Blood, Dreams, and Olive Drab (Pride & Promise) Page 11

  "Just wanted to offer you a ride one more time. It will be dark soon. You might not want to be out walking with the kids after the sun goes down. Just never know. A person can’t be too careful," he said, looking off to the far sky where the sun had sunk and now only the orange glow was above the trees.

  "That is true," Angela looked to Sarah for some type of assistance. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders with indifference. "I guess it’s okay." She took Bernice by the hand, noticing that she had a bit of lollipop in her mouth.

  "Young lady," she barked at Bernice, "where did you get this last sucker?" Bernice just smiled and crunched the last couple bits. She swallowed with a smile. Her teeth were red from the treat. "Bernice!" Angela had to smirk, but the girls scrambled into the back of the cart before she could finish. The hound moaned loudly as they disturbed his deep sleep.

  The wagon rolled through the countryside as the sky turned from blue, to pale, to purple and then into a faded black just before the stars started to twinkle from holes in the sky. The yellow light of the sun faded and a white luster was on the leaves and the bark of the trees that swept softly across the fields. The crickets chirped and Sarah could smell the damp forest floor, reminding her of the days when her father would get her out of bed early and they would dig into the soil to find earthworms to go fishing.

  Sarah closed her eyes and could almost see the trickling brook with the rushing water slowly breaking over the rocks, rising into foamy caps. She and Pa would talk and laugh, lounging lazily by the edge of the water, slipping off their shoes and letting their toes revel contently in the brisk water.

  Then invariably, the fish did not bite and the frustration of the day would cause her father to go splashing through the water to chase the darting, slicing fish through the stream. He would eventually stop and gasp for breath and tumble into the water. He’d surface and his hair would be matted to his face, covering his gleeful salient eyes. He would float on his back and spray water out his mouth like a whale would from his blowhole.

  Sarah would laugh until her stomach cramped and tears flowed down her cheeks as she remembered those happier times. Now, she rested on her back atop the curved boards of the cart, opening her eyes and gazing contentedly into the sky. The bright mellow beams of the moon shot through the canopy of darkness, flowing effortlessly through the dancing leaves. The calm rocking of the wagon almost put her to sleep as they arrived in their driveway.

  "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" came the venomous shout of her father’s raging voice.

  "Mrs. O’Grady just needed a ride home from town. It was getting dark," Mr. Cartwright replied. Paul grabbed Angela by the scruff of her long hair and pulled her down from the seat of the wagon.

  "But, Paul!" she cried. Her voice was low and tearful.

  "Shut up!" Paul screamed into her face. He reached up onto the wagon and tore Bernice off, throwing her into the weeds. She tumbled to a stop, suddenly motionless on the front yard. Her body looked twisted and broken. Sarah and Clarene jumped from the cart, racing to the aid of their little sister.

  "MR. O’GRADY!" Paul uttered in a violent mockery. "Please!" he seethed as he watched the carnage unfold.

  Paul latched his strong hands around Mr. Cartwright’s collar and yanked him off his wagon, too, tossing him violently onto the rocky path. Mr. Cartwright landed with a thunderous crash onto the trail with his arms and legs flailing as he collapsed face first into the dust. Then Paul kicked him in the side. Mr. Cartwright rolled painfully onto his side, curling into a ball. Agony was etched across his simple face.

  Paul kicked him again, burying his boot into Mr. Cartwright’s soft belly. Mr. Cartwright humped into the air and his body folded around Paul’s boot like clay. Moonbeams filtered through the trees and bounced off Paul’s hateful eyes which were large and terrifyingly cruel. He kicked Mr. Cartwright again and again until blood seeped from the poor old man’s mouth.

  "Stop! Paul, stop!" Angela screamed. She tried to drag him away. He lifted his hand into the air. She saw the razor of his hand harsh against the pale ominous moonlight of the black night just before he lashed it down across her fragile jaw. Angela fell hard to the ground. Sarah dashed to her side. Angela sobbed as Paul twisted his body, driving his boot deeper into Mr. Cartwright’s quivering body. Finally, Paul got down on his knees, leaning in close to Mr. Cartwright’s swollen face.

  "Don’t you ever get close to my wife and children—AGAIN! UNDERSTAND?" he fumed. His breath was putrid with the rancid smell of liquor. He stood up. His face was filled with vileness as his lungs swelled his chest. "EVER!" He slammed another kick into Mr. Cartwright’s motionless body. Mr. Cartwright didn’t even move.

  Paul staggered past Angela, glaring at her. She looked up at him. Her face was smeared with blood. Sarah held her mother’s head in her arms. With a brooding eye, Sarah stared at her father with contempt. He shook his head and lumbered past. He looked over to the side of the yard and saw Clarene cradling Bernice in her arms, whimpering as she kissed Bernice’s forehead.

  Clarene cried as her lips shook. She looked at her father in disbelief, holding dear to her baby sister’s lifeless body.

  2

  Paul stomped tersely around the silent halls of the tiny house. The dim light of the morning stretched long across the floors and the shadows of the early morning rose to the ceiling. He moved with an irrevocable anger, muttering insults. The calming monotone voice of the doctor continued to drone just on the other side of the closed door.

  "Mrs. O’Grady," the stately old country doctor urged, "we need to try and keep Bernice as still as possible," he explained. He closed his little black bag, buckling the golden clasp together. He was sedate, almost serene as he stood-up and grinned affectionately at the child.

  "When can I get up and play?" Bernice beckoned. Her face was bruised and swollen.

  "Bernice," he folded his hands over his abdomen, "I need you to be a brave little girl now." Angela turned away and started to whimper. Sarah walked to her and pulled her close, feeling her mother’s body trembling. "Can you be a brave little girl for me?" the doctor asked with pure desire in his ghostly gray eyes.

  "I-I guess I can," Bernice cracked. Her usually rebellious eyes had morphed into the gaze of a sick scared child.

  "Good, I knew you would be." The doctor sat on the edge of her bed, placing his wide hand on top of her knee. "We are going to try very hard but . . . ," and he paused, gathering up the strength in his heart, trying to hold back the growing tears in his eyes, ". . . but you may never walk again . . . ." His shoulders sank and his body became narrow.

  "Ever?" Bernice asked with surprise. She had no fear because she had never heard of such a thing. Walk again, well, of course, she thought to herself. The kindly doctor stood up and sidled towards Angela. She pulled her grief-stricken face away from Sarah’s shoulder, looking at the doctor with the eyes of a wounded animal.

  "Let me know if you need anything," he spoke softly with the utmost sincerity.

  Angela flung herself into his arms. He stood awkwardly for a moment and then wrapped his weary arms around her shivering body. A few brownish liver spots dotted his crinkled hands and he cautiously laid them across her back, patting her with empathy in his soul. His large strong hands felt good across her back. She hadn’t felt the calming love of a man in quite some time and she rested her face flush against his coat, nestling her cheek next to his chest. She could hear the calm gentle beating of his heart. She felt like a baby wanting and needing sleep. She breathed deep until he pulled away, holding Angela at arm’s length.

  "You need to be strong, too," he nodded at her, searching in her eyes for a sign of her will.

  "I will be." Angela wiped her hand across her eyes and sniffled. She arched her back and chased the fear from her face. "I will be," she said more courageously.

  "Good. Girls, you need to help also," the doctor said as he looked at Sarah and glanced over at Clarene. She was staring out the window. The meager reflection
of her face in the window was empty. Her eyes drooped and her cheeks were peaked. She hadn’t spoken in the few days since the incident. The doctor looked down retrospectively and paused for a second, holding his thoughts close to the vest. He turned and strode towards the door, throwing it open quickly.

  Paul stood in the hallway. He stopped pacing and looked up at the doctor. "Will she be all right?" Paul stammered. He lowered his head and blinked his eyes several times. He couldn’t look the doctor in the face.

  "No," the doctor said defiantly. He glared into Paul’s sallow feeble face. He was menacing no more. The hollow clomping of the doctor’s shoes could be heard as he strode down the hallway. The creaking screen door swung open, then clapped as it banged shut against the wooden doorframe, echoing through the silent halls. Everyone’s ears were filled with a hazy silence which thundered in their wounded minds.

  A low whimper came from the bed. Bernice was crying.

  3

  "Sarah?" Bernice said quietly.

  "Yes," Sarah answered. She was tucking the sheets around Bernice’s feet. She felt a strangeness start to tingle over her skin when Bernice started talking to her, as if she would want answers Sarah couldn’t give her.

  "Do you think I’ll walk again?" Bernice asked speculatively.

  Sarah felt her heart drop into her stomach. She paused for a second and tried to look extra busy as she tried to rummage through her brain for words.

  "You know, it’s not the end of the world not to be able to walk," Sarah said dryly, scurrying around the small room. She filled a tiny little glass vase, trickling the water over the face of a blooming yellow flower.

  "That’s easy for you to say!" Bernice said scornfully.

  Sarah looked purposely away. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

  "That doesn’t answer my question, though," Bernice said, her face getting a little red in the cheeks. She reached out her hand and grabbed onto Sarah’s arm. She still had the strength of her shoulders and arms and she used it quite frequently. Her little hands held onto Sarah’s arm like the paws of a bear cub. "Do you?"

  Sarah looked at Bernice’s once lively devilish eyes. They were now glazed, crestfallen, and somber. Sarah reached over, dragging the lone chair in the room across the floor, placing it near the edge of the bed. She took Bernice’s hand in hers and gazed lovingly into her baby sister’s broken face.

  "Bernice . . . ," Sarah started. She still didn’t have the words, but she spoke from the heart, where the brain has no use anyways. "The doctor says you could walk again, but he can’t be sure."

  "But what do you think, Sarah?" Bernice hung on Sarah’s every move. Sarah was, of course, her big sister.

  "I don’t know . . . ." Sarah saw the youth bleeding away from Bernice’s face. Her eyes looked older. It was hard for her little sister to smile and looked as if she was forcing it like the mimicking grin one sees at a funeral. "I want you to walk. Everyone wants you to walk! But…if you don’t, we’ll still love you the same." Sarah tried to sound upbeat, but her tone fell across the sorrowful ears of a disgusted child.

  "I know that," Bernice uttered woefully, but her eyes still yearned for an answer. "I don’t want to just be loved. I want to run, jump, and swim in the stream. And maybe even dance with boys someday." Her heart lightened with the vision of these images in her head, yet regretfully they vanished, dissolving into the blackness of her mind and her shattered reality. She was left rubbing her elfish hands over her frozen appendages, knowing that she was broken. "Could I be alone for a little while?" Bernice said. Her face was painted with a resentful despair.

  "Sure, I’ll be back in a second to check on you, okay?" Sarah affirmed.

  Bernice just nodded her head slightly. A few of Bernice’s curly locks drifted in front of her eyes. Sarah softly brushed her hand across Bernice’s brow, tucking tufts of hair back behind her ear. She started to stroke Bernice’s hair, but Bernice turned sharply away, sliding her head away from the dent in the pillow to gaze contemptuously out the window.

  Angela leaned against the doorframe, watching her daughters while chewing nervously on her fingernails. She watched her child’s little body lie wounded and still on the bed. A tender ray of sunlight fell on Bernice’s smooth unblemished cheeks. The golden brown of her eyes looked like big chestnuts as she stared out the window. Her eyelids slowly fluttered closed but she fought the inevitable sleep. Finally, they drifted closed like two drapes flapping in a dying breeze and Angela turned to walk away.

  "Mama?" Bernice whispered.

  "Yes?" Angela turned her head slightly and glanced over her shoulder in Bernice’s direction.

  "Why do you love Daddy?" Bernice asked inquisitively. She meant it without malicious intent, but it still made Angela shudder. She could feel her throat drying and queasiness in her stomach. "Mama . . . ?" Bernice coaxed a tad louder.

  "Well, honey," Angela turned and used her sweetest voice. She fixed a false smile across her ever-sinking cheeks. She walked over to Bernice’s bed, which was no more than several two by fours wrapped in a couple quilts with a thin mattress laid across the top. "Your Pa and I have been together for a long while—a very long while." Angela got down on her knees beside the short bed and tucked her feet underneath herself. She took Bernice’s hand in hers.

  "Mama, why do you feel so hot? Are you hot?" Bernice asked.

  "No. Why?"

  "Your hand is really sweaty. Are you sure you’re not hot?" Bernice asked again with a knitted brow.

  "Well, . . . maybe a bit." Angela could feel the clamminess of her hands.

  "You love Pa . . . because you’ve known him for a long while, is that it?" Bernice questioned. Just because she was paralyzed, didn’t mean she wasn’t stubborn.

  "That’s partly it," Angela answered as a dumbfounded look came over her worried face.

  "What is it then? Seriously, Mama," Bernice demanded. The gentle contours of her youthful face were gone. She scowled at her mother.

  "It’s . . . it is kind of hard to explain." Angela’s heart fluttered. Suddenly she could feel the creaking of her back and the hardness of the wood floor under her knees.

  "Mama, how can you love a man that could do this to his own daughter, his little girl?" Bernice breathed deep, trying to catch her breath as the tears stole her voice.

  "I . . . I . . . ," Angela stammered. She felt flustered and confused. Her daughter’s words were desperate as they stabbed into her mind. She had asked herself that very thing for weeks. How could she?

  "Mama, please, tell me. Please!" Bernice begged. Her tears grew larger and rolled down her puffy cheeks. Bernice’s words scraped down Angela’s heart, opening the scars of many a sleepless night.

  "I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know!" Angela cried, her mind becoming a blur.

  "Mama, please, why do you love him? Tell me . . . please."

  "I don’t know . . . ." Angela laid her head down on Bernice’s little belly. She wept. She could taste the salt of her regret dripping over her lips, plopping off her chin onto Bernice’s hand.

  "Mama, please tell me! Please!" Bernice was shouting. The young crippled girl’s relentless cries rang through the house, but Angela had no answers. She could hear her child’s heart beating fast as she let her head ride the rhythmic motions of Bernice’s chest.

  Sarah stood crying, just outside the room. Clarene clung to Sarah’s waist, burrowing her face into Sarah’s side, hoping that she could find the smallest inkling of peace in her sister’s arms. But Sarah was more a child now than ever.

  And all the images of her father’s gracefulness had vanished from her wounded memory.

  4

  Angela barely saw the inside of her eyelids that night as the moon shifted slowly past her bedroom window. Paul had wandered off after the doctor had left and she could hardly bring herself to sit in Bernice’s room. Early the next day, just as the light of day had started to warm the far sky in a pale shadow, Angela rose from her bed.

  She dressed quic
kly and staggered wearily down the hall. She let the door to the girls’ room crack slightly and she could see her broken child lying still and wounded upon her bed. Her face looked soft and innocent but beneath the covers was the fractured destiny of her poor child, and she knew what she must do.

  Angela stepped outside and could feel the humidity on her skin, sticky and hot already. There was enough light to see her hands before her face but not enough to see her feet stomping across the rugged terrain. She did not need to see.

  She had walked this path before, far too many times. Over the hill and into the berry patch she ventured. With each step, the light of day crawled and slanted across the ground, climbed the tree trunks, and started to mingle with the leaves in the still air. She folded up the length of her tattered day skirt and started to scrounge around on the ground for any and all berries. It was well past the season, and the rain and sun had blistered their once soft flesh, but they would have to do.

  She was able to get home and stock the wood-burning stove. The heat in the kitchen became stifling. Lard and flour toppled about the counter as Angela worked her hands in the dough as a sculptor would clay. With each passing moment the vision of her daughter twisted and motionless on the ground churned in her head. Just as she was able to get those grave images out of her mind, the picture of old Samuel flashed through her conscience, along with Paul’s haunting look of repugnance that had been burned indelibly into her soul.

  The scars were vivid enough in her brain that she had to shake her head to get them to dissolve, and as she did, she realized she was pounding the dough into the counter hard enough to redden her knuckles. She took a step away from the counter as her heart raced and sweat poured from her brow. It took Angela a second to catch her breath.

  "Mommy?" a tender voice shattered the nervous silence of the room.

  Angela spun about as if she had been pushed in the back. "What!" Both anger and benevolence leaped from her mouth.