and went into a fetal position.

  "Let me get some pillows." Susan disappeared from her room and reappeared holding two large pillows from her own room. She lifted Rosalind to a sitting position and put them underneath her. "Is that better?"

  "Better," Rosalind said.

  "Keep breathing, Rosa."

  Rosalind sharply snapped her attention to Susan and smiled. Her lips began to quiver as started to speak. "Momma?"

  Susan, confused, just nodded. "I'm here, Rosa."

  Tears poured down Rosalind's cheeks as she bore down and screamed. Instinctively, she raised her knees and opened her legs. Susan reached between them and pulled Rosalind's panties off and threw them on the floor.

  "That's good," said Susan. "Okay, now the next time you feel a contraction, I want you to push, okay? Push real hard."

  Rosalind nodded.

  When the next contraction hit, she pushed as hard as she could and then felt a ripping sensation between her legs. She dismissed it and looked at Susan for approval. Susan looked between her legs and saw that the baby's head was crowning. She looked back at Rosalind. "Keep pushing with every contraction, Rosa. You're doing such a good job."

  "Okay, momma," said Rosalind. Susan didn't have the heart to correct her, and in the recess of her own void as a mother denied, she felt that one word grow to fill the entirety of the darkness she had felt since finding out that she was barren.

  Rosalind bore down again against the next contraction and pushed. Susan quickly turned her attention back to the baby and was surprised to see that the baby was halfway out. She reached down and grabbed the baby gently under its arms. "Honey, I'm going to pull with the next contraction, okay? Just keep pushing when it comes." She looked over Rosalind's skirt and smiled. Rosalind smiled back. She screamed again and pushed. Susan pulled. The baby was out. It was limp, so Susan lay it on the bed and started clearing her mouth of mucous. When most of it was gone, she flipped the baby over on the bed and started patting her back. At first, quiet whimpers filtered through the remaining mucous, but as she cried more, the rest of it leaked out of her mouth and her cries grew louder. Susan tried not to cry at the beautiful mess that now lay on the bed crying, but it was futile. She looked over at Rosalind, but Rosalind's head lay against the pillows and it was cocked to one side; her eyes glassy.

  Susan got up and went to Rosalind's side.

  "It's a girl, Rosa. Maggie's here to see you," she said.

  Rosalind forced a smile, but her breathing was faint. She was too weak to lift her head, but she tried to look at Susan. "Maggie," she whispered. Susan went back to the baby and picked her up. She brought her to Rosalind's chest and lay her there. Rosalind mustered all of her strength and lifted a hand and placed it on Maggie's back. She moved her left hand gently across her smooth skin and smiled. Rosalind reached to the nightstand with her right hand in search of something.

  "What is it?" Susan asked. She looked at the folded page from the catalog that Rosalind had brought with her when she first came to the house. Susan picked it up and placed it in Rosalind's hand. She clinched it and looked at Susan.

  "…for Maggie," she said. Her breathing had become more shallow. "…love her so much."

  And when Rosalind took her last look at Susan, it was Henrietta looking back at her. The room glowed a bright yellow with white trails of light that danced around her mother. Her flowing white gown waved gently in s
ome impossible breeze as the woman looked down at her daughter.

  "Momma?"

  "Yes, Rosa," the woman in white said to her.

  "What are—" Rosalind started to ask.

  "I've come for you."

  "Why? Where—"

  "Home, Rosa. Home."

  The room grew brighter and in the vastness behind the slowly fading walls she saw a black veil, and from that veil she felt the warmth of a million stars rushing toward her. All the pain of her short life left her body as they filled every burn and every cut and every scar. She held her mother's hand and let the light consume her.

  "Rosalind?" She looked at her limp arm touching the floor. Susan couldn't cry, and at that moment she didn't know if she even wanted to. She put her hand to Rosalind's chest, but she couldn't feel a heartbeat. It didn't matter; she had what she had always wanted—a child. She didn't need the mess of fighting Rosalind over what was rightfully hers. It all came together neatly.

  She grabbed the baby and put her back on the bed. The page fell out of Rosalind's lifeless hands and onto the floor.

  August, 1978

  "Maggie!" Susan yelled from the porch. She scanned the yard and didn't see her anywhere. Her heart was pounding. Where could she have gone? she asked herself. "Margaret Byrd, where are you?"

  Nothing.

  Susan held her chest and tried to calm herself down, but she knew that was a useless exercise.

  A tall, slender figure with bright, red hair popped into view on the right. Susan turned her head to see Maggie carrying a box to her car.

  "My God," Susan said. She hurried as fast as she could off the porch and ran to her. Maggie foresaw the impending collision so she dropped the box and welcomed her mother into her arms.

  "What's wrong, mom?" she asked her.

  "I thought you'd already left."

  Maggie looked at her and then at her car. "Can't go anywhere without that," Maggie quipped.

  "Oh, right," Susan said. "Did you pack enough underwear?"

  "Yes, mother."

  Maggie tried to lean down to pick up the box, but Susan held her tightly by the arms and looked sternly at her. She looked Maggie over—her long red hair glowing like fire in the midday sun and her freckled face twisted in impatience—and smiled. For a moment Susan was lost in a moment, but when she thought about it later, she knew it was recognition.