Cross of Ivy

by Roxi Bahar Hewertson

  It was just ten o’clock that evening when Mary jumped off the bus. During the excruciating ride home, she put more of the puzzle together. She had been too blind to see. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to see. How could she have missed what her own daughter, her precious baby, had been trying to tell her? What was he doing to her? Why wouldn’t Abby tell her?

  Before Mary jumped off the bus, she had formulated the beginning of a plan. Her mad money would have to save them now.

  They lived a long city block from the bus stop, and she ran all the way. She caught her breath and crept into the house, fearing what she would find and relieved to find Jack asleep in front of the radio. He rolled over. Mary stopped cold. Then he moaned and continued to snore.

  Almost without breathing, she negotiated the stairs and inched to Abby’s room. In the darkness, she could smell the fear that hung in the air; and the room smelled like Jack.

  “It’s Mama, angel. It’s Mama,” Mary whispered as loud as she dared.

  Mary went to Abby’s empty bed and felt the covers. They were cold. A shudder shook her whole body. “Abby, where are you?”

  The door to the closet squeaked, and she heard Abby’s rapid, shallow breaths.

  “Oh, Abby. Mama’s here. It’s all right now. Come to Mama, sweetheart.” She turned on the closet light. Mary was aghast at the shivering bundle in the corner of the tiny cubicle. Abby looked like a frightened rabbit before the kill.

  Mother and daughter sat together on the floor rocking gently. Mary stroked Abby’s hair and her gaunt pained face, and showered her with gentle kisses.

  “Abby, darlin’, we’re leaving this unhappy house, and we’re never coming back. It’s time we went to see Emmy.” A flicker of life shone on Abby’s pallid face. She looked into her mother’s tear-filled eyes and began to sob, hanging on for dear life. They held each other for a few more minutes.

  “It’s time to go, now,” Mary whispered. “We’ll take only a few clothes and your Fluffy.” They packed hastily and tiptoed to Mary’s room. She packed a small suitcase with her hidden savings, uniforms and shoes, pictures, and her treasured black velvet box.

  They moved like cats down the stairs. Mary calculated correctly that they should exit through the back door. It didn’t creak. But they were not quiet enough.

  Jack groaned and woke to see them slipping through the door. “Where the hell you think you’re goin’? Hey! What the...”

  Mary and Abby nearly fell down the rotted back steps, but they kept moving as fast as their legs would carry them.

  “C’mon honey, we’ll make it. Just hold my hand and run with Mama now.”

  Jack stumbled first to the back and then lumbered to the front door in an attempt to cut them off.

  “You can’t get away from me. Get back here, goddam it!” He saw their shadows and took up the chase. He heightened his pace down the porch steps, through the grass, past the houses on the left side of the street. His nicotine lungs were soon out of breath, but his legs were long, much longer than Mary or Abby’s. He took the block in great long leaps, getting closer, closer, cursing them all the way.

  Looking like a pair of criminals with the law close at their heels, they ran to catch the bus just as it was pulling away from the curb. The driver saw Mary waving frantically with a suitcase in her hand, and heard her yelling, “Stop! Help us, please stop!” He stopped and opened the door to them.

  “Are you all right, Ma’am?” he asked.

  “Go! Please go as fast as you can. He’s trying to hurt us. Hurry!” Mary gasped.

  The driver looked at their tortured faces and then through the open door. He saw the man they were running from. He saw the whites of Jack’s crazed and monstrous eyes under the street lamp. He heard him cursing. The driver of the city bus slammed the door shut, let out the clutch, and hit the gas, leaving Jack Mitchell and all his rage in a cloud of black smoke.

  CHAPTER 4

  When Mary unlocked the door to her parents’ house, Meaghan and Patrick McCory were listening to the news. Eisenhower was running for President and the press was wild about the General, reporting his every word and move. Patrick had said more than once that Ike’s wife looked like a sour Betty Boop.

  Mary’s father leaped out of his chair when he saw them. Meaghan gasped. Abby looked half dead; Mary was tense and rigid.

  “Dear Lord, child, what happened?” asked a frantic Patrick.

  “Papa, Abby needs to sleep. I’ll explain in a few minutes.” They tucked Abby in one at a time.

  “Sleep well, angel,” Mary said softly. Abby stuffed Fluffy under her arm and curled up in Gramma’s warm quilts. She fell asleep instantly. Everyone tiptoed out of her room.

  Mary sat at the kitchen table with her parents.

  “I’m positive that Jack has been hurting Abby. I don’t know how much or how often, but tonight I found her crouched in her closet, scared to death. There’s no other explanation.” Mary’s voice was shaking almost uncontrollably.

  “Oh, dear God!” Meaghan covered her eyes as if that might hide the truth. “Not our Abby. Oh my poor babies.” She started to cry as she reached for Mary.

  “I can’t prove it yet, but I know. I just know. She’s been half dead looking for weeks and waking up with horrible nightmares. We’re going to Baton Rouge, Mum. Mo and Michael will take us in. I just know they will.”

  When she had it all out, she sucked air through her trembling lips and into her lungs, for what seemed like the first time in hours.

  “I’ll kill him. He’s good as dead.” Patrick hit his fist on the table.

  “There’ll be no talk of killin’,” Meaghan said as she sniffed back her tears. “Mary, you know you can stay with us.”

  “I know, Mum, but we can’t. We have to get as far away from him as we can, for her sake and mine. Besides, Abby hasn’t been herself since Emmy left. They need each other, and I need Mo and a new start. I’m going to call tonight and let them know we’re coming. We need to leave tomorrow.”

  Patrick was ashen. “Whatever you need, luv, you just tell us, and you’ll have it. We’ll deal with the bastard later.”

  “Just help us get on that train and promise me you’ll come for Christmas. Abby needs you, too, and she’d be crushed without you, especially now,” Mary said.

  “Consider it done.” Patrick patted her hand, and Meaghan nodded.

  “Your Mum couldn’t get through a Christmas without the wee ones. We’ll find a way.”

  Meaghan looked at Mary and started to cry again. “You’ve been through so much all these years. And little Abby. My Lord, I’ve been so worried.”

  “We’ll make it, Mum,” Mary said. “We have the two of you and Mo and Mike. And somehow I just feel Frank is watching. He’ll help us through this; I just know he will.”

  In the morning, everyone was up at dawn. Mary was getting Abby dressed for the trip, and Meaghan was making a food basket for the train. The phone rang. Patrick answered.

  “Where are they?” Jack demanded.

  “Safe and sound, I’m happy to say.”

  “She’s my wife, and I wanna talk to her. Put her on the phone. Now.”

  “Not ‘til hell freezes over. They’ve gone now, and they won’t be coming back. Don’t ever call here again.” Patrick slammed down the phone as Jack bellowed obscenities. He turned to his daughter, his face on fire. “It’s time to go now, darlin’,” he said, controlling his anger.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Mary and Abby walked across the platform and climbed into the train. They waved from the windows as it pulled out of the station. They waved until Patrick and Meaghan faded to specks in the distance.

  “Mama, will we ever see them again?” Abby asked.

  “Of course we will, Abby. I promise. We’ll see them for Christmas, I think, and who knows, maybe they’ll like it so much, they’ll stay,” Mary said.

  Abby managed a tiny smile.

  “Just rest now, and enjoy your first train ride. Before you know it, we’l
l be there, and Emmy will be waiting for you. Mama’s going to take good care of you from now on.”

  Mary stared out the window while she held on to Abby. She relaxed as the train placed distance between them and the hideous excuse for a man she had married. She should have listened to herself; she knew it. Never again would she make that mistake.

  Frank had saved Abby this time, but she knew it was up to her now.

  Abby curled up in her mother’s arms. Finally, she spoke in a whisper that Mary had to strain to hear.

  “Mama, he hurt me. He said I was bad. He said I had to do what he wanted. He poked me and hurt me so much.” Abby’s sobs came in a flood.

  Mary hugged her daughter as hard as she could, wishing she could squeeze the pain out of Abby’s tiny body.

  “Shhh. Shhh.” Mary stroked her face and her arms and her head. “It’s all right now, Abby. He’s the bad one, and we will never, ever see him again. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know. No one will ever hurt you again. No one. I promise.” Mary hugged Abby so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of her.

  Abby started to fall asleep to the clickety-clack of the train. In that magic place between awake and sleep, she saw two red balloons float up and then disappear over the top of a tall, white church steeple. She smiled weakly. A train, just like the one I rode with daddy…

  So many secrets. So much to tell Emmy.

  CHAPTER 5

  The journey to Louisiana took two days and two nights. From Boston, they passed through New York’s Grand Central Station, a frightening place for a fleeing woman and child to change trains. Among strangers, their cold eyes searching for weakness, Abby and Mary boarded the Southern with great relief. They would soon pass through the countryside of nearly every state south of the Mason-Dixon line.

  When the man sitting across the aisle them wasn’t coughing, he was smoking a cigar. There was a sick baby behind them and an indiscreet couple in front. But it was the bathroom that bothered them the most. All waste fell to the speeding ground below. Since they could not afford the more civilized accommodations of the L&N sleeper train, they sat up all the way, Abby’s head in Mary’s lap, with no possible way to get comfortable in the cold cabin.

  Their ride to freedom swayed from side to side, each car with a rhythm all its own. The clanks and screeches, grinds and clunks seemed to be timed to hit just as the desperate need for a moment of sleep had conquered the discomfort. The machine noises occasionally gave way to a loud voice that diligently called out the name of the next stop.

  They looked like two refugees, stuck together in a disheveled lump. When the conductor called out the name of the last stop, life began to fill Mary’s mind; her body was slower to follow. She forced her eyes open while Abby, still asleep, snuggled closer.

  The approach to Canal Street’s Southern Railway Station was bordered by huge ancient oaks draped with tentacles of Spanish moss. They arrived the day before Halloween. The grass was still green, and the leaves had yet to cascade to their resting place. There were still rainbows of flowers growing along the sidewalks, in yards and in window boxes. All this seemed so strange and magical, like being reborn on another planet.

  It was magnificent!

  “Look, Abby. Look how alive it is here! Everything looks like it’s been washed and shined. Can you believe it?”

  Mary was talking more to herself than the groggy Abby, but her child seemed to feel the excitement and woke up quickly. Mo had raved about how warm it had been, but Mary never imagined anything like this. It seemed more like the end of a Boston summer.

  “When will we be there? Are we there yet?” Abby asked for the hundredth time. “Oh, Mama, are we really going to live in Weeziana?”

  This time, Mary could give her an answer.

  “Yes, sweetheart, we’re going to live here, and we’re going to have a wonderful time exploring and discovering lots and lots of new things with Emmy. I think we’ll be there in time for breakfast.”

  The train whistle shrieked out its welcome, making Abby jump. They slowed to a gradual stop, wheels grinding and screeching. Mary and Abby glued their faces to the small window next to their seat in hopes of seeing their family.

  And then, just as they were wishing, longing to catch a glimpse of them, the train lurched with a final sigh. Emmy was there, on the platform, jumping up and down, her glee barely controlled by her parents. Each of them had a firm grasp of one arm while they searched the rows of windows for loved ones.

  “There they are, Abby, there they are! Oh, my God, I can’t believe it.” Tears were streaming down Mary’s face. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this lightheaded and happy.

  Abby waved frantically through the pane of glass. “There’s Emmy. There’s Emmy!” She grabbed her mother’s hand and tugged. “Let’s go, Mama. C’mon, let’s go.”

  They retrieved their suitcase from the open rack above their heads and made it to the door before anyone else had even left their seats. When the door finally slid open, Mary and Abby rushed down the steps into waiting arms. Abby ran to Emmy; Mary ran to Mo and Mike. All five of them were locked in an embrace.

  “Oh, Mary, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” gushed Mo. “And Abby, sweet Abby, Emmy has missed you so.” She had Abby’s face in her hands as she leaned over to kiss her.

  Michael hugged them both and took Mary’s bag. “Is this it, Mary?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. We didn’t have time to pack properly,” Mary said quickly.

  “Well, don’t you worry,” reassured Mo. “I have enough dresses, and it looks like Emmy and Abby are about the same size these days. It will be okay, Mary, really. We’re just so glad you are here.”

  “We have a lot to talk about, Mo. But let’s just get home.”

  “You look like you’ve been through a flood,” Mo said, as they entered the car.

  They drove past city buildings and the Mississippi River, Moisant Airport, and finally reached Airline Highway. The swampy outskirts of the city sped by as they wove their way through the busy streets of Baton Rouge. Abby became fascinated with the street names.

  “Mama, how come all the streets are named after flowers? Look at that one, Marigold, and before was Morning Glory, and Holly, and Primrose.”

  Abby could hardly contain herself. She was trying to take in all the new sights, all at once. It was like walking into a candy store, so many choices, so much to see and smell and touch.

  “That must mean the folks down here like their flowers, Abby. That’s a happy thought, don’t you think?” Mary asked as she smiled.

  They turned into Camelia Avenue, where Maureen and Michael lived in a peaceful little subdivision of what Mo called East Baton Rouge Parish.

  “They don’t have boroughs or counties down here,” Mo said, “just Parishes—influence of the Church, I hear. What Parish you’re from is some kind of big deal I haven’t figured out yet. But the neighbors are awful friendly.”

  Michael added, “Yeah, the lady next door, Miss Norma—they call everybody Miss something down here. Anyway, she invites Emmy over all the time to play with her grandkids. It’s much more homey than Boston. Prob’ly has something to do with the weather.”

  “You’ll see, everybody’s outside most of the year cookin’ or hanging laundry, or talking over the bushes—when it’s not raining anyway,” Mo said. “You’ll like it, Mary; really you will. It takes some getting used to, especially the sticky heat, but I’m kind of getting attached to the nice way the men treat their women.” Mo nudged Mike and giggled.

  “Yeah,” said Mike. “Everybody is sugar this and sweet pie that. It’s hard to take sometimes.”

  “Sounds nice to me. Gee, Mo, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d actually picked up a little Southern drawl! That’s quite a mix, Boston and Southern rolled up together. Sort of like Boston cream mint juleps!” Mary kidded.

  “Don’t be silly, Mary. I have no accent at all.”

  The hour-and-a-half drive p
assed in a flash. Michael got out and opened the back door.

  “Okay, you giggly bunch. Here we are,” he said. “Mo, let’s get everyone a good, hot Southern-style breakfast, and I’ll get you lovely ladies from Baastan settled in.”

  The house was as delightful as Mary had imagined. Washed in a soft shade of yellow with white trim, fence and shutters, it felt like home before she even walked in the door. The steps were made of red Southern clay brick. White lace wrought iron railing framed a lovely covered sitting porch.

  Mo had her flower boxes full of white and gold mums, yellow asters and pansies. Frilly white curtains crossed the front door, and a brick path led to the back where a collection of pines and huge, old oak trees shaded the yard. A deep green magnolia tree graced the walk, its heavy branches reaching for the ground. The clean, warm air mingled with a plethora of fragrances from the pines, fresh-cut grass and flowers. Like a perfume shop, the new smells teased their noses.

  “This is your room, Mary. We were wondering what to do with it. It just kept collecting dust and things. Now you’re here, and it has a reason for being.”

  “Oh, I love it! It’s so pretty and so cozy. I just love it.” Mary hugged her sister.

  It was a quiet, airy back room, away from the rest of the house behind the kitchen. There was just enough privacy, and yet it was still close enough to feel like part of the house. The rest of the rooms were good-sized, not too big, but not cluttered either. Mo had decorated with pastels, and most of her furniture was a light mahogany or oak. She was still building her nest one piece at a time.

  The girls raced down the picture-lined hallway to Emmy’s room. She had a lacy canopy bed big enough for the two of them. The sunny windows lit up the flowers in the wallpaper, and a pretty pink and blue hook rug covered the middle of the painted wooden floor. Emmy’s dolls greeted them in a perfect line, leaning on her pillow.