Christmas Stalkings (32 page)

Reluctantly, she followed me down to the Women’s Auxiliary room. As soon as we were alone with the door closed, I sat her down and said, “What the devil’s going on here? First you say for me to do whatever I can to keep you out of jail, and now, when the next thing to a miracle occurs, you say you
want
to go?”

“I didn’t say I
want
to,” Marnolla corrected me. “I said I was ready to if that’s what it takes to get people to leave Lynette alone.”

“Same thing,” I said, pacing up and down as if I were in a courtroom in front of the jury.

But then what she’d said finally registered and I realized it wasn’t the same thing at all.

“How come you don’t want Lynette’s name in the paper or on the radio?” I asked.

Marnolla cut her eyes at me.

“Who don’t you want to hear? The baby’s daddy? Has she run away from some abusive man?”

There was a split second’s hesitation, then Marnolla nodded vigorously. “You guessed it, honey. If he finds out where she’s run to, he’ll—”

“You lie,” I said. “She’s not from the county, nobody outside ever reads the
Ledger,
and WCYC barely reaches Raleigh.”

As I spoke, Aunt Zell came in uninvited. That wasn’t like her, but I was so exasperated with Marnolla, I barely noticed.

“
Deb’rah
, honey, why don’t you run home and look in my closet and bring me one of those pretty new bed jackets? Get a pink one. Pink would look real nice when they take Lynette’s picture with the baby, don’t you think so, Marnolla?”

Marnolla had always shown respect for Aunt Zell, but nobody was going to roll over her without a fight this morning. Before she could gather a full head of steam, though, Aunt Zell advanced with fruitcake for her and a stem look at me. “Deborah?”

When she sounds out all three syllables like that, I don’t usually stay to argue.

“And take a package of turnip greens out of the freezer while you’re there,” she called after me.

Most of my brothers married nice women and they all seem real fond of Aunt Zell, but they sure were in a rut with giving her presents. I bet there were at least a dozen bed jackets in her closet, half of them pink, and all in their original boxes. I chose a soft warm cashmere with a wide lacy collar, then went downstairs to take the turnip greens out of the freezer.

After my overindulging on rich food all through the holidays, New Year’s traditional supper was always welcome: peas and greens and thin, skillet-fried corn-bread.

As I passed the stove, I snitched a tender sliver from the hog jowl that flavored the black-eyed peas and gave the pot an experimental stir. There was no sound of the dime Aunt Zell always drops in. Even if you don’t get the silver dime that promises true prosperity, the more peas you eat, the more money you’ll get in the new year. I hoped
Marnolla’d
cooked herself some. Her troubles with Billy were about to be over, yet worry gnawed at the back of my brain like a toothless hound working a bone and I couldn’t think why.

When I returned to the hospital, I could tell by
Marnolla’s
eyes that she’d been crying. Aunt Zell, too; but
whatever’d
been said, Marnolla had agreed to let everything go on as we’d originally planned. We fixed Lynette’s hair and got her all prettied up till she really did look like a young
madonna
holding her baby.

Billy had rounded up the media and Aunt Zell got some of the obstetrical nurses to stand around the bed for extra interest.

My own interest was in how Marnolla and Aunt Zell between them had managed to keep everybody’s attention fixed on the baby’s bright future and away from the shy young mother’s murky past.

As everybody was leaving, I heard Aunt Zell tell Marnolla that by the time the baby had been home a week, people would’ve forgotten all about the hoopla and stopped being curious. “But the
baby’ll
still have all the presents and she and Lynette will have you.” “I sure hope you’re right,
Miz
Zell.”

I drove Marnolla home and neither of us had much to say until she was getting out of the car. Then she leaned over and patted my face and said, “Thanks, honey. I do appreciate all you did for me.”

I clasped her call used hands in mine as love and pity welled up inside of me. And yes, maybe those hands
had
stolen when they were empty, and maybe her altruism was even tinged by a less than lofty pride—which of us can plead differently before that final bar of justice? What I couldn’t forget was that those selfsame hands had once suckered my daddy’s tobacco and ironed my mother’s tablecloths. And I remembered them holding another baby girl thirty years ago; a baby girl whose left little finger crooked like her own.

As did the left little finger of that baby back at Dobbs Memorial.

Aunt Zell must have remembered, too. I wondered what had really happened to Avis. The lost, scared look in Lynette’s eyes did not bespeak a rosy, stable childhood. Drugs? Violence? Was Avis even still alive? I couldn’t ask Marnolla how her pregnant granddaughter had fetched up here in Dobbs, and I knew Aunt Zell wouldn’t betray a confidence.

“I hope you cooked you some black-eyed peas,” I said.

She nodded. “A great big
potful
while I was timing Lynette’s labor pains.”

“Better eat every single one of era,” I said. “You’re going to need all the money you can lay your hands on these next few years.”

“
Ain’t
that
the truth!” Her tone was rueful but her smile was radiant as she gave my hand a parting squeeze. “Happy New Year,
Deb’rah
, and God bless you.

“You, too, Marnolla.”

“Oh, He has, honey,” she told me. “He already has.”