Old Wounds

by Vicki Lane

  Did you hear me, Rosemary? Pa’s big boots were right beside her and he sounded impatient. Get your shoes on right now. Just leave all that stuff, he said, as Fireboy came galloping down the mountain.

  Without waiting for her answer, Pa walked toward the door. Quickly Rosemary breached the corral walls and scooped up the three captive mares. Scrambling to her feet, she put them and their rescuer, Fireboy, on the far side of the throw pillows, safe from the sleeping rustlers. There, she whispered. Now if they wake up before I get back, you’ll be safe.

  Her sneakers were on the front porch and she hastily shoved her feet into them and hurried down the steps to where Pa was waiting by his truck. A thought struck her.

  Pa, have you seen Dinah? She was out all night and I haven’t seen her once this morning.

  Pa heaved the flat tire into the back of the truck. Don’t worry, baby; she’ll be back. Hounds just like to run in the woods. Remember, we heard her barking so much last night, like she had something treed? She’s probably basking in the sun somewhere, catching up on all the sleep she missed. He pulled open the door. Hop in. This won’t take long. And your pup’ll probably be here waiting for you when we get back.

  As they drove down Ridley Branch, Rosemary kept a close watch for Dinah. She didn’t think that the young hound ever went far from home, but you never knew. Only last week something terrible and unexplained had happened to Maythorn’s pet cockatiel. Most likely a silly accident, Mrs. Barbie had said, but Rosie wasn’t sure.

  There’s Miss Birdie and Luther out hoeing their potatoes. Pa tapped the horn and waved at the plump little woman and lean old man, working in their garden patch just the other side of the branch. Wonder where Cletus is? He must be off on one of his hunting trips, roaming the woods like Dinah.

  Miss Birdie says “taters,” not “potatoes.” Rosemary stuck her arm out the window and waved too. And she says “maters” and “baccer” and—

  It’s kind of a shortcut, Rosie. Just like people say “fridge” for “refrigerator” or “TV” instead of “television” or—Are we ever going to get a TV? She knew what the answer was, but had to ask, anyway.

  I don’t think so, Rosebud. Pa reached across and tickled her knee. There’s not that much on that’s worth watching, and besides, it might take away from your reading time.

  He always said this. And it wasn’t worth arguing—from the little TV she’d ever watched, either at Maythorn’s house or when they’d lived in Florida and went to dinner at her Grammer Grey’s condo, she knew that it was mostly stupid and sometimes gross. And the pictures were never as good as the ones in her head.

  Look up there, Rosie! I hope your mum sees this when she comes back this way. She’ll love it!

  What is it? Is it a carnival or something? Can we stop? In the side yard of a small green house overlooking the road, bright colors of every description flapped and danced in the wind. Pa slowed the truck, and Rosemary realized, with some disappointment, that it was just a bunch of quilts, hanging from clotheslines stretched between big trees. A slender woman in a blue housedress was adding yet another dazzling rectangle to the last empty space. Pink stars spun on a green background as the breeze lifted the quilt. The woman stepped back as if to admire the sight, then, catching sight of their truck, she raised her hand in a friendly wave.

  They left the tire at Jim Hinkley’s filling station, and while Jim fixed the tire, Pa took her to the Burger Doodle for lunch. That wasn’t its real name, just what Mum and Pa called it. It was right next to the laundromat and Mum always made a face when Rosie and Laurie wanted to eat lunch there.

  Can I have a chili dog? Mum was really picky about what food she would let them get when they ate out and Pa sometimes was the same. But today he just said, Sure, whatever you want. He paid for their order and handed her the slip of paper with their number on it.

  When they call twenty-six, can you go get the tray? I’ll be right outside at the payphone. He glanced at his watch. I’ve got to go make a call.

  She felt very grown up, sitting alone in the orange booth, and when the lady behind the counter, the one with the net squshing her hair down, called out, Twenty-six! Rosemary went and got the tray and carried it very carefully back to their table. Through the window she could see Pa at the payphone, dialing a number.

  The chili dog was delicious—just as she’d imagined it would be. Foot-long, the menu had said, and it was—so long that both ends hung off the paper plate. And so much chili that it spilled out of the big soft bun and left an orange stain on the plate. It was messy to eat and Rosemary pulled napkins one after another from the little black dispenser on the table to wipe her face and fingers.

  She had eaten almost all of the chili dog but still Pa hadn’t come to get the BLT sitting forlornly across from her. Rosemary drank the last of her Dr Pepper (another rare treat), wiped her fingers once again, and slid out of the booth.

  Pa had his back to her as she came out of the door of the Burger Doodle. The phone was to his ear and he was talking real low. No, she doesn’t know anything about it, he was saying. But I need to see you…soon.

  It was almost two o’clock when they got back home. Mum and Laurie were still gone—doctor appointments took a long time, Pa said, even when it was just a checkup. Dinah wasn’t there either. Rosemary looked at the bowl of dry dog food they’d put on the porch last night, but it was still full and the chunks of canned dog food sitting on the top were dry and dark.

  You go on back to your horses, Rosebud, Pa said. I’ve got to get started on the mowing. Mum and Laurie’ll be back soon.

  Three o’clock and still no Mum and Laurie. No Dinah either. Pa was down near the barn now, following the big noisy mower in a neat pattern. The rich smell of freshly cut grass filled the air.

  Rosemary went out to the porch. She tried to imitate Pa’s shrill whistle, but gave up after a few sputtering attempts. Diii-nah, she called. Diii-nah! The lawn mower, though at a distance, was still loud and drowned out her voice. I have to look for her, she decided. I’ll start up in the woods where Dinah was barking last night.

  Up the old logging road above the house, climbing steadily higher, stopping now and then to call Dinah’s name, Rosemary went. The mower was still growling in the distance and Mum’s jeep had not yet returned. Finally Rosemary stopped to rest, feeling tired, and a little sick at her stomach. A series of burps reminded her unpleasantly of the chili dog.

  She had stopped in a little clearing where the sun shone warmly down, just the kind of place where Pa had said Dinah might be sleeping. Rosemary found a flattish spot and sat down with her back to a big rock. She remembered to look for snakes first, just like Pa and Mum always told her, then she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  She awoke feeling cold. The sun had moved and she was in the shade now. And squatting beside her was Cletus. And Dinah! A piece of baling twine was threaded through her collar and the other end was in Cletus’s hand. Dinah’s head was drooping as if she was very tired.

  Cletus stared at Rosemary with a strange look. I wondered when you was goin to wake up, he said. I’m fixin’ to cook me some dinner. You kin have some too. He motioned to a little fire burning in a circle of rocks just a few feet away. A shotgun, its wooden stock polished with long use, leaned against a tree.

  Cletus’s eyes never left her face. They were red, as if he hadn’t slept, and there was black stubble all over his chin. I catch all kinds of things and cook ’em fer my dinner.

  Rosemary felt a little uneasy, as she often did, around this man who talked like a little boy. Slowly, she began to stand. Cletus, let me have Dinah. I need to take her home for dinner.

  Cletus made a funny hiccuping kind of sound and she realized that he was laughing.

  Dinah’s dinner, Dinah’s dinner, Dinah’s dinner, he chanted, rocking his head from side to side. Then, still staring at Rosemary, he reached into the knapsack that lay on the ground beside him and pulled out a limp gray body. With his other hand he took a jackknife from
the bib pocket of his overalls, snapped it open, and made few deft cuts on the little carcass. Wiping the blade on his leg, he closed the knife and returned it to his pocket.

  Looky here! Cletus held the dead squirrel up by its bushy tail and inserted a finger into one of the cuts he had just made. I’m undressing him. He gave a tug and with a crackling sound the skin began to separate from the body. Rosemary watched in shocked disbelief as Cletus peeled the skin away, as easily as she pulled off her socks.

  In a few seconds, Cletus was holding a raw red horror by its bushy tail. He grinned at her and said, I’ll fix you some dinner.

  With a sudden heave, Rosemary rid herself of the partially digested chili dog. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she snatched the baling-twine leash and ran down the logging road for home, hauling the startled Dinah behind her.

  She left the weary Dinah on the porch, gobbling down a long overdue bowl of dog chow, and crept quietly into the house to rinse out her mouth. The jeep was back and Mum was probably wondering where she was. And probably she was going to get in trouble for going off and not telling Pa.

  I’m going to get it now, she whispered. Maythorn always said that when she was late going home. Rosemary wondered what it was.

  Laurie was asleep on the sofa in the living room with one of Rosemary’s horses clutched in her hand. From Pa and Mum’s room came the sound of low voices. And then the sound of Mum crying.

  18.

  REVELATION INTERRUPTUS

  Sunday, October 16

  Hand in hand, Elizabeth and Phillip strolled down the leaf-strewn driveway, toward the little pond just beyond the herb field. The three dogs trotted behind them and the sweet-sad lilt of mariachi music floated across the field from the little rent house shared by Julio and Homero. Above, the sky was very blue.

  She looked at Phillip, who, as usual, seemed perfectly happy and at home. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. They walked without speaking, as if neither wanted to break the spell. If nothing is said, nothing will change, she thought. It will always be a beautiful fall day, clear and mild, with music in the air and this amazing, unlooked for, deep joy welling in my heart.

  Down the rock steps and across the wooden footbridge that spanned the shallow branch. The pond lay bounded on one side by the herb field and on the other by a pasture. A rustic pavilion, almost hidden by the coils of a rampant wisteria, jutted out over the still water, and two dark-stained Adirondack chairs awaited them there.

  Elizabeth took down the metal can of fish food that hung from the rafters of the little structure, away from the clever paws of marauding raccoons. She tossed a handful of the pellets onto the still surface of the pond and waited. Phillip stood at her side, peering into the green depths.

  They came slowly at first: one whiskered patriarch rose to engulf a little clump of the floating pellets, then a second and a third. Sleek, sharklike bodies, dark shadows in the water, made a shocking contrast to the pale gape of their wide mouths as they swept the water’s surface, passing to and fro and skimming up the tiny morsels. Elizabeth tossed more of the food as three and then four more of the giant catfish appeared, swirling gracefully about in a harmless feeding frenzy.

  When the last crumbs had disappeared, Phillip turned to her, taking both of her hands in his. She faced him squarely, returning his questioning gaze with a smile that, she felt, grew from the very center of her being.

  “Well, Ms. Goodweather.”

  “Well, Mr. Hawkins.”

  Phillip pulled her to him and kissed her. Then, reluctantly pulling away, he said, “I think we need to talk.”

  “If you say so.” Elizabeth nodded to the chairs, set companionably side by side. She sank into the nearer one and propped her feet on the bench that ran around the open sides of the little pavilion. Phillip took the other chair, but instead of settling himself comfortably, he sat on the edge of the seat and ran his hand over his head.

  A sudden chill of misgiving swept through Elizabeth. Here I’ve been floating along in a dream of never-ending bliss, like a bloody character in a feminine hygiene commercial running through a meadow of wildflowers, and he’s about to tell me…what?…I don’t know…that he’s not really divorced…that he was too polite to say no when I pulled him into my bed…that he’s really looking for someone much younger and cuter…that the past two nights really didn’t mean anything.

  He seemed to read the apprehension in her eyes and reached again for her hand. “Elizabeth…” His grip was strong and he squeezed her fingers as if hoping to communicate his feelings without words. “I want you to know…”

  Up came the free hand to his head, but he caught himself and lowered it. He cleared his throat. “Elizabeth, I’m not good at the talking part of all this…but I want to say a couple of things. I should have before this but…first of all, I’m glad you had that nightmare. The past two nights have been like…like coming home to the place I’d been trying to find all my life.”

  A surge of joy and relief swept over her. She started to speak but he shook his head. “Only, I feel like maybe there were some things I should have told you before we…before I…”

  He was still clasping her hand tightly and his eyes were fixed on her in some unspoken question. She leaned toward him.

  “Phillip, you don’t need to tell me anything. I’m the forward huzzy who dragged you into her bed. And I enjoyed every bit of it and I’m not sorry and you don’t owe me any explanations or anything. We already established that we were both disease-free, and I’m obviously not going to get pregnant, and I’m not looking for any kind of—” You’re babbling, Elizabeth, her inner censor warned her.

  Phillip put a gentle finger to her lips. “Elizabeth, sweetheart, please be quiet and let me talk. I’m trying to be serious here—I am serious, dammit. This is important. I want there to be more between us than just—”

  “Do you?” She felt a sudden cautious drawing-back forming in her mind, a reluctance to formalize this new step with words. Are you sure about this man? Can you ever be sure about anyone? “Do you really?”

  The brown eyes never wavered. “You bet I do. Elizabeth, we’ve known each other for over a year now and we’ve been through some rough experiences together. I think I knew almost from the first that I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you. But first, there’re some things about the past—about my past—that I need to tell you. I—”

  “Please…Really, Phillip, I don’t care about your past! I know you’ve been divorced for years. I assume there’ve been other women and all that, but what can it have to do with us, with now?”

  Suddenly the dogs, who had been sprawled out on the grass absorbing the welcome rays of the autumn sun, sprang up and pattered across the footbridge to the road that ran alongside the stream. A thin boy, in immaculate, new blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, was rounding the bend. At the sight of the three dogs racing toward him, he dropped to one knee. He almost disappeared in a wagging swirl of black and brown as shaggy Ursa rubbed herself against his chest, James leapt to lick his face, and even the usually aloof Molly wedged her elegant head under his arm to get his attention.

  A little way behind the boy came two elderly women, one with a tall walking stick, the other holding her frailer companion’s elbow.

  With a last squeeze of Phillip’s hand, Elizabeth smiled ruefully and stood. So much for romantic solitude!

  “Phillip, it’s Miss Birdie and Dorothy. And that boy…that’s Calven.”

  He watched as Elizabeth hurried to meet the two women and the boy. When Miss Birdie had told them yesterday that her cousin Dorothy was taking care of Calven Ridder, he had passed on the information to the sheriff, who had been conducting a fruitless search for the missing boy. Mackenzie Blaine had then confirmed that the boy’s mother, still in critical condition at the hospital, had expressed her wish that the boy be kept away from Bib.

  And here they all are. And I still haven’t come clean with Elizabeth. The longer I wait, the harder it’s going t
o be for her to understand—if she will understand. Oh, goddammit all to hell! I wish that there didn’t have to be all this back story. I wish that it had been me, not Sam, reaching for the copy of Walden in that used bookstore way back then.

  He hauled himself to his feet, feeling obscurely guilty at that last thought, and sauntered out toward Calven and the dogs, who were thundering across the footbridge. Elizabeth and the other woman were helping Miss Birdie negotiate the rock steps. Elizabeth flashed him a quick smile, then returned her attention to her little neighbor.

  Calven stopped short at the sight of Phillip and looked hesitantly back at his aunt. Phillip smiled and put out his hand. “Howdy, son. You must be Calven. My name’s Phillip. I’m a friend of Miz Goodweather’s.”

  The boy stood there, looking indecisively at the outstretched hand. Dorothy called out, “Calven Ridder, you mind your manners and shake Mr. Hawkins’s hand. He’s a policeman and he won’t put up with unmannerly little boys. And would you look at the grass stains on your nice Sunday shirt! Now, Birdie, you got to watch this last step here; I don’t want you to take a tumble.”

  The little group of women moved slowly across the bridge and even more slowly the boy raised his hand. He did not meet Phillip’s gaze and the dirty little hand made no response to Phillip’s gentle clasp.

  “Your aunt got that wrong, Calven—I’m not a policeman anymore. I’m a teacher now. You want to throw some horseshoes?”