"Oh thank you," Christine breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks so much. Doctor, I've left some tea and cookies downstairs for you."
How quaint, Dr. Cohen thought. He knew from Anderson how naive this woman was, but he knew it was wrong not to tell her the truth about her daughter.
Christine entered her daughter's room. "Honey, I'll help you to the chaise so I can change the sheets. Here, grab my arms."
Efficiently, she changed the sheets and held a fresh gown out and helped Rachael put it on. "There, the bed's all fresh now." It felt nice tucking her daughter in.
"Don't leave, Mom," Rachael begged.
"Of course I won't leave, honey. I'll sit right here all night." And she pulled the chair closer to the bed.
"Promise."
"Yes, of course I promise."
"I'm so tired, Mom, but I'm still scared - all that blood." And after a pause, she continued, "You can get in bed with me if you want."
Tears sprang to Christine's eyes as she pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed. She put her arm around her trembling child and soon their communal warmth calmed Rachael. As she listened to the rhythm of her daughter's quiet breathing as she slept, Christine felt hot tears spill down her cheeks. But she forced herself to lie perfectly still.
Later, she heard Anderson open the door, but she didn't move. She heard his quiet tread on the carpet and knew he was standing there looking at them. Then she heard him utter "Oh" – the word filled with disapproval - then he left the room and closed the door with a quiet click.
She didn't ponder long on the reason for his disapproval. She held the precious flesh of her flesh lightly and was filled with love as she, too, fell into a peaceful sleep.
Over the next few days, their closeness remained. Rachael was weak and had very little appetite. Anderson's glass of Nirvana which he brought each morning before leaving for the office was poured down the sink by Christine, who was surprised by her revolt. She replaced the Nirvana with clear chicken soup and beef broth. The various pills Anderson called vitamins she flushed down the toilet as well. Her task of keeping a bedridden child amused filled her with new purpose - but there was so much to do.
So when Rosa called that morning to thank her for the parcel of food left by the gate, the overwhelming job of housekeeping and nursing Rachael give Christine courage, and on impulse she said, "Rachel's ill. Will you come and help. I need you, Rosa. You may have your job back and I can manage a raise as well."
There was a shocked silence on the other end of the phone until finally Rosa asked, "Is it okay with him? Okay with Mr. Thorpe?"
"Yes – It’s okay with him," Christine lied with conviction. And they both agreed that Rosa would start that very day.
Christine felt good about herself. After all, this was her house, too, and she needed help. And she knew Rosa had been fired unfairly. As ridiculous as it was, Anderson claimed he knew that she had stolen food - that was the reason he had told Christine to get rid of her.
But she knew better - she was certain there were other reasons. Possibly because Rosa wore a silver cross in plain view, and for some reason she had always refused to clean Anderson's study, pleading fear of breaking some of the sophisticated equipment, but no - Christine was sure it was something else - something that looked like naked fear in Rosa's eyes whenever she was confronted by that room.
After explaining to Rosa the procedure for ringing at the new fence, Christine hung up and went back to Rachel's room.
"That was Rosa on the phone - she's coming back today."
Surprise filled Rachael's eyes - "I thought Dad said..."
"I know, but we need her. The house is dirty, the laundry is piled up...we need her help now."
Christine felt her self-esteem returning. She had made a wise decision and gone against Anderson's orders. But it wasn't a power struggle, it was simply a need that had to be filled. With Rachael in bed needing care and entertainment, there simply wasn't time do to everything in the house that needed to be done. Once Rosa was reinstated, she would do everything in her power to keep her. She knew how badly the widow needed the job - with two small boys to raise. In the past, when Rosa didn't have a sitter, Christine had allowed her to bring them with her when she came to work.
Jose and Juan - Rosa's five and six year old sons - were handsome boys with jet black hair, dusty complexions, and large warm brown eyes. In the past, the sound of the shy children's quiet laughter, and the sight of them - so bright and hopeful – where the world still looked like a wonderful place to them – the sight of them had filled Christine with nostalgia for the past. Now she felt a pang of sadness at the thought of them growing up, their wonder and innocence lost. She had seen this loss of innocence in her own children - a hard veneer of boredom and dissolution - the sense of wonder that innocence conveyed seeming to die in them. Only at times she had seen in Rachael that wonderful innocence. She was sure it was all of Anderson’s weird products that had changed them.
When the bell rang, Christine turned off the fence and allowed Rosa through. Seeing again how thin she had become, she felt guilt rise - she should have done more. After looking at each other for a long searching moment, simultaneously the women reached for each other and embraced in a silent greeting.
This was part of what Anderson had objected to - Christine's friendship that was on an equal footing with the hired help.
As they walked toward the kitchen, Rosa spoke of Rachael's illness.
"Mrs. Thorpe, I make healthy lunches for Rachael - she needs to eat to get her strength back. Liver - iron - that's what a woman needs in such sickness."
"Yes, I'm sure you're right, Rosa. There's calves liver in the freezer, but getting her to eat it - that's another thing."
"We see," Rosa answered. "You go up, stay with her. I bring lunch."
It felt so good having someone take charge of the mundane things. Christine found her sewing bag and went back up to Rachael's room.
Rachael had dozed off again. The medication kept her drowsy. She sat in the bedside chair and began working on the needlepoint belt that she was making for Luke's birthday present. Between stitches, she stole glances at her sleeping daughter. How pretty she was with her fair complexion, the generous mass of tangled blonde hair that framed her perfect features, and the thick lashes that covered her startling azure eyes.
A rush of immortality soared through Christine. Her genes - the DNA - would live on in this child - her daughter. There was something about the last couple of days that had created these strange thoughts. A softness, a recaptured tenderness, had grown up between them. She laid down the needlework and tiptoed out of the room.
On the intercom, she asked Rosa to hold up lunch as Rachael was asleep. And then, reluctantly, she called Anderson at the office to tell him Rosa was back. After a long wait on hold, with the music blaring, Anderson finally answered.
For a change he wasn’t curt. "How's Rachael - is everything okay?" he asked.
"Yes, she's resting. But I've had to go ahead with something you probably won't approve of."
"Oh?" he responded.
"Yes." She made an effort to keep her voice firm – for it didn't do to go against Anderson's wishes and be obsequious. With her voice a bit shaky she began, "With Dr. Cohen extending the bed rest to ten days, I simply couldn't keep up with everything - so I've had to rehire Rosa." She held her breath and waited in the dead silence.
"I see, but I can't imagine how you can feel comfortable with a thief in the house." His voice was icy with sarcasm.
"Anderson, I simply can't do it all with Rachael being so ill."
"Well, it's up to you if your nerves can stand it, but I should think it would make you very uncomfortable knowing you have invited a thief into our home."
His distortion of the facts sent a surge of anger through her, but with a monumental effort she kept her voice steady. "It's a moot point, Anderson. How can anyone steal what's being thrown away? I've told you over and over that the big bag s
he took that day was leftovers. I gave her leftovers."
"Well," he said patronizingly, "it's only you I'm thinking of, darling. I don't want your nerves acting up. You know how you get."
Through clenched teeth, she answered, "Rosa is making Rachael lunch now. We can talk about it later, but I need her. That’s all there is to it."
"Fine. Fine. You know I wouldn't deny you anything that you really need." His voice was smooth as honey.
"Thank you, darling," Christine said, her voice as smooth as honey as well.
She hung up and saw with alarm how badly her hands were shaking as she replaced the receiver. When had she gotten to be this nervous wreck he constantly described? Clearly she saw it, slowly he had eroded her, erased the person she had been. And the children - somehow he had stolen them from her, too. In their eyes, like in his, she was some pathetic creature to be ignored, laughed at, and made fun of behind her back.
But the new intimacy with Rachael seemed to give her new vision, new hope, new strength.
Chapter 8
The days in the house on Portland Place had become a happy place.
Rosa had admitted that she was leaving her small sons alone, locked up in her flat, because during her unemployment she had lost the woman who used to watch them, so now, with Christine's permission, they came to the house with Rosa every day.
In an effort to entertain Rachael, Christine brought down long forgotten games from the attic. It was a pleasure to see the small boys piled up in the bed with Rachael, with the books and boards balanced on Rachael's knees as she read and reread the rules and together they all learned the "Monopoly" game. And to hear their squeals of delight when another player landed on Park Place or a property filled with hotels was pure pleasure.
Rachael had regained her color and a new personality emerged. Christine was sure it had something to do with withholding Nirvana and the various pills that Anderson had insisted the children take. Rachael's hands no longer shook and she seemed calm, smoothed out.
Like conspirators, they reveled in days full of joy, with Rosa's lusty singing ringing from different rooms in the house.
Rachael and the young boys became friends. It was startling to see the girl who had been so self-centered make an effort to please the children. And when it was nap time for Rachael, Juan and Jose played subdued versions of hide and seek and other games in the dim halls and shuttered room downstairs.
"I'm sorry they can't enjoy the yard, but the fence - it would be too dangerous," Christine apologized.
"Never mind, such a grand house, so many rooms, they have nice time," was Rosa's answer. And each night she blessed Christine in her prayers for her kindness.
Only once or twice, when Anderson came home early, did the house resume its unnatural hush. And once, when he saw the small boy hiding under his favorite chair, the shiny black hair, the unblemished skin, and the eyes bright with fear excited him. He imagined he could see the tiny scarlet heart pumping beneath the snow white tee shirt. That clear vision sent a rush of saliva to Anderson's mouth and between his teeth the sensation of iron and salt flooded him.
"Come here," he commanded.
Slowly the child disentangled his feet, reached up and knocked a cushion off the chair, and finally stood. He shifted nervously from foot to foot.
"Come here - let me see you," Anderson commanded.
Juan, the youngest of the brothers, edged forward, his heart beating a tattoo of terror.
"Closer," Anderson whispered, the command more urgent still.
With that, Anderson reached out and brushed the silkiness of the child's hair. He smiled as he looked into the terrified eyes - they reminded him of a fox caught in a snare.
His hand slid down to the narrow chest. "Thump - Thump - Thump," the erotic rhythm of the young heart pulsed against his palm. Imagination stirred and came alive with the scent of black candles and the murmur of chanting engulfing him. He knew the purpose of a child like this.
Anderson's large hand slid upward. He wanted to touch the silken cheek and the moist lips. But when he did, the terrified boy sunk his teeth deep into the searching palm.
The loud rumble of Anderson's laughter broke the spell and the child ran to the kitchen to hide in the closet among the brooms and dust mops. Mute, unable to tell anyone, for he didn't understand or couldn't explain - but this was the boogie man in all the stories, of that he was sure.
Anderson's laughter died and he looked at the crescent wound on his hand. Blood beaded up in each puncture and he brought his hand up and sucked the blood. He felt a wave of weakness and an alien ecstasy which surprised him, for he did not know that he harbored such dark desires.
He went up to his study, closed the door, punched the button on the recorder, and listened closely to his commercials. It had always been enough to pull the strings, to know from a distance who he was and what powerful work he did.
Chapter 9
It was on the second evening Rachael was allowed to sit up that, when Christine brought her a hot chocolate, she found Rachael sitting by the open window. The last remnants of pink clouds still hung in the sky and the winds of forgetfulness lifted the curtains gently.
Hurriedly, Christine shut the window.
"It's all right, Mom, I'm not cold."
"Dr. Cohen hasn't cleared you yet - night air's not the best." It was then Christine noticed the empty glass on the bedside table.
Following her mother's gaze, Rachael said, "Dad brought up some Nirvana. I so feel guilty, for he questioned me about whether I was keeping up with my vitamins and such - and I told him I honestly couldn't remember. He seemed kinda upset. So like a good little girl, I drank it all up," Rachael finished in a mock lisping little girl's voice.
"I see." Christine felt an emptiness begin in the pit of her stomach. The wall of glass was descending; not quite sealed, but almost in place nonetheless.
Within the week, Rachael was on her feet, thinner than before, but back to her old self.
Disappointed, Christine said, "Teenagers. They're hell to live with."
"Yes, but then girls, when they grow up, return and be friends with their mothers. You wait - she grow up - get married - you be friends again."
"I hope you're right."
"I right. I see this - my sister's kids in Mexico. It happen just like I say - you see."
"Mexico - do you miss it, your family, friends...?"
Rosa stopped, wiped her hands on the dishtowel, and looked around the kitchen as if some unseen intruder could hear her. "I save money. I go back. This not a good place for me. We save to come here - they kill my husband - my sons they scared - they so little. Mexico very poor, but I no feel like this - every day I scared for them."
"Me too, Rosa. I'm scared all the time. My husband has a lot of money and we're safe here, but I long for something else, too." Christine sank down in the kitchen chair - she needed to talk. "I read about Australia. It sounds so good, but you need a lot of money to go there."
Happy for her employer, her friend, Rosa said, "You go, go to this good place."
"Anderson - Mr. Thorpe - he doesn't agree. I try to show him..." she finished helplessly.
Out of character, but overcome by friendship, Rosa sat on the chair and took Christine's hands. "You make him see - you try real hard."
"Yes, I will," Christine agreed.
A banging door interrupted their talk. Rosa got up quickly and began preparations for dinner as Rachael stormed into the kitchen, waving around a pair of Levi's.
"Which one of you dimwits shrunk my favorite jeans?"
"What's the matter?" Christine asked nervously.
"You heard me. These fucking things wouldn't fit a midget."
"Rachael, please, you know I don't like that kind of talk."
Ignoring her mother, Rachael glared at Rosa. "Here," she said as she flung the offending jeans at Rosa, "Maybe they'll fit one of your little Mexican bastards."
"Rachael, go to your room this instant," Christine co
mmanded.
Rachael smiled at her mother, stuck out her tongue, and stomped downstairs to the den. In a minute they heard the blast of acid rock.
"I'm so sorry," Christine apologized, "there was no call for her to say those cruel things to you."
"It's all right." Rosa turned away. "Teenagers, like you said." But she knew this wasn't a nice kid. Rosa knew what the jar on the window ledge contained - she blessed herself every time she dusted there. She knew, too, that you don't lie in bed bleeding for ten days from strenuous exercise. No, she knew. She knew about Rachael, and what kind of kid Rachael was most of the time.
Her heart was sad for her employer, her friend. Some day she would know what her daughter was and it would break her heart she was certain.
It was Rachael's outburst that made Christine realize what Rosa must face in the world every day - if she could be treated so viciously and assaulted with such prejudice here in this house, where she had given the children care and compassion over the years.
It was later, when they talked again, that Christine asked, "Rosa, how much would it cost - to go back to Mexico?"
"A lot of money. I save – but it take a long time."
"How much, Rosa?"
"Five thousand dollars."
"Oh." It was too much. Christine knew she couldn't skim that much - Anderson would know. But a couple of hundred here and there - she could do that much. "I'll help you, Rosa. I’ll help so you can save."
Later, when she returned from the vault, she handed Rosa an envelope. "Here, it's a start. I can help a little here and there," she promised.
Rosa looked at the bills - three hundred above her pay. "No, I can't take this. He find out."
"Yes you can. He won’t notice. For Juan and Jose, you must take it! We'll save, little by little, and someday you can go home - I know it."
Rosa held back her tears and put the bills in her apron pocket. "Mrs. Thorpe, you're good person. In this world full of greed and hate, you're good."
Elias's Fence Page 8
