The Girl Before (35 page)

“Miss Clara? Miss Clara, are you okay?” I do not know which of my daughters is speaking, only that I cannot answer. I want to. I know I cannot shut down, but after so many years of wondering, cataloging things to tell her in case I ever got to see her again, learning of her death hits me like nothing has before.

“Move, girls. Get out of here. Go start your chores.” Mama's gruff voice overpowers the smaller ones, tinged with concern and something else. Apprehension?

The door closes, cutting off the chatter of the worried girls, and a blanket of silence descends over the room. I can feel Mama's presence, feel her eyes on me, but still I lie curled into myself, wishing I had never gone snooping. Glen has been protecting me from this.

An unexpected wave of anger hits me when I think of Glen. He has kept this from me. All this time, avoiding questions about Macy, knowing I was holding out hope, and he knew she was gone. I have never felt this much anger toward Glen, and it frightens me enough that I unfold myself in shock, sitting up and blinking at Mama, who is standing at the door, arms crossed, an unreadable look on her face as she stares at the ledger on the floor, still open to the page declaring Macy's death.

“What have you done, child?” she asks, her voice surprisingly soft.

I don't answer. I pick up the dropped ledger and stuff it back into the safe, cursing its existence. I slam the door of the safe shut, twirl the dial, and conceal the safe back into its hiding spot. Mama moves as I storm toward the door. I return the safe key to its spot under the desk, lock up the office, and return that key to the library. My entire body vibrates with energy that must be released, but I don't know how to get it out. Perhaps this is how Glen feels when I make him angry. It would feel good to hit something. Or someone.

Mama, who has followed me to the library, takes a seat in one of the high-backed chairs. “Come, have a seat, child,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her.

“I'm no child, Mama, even if you and Glen insist on continuing to treat me like one.”

Her lips purse at my tone, but she does not react otherwise. “Please sit down, Clara.”

I consider for a moment. I don't want to sit. I want to run. I want to scream. I want to break something. I want to cry. Still, Mama may have the answers I'm looking for. She can't deny it anymore. Her reactions have proven that she knows exactly what I found in that safe.

“Why?” I ask, choosing to pace back and forth instead of sitting. “Why would you keep this from me?”

Mama sighs, the exhausted sigh of a woman tired of keeping secrets. “We thought it was best that you let it go, Clara. Macy was not a part of your life anymore.”

“She will always be a part of my life.”

“You had moved on. It was just best not to bring it up.”

My heart squeezes at the callousness of her statement. I'm surprised it still responds to anything. I thought it would be numb by now. “You still should have told me.”

“No. I stand by our decision. You didn't need to know. If anything, this little tantrum proves that.”

I spin to face her. “Tantrum? Macy was my best friend. We grew up together. She was torn away from me.”

“She made her choices.”

The urge to scream is almost overwhelming. “She was the last link to my childhood! The only one left who really knew me!”

Mama looks scandalized. “The last link? What about me? What about Glen?”

Glen. My pacing starts back up, faster than before.

Of course it always comes back to Glen. Glen, who charmed me from the moment I met him. Glen, who wanted to hate me, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Glen, who would have given up everything for me. Glen, who is always trying to protect me.

My steps slow, and I sink into the chair across from Mama. “I miss her,” I whisper, and a fresh wave of tears washes down my cheeks.

Mama leans forward, taking my hands in hers, squeezing them as the tears roll faster. “I know, child,” she says. “But now you can truly move forward.”

I nod, unable to speak. There are still so many questions unanswered, but maybe Mama is right. Maybe it's best to leave them in the past and focus on the future.

“I won't share this little spell with Glen, okay? This will be our secret.” Mama's voice is soothing, but there is a warning in it. If Glen finds out what I have done, I'm not the only one who will be held responsible. For the first time, I wonder if Glen didn't ask Mama to stay just to keep an eye on the girls, but also to monitor my behavior. I shake the thought loose almost as soon as it pops into my head. Glen trusts me.

The guilt washes over me then. I have broken that trust. But he doesn't need to know. He will never know. And from now on, I will trust him implicitly. Until death.

My pulse beats faster as the van moves along the gravel drive toward Glen's brothel. This is the first time I have been granted a pass to leave the facility other than my visits to Glen and my field trip to the prison. After Mama's information about the graveyard proved to be valuable,
they decided that I might be able to help with more than just information. I agreed to help them look for documents. The agents have brought me here first to see if anything is salvageable, but my heart sinks as I spy the blackened skeleton where the building used to stand.

“Someone sent up the alarm here before we could get to them,” Connor explains. “They torched the place.”

“What about the girls?” This is the first time I have given much thought to anyone besides Glen, myself, and my daughters. What happened to the rest of Glen's men? To the women who lived here? Connor's face is grim, and I already know before he speaks that I do not want to know that answer.

“There were many deaths, Clara.” Everyone continues to use the name I am used to, even my family when they visit. “Some survived, but no one made it out without injuries.” Connor takes a deep breath. “It appears they didn't plan on anyone getting out. The doors and windows were locked. Our men were lucky to get the ones they did.”

Panic threatens to overcome me as the van stops. I don't want to get out, but it's something I need to do. Connor helps me from the backseat, and I walk toward the ruined structure. The scent of a campfire is on the breeze, mixed with something more sinister, and I breathe through my mouth to avoid inhaling the stench of death. I walk closer and see that in a couple of the rooms, the doors, though blackened, remain in their frames. Long scratch marks mar the wood beneath the ash and soot, and I can almost hear the desperate screams of the women trapped inside.

I wonder if any of them welcomed death. If the heat and smoke and flames were like friends, coming to free them from a weary life, to bring them to a new place and time. I'm not sure I would have survived in a place like this. I have Glen to thank for keeping me out of it. It is a strange dichotomy of emotions, and one I am still not ready to tackle. I turn to Connor.

“Can we go to the house now? There's nothing here.”

He nods. “Of course.”

We climb back into the van and travel the few miles down the road to the beautiful house that Glen bought for me. For us. For our family. For his business. I am gripped with unexpected emotion as the house comes into view. It is as gorgeous as the first day Glen brought me here. Unchanged, except for an overgrown lawn and a general atmosphere of abandonment. Yellow police tape flutters in the wind where it has come loose. I take a deep breath and exit the van.

It is as if the entire world has been holding its breath for this moment. All is silent. No one moves as I step forward. They all seem to realize what this means. I walk up the steps, my feet echoing across the wood of the porch. Connor reaches around me to remove the last remnants of the police tape blocking my progress. I had not even realized he was behind me, and when I look back I see that I am at the head of a sort of macabre parade. Everyone looks solemn as they survey the house. It's a small group, and I wonder how many of them were in the original raid, when this house was bursting with children.

I step inside and am transported back to that day. Everything is almost as we left it, although there are signs of a search here and there. A pile of clothes sits in the side hallway, where Elaine dropped it when the men entered the house. My chair, where I sat brushing Daisy's hair, is still pulled out at the same angle, though they took the brush as evidence. I walk through the rooms, running my hands over objects, memories, vestiges of a life that seems so long ago, yet like it happened yesterday. I gaze out the giant windows in the great room, the mountains unchanged, and look down on the rows of cabins, almost expecting to see the normal bustle of activity as men rush from one assignment to the next.

“Clara.” I jump as Connor appears beside me. “I don't want to rush you, but . . .”

“Of course. The papers.” I turn left and head toward Glen's office.

“We searched in here,” Connor says, keeping pace with me.

I enter the room without replying, but stop short in the doorway. This room looks very different. It has been searched thoroughly. There are open drawers and broken knickknacks everywhere, and the empty file cabinets show that every scrap of paper in here has already been taken. I force my feet forward and around the desk.

Kneeling, I reach to the far back portion under the desk, finding a small knot and pressing to reveal a secret compartment. From the compartment, I withdraw a key. Connor's eyes widen with interest when I stand to show him.

“Glen doesn't know that I know about that, but I did some exploring of my own from time to time.” My hands tremble slightly as I recall sneaking into the office in Glen's absence and what I learned from that exercise.

“So where does that key fit?” he asks. His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed with excitement. It gives me a certain degree of satisfaction to be holding all the cards, but also to be able to make Connor happy.

“This way,” I say, heading out of the room.

“Not in the study?”

“Glen's too smart for that,” I say, wincing at the worship I still hear in my own voice for him. Glen is smart. It's part of what drew me to him so strongly. Part of what still draws me. I lead our small parade up the stairs and to the master bedroom. This room, too, has been searched thoroughly, and I frown when I see that our mattress has been sliced open, springs jutting out at odd angles. “You sure you checked everywhere?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light to detract from the heavy atmosphere. Connor doesn't respond.

The vanity in the corner has been searched, but not moved. Not surprising, since it is made to look like it is part of the wall. I feel along the mirror for the handhold and pull the vanity easily from its niche in the wall.

“Holy shit,” I hear Connor gasp from behind me, and I smile. The safe is in the wall behind the vanity, with both a lock and a combination.

“The combination is 10-6-91. Our wedding date.” I insert the key, spin the combination, and pull the lever to open the door. I barely glance at the stacks of paper and money stuffed into the compartment before stepping back to let Connor examine it. I do not care what is in the safe. With that final act of betrayal, I have sealed Glen's fate. And possibly my own.

I am on my side in bed, facing the wall. I feel nothing. Nothing but empty. Glen has given up on me. He left hours ago after pleading with me to talk to him. He doesn't understand. How could he? It isn't his fault.

I am the one who lost our baby.

This is the third time I have woken up to find blood on the sheets. The third time I have felt the cramps that signal the demise of our miracle. The third time the doctor has come to remove what is left. Empty. Lost. Alone in my body once again.

The door opens. The footsteps that enter are not Glen's. They are lighter, more graceful than his clomping gait. Too heavy for one of the girls. In a distant corner of my mind, I wonder how the girls are doing. Who is taking care of them. If they are doing their lessons. But I cannot find it in myself to care in this moment. This moment is mine
to grieve, to crawl into that black hole. I am not sure I will emerge this time.

Springs squeak as the mattress lowers. “Clara?” Mama's voice is soft, soothing, unlike her usual brisk tone. “You need to eat something, dear.”

Eat. The idea would almost make me sick, if I could feel anything. I continue to stare at the wall, not really seeing the grimy paint. Wondering what my baby would have looked like. If she would have had Glen's nose. My eyes. Or if it was a boy, Glen's strong jaw. Glen would make such a good father to a boy. He deserves a boy. And I cannot give him one. Again I have failed him.

“Clara. You need to get up. Glen needs you.” I can hear the struggle in Mama's voice as she admits that. Though we have been married for four years, Mama still cannot give her full blessing. At least she is kind to me most days. Today more than ever. Today she talks as if I am dying. Maybe I am. “Glen doesn't know how to help you, Clara. He is drinking. I've never seen him drink this much.”

That catches my attention. As a rule, Glen has never been a big drinker. He doesn't like the way alcohol dulls his senses. He blames Papa's drinking for his botched deals, the ones that put us under for a while. I don't know details, but Glen gets chatty in bed sometimes. I learn a lot if I stay quiet. I turn to face Mama. “How much has he had?”

“Too much to be of use to you tonight. He's passed out in the study.”

I sit up. Passed out? I have never known Glen to pass out. “Is he okay?”

“He'll feel like hell in the morning. The best you can do to help him is get yourself cleaned up and be ready to go when he comes out of it.”

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I nod. Glen is hurting, and I need to be there for him. I stand on shaky legs, and Mama grabs
my arm. She helps me toward the bathroom, and even assists in removing my nightgown and stepping into the shower. She is there when I emerge, still feeling empty, but slightly more human. There is a cup of tea waiting for me.