A Question of Mercy (24 page)

“What was its name?” Frank asked.

“Mimsy.”

“What a coincidence!
This
one's named Mimsy.” The cat walked up to Miss Tut and, as she leaned to pet it, the cat curved its neck and back into her hand, coming around again for another pass.

“She is a sweet kitty, isn't she? C'mere,” she said. C'mere, Mimsy.” Her voice grew high and soft, like a girl's.

“Hope she won't eat the goldfish,” Zella said, and waved goodbye raising one hand. “I saw her looking in that fishbowl.”

Jess lowered herself into this odd family of people and wished for something that was gone. Her dance with the world had changed into this stumbling rhythm, and she felt a profound need to apologize. But at that very moment Frank leaned over and whispered, “I'm sorry. I said too much the other night. None of my business.” She could feel his breath by her ear. “I'm sorry,” he said again.

Jess could name the moments in her life that had made her who she was. This was one of them. An apology, not her own—one that was coming in from the side—made her feel stripped down to her most secret self. Her face flinched slightly, like a bird's wing had brushed her cheek, and she felt struck by the human need for apology, and forgiveness. She would call her father.

“That's okay, Frank,” she whispered.

No one was aware of the clouds that had rolled in, of the distant thunder, or the impending rain.

— 33 —

W
hen Will had been gone two days, Jess took some quarters and went downstairs to the hall telephone booth, where long distance calls could be made. She closed the door and slipped in the coins, giving the operator her home phone number. If Clementine answered, she planned to hang up, but when she heard her father, she began to cry.

“Jess? Jess?” He was yelling.

“I know,” she said. “Daddy, I'm calling to say I'm all right. I wanted to hear your voice. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

He urged her to come home, come home now.

“I know Mr. Brennan called you,” she said.

“I was grateful for that. But I want you to come back. I can help. I'll do anything, if you just let me.”

“I will,” she said. She liked hearing him, but he sounded different, his voice urgent.

“Jess, you know Adam drowned the same day you left. I imagine you knew that. We didn't find him for almost five days.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“His body washed up near Sudderth Creek.” When Jess didn't respond, he said, “Why did you leave, sweetie? Why did you run off? I've been so worried.”

“I didn't know what else to do. I was afraid,” she said.

“But are you all right? Nobody hurt you, did they? I kept thinking about you, wondering where you were.”

“I slept in the woods. Sometimes people were good to me and gave me food or a place to sleep. I'm all right. One couple gave me a place to stay for a while. They let me have a job.” She added, “I've got a job now.”

“I have to ask you some things,” her father said. He was trying to prepare her.

“No, don't. I can't. Not now.”

“I want to come get you. Listen …” He didn't want her to hang up before he could say this. “Clementine moved out of the house, Jess. I told her to leave. She made a formal accusation against you. She blames you for Adam's death.” He waited a moment, then said, “Come home, sweetheart.”

“You don't blame me then?”

“Oh honey. I don't blame you for anything.” She could hear him sigh through the phone. “I want to help.”

Jess leaned over inside the phone booth, sobbing.

“Jess!” he said. His voice sounded old and he had to catch his breath. “I've found a good lawyer, but he has to have some answers. We all do.” He was talking fast as though he expected her to end the call.

“I'm sorry,” she said, again. “I'm sorry about Adam too.” She felt sadder now than before; maybe her father did too. Maybe this call had made things worse.

“Sam will be coming home soon,” he told her.

“So will I,” Jess said. It sounded like a promise.

Jess went back to her room and could see a hard rain blowing on the windows. Wind rattled limbs and pushed trees into a frenzy. As she was getting back into bed, she heard whimpering from the boys' room. The sound was similar to the noise made by Adam in the basement when he first moved into their house.

As Ray's whimpering turned into bawling, Jess opened their door. Shooter had his hands on Ray's shoulders, protective.

“Ray's scared,” Shooter said, his eyes wide.

A streak of lightning followed by thunder made Ray bolt into Jess's arms. The lights went out in the hallway. Jess tried the lamp beside the bed, but the click brought nothing.

“What happened?” Shooter's voice was a whisper.

“Rainstorms do that sometimes,” Jess sat on the bed and held Ray. “I mean, take out the electricity.”

“I know.” Shooter stood close to the bed, close to Ray. “I keep telling him, but he's still scared.”

“I am,” Ray confessed.

“C'mon,” Jess said, quickly. “Let me show you something.” She grabbed a blanket from the end of Ray's bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. The boys pulled the ends of the blanket around themselves. This felt like a game that might make everything okay. Jess took each boy's hand as they went to the stairs that led to the attic. If someone had seen them in the hallway, the wide dark specter would have looked like a huge bat.

“Where're we going?” Ray urged.

“You're gonna love this,” she told them. She reached into the drawer of a hall table. “Here, Shooter, hold this flashlight. Make sure it works.”

Shooter clicked it on and off a few times. Each time the light flicked on, the boys looked relieved. The lightning had subsided, but rain fell hard, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

“This house has a tin roof,” Jess told them. “And sometimes I just go upstairs to listen when it rains. Sounds like a big drum.” She opened the attic door, and they could hear the rain thrumming hard on the roof. A short deluge.

“Sounds like a big drum,” Shooter said. But Ray had never heard such a sound before and believed he might never hear it again. He stood still and let the drumming move into his chest and head. For an instant they all had an expression of rare surprise. No one spoke until the rain let up.

“Turn on the flashlight, Shooter.” They could see the way to the middle of the attic, where they sat, all three of them in Ray's blanket, and listened until their breathing calmed. Jess's love of the rain-sound was contagious. “Don't you like it?” she asked. “Even a little rain sounds good up here.”

“You don't get scared?” Ray snuggled close.

“Nothing up here but old boxes and a chair.”

Shooter shone the flashlight into the corner. Something was in the chair, and he jumped.

“It's just our July Santa,” Jess laughed. “I brought it up here for Miss Tut.”

“I don't like when Mr. Will is gone,” Shooter said.

“He'll be back tomorrow,” Jess said.

“My daddy left,” Ray said.

“I'm sure he'll come back too,” Jess said.

“When?”

Thunder barely rumbled now. The rain was letting up.

“Want to turn off the flashlight for a minute?”

“Naw,” Shooter said. They sat, and in a minute Shooter clicked off the light. The air in the attic turned black, but the outside appeared gray, and the rain grew softer and softer, plinking drops from the trees. They listened and relaxed against Jess. The boys smelled like Adam.

Adam. Adam. Your shadow is here in this dust of the attic, in the sleep-hair of these boys. Come back. Your arms full of silver hubcaps, or carrying Hap some place he doesn't want to go. If you were here, I might do something different. I don't know what
.

“I think Ray's asleep,” Shooter said. He held the flashlight to the boy's face, flicking it on.

“Hey.” Ray squirmed. “Quit it!”

“Let's go back down now,” Jess said. “Let's not tell anybody about what we did. It'll be our secret.”

“We won't,” Shooter said.

“Secret,” Ray said.

The next day Will arrived at lunch and commented on last night's storm. “Woke me up—all that noise.”

“It did?” Jess reached for a piece of toast.

Will turned to the boys. “Thought you boys might have been scared.”

Both boys looked quickly at Jess, but Jess pretended not to hear. She realized that they usually went to Will when they were afraid, but last night, in his absence, they had come with her.

“So you weren't scared?” Will asked.

“Not me,” Shooter said.

“Not me too,” Ray said.

Will nodded, perhaps believing that he had taught them something about courage.

The next night Ray spiked a fever of 104 degrees. Jess saw him in the hall, sweating. He kept saying, “I don't feel good.” His body was burning up. She alerted the others. After an hour he had grown lethargic.

“My God, we've got to get this fever down.” Rosemary called the doctor who urged them to put Ray into a tub of cold water, and said he promised to come immediately. The doctor told them to keep the body cool or else the fever could damage the boy's brain.

Miss Tutwiler ran a tub of water while Jess and the professor took off Ray's pajamas. Jess held him and the professor pulled off his underwear. They carried his small-boned body to the tub. Shooter kept asking, “What's the matter with Ray?”

Jess and Frank tried to calm Shooter by taking him back to his room, but they could hear the commotion in the bathroom. Will and Miss Tut brought ice cubes to make the water as cold as possible, so when the professor lowered the limp body into the icy water, Ray screamed and Shooter yelled for them to
Stop it!

“I can't do this, Miss Tut,” Prof. Chapin said.

“We have to. We have to do this.” She held the boy in the water. Will spoke to him gently, until Ray stopped yelling and began to cry softly.

By the time the doctor arrived the fever had dropped two degrees. The
doctor stayed until the fever lowered sufficiently. He gave Ray an aspirin and said to watch closely in case the fever returned.

The professor and Rosemary took first watch over Ray. The next watch would be Jess and Frank, then Will and Miss Tut. They would divide up the night. Jess decided to stay the night with Shooter, but she kept waking to check on Ray. Possible brain damage. She kept imagining if Ray could turn into someone like Adam. That night, Jess promised God that if Ray got well, she would go home to her father and to whatever else came with that return.

Ray's fever spiked once more around four a.m., but when they lowered him into the tub, the water wasn't as cold, and they were able to keep him soothed. Rosemary gave him ginger ale, and Will promised to take him to the Birmingham Zoo when he got better. They spent a long time talking about animals they might see.

Around five a.m. Frank came to Ray's room, but the professor would not relinquish his station. Frank warned them. “If something happens to Ray, and Social Services finds out that we lied about Sonny Long, we'll be liable. All of us.” He said this as though no one else had thought of it. But Jess had thought of it. She felt a piling up of all the things for which she could be condemned.

“The fever has already broken,” the professor said. “Ray will be fine.” Behind his glasses, his eyes blinked slowly. It was early morning when Jess went back to her room, and she realized that a fever of her own had broken.

Ray was sleeping soundly. Prof. Chapin was in his room, or else he was with Rosemary in her room. They had been seen together in town, holding hands, but their trysts in the boardinghouse had been full of stealth. Lately, Rosemary wore no make-up, her face more calm and natural. She sometimes wore jeans and a pink cotton shirt, with a vintage straw hat. She looked lovely, and for the first time, she seemed to feel lovely. She had stopped quoting so many Bible verses. The professor smiled all the time.

Zella and Miss Tut had gone to buy groceries, Shooter was sleeping late, and Will sat on the porch smoking a long cigar. Mimsy sat in his lap, licking herself. In the hall the fishbowl had only one fish, but no one commented.

— 34 —

E
arly on Saturday morning, Zella Davis, looking eccentric and happy in her garden-pants and man's shirt, had started planting her vegetables. She obviously was not interested in preparing everyone's breakfast, so when Will came in asking “You got any coffee?” Zella opened the refrigerator door and stood back, looking in.

“
Might
have some,” she said.

“Can I get some?”

“Don't matter to me.” Zella still stood in front of the open refrigerator. The morning's soft blue light came into the kitchen, where Will was sitting.

“Got any biscuits left from yesterday?” he asked.

“You can look good as me.”

“You're in a
mood
today, aren't you?” Will said. He lifted the lid of the bread box and took out a cold biscuit.

“Always in
some
kinda mood.”

Will poured coffee into a mug and poured another mug for Zella. “Come on. Sit down here with me.”

“I ain't got time.”

“You got time.”

Zella sat across the table from Will and spooned three heaps of sugar into her mug. They sat in silence for several minutes, sipping. Jess came in and sat at the table with them.

“I been planting since early morning,” Zella said. “Not in a mood to get breakfast for nobody today.”

“Then don't,” said Will. “I'll make a batch of scrambled eggs and toast. If anybody's hungry they can help themselves.”

“And too, this's the anniversary of when my daddy died. We buried him 1945. I dreamed about him last night. More than a dream. Seems like he come to my room, talked to me, made
me
talk to
him
.