The Unforgiven (30 page)

“Really,” Maggie assured her. “The doctor was here before…” Maggie paused for a second, trying to recollect the visit and separate it from all the dreams which surrounded it. A young doctor with glasses had visited her. Up close she could see that he had dark circles under his eyes. He had urged her to stay another day but had finally relented in the face of her determination to go.

“Doctor Sorensen,” Maggie said. “The one with the glasses. He said I could go tomorrow morning.”

The nurse picked up Maggie’s chart from the foot of the bed and glanced at it. Then she replaced it and plucked the paper and pencil from Maggie’s fingers.

“Okay,” she said. “Night nurse will be here soon if you need her.” The phone by Maggie’s bed began to ring softly. The nurse picked it up and handed it to Maggie. Then she turned to leave.

“Hello,” Maggie said hesitantly.

It was Owen. Their conversation was brief, with Owen apologizing for the unexpected trip, and Maggie assuring him weakly that she could manage without his help. She replaced the receiver on the hook and lay back on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow morning she could go. Go where? The familiar despair descended like a fog over her spirits. The sound of the door to her room opening was a welcome distraction.

The nurse must have forgotten something,
she
thought. She looked toward the doorway and was taken aback to see Evy, advancing to the foot of her bed.

“Hello,” said the girl.

“Hi, Evy.”

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” said Maggie. “Tired.”

“I hear you’re getting out tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Have a seat,” said Maggie, gesturing toward a chair.

Evy sat down in the chair, arranging her coat and pocketbook in her lap. She glanced around the room, then back at Maggie who was studying her pinched face.

“How’s the food here?” the girl asked.

“Terrible,” said Maggie. “What I ate of it.”

Evy smiled furtively and nodded.

“How was work?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, we were closed today, because of Jess.”

Maggie stared at the foot of her bed.

“Tomorrow there’s a memorial service,” said Evy.

“Oh.”

“Are you going?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You’re not?” The girl was incredulous. “Why not?”

“I don’t.…” Maggie’s voice started to break. She waited until she could speak calmly. “I’m going to be leaving the island. There are some things I have to do.”

“It seems like you’d want to go.”

“Well, I don’t,” Maggie snapped.

“Okay,” said Evy with a shrug, “don’t bite my head off.”

“Sorry,” Maggie muttered.

“Doesn’t matter,” said the girl. She fidgeted in her
seat for a moment and then spoke up again. “They took your car back up to Thornhill’s.”

“Who did?”

“Cops,” said Evy. “I saw them going.”

“Oh,” said Maggie wearily.

“How are you getting home tomorrow?”

Maggie sighed. “I’m not sure. I guess the island taxi. Owen offered to take me, but he got called out of town.”

Evy nodded solemnly. Then an idea seemed to occur to her. “I guess I could come for you,” she said.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Maggie said, dismissing the idea hurriedly.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Maggie eyed the girl quizzically. “Why would you want to do that, Evy? I mean, we’ve hardly been friends.”

“It’s up to you,” said Evy. “Now that Jess is gone, it seems silly to fight.”

Maggie considered her words sadly. Then she leaned forward and peered at Evy. “Don’t you blame me for what happened to Jess?” she asked.

The girl looked at her, wide-eyed. “Why should I? He drowned, didn’t he? That’s what they said. It was an accident.”

Maggie fell back on her pillow. “Yes,” she murmured. “It was an accident.”

“So, do you want me to?”

Maggie gazed at her uncomprehendingly. “I’m sorry. What?”

“To come get you.”

Maggie thought for a moment. Then she nodded. “That would be a big help.”

“And then maybe you’ll go to the memorial service with me?”

“I told you. I don’t want to go.”

“It just doesn’t seem right,” Evy persisted.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I know why,” said the girl sagely. “You’re afraid of seeing everybody. After all the things they’ve been saying about you.”

Maggie stared at the girl.

“But what about Jess?” Evy went on. “Don’t you want to go for his sake?”

Maggie thrashed her head from side to side on the pillow. “I don’t know. I just dread the thought.”

“It won’t be that bad,” the girl reasoned. “You’ll be with me. If I’m not mad at you, why should they be?” She stood up abruptly. “Well, I gotta go.”

“I’ll think about it. Maybe I will want to go,” Maggie said. “Thanks for coming, Evy. It was nice of you.”

“See you in the morning,” said Evy, starting for the door.

Maggie sighed, then flopped her head over on the pillow. In the morning. She wished she could leave tonight.

“I’m home,” Evy called out as she slammed the back door shut. She glanced at the kitchen clock. It had taken her longer than she thought at the hospital. And she still had a lot to do.

She selected a bruised banana from the fruit bowl
on the counter and began to peel it. Thoughtfully she took a bite and considered what was next, like a hostess planning a party. She had already gotten rid of Owen with that fake phone call from New York. Now, at least, he wouldn’t be getting in the way. She still had a few things to do over at Thornhill’s. So that everything would go smoothly tomorrow. And so that afterward there’d be no doubt in anybody’s mind about what happened.

And she still had to find her grandfather’s pistol. She knew it was still in the house. Her grandmother kept everything. Evy decided that she had better get started.

She tossed the skin into the wastebasket and fastidiously wiped the remaining pulp of the banana off her fingers with a paper towel. Then, absorbed in her planning, she started through the living room toward the stairs. A crash from the direction of her grandmother’s room arrested her. Instantly alert, she walked down the hall and pushed open the bedroom door.

“What’d you do here?” Evy demanded.

The old woman stared up at her with baleful eyes.

Evy entered the room and looked around. Then she saw the old telephone extension, which usually sat on the bedside table, resting lopsidedly against the table leg, the receiver hooked on the bed frame, the cord caught on the knob of the table drawer. The girl bent down and picked up the phone, replacing the receiver and moving the phone across the room.

“We really ought to get rid of this,” said Evy. “You don’t need it anymore. You couldn’t very well answer it
if it was ringing. I always have to do it. We should get it moved up to my room.”

The old woman followed her with her eyes as Evy paced around the bed.

“What happened to your dinner?” Evy asked sternly, pointing to the bedclothes. A tray of food lay at an angle on the covers. The plates and cup had slid down to one end. A corner of buttered toast clung, buttered-side down, to the faded quilt. A large wet stain in which some noodles were stuck spread out across the bedclothes. Scattered and curled in the dark wet circle, the noodles looked like little organisms trapped in a biologist’s slide.

“I don’t know,” Evy sighed, then began to collect the dishes, wiping up desultorily with a greasy, crumpled napkin. “I suppose it’s not your fault. I haven’t had much time for you lately. When this is all finished, we’ll have to figure out what to do about you.” Evy leaned over and roughly wiped the corners of the old woman’s slackened mouth.

“Now, you sit quietly,” said the girl, smoothing the soggy bedclothes over the heaving, spindly rib cage. “I have things to do.”

For a moment Evy stood, lost in thought, tapping her upper lip with her forefinger. “Come to think of it,” she said, “you’ve probably got what I need right here.” Crossing over to the huge mahogany dresser in the corner of the stuffy room, Evy squatted down and began to tug at the handles of the bottom drawer. The swollen wood creaked and made cracking noises. Patiently, Evy rocked the drawer until she was able to
pull it open. Then she sat back on her heels and gazed in at the contents.

The scent of rose sachet issued in a stale cloud from the open drawer. An expression of delight transformed the girl’s sallow face as she reached in and gently touched the items in the drawer.

“Oh, look, Grandma,” she exclaimed. “All Mama’s things.” She reached in and gingerly lifted out a silky, quilted bed jacket, which she held up to her cheek. Then she ran her fingers lovingly over a gray suede pocketbook with a clasp shaped like a horse’s head. Evy replaced each item carefully where she found it, until she came across a lacy white handkerchief.

“Oh, I want this now,” she cried, holding the handkerchief close to her breast. “You said these things would all be mine. You told me that when Mama went away to that hospital,” Evy reminded her grandmother ruefully. “I need this now.” She held up the hanky in front of her to scrutinize it.

“Mama’d put the collection money in it on Sundays. While the priest’d be talking, she’d be holding it, doing like this.” Evy demonstrated as she spoke, twisting the pressed white linen into a tightly packed wad. She let it loose and the handkerchief hung, limp and ribbed with wrinkles, from her hand. “I won’t keep it,” she assured the old woman. “I’m just going to borrow it.”

Laying the handkerchief to one side, she resumed her search through the drawer. She lingered over many of the objects she found, admiring aloud a strand of amber beads and stopping to gaze at the high school graduation picture in a cardboard frame, which
showed a cool-eyed, thin-lipped face, incongruously crowned by bouncy blond bangs. The shiny, golden hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Reluctantly, Evy replaced the photo in the drawer. Then she let out a little exclamation of victory as she pulled forth a soft black sweater with a round neck. “This is what I want,” she cried. Then she searched carefully in the drawer until she drew out a black lace mantilla, which she folded into a triangle at the bottom.

She shook out the veil and examined it for any rents or tears. “It’s just like mine,” she told her grandmother. “That’s why I wanted a black one. I remembered it on her,” she said eagerly. Her eyes softened, recalling a long-forgotten picture. “It looked so pretty on her. Those black lacy flowers on her yellow hair. It always made me think of black-eyed Susans.” Evy stared down at the veil, which had fallen into her lap.

“Why’d she have to go away?” she asked.

The old woman lay on her bed, remembering. Her eyes were raised to the ceiling. Her lower jaw trembled.

“You know why,” said Evy slyly. She gathered up her treasures in a little bundle and clutched it to her chest. Then she slammed the dresser drawer shut with an angry shove.

“You told me why. Now you pretend you don’t know. Well,
I
know why.” She scrambled to her feet, her knuckles whitening from the pressure of her grip on the top drawer of the bureau.

“Where’s that gun?” she demanded, tugging at the handle until the drawer flew open, nearly knocking her backward. She rifled roughly through the objects in
the drawer until her hand emerged, clutching the old pistol that had belonged to a grandfather she could not even remember. “Now I’ve got it,” she cried. She held the gun aloft in one hand, the sweater, gloves, hanky, and veil she had collected in the other.

“She has it coming to her,” said Evy. “If it weren’t for her, Mama wouldn’t be in that hospital. Daddy wouldn’t be dead and I wouldn’t be here with
you.
Isn’t that right? Poor Mama. She got so sick because of it she doesn’t even know me now. She has to live in that hospital forever. All because of that woman. Well, tomorrow she’ll get what she deserves. Just like you always told me.”

The old woman watched her grandchild with glistening, frightened eyes.

“It’s only right,” said the girl. “Now, you be quiet up here,” Evy ordered. “I have some things to do downstairs.”

Harriet Robinson watched Evy’s distorted face until she turned away and left the room. Then her eyes traveled over to the telephone, which the girl had moved to the desk top by the far wall. It was no use, and she knew it. Even if she could reach it.

She listened intently, staring at the ceiling, as Evy undid the latch and opened the door to the basement. Then she flinched as she heard the echo of the girl’s footsteps going down.

The back porch light was still burning at the Thornhill house. Between that, and the feeble glow of her flashlight, Evy was able to find her way around to the back
of the house without tripping and falling. She moved stealthily across the unweeded lawn, testing the doors and windows, which were all locked. The last time she had come, to take care of the dog, they had all been open. She did not really expect to find them so tonight.

For a few moments she stood ruminating in the ankle-deep weeds. Then she picked up the string bag hooked on her arm and opened it. She shone the flashlight in on its contents. The light flashed off of the silver tie bar with WME III engraved on it in a florid script. She reached into the bag and extracted the worn billfold she had retrieved from Emmett’s suit jacket before she burned it. At the bottom of the bag a gold class ring and a monogrammed cigarette case jingled against the tie bar and one another. She was tempted, for a moment, to keep one of the objects as a souvenir, but she thought better of it. She had to plant them in the house. Somewhere they could be found after a thorough search. For a moment she was stymied by all the locked doors. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. She turned her flashlight on the ground in front of her and picked her way over to the toolshed behind the house. She pulled open the door and shone the light inside. There, just to the left of the doorframe, a set of keys dangled from a nail driven into the wood.

“They’re all alike around here,” she thought disdainfully. She slung her string bag over the nail by its cord handle, then closed the door to the shed. She could take care of hiding Emmett’s effects in the house in a wink, after she got her other mission done.