Elias's Fence

by Steinberg, Anne

  "Yes," she smiled. "The kitty - he's just playing."

  Again the excited babble of the auctioneer rose as he sold the children. She glanced up at the screen as a delicious scent of milk and the smell of baby powder filled the room. The baby on the screen now cooed softly and waved its tiny fists as the bids rose higher and higher.

  She heard the gavel sound and a customer number 206 was pronounced the winner of the tiny six week old baby. Next the auctioneer begged and pleaded in his rapid spiel, but there were no bids. Christine looked up to see a beautiful mixed-race baby girl was passed - she remained unsold. She knew what happened to unsold stock and her stomach fluttered with the horror. She dropped the pillow, retrieved it, and started to leave the room.

  Anderson clicked off the TV. "Wait, Christine. I know how these auctions upset you, but I have promising news."

  News? What news? she wondered.

  "Actually, it's wonderful news." He rose, came over and took her hand, and led her to his study. In the richly paneled room, he led her to his chair. "Sit, I'll make you a drink," he said gently.

  "Maybe a glass of wine," she agreed.

  "Not just wine. This calls for champagne."

  The cork flew across the room. His best champagne was poured into the crystal glasses. Then, true to his flair for the dramatic, he paused, making her wait.

  She reached down and lifted the cat into her lap. She needed something to touch, some chore, some task to keep her hands busy and her tongue still. Mustn't rush him. She had learned that painfully over the years.

  He raised his glass. "Let's drink to Australia," he toasted.

  "Australia?" she repeated stupidly and raised her glass to clink against his. Had he guessed? Nothing in the studio was disturbed. Maybe she spoke of it in her sleep. Clever, he was so clever. She drank quickly to prevent herself saying anything.

  "Another?" Without waiting for an answer, he reached over and poured the sparkling wine into her glass. He sipped the wine and looked at her over the rim of his glass. "Why so quiet?" he asked.

  She was afraid to look at him and see his dark eyes that mesmerized. She felt he could see right into her soul. At times she was afraid of his eyes and this was one of those times. She gulped the second glass of wine. Finally, with Dutch courage, she spoke up. "Australia? I didn't think you wanted to talk about it."

  He nodded. "I know I've said that, Christine, but you were absolutely right. My work here is finished - or almost finished - and the challenge of a new land, a new place, excites me. You were right all along." He slowly twisted the glass in his hand and waited.

  "But you said...the requirements..." She couldn't finish.

  "I've checked our resources. It'll be a tight squeeze, but we'll make it." He ruffled the desk calendar. "June 13. That gives us ten days."

  Her head reeled. "But...but...the requirements..." she stuttered.

  "Oh, that. I have my ways. I've worked it all out. Seems I do have connections in Australia after all," he smiled.

  Ways? she thought. He's worked it out. Strings - she knew he could pull strings. Invisible connections - those had saved her mother. Now he was telling her he would save her children.

  "Oh, Anderson." She rose and sat down before him on the thick rug. She dared to clutch his knee and tears of joy slid down her cheeks, staining his linen slacks. "Oh, Anderson," the words muffled by the cloth.

  He stroked her hair gently and then pulled her up and cradled her in his lap.

  "There, there. It's okay, darling," he whispered softly. "I didn't want to mention it until I was absolutely sure."

  She felt his caress on her ear, waiting stiffly in case she misunderstood. She felt his large hands - as gentle as summer rain - caress her breast through the silk. She waited. He would lead. This time she would not be bold, but would allow him to seduce her if that was what he wanted.

  His lips found hers - soft and sweet from the wine - and she felt her body come alive.

  "My dear, you're so lovely..." He smoothed back her golden hair and looked into her eyes. She saw his passion alive and smoldering in his dark eyes.

  He carried her over to the leather couch. She felt the buttery softness of the calves that had worn the skins. He knelt alongside and slowly undressed her, the touch of his hands smooth as glass. Through half opened eyes she stared up at the crystal chandelier. It was a miracle - rainbows bloomed everywhere. The May breeze shook the droplets and the tinkling sound matched the points of her body that he touched.

  He entered, and it was good. She clung to him and responded. Chords of music, art, nature, all that was beautiful was born again and lived in their mating. In her mind's eye, she saw again the coral mare covered by the black stallion. Their mating, that spring when she was seventeen, was a thing of beauty, too. She felt connected to that world again - a tactile world - a world of feeling.

  She was convinced he was the same Anderson she had fallen in love with. Over the years she had lost him, but now...now...and she responded to his rhythm and found ecstasy - again and again. He went on and on and she took pleasure in his incredible desire.

  The arid desert of her life bloomed. She had so longed for a kind word, a gentle touch. His body joined with hers to prove their love for one another was what she had missed. "Thank you," he whispered.

  She wasn't sure how to respond to his odd words, but their roles now reversed, she smoothed his hair, ran her fingers over his brow, and said, "Anderson, I love you. I've always loved you," but she wasn't sure that was true.

  It was the music or the children laughing downstairs that cheated her of his response; she only heard the sound of his voice, but she was certain he had said it back to her.

  And then the voices in the hall prompted them to hurry. She picked up the pile of her clothes and began to dress. His back to her now, he did the same.

  "There's so much to do. Ten days...not much time," she said and then instantly regretted it. That was like she was yesterday - always whining - always worrying. To take the sting out of it, she smiled as she said, "Oh, Anderson, we'll do it. No big deal - as easy as falling off a log." She hoped those optimistic words would smooth over the previous ones.

  He paused, his forehead wrinkling. "Isn't that something your mother used to say?"

  "Why, yes, I guess it is. It's a shame we couldn't have told her; she would have been so happy for us."

  He nodded in agreement and then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Actually, there is one other niggling thing we have to do. But I don't want you to go to any trouble, I'll get catering."

  "Catering?"

  "Yes, annoying I know, but we do at least have to have a dinner for the people at the agency. It'll probably go to pot - I'm leaving Higgins in charge - but I'll have my hands full starting all over in Australia."

  She was quiet. Mustn't ruin it. If he needed to give a dinner she wouldn't complain.

  "Saturday," he continued. "I want to make it easy, informal - a barbecue. I'll do steaks and chicken and cater the rest."

  She thought of the alley, but he was in charge. He was always in charge - he knew best. Like a young bride, she was reluctant to leave him. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him and then went down to the studio to smash the lambs. He had saved her.

  Crazy - she must have been crazy. The thought now was so sinister and repulsive. She couldn't have done it. After all, she was and always had been a loving mother. "God forgive me," she said to the concrete walls. It was desperation - pure and simple - that had made me plan so carefully the murder of one of my children.

  Chapter 20

  Christine was restless. She couldn't wait for Rosa to come. She was late, but finally she came rushing up the street holding her sons' hands tightly. She didn't wait for Rosa to ring the bell, but she went out to open the gate and let them in.

  Rosa began apologizing. "I sorry I late." She nodded over the small dark heads. "Sorry, too, I need to bring them. The lady who watch, she sick."

  "Rosa, I've told you I don't care.
Juan and Jose are always welcome here, especially today. I have a wonderful surprise."

  Curious, Rosa followed her to the kitchen, where the smell of blueberry muffins perfumed the air.

  "Sit," Christine commanded. "It's my turn to wait on you."

  Obediently, the boys climbed up on chairs and Rosa reluctantly sat poised on the edge of one.

  "I've been up since five," Christine confessed. "I'm so happy I had to do something, so I've baked tons of muffins."

  She placed the covered basket on the table. "Go on, take some," she urged the boys. Juan carefully pulled back the crisp linen napkin and handed his brother a still warm, fragrant muffin before he took one for himself.

  Christine poured their milk and asked Rosa if she wanted tea or coffee.

  "Coffee, please." It was awkward for Rosa for no one, nowhere, had ever waited on her before. She was uncomfortable with it.

  Finally Christine sat and grabbed a muffin. "It's my fourth one," she admitted. "I'm so happy, I just can't wait. Rosa, it's happened, this wonderful thing has finally happened. We're moving to Australia - you know, that place I told you about." Anderson arranged it and we'll be leaving in a week."

  "Oh." Rosa's face fell with disappointment. Now she would be unemployed again and would have to dip into her small savings.

  Christine realized that she hadn't explained fully. "I wouldn't leave you stranded, Rosa. Remember, I promised to help so you could go back to Mexico."

  Rosa nodded, knowing that now that could never happen. She would never have enough money to do it.

  "Rosa, how much do you have now?"

  The sum that had seemed so large would dwindle quickly with no employment. "Just under three thousand."

  "Good, I can get the rest. Downstairs - in my special place - I have hidden another thousand. It's ok, don't worry. I've told Anderson I need new things, designer things. And they're expensive, Rosa, very expensive. In a week I'll pretend I've been shopping - he'll never know. It's okay, my husband has lots of money, he'll never miss it. And I have closets full of clothes already. I don't need any new ones."

  Rosa's hands shook and her eyes misted over. "You would do that for me? So much money you would give me? I can never repay it."

  "I know," Christine said. I do it for you and the boys. This is what friends do for each other." It was pointless, even cruel, to explain to Rosa the amounts of money Anderson earned. A fence that cost 140 thousand would be incomprehensible to Rosa.

  Rosa tried to hold back the tears, but they rolled unchecked down her cheeks.

  "What, Mama," Juan asked alarmed. "You no like the muffins?"

  "Yes, I love the muffins. Someday when you're bigger, you'll understand. Women, ladies like us, sometimes we cry when we're happy."

  Both boys looked from face to face, not understanding. "Can we play now, please?"

  Rosa's "yes" released them and they skipped away through the swinging doors.

  "We have prospective buyers coming to see the house tomorrow, so we need to vacuum and polish the furniture," Christine said. "That's probably the most important things."

  Rosa finished her coffee in one gulp and stood up. "Oh, I go now and begin."

  "Not yet, Rosa. I'll help - we'll get it done. There's one other thing. Next Saturday we're having a barbecue for the staff at Anderson Agency."

  "You need me I stay till night," Rosa said.

  "Oh - no, no, no. Anderson's having most of it catered. And I know you were always off on Saturday, but just this once could you come on Sunday? I'm sure we'll have a yard full of mess with twenty people eating, smoking and drinking in the garden."

  "Yes, of course I come. After church."

  "Now, before you forget, go down...the money...it's in my secret place. You slide the board - it's in the Bible. All week I'll have time to get more and I'll hide it there. Anderson will never know. He seemed a bit surprised when I told him I needed a whole new wardrobe, but my husband is a good man; he's a generous man; he never understood why I didn't take all the expensive things I could have had."

  The women looked at each other, happiness singing in their beings.

  Emotion overcame Rosa and she knelt in front of Christine, reaching to kiss her hand. "Thank you. Oh, thank you," she mumbled.

  "No," Christine said, embarrassed. "Let go, Rosa. We've got no time for tears or thank you's. We've got work to do."

  Christine took the shears and the basket and went out to the garden to cut the flowers; the house always looked so elegant when the many vases were full. The azaleas were in full bloom and they were abundant. She began there.

  As a child, she was hesitant to even pick a flower for she wondered if it hurt, and if they cried. But her mother explained that it was just like getting a haircut was to them; that it didn't hurt a bit; and that sometimes the flowers needed to be cut to let the other buds flower.

  But the shears looked so cruel in the sunlight as the blades cut through the green stems.

  She looked around the planted yard. Here was another example of Anderson's generosity and kindness. When he had surprised her with the instant garden, after the long stretch of misunderstandings between them, it had altered her perception of her husband. She had been wrong; she had been so unhappy that she wasn't thinking or seeing clearly.

  Satisfied that she had enough, she went indoors and began arranging the fragrant flowers in the vases. As she passed the open basement door, she called to Rosa, "Tell the boys to be careful, there seem to be lots of spiders down there this spring."

  "Okay," Rosa answered.

  "Come now, boys. I have work to do." She had trouble coaxing them out of the hiding space. "Be careful," she warned, "that's Mrs. Thorpe's Bible."

  Finally they came out and Rosa slid the panel shut.

  "It's the best hiding place in the world - no one can find me there, "Juan bragged.

  "I can," Jose said.

  "Sure, you can - but nobody else 'cept Mama, Mrs. Thorpe, and us."

  "Look how dusty you've gotten," Rosa scolded, and marched them up to the kitchen to wash.

  "One more person knows about that hiding spot," Juan said.

  "Who?" Jose questioned.

  "Guess."

  "I don't know, tell me." Jose began whining, "Mama, he won't tell."

  "You're such a baby," Juan taunted and he hurried out of the room because he was clean first.

  Later, after Jose begged him repeatedly, Juan finally said, "The other person that must know about that hiding place is that special friend - God."

  "How does he know about it?"

  "He does," Juan whispered as he looked around, imitating his mother who always did that when she spoke his name. "He knows he left his book there.

  "If there was ever a kidnapper around here, that's where I'd hide," Jose said.

  "What if one came to our house?"

  "Then I'd hide under the bed."

  "So would I," Juan agreed.

  Chapter 21

  It was a party she had no enthusiasm for. In fact, she resented the money involved for the liquor and food and steaks for the barbecue.

  Everyone from the agency had been invited. In the past she had felt very uncomfortable with them and their talk of media, image-making, and molding of the public. A thread of dislike for the media had always been part of her. She had trouble admitting it to anyone, even herself, but she felt the whole business was dishonest. It created a desire for things one didn't need. The business, the commercials, were sculptors molding people.

  She was glad it would be the last party she would ever spend with them. It was getting closer to the date - soon they would all be in Australia - and down deep she hoped Anderson would find some other business in their new world.

  On Saturday, Anderson and the boys started the barbecue at six. The caterers had already delivered the salads, vegetables, and desserts and they were waiting in the warmer and the refrigerator. They had done a marvelous job. Even though the plates were paper, they were of excell
ent quality with a tasteful design.

  Her family seemed elated. The boys threw a frisbee about the yard and even the dogs seemed playful and frisky, for once forgetting their protective role. They leaped with joy to catch the frisbee and return it to the boys.

  "Hey, all my cooks have gone on strike," Anderson joked.

  "Gee, Dad, the dogs never get to play," Luke answered.

  "I was only kidding - I can handle it with one hand", Anderson bragged. "Shoo," he told Christine, "don't get near the spattering meat. I wouldn't like to see a grease spot on that lovely dress. Is it new?"

  "No..." she started to say, but then remembered in time all the bogus bills she had told him about that week after safely storing six thousand dollars downstairs for Rosa. "Oh, the dress is new, Chanel. I though you meant the shoes - they are old.

  He seemed to look at her appreciatively now. Christine knew she looked good, almost beautiful. The last week she had spent time in the yard and her skin had the golden glow of a beginning tan; the same sun had streaked her light hair a bit and the new color brought out her eyes more. She had applied her makeup carefully and the eye shadow enhanced their beautiful blue green color. The simple linen dress in off-white suited her slender figure and for sentimental reasons she wore the gold earrings Anderson had given her years ago. She also wore the necklace the children had bought her also years ago – the necklace that spelled her name Christine. She loved the fact that without the INE it spelled the Lord Christ’s name, and tonight her huge engagement ring, the large diamond, gleamed on her hand. She wondered if Anderson noticed that she was wearing different bits of jewelry from various stages of their life together.

  Rachael was in the kitchen making pitchers full of drinks and putting them in the freezer to chill.

  "Come on out," Christine coaxed, "it's lovely. The food smells great and I think it's almost done."

  Christine placed the portable candles about the garden. She would light them fifteen minutes before the guests arrived to make sure they weren't bothered by mosquitoes.

  She looked toward the fence. Her guests would be safe even though the police were on strike again, but she hoped fervently that the alley would remain empty tonight. For the last several days she had noticed them again in the alley - slinking, skulking in tight groups at twilight - and had felt their eyes watching her in the gloom. I hope they don't come tonight, she thought, to watch and smell the food like predators circling around carrion.