Angel Sister (25 page)

“Sure. I’ve got some in my pocket.” Kate put her hand in her pocket and pretended to pull out some powder to scatter around. “Now listen.” She stopped talking and held her breath. “Do you hear anything?”

“No,” Lorena whispered.

“Good. That means it worked.” Kate kissed Lorena’s nose and then pulled her close again. She stroked Lorena’s hair and whispered nursery rhymes in her ear. In the middle of Little Bo Peep losing her sheep, Lorena’s head relaxed against Kate’s shoulder as she fell asleep.

Kate kept stroking Lorena’s hair. How could she leave her here? She had to get her mother and father to do something. They had to. Even if they had to get the sheriff in Edgeville to come and sort it all out. Of course, the sheriff might just haul Kate away for sneaking into Mrs. Baxter’s house without permission.

The radio stopped playing. Kate kissed Lorena and shook her a little. Lorena blinked open her eyes and looked at Kate.

Kate whispered in her ear. “Just do whatever she tells you to do, Lorena.”

“But she gets mad when I say my name, and I have to say my name.”

“Whisper it after you go to bed. And we’ll be saying it real loud at our house. Your mommy will know.”

Lorena sounded sad, but she said, “Okay.”

Footsteps came toward the kitchen. Kate slid Lorena out of her lap down to the floor and quietly edged back in the corner behind the flour sacks. She held her breath as Mrs. Baxter jerked open the door.

Mrs. Baxter stared at Lorena. “You can come out now if you think you can behave, Polly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lorena sounded even sadder as she slowly stood up and went out into the kitchen. After Mrs. Baxter pushed the door shut, Lorena said, “Can I go play with my doll out on the porch?”

“I suppose. If you stay on the porch and don’t get your feet dirty.”

Kate heard Lorena go out of the kitchen, but she didn’t hear Mrs. Baxter following her. Kate’s heart began pounding again. Her breathing sounded loud in her ears. What if Mrs. Baxter heard her? Or opened the door again to get her apron?

“I can’t get the door unhooked,” Lorena called.

“Oh, my heavenly days. I’ve never seen such a helpless child.” Mrs. Baxter sounded cross, but she walked across the kitchen into the next room. “I think we may have made a big mistake taking you in.”

Kate slipped out of the pantry and ran on tiptoes across the kitchen. She was out the door and behind the forsythia bush in ten seconds flat. Just in time too. Mrs. Baxter stuck her head out the back door to look around as if she’d heard something. After Mrs. Baxter closed the door, Kate counted to a hundred twice before she ran for the woods. If Fern was watching, she didn’t see her.

______

It was hard being sober. Forever sober. Victor had gone without drinking for days at a stretch before, but he’d always known where a bottle was hidden away to give the promise of relief if things got bad. Things always got bad. He didn’t have any bottles hidden away now. He’d broken them all. And he wasn’t going to buy any more. He wasn’t. No matter how much his hands shook. No matter how much it felt like the cooties were crawling around under his skin. No matter how the dreams tormented him. He wasn’t. He’d promised Nadine.

She’d prayed for him. For them. She believed he could quit. All he had to do was find a way to believe it too. And he did. Most of the time. He could quit because he loved Nadine more than life itself. He loved her more than booze. He loved his girls more than booze. And he was trying to love himself more than booze.

He was appealing to the Lord on that one. He whispered Nadine’s simple prayer a dozen times a day. “Lord, here am I. Help me.” So far he had. So far the prayers had kept Victor from turning up the familiar path to the place in Rosey Corner where the bottles beckoned. But the prayers hadn’t kept him from wanting to.

What he needed was for the Lord to take the wanting of it away from him. To erase it from his mind. That’s what he told Aunt Hattie on the third day when she brought a jug of lemonade by the shop. Because it was so hot, she claimed, but Victor figured Nadine had enlisted Aunt Hattie to help pray him through.

“Has you told the Lord that?” Aunt Hattie peered over at him as he chugged down the lemonade.

“What do you mean?” Victor frowned a little as he lowered the jar of lemonade and wiped the sweat off his face with a blue bandana. “Doesn’t he already know what I need? Better than me.”

“Ain’t no doubtin’ that. But that don’t mean he don’t want to hear us ask it.”

“I’m not too good at prayer words.” Victor stared down at the lemon slices floating in what was left of the lemonade. He wondered how many shirts she’d had to wash and iron to buy the lemon and sugar.

“You think the Lord don’t understand common talk? Just speak it out straight.”

Victor could feel her eyes boring into him. He looked up at her. “Now?”

“What better time than when you needs to? Ain’t nobody here but me and you and the Lord. So go ahead. He’s got his ear bent down towards us.”

“All right.” Victor stared up at the ceiling in his shop. It was black from the forge fire. He shifted uneasily on his feet and tried to think up what to say with both the Lord and Aunt Hattie listening. At last he pushed out, “Lord, help me stay sober.”

Aunt Hattie gave his arm a little shake. “That ain’t what you’s wantin’ to pray.”

Victor looked at her and then back up at the ceiling. Why was it so hard to lay himself open to the Lord? The Lord already knew him, every inch. Inside and out. Even better than Aunt Hattie, who had caught him when he was born. “Take this desire to hide in a bottle away from me.”

“Amen,” Aunt Hattie said. “That’s more like it.”

Victor looked down at his hands. His fingers were still trembling. “I don’t feel any different.”

“And you might never. That old thorn might always be prickin’ you.”

Victor frowned at Aunt Hattie. “Then what good did it do to pray the words?”

“‘My grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ That’s what the good Lord told Paul about his thorn in the flesh. That’s what the good Lord told me when I told him I couldn’t make it without my Bo livin’ and breathin’. Whether he takes the want to away from you or not, his grace will turn your weakness into strength.”

“But what if I’m too weak?” He rubbed his finger down through the moisture on the outside of the lemonade jar. “What if it’s too hard?”

“Ain’t nothin’ too hard for the Lord. You hear me now.” She poked his chest with a bony finger. “We ain’t promised no easy ride through this life. Life ain’t easy. Ain’t never been since Adam and Eve was thrown out of the garden. Ain’t never gonna be. Leastways not for the most of us. Hard times come.”

They both fell silent as they considered the hard times they’d seen and might yet see. After a minute, Aunt Hattie shook her head and said sadly, “I guess our Kate’s done findin’ that out right now, what with having that li’l child ripped away from her.”

“She’s struggling with it.” Victor felt the familiar sorrow rising in him that he always felt when one of his girls was hurting.

“I hear Mr. Preston done told Kate not to go see the girl. She listenin’?”

“No. She’s been over there every morning before breakfast and maybe other times too. We haven’t told her not to.”

“Mr. Preston must not be knowin’ about that yet, but best you keep in mind, don’t much stay secret long from Mr. Preston in Rosey Corner. And he ain’t gonna be happy with our Kate. Or with you,” Aunt Hattie warned as she picked up her bag and headed for the door. “He done wrong about all this, but we both knows your daddy ain’t one for ever admittin’ that. The more wrong he is, the more he’s out to prove he’s right.”

That afternoon Victor was banking the coals in the forge to leave for home when his father appeared in the doorway. The light was behind him so Victor couldn’t see his face in the shadow, but he wouldn’t be there for any good reason. In the seventeen years Victor had done blacksmithing in Rosey Corner, his father had rarely darkened the door of his shop. Even when he had owned a horse that needed shoeing, Victor had always gone and fetched the horse and then taken it home.

Victor squared his shoulders as if readying himself for a punch and faced his father. He didn’t bother with a greeting. “What do you want, Father?”

“I want a son who doesn’t defy his father’s orders.” It was easy to hear the anger in his father’s voice.

Victor kept his voice calm as he picked his words carefully. “I’m not a child, Father. It’s been years since I had to do as you said, but out of respect, I’ve never intentionally defied you.”

“If you believe that, you surely must have a faulty memory.” He stepped into the shop. His mouth was hard and set, and his eyes were shooting sparks at Victor.

“How so?” Victor stared straight at his father, not shying away from his anger.

“I told you not to take over this place. I told you there wasn’t any money in smithing, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“I’ve gotten by.” Victor turned away from his father and pulled his leather apron off. He hated the way his hand trembled as he hung the apron up on its hook.

“Hmph.” His father made a sound of disgust. “If you can call it that.”

Victor took an extra moment to straighten the handles of his hammers on the shelf before he turned back to his father. “This is old stuff. Why don’t you say what you’ve come to say and get it over with?”

“Can’t take looking at the truth, can you? Especially not sober. You’ve always been too weak to face the truth.”

Blood rose in Victor’s face as he clenched his fists. “I faced the truth a long time ago, Father. The truth that I’d never be able to be the son you wanted. I’d never be able to be Press Jr.”

“You aren’t even good enough to say his name.” His father was yelling now. “If it wasn’t for you, he’d still be alive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Victor’s heart began pounding in his chest. It always came down to this. Him being alive and Press Jr. being dead. “I don’t even remember what happened.”

“You don’t want to remember.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” Victor stepped over right in front of his father and stared him in the face. “What did happen?”

“He died saving you.” He wasn’t yelling now, but his eyes were full of contempt.

Victor didn’t back down from him. He kept his eyes locked on his father’s face. “Graham pulled me out of the river. Not Press.”

“I thought you couldn’t remember.”

“I don’t remember how I got in the river, but I do know Graham pulled me out.”

“You don’t know anything.”

Victor stared at his father. This man who had never accepted him as a man or even as a son. He wasn’t going to change now. Victor made himself step away from him. He stopped beside his anvil and ran his hand over its familiar shape.

He knew the anvil as well as he knew his own hands. When he was working the iron, it became part of him. He knew where to lay the shoes on its hard surface to shape them. When he brought his hammer down with care, the iron bent to his will. That’s what his father had never done. He’d tried to hammer Victor into the shape he thought he should be, but he’d never done it with any kind of caring. He’d just hammered him down. Victor should have long ago stopped worrying about what the man thought of him.

Victor blew out his breath slowly. What good did it do to keep pounding on cold iron? “That’s all long past, Father. Done and over. What do you want today? Now.”

His father kept glaring at him. “I want your daughter to stop defying my orders.”

“If you’re talking about Kate going to see Lorena, that’s not harming anybody.” Victor felt tired. He just wanted his father to go away.

“I told her not to.” His father’s face stayed as hard as the anvil Victor was leaning against.

“But I haven’t told her not to. What you did with Lorena was wrong.” Victor kept his eyes on his father’s face. “You can’t just take a child and give her to this or that person like she’s no more than a stray dog.”

“Oh, can’t I? I did, didn’t I?”

“But it was a wrong thing to do.” Victor’s eyes didn’t waver on his father’s face.

His father’s eyes narrowed a little as he said, “I told you I wasn’t going to let you make that gypsy child into a Merritt. And I’m not. Mark my words on that. You tell Katherine to stay away from the Baxters.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll disown you.” He shot the words at Victor. “I’ll write you out of my will.”

“You think I care about that?” Victor almost smiled. “About your money? Go ahead. Cut us out of your life. You’ll be the one losing there. I have my family. I don’t need you. I learned not to need you years ago. And what will you have if you disown us? A safe full of money and nobody to give it to.”

“I could marry again. Have more children.”

“Then why don’t you? Why didn’t you?” Victor had never seen his father any angrier, but he didn’t care. He kept on. “What was the matter? Were you afraid you couldn’t find anybody worthy enough for you? Nobody who would give you strong Merritt children? Afraid that maybe it wasn’t the Gale blood that was weak, but maybe the blood in your own veins? That you’d have more weak children like me and Gertie?”

Victor’s father crossed the space between them in two steps and backhanded Victor like he was still a child instead of a man bigger and stronger than he was. Victor didn’t raise his hands to defend himself. He just looked at his father and suddenly felt sorry for him. “Hit me again if it makes you feel better.”

His father raised his hand up again, but then he laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “I bought this for you. I thought you probably would need it by now.” He held it out toward Victor.

Victor kept his hands on the anvil. He tried to absorb the hardness of the iron to keep his hands from shaking.

“You want it. I can tell you do.” His father’s voice was mocking as he stepped back and pitched the bottle toward Victor.

When Victor didn’t raise his hands to catch it, the bottle hit the anvil and shattered. Whiskey splashed all over his pants and shoes. The smell of it filled the shop.

His father laughed again. “When I leave, you can lick it up off the floor.” He turned on his heel and went out the door without looking back.

Victor looked down at the broken glass. He felt no regret at all over the spilled whiskey. He stooped down and picked up the pieces of the bottle and threw them in a bucket by the forge. He only hoped Nadine would believe him when he came in with the whiskey smell on his clothes. That was his only worry.