Veda: A Novel (21 page)

I stayed up half the night starin at the TV without any idea what was on. Charlie hollered, “Come to bed,” but I couldn’t bear the thought of sleepin with him. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, I went in one of the empty bedrooms and curled up on top of the blankets.

The newspaper report stirred up a shitstorm. Girls that hadn’t spoke up before said Charlie had done worse things than just showin his pecker. They said he touched em, fondled em, made em promise not to tell.

Kathy phoned, cryin. Brian’s mom had seen it in the paper and called her. “It isn’t true, is it, Mom? How could he do this? And why did I have to hear about it this way?”

I didn’t know what to say to her, or anyone else. I stayed in the house so I wouldn’t have to face the neighbors. The girls’ families said they wouldn’t press charges if Charlie pled guilty to indecent exposure and left town. He was told to sell the house, settle his business, and leave. He would git off easy. No jail time.

Charlie went around with a black cloud over his head, and I went around in a cold sweat. He refused to own up to any of it. Claimed the girls lied. For a month he set on his hands, growlin about bein tarred and feathered. He wouldn’t put the house up for sale and wouldn’t go down to the court to sign the papers to keep himself out of jail. He kept talkin about gittin a lawyer, but didn’t do that either. He got fired from his job, so we were goin to lose the house anyhow. I didn’t know where we’d go or what we’d live on. Neither one of us was old enough to git Social Security. And it was a sure bet I wouldn’t git any more babysettin jobs.

.

45

M
AMA HAD BEEN ON
Charlie’s side at first, but after them other things come out, them other little girls, she said she couldn’t bear it. Bea drove down again to git her and they left without sayin anythin to Charlie. I thought of goin back to Oregon with em, but my kids were all in California and I didn’t want to be that far away. After Mama left, I moved into her rooms and listened to Charlie through the walls. Stompin around, bangin things, swearin from time to time. Carryin on like it was him that was wronged instead of them girls.

Finally, he agreed to register as a sex offender, and we signed a quitclaim deed on the house. The whole business made me sick. I felt like I been stuck in quicksand my whole life. Ever’time I got one leg out, the other one sunk in. Anger stuck in my throat like food that wouldn’t go down. As if what he done to them girls wasn’t bad enough, he caused us to lose the house too. The house my family had give us the down payment for. I prayed I could find it in me to forgive Charlie, for what he done to them little girls and what he done to me.

“You’re not staying with him?” Kathy shouted into the phone. “After what he did?”

“Well, what else can I do? None of you kids want me movin in with you. And I wouldn’t do that to you anyway. I know how hard that is on a family. On a marriage. This is my problem and I’ll figure it out.”

“You could—”

“I could what? I don’t have any money of my own. I don’t have any skills. Hell, I can’t even pass a goddamn driver’s test.”

“You can’t stay.”

“Well I’m goin to. Charlie’s lookin for a house to rent, and I’ll go wherever that is.”

Charlie got a part-time job up in the hills towards Reno and rented a little two-bedroom cabin. The move was hard with just the two of us wrestlin furniture, luggin boxes, and goin back to clean the empty house. Charlie said to leave it, but I wouldn’t. The neighbors would have enough to gossip about. I didn’t want em sayin I left a filthy house too.

I unpacked at the new place. Put away dishes and books and clothes. Hung up the kids’ graduation pictures the way I had em in the other house. I was so proud of them pictures, but there was only six, not seven. Kathy had went on and got her diploma after she was married, but she didn’t git a picture made.

It was hot and I was dead tired. I told Charlie I’d be takin the back bedroom, and he didn’t argue. For days I dragged around tryin to put the place in order, and went to bed soon as supper was over. I couldn’t put what Charlie done out of my mind. Carryin it weighed me down and all I wanted to do was sleep.

We put the electric and phone services in my name ’cause Charlie’s was on the unpaid bills at the old address. I got a checkin account in my name too, and took over payin the bills, promisin myself we wouldn’t git behind ever again.

I liked bein in the woods. It was peaceful and quiet and there was all that clean, piney air. Made me think of the campin trips we used to take with the kids, and how much I used to love to fish. I rummaged around in our shed and found a pole and a reel and decided to give it a try. I went most mornins after that. Dug up some worms, took a thermos of coffee and a sandwich and set by the river. Sometimes I caught a couple of rainbow trout, but if I didn’t, that was okay too.

It’s funny how things stick in your mind. I read somethin once about buryin your troubles. Just diggin a hole and buryin em. It sounded silly, but I was diggin up worms anyway. So I dug way down deep, to where the bottom of the hole was startin to fill up with river water. I got me a rock and threw it in the hole
. Okay,
I thought,
I’m goin to let it go. It’s Charlie’s sin, not mine.
Then I pushed all the dirt back in and covered up the hole. It was such a ridiculous thing to do, but it made me feel better somehow. And when Charlie started comin along with me to the river on his days off, I didn’t mind so much. We just set quiet, watchin the water rush past our lines, only talkin when one of us got a strike.

As time passed, that thing with Charlie got shoved aside. Not forgot about, but not talked about either. He’d swore he hadn’t done what they said, that he’d only signed the papers to git the law off his back. I wanted to believe it. I wanted to put the whole mess behind us. The kids all knew Charlie’d lost his job, but nobody questioned why. Kathy knew, but whether the older ones did or not, I couldn’t say. It was a shameful thing, and I wasn’t goin to be the one to tell em.

.

46

M
AMA GOT BAD AGAIN
after she went back to Oregon, and Bea couldn’t deal with her. “Can you and Charlie take her back?”

“We don’t have room, Bea, you know that. Can’t you find a nursin home?”

“Veda, she hates nursing homes. She says she’d rather die.”

“They’re not all bad,” I said. “There’s no way I can keep her here.”

“Well maybe you could find one where you are. And with you close by, she might not fight it so hard.”

“I don’t know of any, Bea. But I guess I can look around.”

I went through the phone book and made a list. Charlie drove and we spent a whole day visitin foster care and nursin homes. Some were awful. Even dressed up with fancy settin rooms and nice furniture, they smelled like sickness and Lysol and shit. But by the end of the day, I found one that was clean and comfortable without all the window dressin. And the people that run it seemed down-to-earth and genuine. I told em about Mama and how she could be difficult at times. That she would put up a fuss. They said they were used to that, but most folks adjust.

Bea drove Mama down and we got her settled in. I knew I’d have to pass the driver’s test and git me a car so I could visit Mama without Charlie havin to take me, so I started lookin for ads in the paper and found a used Ford Pinto. Charlie drove it and said, except for the dent in the fender, it was in good shape. Once I got it, I couldn’t wait to git my license. This time a lady officer give me the test. She was friendly and didn’t make me nervous. Just got in the car like me and her was goin for a Sunday drive. Said to turn here, and go there, and I didn’t make no mistakes at all. When she told me I passed, I was so tickled I hugged her.

I drove all over the place in that little green car. Grocery store, the bank, and up to the post office. I wasn’t brave enough to go to the city, but around them quiet streets where we lived was easy, and I felt proud of myself. I went to see Mama every day. Set in her room, ate with her, read to her, brushed her hair, and made sure she got her medicines on time. When she dozed off, I wandered around and did what I could to help with the other old people. Got to know all their names, and ever’time I come out of Mama’s room, one or more of em was waitin for me, wantin my attention.

Of course, I had my favorites. Mary was near ninety. She had this baby-doll that she carried around all the time, talked to it like it was real. But Mary could still play the piano, and when she set down to play you’d swear you was listenin to Liberace. And there was Bert, a cute little man with a sweet disposition. Bent over he wasn’t more’n five feet tall. He fancied himself a ladies’ man and he kept the staff busy makin sure he wasn’t climbin in bed with his favorites.

Mama didn’t like the nurses, the food, or her room, and she didn’t like bein penned up with a bunch of “lunatics.” She might of been easier to deal with if she was senile, but she wasn’t. The only one she liked in the whole place was the young Adventist minister that come every Sabbath to visit her. She was gettin real frail, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d have her.

On her ninetieth birthday I threw her a party at our place in the woods. We set up a big table on the lawn. Got a sheet cake from the bakery. Had lemonade and balloons, and Mama got lots of cards. Kathy’s family was there, and Janie, and Eddie and his wife. Rosalie and Pete drove all the way down from Winslow with their kids. Some of the staff from the nursin home came too, and Mama’s minister friend.

There was a nice write-up in the local newspaper about it. Mentioned where Mama grew up, and how many children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren she had. Even put in one of her poems that’d been published in the Adventist magazine,
Review and Herald
. I think that was the part she liked best.

.

47

M
AMA HUNG ON FOR THREE
more years. After she passed away, time stretched out like a road to no place. I felt lost, slept late, and didn’t know what to do with myself. The only thing I ever done in my life was take care of people, and with Mama gone, there wasn’t nobody to take care of. The kids were all grown up. None of my grandkids lived close. And I was sure as hell done takin care of Charlie.

I missed Mama. Missed all those old people at the nursin home. So after a time I started goin back. The nurses told me what would help most was to set with folks. Just hold their hands and listen to em talk. They were lonesome, and most of em didn’t have family come visit like I done with Mama. So that’s what I did. I listened. And what I heard from a lot of em was how scared they was of dyin. Not the pain or what they was leavin behind, but scared of what would happen to em after. Scared of goin to Hell. It didn’t seem right. Seemed to me if they done things they was sorry for, things like hurtin somebody, or havin a hateful heart, they could make peace with God on their own, and they didn’t need a preacher to set there and hear em say it. So I held their hands and told em they didn’t need to be afraid. Told em God loves all his children and nothin bad was gonna happen.

But in truth, I was scared too. All my life, Mama had pounded fear into me the same way she pounded dirt out of Papa’s overalls. Told me over and over that I had to be ready, to make sure my slate was clean. But my ears was so stopped up with resentment about how the church had treated me, that I refused to listen. I hadn’t ever stopped believin in Jesus. Believin that there was a God and a heaven. I always knew God was watchin over me and my kids, always knew He’d forgive me for the things I done if only I asked Him in my heart. I just didn’t like havin Mama’s style of religion shoved down my throat.

What I was tellin the old folks brought me around to askin for forgiveness for my own sins. But it says in the Lord’s Prayer, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” so I knew I had to go first. I had to forgive the people who had wronged me, and that was the hard part. I wondered if I would be able to do it.

I set in the parkin lot of the local Adventist Church with a dry mouth and a gut knotted up like a piece of cheap rope. I knew I could of gone to a different kind of church, but I had tried before. There was somethin about all of em that didn’t fit, and I realized that the first step in the forgivin process was to make peace with the church that had banished me. The church I’d tried so hard to run away from.

I took a deep breath, clamped my purse so tight under my arm it had to be leavin red marks, and got out of the car.

Inside, the organist was playin “Rock of Ages … Cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee,” a song that’d always been my favorite. People smiled and shook my hand, and I settled into a pew to listen. The words were familiar but, at the same time, different. Where I would of heard judgment before, now I heard love. Love and hope and forgiveness. It was on people’s faces. In their gestures. Shinin in through the windows. And when ever’body stood up to sing, I did too. I didn’t even need a hymnbook.

I went back the next week, and the next, lookin forward to it ever’time. I could feel my heart open up and let go of all that stuff from the past, all those old resentments. I forgave Raymond and his mother, the Grants Pass church, and them ladies in the Dorcas Society.

Ed was another matter entirely. Somethin I’d never come to grips with. I suppose I forgave him too, even though I half believed there was nothin to forgive. Maybe him disappearin wasn’t his fault. Maybe he did drown. Or if he did run off, maybe he had a reason. I still loved him, or at least I loved his memory, so I made allowances.

Gittin rid of all that bitterness and hurt shifted somethin inside me, and I knew it was time to ask the Lord to forgive me. So I stayed in the pew one Sabbath after ever’body was gone, and I talked to God. I told him how sorry I was for all the wrong things I done. For sleepin with those men after Ed left, for takin up with Charlie when he was married to someone else, for the drinkin, and for takin His name in vain. I asked him to forgive me for the hateful thoughts and grudges I held against people, and for placin so much blame on Him for things that happened. I got down on my knees then, and asked him for … what was the word Raymond used? Redemption.