Cross of Ivy

by Roxi Bahar Hewertson

  “I think me and Meg might do jus’ fine down here. The sunshine would do her good, for sure, but those two wee ones of hers are what she really needs. She’s been so blasted mopey about all of this and feelin’ her family is breakin’ up in front of her eyes. I know she’d come in a minute. Maybe Mary and Abby could move in with us nearby, and that would have us all back together again. What do ya think ‘bout that, eh?”

  “I’ll get right on it, Patrick. In fact, I heard the Barnetts just down the street are thinking about moving to a new subdivision to a bigger house. I think they just had their fifth baby a while back, and they’re pressing out the walls a bit. Now wouldn’t that be dandy to have you just down the street?”

  “You bet your knickers it would, me boy! But let’s just keep this under our hats until we have some real news for the rest of them, shall we?” Patrick slapped Michael on the back and started for the house.

  Michael stopped just short of the door, looked at his father-in-law and in a lowered voice he said, “Before we go in and start saying our goodbyes, I was wondering about Mitchell. Has he been nosing around about Mary or causing any trouble?”

  “Well, he is a son of a bitch, there’s no question of that. He called us and even threatened me a couple of times, but I had one of my mates on the force stop over and remind him about how coppers feel about such things, and we haven’t heard a peep since. Now, mind you, I keep an eye on my back, but he knows she’s gone and he’s bound to have a good idea of where she is. I’d like to think he’s so tanked up most of the time he doesn’t know which end is up.”

  Mo appeared at the door. “C’mon, you two, you’ll miss the train if you don’t get going. I don’t want you to go, but Papa, you said you had to get back.”

  “So I did, darlin’. We’re comin’ along. Just get your mum away from those little cherubs, and we’ll be on our way.” Patrick winked at Michael, and they shook hands.

  “You’ve been a great support, son. I can’t thank you enough for that. Just call me if you need anything, anything at all.” Patrick slipped a hundred-dollar bill in Michael’s hand. “Take it now, son, but don’t tell Mary, her pride and all.”

  “It’s been no trouble, Patrick, no trouble at all,” Michael said. He looked at the money. “You don’t have to do this, really.”

  “I certainly do. Don’t argue with me now. It’s my duty to do what I can. Say no more about it.” Patrick opened the door to go in and held it for Michael.

  No one wanted to let go, but Michael and Patrick prevailed. The sisters and their daughters waved until the car was out of sight and walked into the house in silence. Mary walked Abby and Emmy to their room. They spent over an hour reading bedtime stories and reliving the best parts of the visit. Finally, the yawning girls were ready to sleep. Mary and Mo slipped out the door and smiled at each other.

  The phone was ringing in the kitchen when Mo came down the hallway. Mary was in the bathroom.

  Mo raced to pick up the ringing black telephone. “Hello.”

  “Lemme talk to Mary Mitchell,” a man said in a raspy, slurred voice.

  Mo’s hand began to shake and she nearly dropped the phone. Her face lost its color, and then she stiffened.

  “She isn’t here. Who’s this?” Click.

  “Hello. Hello. Damn. Now what?” Mo muttered to herself. She slammed down the phone.

  “Who was it?” Mary asked as she walked into the kitchen.

  “I don’t know. Wrong number, I guess.” But she didn’t meet her sister’s eyes.

  “It was him, wasn’t it? I can tell from the look on your face. What did he say, Mo? You have to tell me.” Mary was feeling the anxiety rise up in her throat.

  “He just asked for you. I said you weren’t here, and he hung up. That’s it. Just hung up. I tried to get him to talk a little to see what he wanted, but he just hung up.” Mo was shaking now. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to upset you, but I’ve gone ahead and done it anyway.”

  “It’s okay, Mo. You did the right thing. We’ll just wait until he calls again, if he does.” Mary felt the phlegm inching up her throat, burning everything pink and alive.

  Within a minute, the phone rang again. They both jumped. Mary answered it.

  “Hi, Mary? Michael. I just wanted to let you know the train has been delayed so I’ll be about an hour late getting back.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you then.”

  “Mary, what’s wrong?” Michael asked. “You sound strange.”

  “Do I? Oh, nothing really. Just a wrong number called before you.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  “Bye.” Mary hung up the phone. “Michael’s been delayed. No point in having everybody worry over a stupid phone call, right?”

  “I guess so,” said Mo. “I’d feel better if he were home. Let’s go check on the girls and get our minds off this.” They turned to go.

  The phone rang again. Mary and Mo looked at each other and winced. Mary reached for it, her stomach churning, face tight, heart pounding. She lifted the receiver, but she said nothing.

  “Who’s this? I wanna talk to Mary Mitchell. I know she’s there,” said the disembodied voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hello, Jack. What do you want?” Mary sat and motioned to Mo to close the kitchen door.

  “So you’re there, huh? I knew it. Well, I ain’t puttin’ up with none of that shit. You get your fanny back home. Now!”

  “Too late, Jack. I won’t be back. It’s over.” Mary tried desperately to sound calm.

  “It ain’t too late. You’re my wife, and I’ll see to it you get back here if it’s the last thing I do.” By now, Jack was growling, almost screaming into her ear.

  “Goodbye, Jack.”

  “Don’t you dare hang up on me.”

  Click. Mary hung up the phone, waited a few seconds, and removed it from the hook. She looked pale and frightened.

  “Mo, we have to get an unlisted number.” She stood up and walked slowly to the kitchen door. “He’s not going to give up. I can just feel it in my bones.”

  “He’ll never come down here. He wouldn’t half dare.”

  Mary’s eyes were fixed on the dangling receiver. She grit her teeth and shook her head.

  “I don’t want Abby to know about any of this, Mo. Not a word.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Joshua Larkin had been kind, caring, almost too caring. His legal office was spotless, but not antiseptic. Fine honey-licked oak and leather furniture imparted a sense of enduring constancy. His office conveyed a hint of cigar smoke, its source pointedly absent whenever she arrived. A full wall of golden-lettered law books lined the shelves behind his massive desk.

  He was an attractive presence with his wavy silver hair well groomed, his gait sure and straight, and so tall. It was hard for Mary to look at him when he stood up. She liked his voice, never too loud, the deep bass tones relaxing her when he spoke. “He speaks smooth as fine Southern bourbon,” Michael said after introducing her to Joshua.

  She guessed him to be about fifteen years her senior. Joshua’s wife’s death had devastated him, and he had felt unprepared to raise their two daughters alone. But raise them he did, and without a new wife. A man of substance, Mary thought. Yet, she had withdrawn her hand when he touched it. That single awkward moment passed, and while she sensed his interest, she would make no room in her life for another man.

  In less than six months Joshua annulled Mary’s marriage to Jack. It was gone as if it had never been. Mary was never sure how he did it, but the document he had shown her said she was Mrs. Francis O’Malley once again.

  The best news of all was the news about Patrick and Meaghan. They arrived in Baton Rouge, bumping along in their seen-better-days grey Packard. It was a blistering hot July day. The air, heavy with water, made it difficult to move without working up a sticky, drippy sweat.

  Meaghan took her husband’s arm and slid off the front seat, her pink flowered housedress stuck to her body like a nylo
n stocking—hardly her crisp, well-groomed day look. She said, “My Lord, Patrick, they didn’t tell us we’d melt, now did they!”

  Patrick lost no time getting the old Barnett house ready for his wife, Mary and Abby. His first decision took only a moment’s thought: Ceiling fans in every room, and fix the attic fan so it’ll be strong enough to pull your shirt off when the doors are open! It was the only way to survive the sweltering summer heat.

  They all went to work. Mary washed down the floors and walls. Mo sewed new curtains. Michael worked on the yard, trimming back the overgrown ligustrum bushes. He repaired the roof while Patrick plastered, painted, hung new doors and fixed the overused plumbing. The girls planted flowers in the window boxes and up the walk, with a little help from Gramma. It seemed like they’d never finish. But by the time all their belongings arrived from Boston, they were ready.

  All that was left was lemonade and a turn on the front porch swing. Meaghan had talked Patrick into buying it soon after they arrived.

  “We’ve got to have someplace to sit while we work, Patrick,” she pleaded. “And wouldn’t it be nice to see your granddaughters just a swingin’ in the breeze?”

  “What breeze, Meg?” Patrick teased. “Oh, all right, then. Pick out the finest porch swing you can find, and we’ll hang it from the rafters—after I fix ‘em.”

  On Saturday, the third Saturday in August, the family gathered at Mo and Michael’s for supper. Mo’s Pot-au-Feu was a success. The butcher’s meat was dressed with generous portions of cabbage, turnips, carrots, fresh parsley, celery, and onions. She boiled the lean beef thighs all day, adding garlic cloves, tomatoes, allspice, salt and pepper, and served it with toasted French bread.

  “I like it without the noodles better,” Mo said.

  “Mo, your soups never turn out the same, but they’re always so good,” Mary said as she sipped from her spoon.

  “I just hate cookbooks, you know. I got one when we moved here so I could at least get some idea of what to fix when Michael had people from work over for supper, but then I had to strike out on my own, you know. I just hate cookbooks!” Mo dipped a hunk of bread into her soup.

  “Well, you’ve outdone yourself again, Maureen!” Patrick said as he ripped off another piece of bread.

  “Thank you, Papa. I’m glad you like it,” Mo said.

  “It’s good to eat light on such a hot night,” Meaghan said.

  “I’ll say,” Michael chimed in. “I wonder how those LSU boys can be playing football in this heat with uniforms and helmets and all. It has to be a killer.”

  “Aye, I imagine it is, but then, think of the glory. Maybe they hose ‘em down a bit now and then,” Patrick said with a chuckle.

  “Well, Mo, Mum, it’s time to get to the dishes; the football talk’s already started!” Mary said. She began to clear the table. The men stood as she did and proceeded to the living room.

  Abby and Emmy were excused to ride their bicycles on the sidewalks as their mothers finished in the kitchen. They rolled down the street, weaving among yapping dogs and the neighbor children.

  “Has anyone seen my knitting basket?” Mary asked before she joined her mother and sister on the front porch. “I want to work on Abby’s new sweater tonight.” After everyone looked around, Mary remembered. “Oh, fiddlesticks! I left it back at the house. Be back in a jiffy.”

  As Mary approached the house, she noticed the front door ajar. I’ll have to get after Abby about that. I’ve told her a hundred times, she thought.

  She rushed through the door, leaving it open behind her and moved quickly toward her bedroom. A movement in the corner of her eye stopped her cold. She smelled him at the same time. She turned her head and gasped. All the color drained from her face as though a plug had been pulled.

  “So, you thought you could just dump me, huh, Mare?” Jack spat the words at her. He was standing beside the front door and kicked it shut. Alcohol and smoke seeping from his pores.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked barely above a whisper, the words stuck in her throat; her eyes screamed the fear she could not hide.

  “Surprised to see me, huh?” he cackled. “I told you before, you’re my wife, and you’ll do what I tell ya. No goddam broad’s gonna run out on me and get some high falutin’ lawyer to undo what’s done. Nobody runs out on Jack Mitchell!”

  He was nearly frothing at the mouth. Jack moved towards her in one giant step. Mary tried to leap out of his way, but his reach was too long, too close. He grabbed her arm hard. She tried to twist out of his grasp and fell to the floor. He was too strong, tightening his grip, digging into her skin, bruising everything he touched. He pulled her up, nearly pulling her arm from its socket.

  “Stop it, Jack! You’re hurting me! Michael and Papa are on their way over. Stay away from me, you have no right....” Mary’s voice cracked as she screamed at him, her arms flailing at anything she could hit.

  “Ha! They don’t mean nothin’ to me. I know my rights. I’ll kill you first. You’re comin’ with me—and so’s the brat.”

  He watched her face as he forced her to stand. Her arms were pinned at her sides now. Jack was enjoying every moment of Mary’s pain. His lips curled downward in a sinister sneer, erasing any hope of mercy. His stained brown teeth were clenched, his jaw rigid.

  Mary summoned every ounce of will she had in her tiny body; adrenalin flooded her veins. Ripping herself away, Mary scrambled along the floor towards the kitchen and then righted herself against the door. He chased her, cursing, spitting. She stood against the wall, her eyes full of hate now, as he lunged at her again. Her arms gripped the door frame as she lifted her legs in one fast and furious movement, kicking him in the groin with more strength than she imagined she had.

  He screamed and cursed, grabbing his crotch as he fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Mary lost her balance and righted herself again. The front door was a mile away, and she had to get past him. She moved to her left, hoping he was in too much pain to notice her.

  As she lifted her leg over his heaving body, a massive, hairy arm struck like a snake, catching her foot, forcing her to fall face forward into the living room wall. Mary couldn’t move. All the air in her lungs seemed to have evaporated.

  In his inebriated state, pain was short-lived and his rage heightened and unstoppable. Like a wounded bear, Jack crawled toward her ripping at her clothes, putting one hand over her mouth and tearing at her breasts with the other. He slapped her face with full force. Blood spurted from the corner of her mouth, and he jumped on top of her, pinning her to the ground. He hit her again and again, groaning and cursing her, “Fucking bitch, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you.”

  Mary was trapped beneath the weight of his enormous body. Her head was on fire, and she was losing consciousness. This animal was going to kill her. There was nothing she could do but close her eyes and pray that it would soon be over. Then there was a thud, a loud moan and his body fell like a dead weight on top of her. Silence. The room spun slowly into darkness.

  Mary opened her eyes when she felt the water on her face. Joshua Larkin was standing over her, covering her with a blanket and wiping the blood from her face. Jack was on his back. Joshua cradled her in his arms and lifted her off the floor. He carried her to the couch and went to the kitchen to rinse the towel. When he returned, Mary was still in shock, staring at Jack’s limp and contorted body.

  She started to shake and gasp for air. Her face was pale, her eyes nearly sunken into her head. Mary was trying to scream, but no sound came out.

  When Joshua reappeared, she grabbed for him as if drowning. She desperately needed to touch someone alive, warm, safe. She saw the room start to spin again, and bright spots flashed over her eyes. No amount of blinking would help. Joshua held her tightly while her whole body heaved. Finally, her breathing slowed from the raspy, shallow gasps to a steady, regular rhythm.

  “Oh dear God! He tried to kill me!”

  “Take it easy, now,” Joshua said in his warm, slo
w voice. “Mary? Mary, look at me. Can you tell me what happened?” Joshua asked as he began to blot her swelling face with the cool towel.

  She started slowly, with difficulty. Her bottom lip was cut and swollen. “He was here when I walked in. He screamed at me, he hurt me. I tried to stop him.” Mary became agitated.

  “I kicked him. He’s trying to take us with him, Joshua. He can’t, can he? Oh, my God! Abby! I can’t let Abby see this. I have to call Michael and Papa.” She started to get up and fell back to the couch.

  “I’ll do the callin’. Please, Mary, you’re going to be all right. He’s not takin’ you or Abby anywhere. And Abby’s safe. Just sit here for a minute until we get everything under control. It’s going to be set right, I promise you that.”

  “Is he dead?” Mary was looking at Jack again.

  “No, but he’ll wish he were by the time I get done with him. I’m going to call the police, Mary. We have to lock this hog flesh up once and for all.”

  “No! No! People will find out, and Abby will get upset.” Mary began to tremble uncontrollably. Her lower jaw quivered, her head vibrated back and forth.

  “Hold on now, little lady. Take it easy, now.” Joshua wrapped his arms around her. The fact that it was ninety degrees outside didn’t matter. Her cold fright was real.

  “First, we’ll see what the others have to say, and then we’ll decide. In the meantime, I want to tie him up with some twine, so he can’t go anywhere. Do you have any?”

  “I think so, in the kitchen drawers somewhere, maybe.”

  Joshua returned quickly and made short work of his task. “Joshua, why are you here? How did you get in?” she asked, her composure returning.

  “I had some papers for your daddy. I hoped he’d be home today so I could drop them off and save him the trip. I must have known there was a lady in distress.” Joshua smiled and patted her hand.

  But he could have waited. He had wanted to see her again. He had to hear her voice. It’s clean, soft tone made him feel good, young again. She was so sure of herself, yet so vulnerable, so determined, yet so gentle. Joshua wanted to be near her whenever he got the chance. No one had made him feel this way for such a very long time. He almost felt guilty being this close, but she needed a friend now, just a good friend.