An Owl's Whisper (43 page)

“Yes, it fell on his foot. The desk. Please come, Jess.”

“Be right over.”

Eva waited at the house with Crickette while Jess drove Max to Doc Fletcher’s. Doc did his exam, took X-rays, and plastered the leg half way up to the knee. He told Jess, “Darn desk done some damage. Film shows it busted up some of them foot bones pretty good. Old hoss’ll be crippled-up for a while.”

On the drive back home, Max seemed oddly cheerful. “I’ll tell you, Pally, I’m glad for this.” He tapped the cast. “Desk coming down on my foot—sure it’s bad luck. But I figure if I use up what bad luck
Chérie
and me got coming, there’ll be only good luck left. And that’s what we’ll need to beat that poison chewin’ her insides.” He forced a smile at Jess.

Jess looked at the man next to him in the front seat—a fella he’d always seen as a giant. But not now. Though he was acting brave, Max looked small, like a broke poker player sliding his grandpa’s pocket watch into the pot, drawing to an inside straight. “Well Max, I hope so. If I could chip in some of my own good luck to you two, I’d sure do it.”

The First Day of My Life

The Saturday after Max’s injury, January 19, Crickette phoned Eva and demanded she come right away. Eva left her daughters with Carrie and drove to the Conroy place. As she pulled up to the house, Crickette burst through the doorway and stumbled to the truck. Tears streaked her face and she bent over in obvious pain.

Eva leapt from the truck and put an arm around her friend. “It’s bad today, isn’t it? Come, let’s get you inside, poor thing.”

Crickette twisted away. “Not there. Need to talk. Where Max can’t hear.” She pulled on red mittens and clutched Eva’s arm. “In the workshop.”

With Eva’s support, Crickette hobbled the forty feet to Max’s workshop. She turned on the light and lurched to the office area in the corner. She pulled her coat tight around her and fell into the swivel chair.

Eva put a hand on Crickette’s shoulder.

Crickette looked up with fire in her eyes. “The damn pain medicines don’t work,” she snarled. “I can’t go on.”

“I’ll speak with Doc Fletcher. Perhaps a different—”

Crickette knocked Eva’s hand away. “Nothing works. Did you hear me? I can’t go on.”

When Eva put her hand back on her shoulder, Crickette burst into sobs. She reached up to touch Eva’s cheek. “What can I do? Max can’t have the truth. I have to tell him I’m OK. And he believes it.” She shook her head and put her arms around Eva. “He still believes I won’t die.” Eva rubbed her back. “But I must. Can’t go on with this great insect gnawing on me, sucking out my life. I’d kill myself but for Max. His brother Lenny made a suicide after the war. Since then Max goes on and on, crying that now good little Lenny is damned to hell.” Crickette clutched Eva’s sleeve. “When I die, he mustn’t think it was me.” She kissed Eva’s hand and fell to her knees. “And he wouldn’t, if you could…”

Eva recoiled. “If I could do what? Help you die?”

“Yes…help me. I have a plan.”

Eva stepped backward. “I don’t want to hear it. I won’t.”

Crickette slipped back into the chair. “Remember telling me Henri said that killing for your family is a virtue? Well, you’re about to be virtuous, for I learned something from Henri, too. When you’ve got a knife to someone’s throat, they do what you want. Let me be clear, Eva. The knife I hold is our little secret, and your family is the throat. I mean it. You’d better ask yourself how much Stanley and your two little darlings matter. What would they think—what would everyone think—if they knew what you were? What you
are
?”

Eva glared, and her lip trembled. But she didn’t step away.

Holding her abdomen, Crickette leaned back. “I want it done in a flash. No lingering. No mistakes. You used to be good with a shotgun. Remember hunting at the Ducoisie farm? In 1944? You never missed.” She winced at a stab of pain. “Listen, I’ve thought of everything. If a killer doesn’t exist, no one pays.” Crickette ignored Eva shaking her head. “What if we go together for the mail today and mention seeing a stranger on the road? And what if I go again for the mail on Monday and you are waiting with Max’s little shotgun? A twitch of the finger, and I’m free. It’s that simple, that good. You’ll be free, too. Free to keep your secret buried forever. Imagine—your family, safe from the knife at their throats. Our feeble sheriff could search all he wants for a phantom stranger, but in the end he’ll fail. Max keeps his illusion. Sure he suffers—but it’s over quickly and he doesn’t watch me shrivel in agony for months and then die anyway.”

Eva stood stone silent.

Crickette closed her eyes. “Think about it.” She pulled herself to her feet and shuffled toward the door. “But think quickly,” she rasped, “I don’t have much waiting in me.” On the way to the house, she took Max’s shortened shotgun from the shed, wrapped it and some ammunition in a blanket, and put it in the bed of Eva’s truck.

An hour later Crickette and Eva walked to the postal box for the mail. When they returned Max was sitting at the table. Crickette handed him the mail and poured a cup of coffee for herself and one for Eva. Max was shuffling through the envelopes when Crickette said, “Funny thing, cold as it is—there was a stranger walking up the road today.”

Max slit open an envelope with his pocketknife. “Hmmm?” He unfolded a statement and grimaced. “Damn electric company’s eating us alive.”

Eva returned early the next morning. She pulled Crickette aside and told her, “I’ve decided. Get your coat. We can talk outside. I left the engine on so the truck would be warm.”

Through the kitchen window, Max watched them walk together to the truck. He watched Eva help his wife into the cab. And for a few minutes he leaned on the kitchen sink, forgetting his throbbing foot, watching the truck. He watched, though he could barely make out the women’s silhouettes through the GMC’s steamed-up windshield and the billowy cloud of exhaust that enveloped the truck. He forgot his pain and watched because he was happy thinking Crickette had Eva to talk to. Since she’d gotten sick, he never knew what to say.

In the truck Eva gripped the steering wheel tight and turned to Crickette. “Your idea is crazy. Forget it. I’m sorry for your desperation, and I’ll do whatever I can for you. But not that. So listen to me, before I go today, I’m putting Max’s gun back in the shed. That’s final.”

Rage flashed over Crickette face. “Easy to say when you’ve got everything. Children. Health. People fawning over you like a Hollywood star.” She jerked the lapel of Eva’s coat. “The fact is, it’s not your decision to make. Didn’t you goddamn hear me? I’ll ruin you. Tell them
all
what you did. What you
are
. A Nazi who killed a nun.” Crickette smiled wanly. “Yes, Henri told me about your handiwork on that untidy matter.”

Eva trembled and closed her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them she looked tranquil. “I lay awake all last night thinking. All I’ve ever wanted was to live honestly. To be openly what I am. Good and bad. You called your threat to expose my past a knife. As I thought about it last night, that knife transformed from threat to liberator—it’s cut the bonds that ensnared me. I’m no longer afraid. I’ve decided to tell Stanley everything. To tear down the wall between my secret life and my real life. I’ll finally be free.” She burst into sobs and reached to embrace Crickette. “The knife could cut your bonds, too, if you let it. You could be free.”

Crickette flailed at Eva’s arms and growled like a wild beast. “Damn you. Henri said you couldn’t be trusted. You won’t betray me like this. I won’t goddamn let you.”

“Crickette, come to your senses. What you’re asking is madness. Look, tomorrow morning I must visit Mr. Scurfman. I’ll stop here afterward. We can talk again then.”

Crickette froze for a moment. “Yes, come by tomorrow after the mail’s here. But I’m telling you this—you won’t get away with leaving me hanging.” Crickette threw open the door and started back for the house.

Eva got out of the truck. “I’m putting the gun away, Crickette.” She lowered the tailgate and took it, still wrapped in the blanket. “But I
will
be back tomorrow. I won’t abandon you.”

Crickette didn’t look back. She stumbled back to the house, muttering, “You’ll get what all traitors deserve. Tomorrow.”

When he saw Crickette burst through the door, Max was startled. He hobbled to her. “
Chérie
, what’s wrong? What happened?” He reached to take her in his arms.

Crickette turned from his grasp. “Get away from me.” She lurched to the bedroom, hissing, “I’ll get you—I swear it,” and slammed the door.

After Eva had left that morning, the girls came into the kitchen where Stan was having a cup of coffee and reading the paper. Françie tugged on his sleeve. He put the paper down and pulled both of them onto his lap.

“Where’s momma?” Françie asked.

“She had to go see Crickette this mornin’,” Stan said. “I reckon she’s feeling poorly these days and momma’s doin’ all she can to make it easier for her.”

“Is momma got cancer, too?

“No.” Stan pulled the girls close to him. “Your momma’s fit as a fiddle.”

“She seemed so sad last night,” Cat said. “She was crying when she kissed me goodnight.”

Stan looked surprised.

Cat leaned close to Stan’s ear and whispered, “I think Mom’s got an owie on her heart.”

“Oh, you two are just imaginin’ things. Momma seemed fine, really happy, this mornin’.” He hugged the girls. “She said she’d be back before lunch. You young ladies get in there and get your room straightened up ’fore she gets home. Hurry up, now!”

Stan stoked the fire in the parlor stove. He picked up the newspaper from the kitchen table and carried it to the window next to the front door. Without opening the paper, he stood there, still as a hawk on a telephone pole, watching the driveway for Eva’s truck.

When she drove up, he ran outside without putting on his coat and threw his arms around her. Not a word was said.

Stan felt Eva trembling and he pulled back. He saw tears filling her eyes, but she was smiling. “Today’s the first day of my life,” she said, pulling him close to her.

Stan kissed her ear and whispered, “The girls told me you were sad last night. I didn’t know, honey. I’m sorry.”

“Last night doesn’t matter. I’ve got today. And tomorrow.” She put her arm through Stan’s. “Let’s go in. I want to kiss my girls. Then after lunch, we’re going for a walk, my love.”

Eva made sandwiches for lunch. After they ate, she set up the girls with coloring books. Then she and Stan put on heavy coats and went out the door.

“Radio’s talkin’ snow,” Stan said.” Feels like—”

Eva put her fingers to his lips. “I need to say something, Stanley. I want you just to listen. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever said…and the easiest.” When Stan looked confused, she said, “Just listen.” They walked in silence for a while. “I’ve been carrying a dark secret for most of my life. I’ve been such a fool.” She griped Stan’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I can’t undo the past—but maybe I can save the future.” She kissed his hand. “I worked for the Germans while I was at St. Sébastien. In the Depression, things were so hard that my father killed himself. My mother gave me up. Gave me to
them
. I was taught that the Nazi way could save the world, and I believed it.”

Eva saw the tears in Stan’s eyes, and she held him close. “I’m so sorry, Stanley.”

He shook his head and blubbered, “Honey, much as you mean to me, don’t ya see none of that matters? Tell me everything, tell me nothing. It won’t change that I’d always love you.”

They stood for a moment, holding each other in the silent cold. Then Eva said, “I know you would. It’s been your love that saved me for this day…when I can set myself free. When I can be what you deserve.” They started walking. “But I need to tell more, because the telling itself is how I finally escape the past. By saying what I never could say.” She took a deep breath. “I was a part of something awful in those days. It was like quicksand—I only saw it after it had me. Sucking me down. Smothering me. I’ve talked about Mother Catherine to you many times.” She stopped and looked into his eyes. “Stanley, it was me who sent her to the gallows. I didn’t mean to. I only wanted to get back at her. But so many things in those days whirled out of control. I was just being honest when I told you I was no hero.”

Just at that moment, a shaft of sunlight broke through the gray clouds and turned the air luminous. They both looked up. When Stan turned back to Eva, her eyes sparkled. “Then a miracle happened,” she said. “The Allies came and night turned to day. I met the handsomest, bravest, cleanest man in the world. You. You saved me.” She squeezed his hand. “And today, I feel as if telling you what I did and you hearing it can finish my redemption.”

After a brief silence, Stan asked, “Can I talk now?”

Eva nodded.

“In my book, the past is past. You’re off the hook for any of that stuff. And like I said, nothin’ you did, nothin’ you could ever do, would change me lovin’ you. Honey, like it’s carved in a stone—I’ve been yours from the first second I saw ya.”