Tomato Girl (33 page)

“But where is he?” I wipe tears from my eyes. I'm glad Daddy was found safe, but don't want to think of him struggling to break free. I don't want to picture him bruised or hurt.

Sheriff Rhodes clears his throat. “Ellie, honey, your daddy is in jail. You know I had to …”

“No, you didn't! You're the sheriff. You don't have to lock anybody up unless you want to! You just don't like my daddy.”

“No, Ellie.” He stares into my eyes. “I locked up your father because he killed a man.”

I forget about the neighbors. I hurt so bad inside I have to hurt someone back. I start hitting Sheriff Rhodes. “That's not true! It's not true!”

He doesn't yell or smack me. Instead he puts his arms around me and holds me tight. And I cry. I cry until I think my face may break open like a shell.

“G
OOD
G
OD
, J
ULIA
, what have you done?”

Sheriff Rhodes rubs his unshaven beard with both hands. He stares at Mama as if he sees a ghost.

In the days that Sheriff Rhodes has been gone, Mama hasn't bathed, changed her clothes, or combed her hair. She's hardly eaten and can't sleep because Baby Tom is colicky and cries all night. She looks thin, sick, and dirty.

Mama picks at the mole on her neck, making it bleed again. She tugs at the mole, then touches her face, smudging blood on her cheek.

Mama stares at the sheriff. “Did you find him, then?”

“Yes, Julia.”

Mama wraps her arms around herself as if the room suddenly
turned cold. She looks out the window, doesn't say anything for a few minutes, then turns toward Sheriff Rhodes. “Where's his little whore? Did you find her, too, George? Go on, you can tell me. Was he with his whore when you found him?”

“Mama!” I cover my ears with my hands. I don't want to hear.

“Julia, listen to me.” Sheriff Rhodes kneels by Mama's chair. He pulls his handkerchief from his pocket and wipes Mama's neck, then takes her hand in his. “This is important, honey. Rupert is in trouble. We found the gun. There's enough evidence to convict him. God knows, I wish that wasn't true, but it is. He's going to need a good lawyer, and I'm not sure you're in any shape to take care of this. You've got to come up with the retainer. Might have to take out a loan, mortgage the house. You've got to pull yourself together. Maybe you should call your brothers in Georgia, ask them to help.”

Mama laughs. “If you think Charlie and Hunter are going to come up here and help Rupert Sanders, you're a fool. They can't stand him. Hunter would rather see Rupert fry in the electric chair than buy him a cup of coffee.”

I gasp. “Mama, please!”

“Hush, now. Nobody's going to the electric chair. Not over a drunk like Mason Reed, that's for damn sure.” He pats Mama's hand. “Listen, I got the girl out in the car, Julia. She's hardly able to speak, drools all over herself. Hell if I know what happened to her, some kind of brain damage, I think. I got to check her into the hospital, then find a social worker to see if she has any other kin to look after her.”

“I don't care what you do with her.” Mama spits out her words.

“I understand that. All I'm saying is, I have to make some arrangements for her, and afterwards, go check on Rupert. Let's see how he's thinking after he's had time to cool down. By then, it'll be too late for me to come back tonight. Millie's already been complaining.” He clears his throat. “But I'll be here first thing in
the morning. I'll bring Clara, ask her to draw you a bath, maybe give you something to help you sleep. Then if you don't call Charlie or Hunter, by God, I will. They might not care what happens to Rupert, but somebody's got to look after you.”

“Ellie's looking after me.”

“She's a child, Julia.”

I take my hands away from my ears. “I need Daddy. He knows how to take care of Mama. He knows how to take care of me!”

Sheriff Rhodes stands up. “Everybody's nerves are on edge. We all just need to take a deep breath. Ellie, soon as I leave, I want you to fix your Mama a cup of hot tea and a sandwich. Can you do that?”

I nod.

“Good.” He turns toward Mama. “Julia, honey, I hate seeing you like this. Things are going to get better. I promise you that. Just hang on another night, and we'll sort this all out, first thing in the morning.”

Mama's eyes fill with tears. “Go home to your wife,” she says, and turns her head away.

Sheriff Rhodes's shoulders drop as he walks to the door. He stops and pats my head. “You'll be all right tonight, Ellie? I'm going to find somebody to come in here and help. Clara. Maybe a nurse from the health department. Somebody. She can't go on like this. I've seen her moody, know she has her rough times, but never like this.”

“Not a nurse. No! Have Clara come in the morning. She'll know what to do,” I say, then add, “When can I see Daddy?”

“Soon, honey. Maybe in a day or two. I'll be back in the morning with Clara,” he says, then walks out the front door.

I remember the cake Miss Wilder left and hurry to take it to Sheriff Rhodes.

“What's that?” he asks, staring at the Tupperware in my hands.

“It's a cake. I want Daddy to have it. Maybe it will make him feel better.”

“You didn't slip a file in here, did you?” He smiles, but his eyes are sad.

“No,” I whisper. I know he was only joking, but I can't smile. I'm trying hard not to cry again.

“I'll make sure he gets it.”

I can't say thank you. My voice is like a splinter stuck in my throat.

Sheriff Rhodes turns and walks to his car.

I watch Tess in the backseat. She presses her pale face against the glass and smiles.

I don't smile back.

I
DO AS
S
HERIFF
R
HODES
asked, and make Mama tea and a sandwich. The tea is no problem, but there's no meat in the house, and no mayonnaise or mustard. The peanut butter in the bottom of the jar is barely enough to cover one slice of bread. I could stretch it if we had honey or applesauce, but we are out of those, too. Mama bought so few things at the market, and most of those were the wrong things. So I end up smearing butter on bread and adding thin slices of sweet onions, and a little salt and pepper.

Mama only nibbles her food, spitting out most of the onion as if it is too bitter to eat. She chews a bit of bread and sips her tea. After she shoves her cup and saucer aside, she paces the floor and picks at her mole.

I don't know Mama's brothers but I hope they will come and help. I'm tired of trying to take care of everything. I'm tired of keeping secrets and looking after Mama and Baby Tom.

“E
LLIE, HONEY, GET UP
. There's something the matter with the baby.” Mama's cold hand shakes me awake.

I rub my eyes and try to focus in the dark. Moonlight through my window gives my room a milky glow. I see Mama's white skin, then the jar with Baby Tom inside as she shoves it toward my face. In my half sleep, I see his mouth open.

“What, Mama? What's wrong?”

“Well, he keeps fussing. I try to rock him, but he won't settle. Look at his face. See how pained he looks?” Mama winces as if she herself feels Baby Tom's pain. He's like the tree she feeds from, her moods somehow tied to his.

“Maybe he's hungry.” I don't like seeing Mama press the glass against her naked breast, but feeding Baby Tom sometimes makes her sleep.

“I tried that. He didn't want my milk. I think it was the onion on that sandwich. It made my milk bitter. Why'd you feed me onion, Ellie? Are you tying to turn my baby against me?”

“Of course not, Mama.” I need to think of another idea before Mama goes on about the onion. She scares me when she blames me for something bad. Recently, everything is my fault; I don't want to be blamed for Baby Tom turning against her.

Still trying to wake up, I search my mind for an idea, and offer the only one that comes to me. “Well, he could be cold, Mama.”

Mama holds up one hand as if testing the room's temperature. She must decide for herself, since she doesn't trust me because of the onion sandwich. “Yes, that could be it.” She smiles slightly, then tells me she's going to wrap Tom in the blanket she's been knitting. “Good night, Ellie.”

“'Night, Mama.”

After she leaves my room, I close my eyes, but can't get back to sleep. I think of Daddy in a cold jail cell with only a thin blanket to keep him warm. I think, too, about what Sheriff Rhodes said, how Daddy didn't want to leave Tess. I remember the day he went away, how he didn't look back. It was easy for him to leave me. What had I done to make Daddy stop loving me?

A sudden noise startles me. My voice catches in my throat. I know the sound right away. I've heard it many times, in the kitchen and in Daddy's store.

Glass.

Breaking.

Ma
MA IS IN THE HALLWAY
, screaming. “No, no, no! Not my baby!”

I don't have to see it to know what's happened. She's broken the jar with Baby Tom inside.

My stomach twists tight like a knotted rope.

Get up, Ellie. Walk into the hall and help Mama back to bed. The broken glass and formaldehyde must be cleaned up before she gets cut. Someone must pick up Baby Tom and find a place for him: another jar, a shoebox, a tin can with holes.

No, no, no.

“Why wouldn't you stop crying? Why wouldn't you just stop?” Mama yells. The blame shifts from me to Baby Tom. It isn't my onion sandwich, but Tom's own fault. He is dead, but still to blame. I'm glad, but ashamed. I'm more afraid than I ever knew I could be.

Thoughts flood my head. After I get Mama back to bed, I'll have to make up with Mary Roberts to get more formaldehyde. Or maybe I could put him in vinegar. Or maybe salt water.

Clara will come in the morning. Maybe she'll know how to keep a dead baby from going bad.

Mama screams again.

I need to go to her, but I can't make myself move. I feel frozen in place.

In the hallway, Mama's screams turn to sobs. There's a dull banging sound, over and over, as if she's hitting her head against the wall.

I have to go to her. There's no choice. No one else can go for me. I am on my own.

My head spins when I stand. Please, God, don't let me faint. I'm so afraid of what I'll see on the other side of the door, I can barely breathe.

I reach for the doorknob. My hand shakes.

What if the hall is too dark for me to see? What if I step on the baby?

I take a deep breath, open the door, and step into the hall.

Oh, God. Mama, please. No!

Red. There's too much red.

On the floor, and the wall, all over her gown. Nothing but red.

I've never seen so much blood. Ribbons spill from Mama's wrist. She sits on the floor, her head and shoulders propped against the wall. Pieces of glass lie on the floor. She holds a large piece in her hands, uses it to cut a deep gash across her other wrist. Blood sprays from her new cut.

“Mama!” I don't know what to do. There is too much red.

I hurry, grab Mama's hands, make her give me the piece of glass. She doesn't want to let go, but I pull hard, until her fingers give. While taking the glass away, I cut my hands.

Mama tries to reach for other pieces. I have to gather them up so she can't get them. My bleeding hands are soon full of glass.

Baby Tom lies facedown on the floor in a puddle of formaldehyde, but I have to leave him there for now. I'm holding too much glass to pick him up. I'm afraid I'll cut him.

My legs take me back to the bathroom. I need to think fast. I throw the glass into the sink and grab all the towels I can carry.

I kneel beside Mama, press the towels on the places she's cut.
I press hard, try to get Mama to help. “Please, Mama, hold the towel. Why, Mama, why did you do this?”

“The baby wouldn't stop crying, Ellie. I couldn't listen to him cry another night.”

“Oh, Mama. What am I supposed to do? Tell me what to do?” There is blood on my hands and my nightgown. I keep pressing, but don't know how to make the bleeding stop.

Mama's eyes open and close. Her skin is pale and cold.

“He doesn't love me, Ellie. I just wanted him …”

“Wanted him what, Mama?” I press a clean towel over each of her wrists. Red soaks the towel.

“I just wanted him to stop crying.” She winces.

“He's not crying now, Mama.”

“He's not?” Mama shifts her head as if to listen.

“No, he's not.” I crawl on my knees and pick up Baby Tom. He's stiff, slippery, and cold, like a rubber doll left out in the rain. He smells bad, like the formaldehyde.

“Here, Mama.” I place Baby Tom on her chest. My bloody hands leave prints across his tiny back. “He's not crying, Mama.”

A weak smile crosses her lips. Mama's eyes flood with tears. “You're right, Ellie. He isn't crying.” She swallows hard. “He isn't crying anymore.”

There is too much blood on the floor, on the towels, on the front of Mama's gown.

I stand up to leave Mama and Baby Tom. I have to go downstairs and call for help.

Mama cries, “Don't go, Ellie. Don't leave me alone.”

I remember crying those words in the middle of the road the day Daddy went away. I know how bad it feels when someone leaves you alone.

“I was never going to leave you, Mama. I'm sorry about packing my suitcase. I just wanted Daddy to come back for me. I didn't want to leave you. Not ever.”

Mama's eyelids flicker, then close.

M
Y EYES SEARCH OUT
cracks in the ceiling. If the roof splits open, I'll see stars.

I stare without blinking, practice widening the cracks with my eyes. The white plaster crumbles. Dark rafters fall away.