The Widows of Braxton County (9 page)
H
annah walked back and forth across Willie’s room, her black silk dress rustling with every step and her boots clicking on the plank floor. She stopped and tugged at the scratchy crepe collar. This was her best dress and she hated it. Jacob had purchased it for her when her father had passed five years ago, and had spent more on it than he had on all her other clothes combined. Scowling, she continued her pacing. He hadn’t wanted her to show up at her father’s funeral looking like a poor relation, so he’d parted with the money for the dress. Now she’d have to wear the damn thing for the next year.
She mopped her face with a black-edged handkerchief. Between the stench of mothballs emanating from the dress and the heat, she felt faint. She had to have some air and strode to the window.
“Hannah, you can’t,” Fannie called from across the room.
“I can’t breathe,” Hannah replied, pulling back the curtains and rolling up the shade. She grasped the window and threw it open. Fresh air blew into the room and Hannah closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. When she opened them, she noticed the men standing in the shade of the old oak tree.
Clarence Schwab looked up and saw Hannah. Disdain crossed his face.
Fannie tugged her away from the window, then pulled down the shade. “You have to keep them closed out of respect for Jacob,” she chided. After leading her to a chair in the corner, she motioned for her to sit down. “This pacing isn’t doing you any good.”
Hannah sank into the chair and bowed her head. “This inquest is taking hours. It’s obvious what killed Jacob—a knife.”
Fannie knelt next to the chair and placed a hand on Hannah’s knee. “But they need to learn the events that led up to his death.”
Hannah’s head shot up. “I don’t like them questioning Willie.”
“They must. Willie was in the house last night, too.”
“He’s only a child.”
“But he might have heard something.” Fannie patted her knee and rose. “Once you’re finished testifying, they’ll return him to you.”
“And until then,” Hannah sniffed, “Grace Rosenthal is with him. She’s as harsh as her daughter.”
“Willie’s fine, Hannah. You mustn’t worry.”
Hannah stood and crossed to Willie’s dresser. She picked up the music box that her sister, Ida, had sent him for Christmas and ran her hand over the smooth finish. Mindful of Sheriff Winter’s warning not to discuss the investigation, and with Abe Engel standing in the hallway guarding the door, Hannah lowered her voice.
“What do you think about the men who Charles Walker,” she said, referring to the county attorney, “picked to serve on the jury?”
Fannie shot a look over her shoulder at the door, then crossed to Hannah. “Harry Rosenthal will use it to show how important he is,” Fannie whispered, “but Martin and Walter Bauer will keep him in line. They’ll want to find the truth.”
“I’ve already told them the truth,” Hannah cried.
“Shh,” Fannie said, placing a finger on her lips, “Abe might hear you.”
“But—”
A knock on the door cut her off.
“They’re ready for you now, Mrs. Krause,” Abe called from the hallway.
Hannah carefully placed the music box back on the dresser, smoothed her skirt, and left the room.
With the drapes and blinds drawn, the light in the dining room was subdued and shadows clung to the corners, but Hannah saw each of the men gathered around the table clearly. Martin, Walter, and Harry sat in a row with Dr. Morgan at the end. Martin and Walter both leaned forward with their arms resting on the table. Their faces wore the same somber and determined expression.
Harry leaned back in his chair with arms folded over his large stomach. His expression was anything but somber. As he watched Hannah, his eyes glinted with skepticism and he appeared ready to dismiss whatever she had to say.
Hannah looked down at her hands clutched tightly in her lap and prayed for this to be over.
She looked up at Charles Walker, standing in front of her, and steeled herself for his questioning. Slowly and calmly, she repeated her movements of the previous night.
Yes, they’d had supper, then Joseph and his father had spent the evening talking while she straightened the kitchen and prepared to do the baking. Yes, she’d retired to bed after Jacob. Yes, she’d gone to Willie’s room. No, she hadn’t noticed anything unusual on her way up the stairs. Yes, she’d spent time with Willie then returned to the kitchen. Yes, the back door had been open. No, nothing had been missing.
“And it was at that time you discovered Mr. Krause?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
“I really don’t remember—I think I screamed, then Willie came running into the room.”
The attorney picked up a sheaf of papers lying on the table and glanced at them. “Your stepson, Joseph Krause, testified that he found you sitting in the kitchen.”
“Yes—yes,” Hannah stammered, trying to remember how she and Willie came to be in the kitchen. “I didn’t want Willie to see his father.”
“After Joseph arrived, you sent Willie upstairs and Joseph for Sheriff Winter?”
She nodded and inhaled deeply. Thank God this was about over.
“Were you aware of Mr. Krause’s disagreement with Peter Ziegler?” he asked, catching her off guard.
“Ah no.”
“So you weren’t aware that Mr. Ziegler questioned your husband’s friendship with his widowed sister, Minnie Voigt?”
“What!” Hannah’s mouth dropped in shock. “Are you implying—”
“I’m not implying anything, Mrs. Krause,” he said hastily as he looked at the paper again. “Did you and Mr. Krause ever have disagreements?”
A sudden movement from the far corner of the dining room caught Hannah’s attention as Reverend Green stepped out. Her attention darted to Charles Walker, then back to Reverend Green.
“You didn’t answer my question, Mrs. Krause,” the county attorney insisted. “Did you and your husband have problems?”
“Occasionally,” she replied in a low voice.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Krause. I didn’t hear you.”
Hannah lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“Did he ever strike you?”
“Yes.”
“Willie? Did he ever strike Willie?”
“No.”
“So you were the one who bore the brunt of your husband’s temper . . .” He paused. “Did you ever fear for your life?”
She stared at the attorney defiantly. “No, Jacob knew he’d be punished if he killed me.”
“But he wouldn’t be punished for striking you?”
“Not unless I made a fuss.” Her attention traveled to Reverend Green. “And I was encouraged not to do that.”
He scratched his head. “Let me understand your situation, Mrs. Krause. You willingly accepted your husband’s treatment?”
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” she replied quietly.
At her words, the attorney’s attention stole to the knife lying on the table in front of Walter. His thoughts were as clear as if he’d spoken them aloud.
“I—I—” Hannah gasped.
“Did you know of his plan to divorce you?”
Joseph had told them about his father’s intent. Hannah fought to regain her composure. She turned to Dr. Morgan. “May I please have a glass of water?”
Reverend Green hurried from the room and returned a moment later. He handed her the glass, and she took it without meeting his eyes. She took several sips, then placed the glass on a small table next to her chair before returning her attention to the county attorney.
“I never discussed divorce with my husband.” She met his stare head-on. “The first I heard of it was today, and I only have my stepson’s word that it was something my husband was considering.” She looked pointedly at the knife. “I’ve never seen that knife before and I
did not
kill my husband,” she declared firmly.
“You want us to assume that your stepson might be mistaken concerning your husband’s plans?” Charles Walker lifted an eyebrow. “Might we, also, assume that he was mistaken,” he said and glanced down at the paper, “when you made the statement—I quote—‘then I’m glad he’s dead’? ”
Early fall 2012, the Krause family farm
T
rudy turned as Kate flew into the house. “What’s wrong?” she asked, startled by Kate’s haste.
“Leave me alone,” Kate cried as she hurried past her. Not stopping until she reached the second floor, she started toward her bedroom but then changed her mind. Hurrying down the hallway, she headed for the back bedroom.
Boxes of Christmas decorations, old books, and family photographs sat stacked along the wall. The bed, covered with an old chenille bedspread, had stacks of clothes wrapped tightly in clear plastic. After shoving the clothes aside, Kate sank down on the old mattress, making the bedsprings creak loudly.
Trembling, she laid a palm on her injured cheek. He’d struck her . . . Hot tears began a path down her face. Her knight in shining armor had bullied her. She pulled a shaking hand through her hair while she sobbed, her shoulders shook. Did he leave a mark? A cold cloth would feel good on her still-stinging cheek, but that would mean facing Trudy again. Better to stay here.
Kate tilted sideways onto the bed and drew her legs into a fetal position. She should pack her clothes and get out. But where would she go? She’d given up her apartment when she’d married Joe. That left her grandmother’s, and hell would freeze over before she gave that woman the satisfaction of saying “I told you so.” She didn’t even have a girlfriend to call. She’d been so involved with Joe and their courtship that she’d let all her friendships slide. Lindsay’s friendship had been the only one she’d maintained; but since Trudy’s lecture about letting go of her old life, she hadn’t talked to Lindsay all summer. Now it was too late. She was too embarrassed to suddenly call her now for emotional support.
Bitter tears ran down her face while self-pity kicked in. She didn’t deserve this. She’d tried to be a good person, and where was the payoff? A dead mother, a lost baby, an angry husband, and a mean mother-in-law.
She heard the sound of footsteps and raised her head.
Joe coming to apologize?
Part of her wanted this—wanted him to take her in his arms and swear he’d never hurt her again. But the other part of her was too angry to listen to him. How dare he raise his hand to her?
The footsteps faded.
Her grandmother’s voice carped in her mind: “
Your fault . . . you never could do anything right.
”
She drove the words from her head. She had promised herself after their last fight to do better at picking the right time to broach a difficult subject. It had been stupid of her to confront him when she knew he was furious with that neighbor. She should’ve known better.
Kate looked longingly at the window. God, it was hot in here and the air was stifling. She wanted to open the blinds and window—let a fresh breeze blow through the room—but her legs were too heavy to move. Too much effort to cross the room, she thought, wiping the crusted tears and dried sweat off her face.
Again she heard footsteps, and a moment later, Trudy appeared in the doorway.
“What’s going on? Joe just took off in his pickup.”
Kate rolled over, putting her back toward Trudy. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Trudy came around the bed and gawked at her. “That man’s my son and your husband. Anything—”
“
My
husband? He’s not
acting
like it,” Kate exclaimed.
“Like that, is it?” Trudy scowled. “Another fight. What are you trying to do? Destroy him?”
Kate shot up in bed. “Of course not.”
“The Krause men have always been high-strung,” she replied, crossing her arms, “and—”
“
That’s
what you call these rages?” Kate butted in. “Acting high-strung?”
Trudy continued, ignoring Kate’s question. “Joe works hard. He needs a stress-free home life.”
“So this is my fault?”
“If you’d quit pushing at him, he might treat you better.”
“That’s bullshit,” Kate blurted out.
“Didn’t you question his business deal with David Turner?”
Kate stiffened. “I have a right to try and understand the family’s business.
And
a right to an opinion.”
Trudy’s brow lifted. “No, you don’t. Joe runs this farm and his opinion is the only one that counts. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.” She swung away from the bed and tromped from the room.
“Of all the ridiculous things,” Kate muttered to herself, fuming. “I’m supposed to suck it up and take it?”
“
Do you love your husband?
” asked a little voice inside her head.
After throwing herself back onto the pillow, she stared up at the tiny cracks webbing the old plaster ceiling. Yesterday she wouldn’t have questioned it. She scooted down in the bed and curled onto her side. She’d had such dreams—belonging to a community, raising a baby, living in a happy home. Now those dreams had turned to dross.
She tucked her hand under the pillow. No life, no job, and after giving Joe her savings to use on the farm, no money. All she had was her marriage.
Her head began to pound, and she closed her eyes. As she drifted off to sleep, she felt a roughened hand smooth the hair away from her forehead.
In the twilight state between waking and dreaming, she was comforted.
When Kate woke up a couple of hours later, the blinds had been raised and the window was open. A light breeze ruffled the curtains.
She took a sharp breath and rolled over onto her back. Flopping her arm over her eyes, she exhaled slowly. Sooner or later she had to face Joe. Maybe Trudy was right—she was pushing him, whether she meant to or not. At first, his anger hadn’t been directed at her, but she hadn’t backed off, even when he’d told her not to press.
Kate swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Joe had been so kind and loving after the miscarriage, and that man had to still be inside of him. She needed to face him.
When she reached the kitchen, she found Joe standing against the counter. He looked quickly away.
“Where’s your mother?” she asked.
“I asked her to spend the night at her friend’s,” he replied, not meeting Kate’s eyes. “I figured we needed to talk in private.” He let out a long breath as he raised his attention to Kate. “Are you going to leave me?”
“I don’t want to,” she answered in a hushed voice, “but I’m not going to allow you to hit me again.”
He took a step forward. “I won’t—I swear—I don’t know what got into me.”
Kate held up her hand as the house seemed to close around her. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Together they went out into the yard and headed for the old apple orchard. As they walked, only a couple of feet separated them, but Kate felt a gaping distance between them. They stopped under a tree and Joe faced her.
“Kate,” he shook his head, “I’m ashamed of what I did. I should’ve never taken my anger out on you.”
“You’re right,” she said coldly. “I’m not your whipping post.”
“Of course not,” he declared vehemently. “I was angry and I let my temper get the best of me.” He held out his hands, palms up. “I’ve been under so much stress that I just lost it.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear it will never happen again.”
Kate eyed him skeptically. He seemed sincere, but could she trust him? Lines of worry crisscrossed his forehead and his eyes were red as if he’d been crying. Maybe his reaction had shocked him as much as it had her.
He slowly moved forward. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and I don’t want to lose you,” he pleaded in a soft voice. “I’m not a man to beg, but I’m begging you for another chance.”
To watch him humble himself this way broke the wall around Kate’s heart, and she ran to him. Catching her in his arms, he hung on tight while his ragged breath brushed against her ear.
“I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry,” he kept repeating.
Kate took a step back, reaching up to cup his cheek. He took her hand and placed a light kiss in the center of her palm. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he led her back to the house.
Kate was so relieved at their reconciliation that she failed to notice the pale light winking in and out from inside the old cabin.
The next morning, Kate raised her arms above her head and stretched. The last twenty-four hours had been an emotional roller coaster; she’d gone from misery to bliss. Her reconciliation with Joe had put their relationship on a higher level, and she finally felt at one with her husband. She had faith it wouldn’t happen again. Her smile widened. And the makeup sex wasn’t bad either.
She’d cuddled in her husband’s arms and, together, they’d planned their future. They’d even engaged in a little midnight snack fest in the kitchen . . . clothing optional . . . something they never could’ve done with Trudy in the house.
She sobered. If her marriage was to survive, she had to get Trudy into her own place. But how? Thinking back on her arguments with Joe, Kate realized that Trudy always seemed to be at the heart of them. Last night had been wonderful, but she knew that their bond was tenuous. She needed to approach Joe with caution when it came to his mother.
Standing and grabbing her robe, she wrenched it on. Trudy’s influence was not positive, in fact, the woman wore negativity like a shroud, and it seeped through every room in the house. She had to go.
First things first—she needed a car. She’d sold hers right before the wedding and now missed not having the freedom of her own wheels.
Coming into the kitchen, she noticed Joe had already made coffee. She crossed to him, and throwing her arms around his neck, gave him a lingering kiss.
Pulling back, she smiled up at him. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’ yourself,” he answered, moving in for another kiss, then resting his forehead against Kate’s. “That was nice.”
“I agree,” she answered as she stroked his cheek. Stepping away from her husband, she backed toward the refrigerator. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“It’s fine. I had cereal.”
“But that’s not enough.”
He waved her concern away. “Ma will be home by noon and she’ll make a big dinner. I’ll be okay until then.”
Kate’s happiness slipped. She grabbed a cup from the cupboard and poured her coffee. With her back to him, she carefully picked the words she’d use to explain her plan. She had to make sure she didn’t make it sound as if she lacked faith in him.
“Um, Joe,” she said, facing him and leaning back against the counter. “I’ve been thinking—”
“That’s not good,” he said with a chuckle.
“No, seriously—ah—um, I need to get out of the house more often.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I’ve lived here now for a couple of months, but barely know anyone.”
“So you want to join Ma’s church group?”
Kate shuddered. The last thing she wanted to do was socialize with Trudy and her friends.
“Ah . . . no,” she said with hesitation. “I’d like to get a job. Nothing full-time,” she continued swiftly, “just something to get me out of the house a couple of days a week.”
He snorted. “You want to sling hash over at the Four Corners Café?”
“No,” she answered with a lift of her chin. “I am a certified public accountant.”
He took a sip of his coffee before commenting. “Won’t do you much good around here. Jobs are pretty scarce.”
“Maybe I could work for a local attorney?”
He drained his coffee and placed the cup on the counter. “Sure. Give it a try, but nobody will hire you.”
“Umm”—she paused—“one last thing. I need a car.”
“Huh?” He looked at her with surprise. “We’ve got a car and a pickup.”
Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “But I always feel like I need permission to use them.”
“We don’t have the money for a new car—”
“But it doesn’t have to be new,” she interrupted. “All I need is something to get me back and forth to town.”
“Kate,” he said in a condescending voice, “do you know what the roads around here are like in the winter? There are drifts as high as your waist. If you drove an old junker, I’d be spending all my time pulling you out of the ditch with the tractor.” He shook his head again. “We don’t have the money.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Tell you what . . . you get a job, then figure out how to pay for a car, and I’ll go along with it.”
“Seriously?” she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Sure,” he answered with a smirk. “Why not?” He glanced over her shoulder at the clock. “Daylight’s burning, so I need to get going.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head and turned to leave.
“I’m driving into town to look for a job as soon as your mother gets back,” she called after him.
“Fine by me,” he said with a wave and another chuckle.
Kate narrowed her eyes as she watched him leave. He didn’t think she could do it. She’d show him.
