When She Was Good (37 page)

“Oh,” said Julian, “you are a real saint, you are.”

“Compared to you, I most certainly am. Yes!”

“Well, Saint Lucy,” he said, running a hand over his stubble, “don’t worry so much about your offspring any more. Because he hates your guts.”

She brought her hands up over her face. “That’s not true. That’s Roy’s terrible, terrible lie. That’s … no. No, that isn’t—”

She felt Irene’s hand on her arm.

“No, no,” she wept, and fell back again into the chair. “What … what are you planning to do to me? You can’t steal my child. This is kidnaping, Irene. Irene, this is against every law there is.”

Julian spoke. “Leave her alone.”

Irene answered something that Lucy could not hear.

“We are settling something here, Irene. Get away from her. Let her alone. She has done her last—”

Suddenly Lucy came charging up at him, shaking her fists. “You won’t get away with this! Whatever it is you think you are going to do to me!”

Julian only jammed his hands down into the pockets of his robe.

“This is kidnaping, Julian, if that’s what you have on your mind! Kidnaping—and abandonment! He can’t run out on me and take my child! There are laws, Julian, laws against people like you!”

“Fine. You go out and get yourself a lawyer. Nothing would make me happier.”

“But I don’t
need
a lawyer! Because I intend to solve this right here and now!”

“Oh, but you do need one, Lucy. Let me tell you something. You are going to need the best damn lawyer money can buy.”

Irene said, “Julian, the child is in no condition—”

He shook off his wife’s hand. “Neither is Roy, Irene! Neither is Eddie! Neither is any of us! We have all taken enough orders and insults from this little bitch here—”

“Julian—”

But here he turned angrily back to Lucy. “Because that’s all you are, you know. A little ball-breaker of a bitch. That’s the saint you are, kiddo—Saint Ball-Breaker. And the world is going to know it, too, before I’m through with you.”

“Don’t,” said Irene.

“Irene, enough don’t! I already have heard your don’ts a long time ago.”

Lucy was shaking her head. “Let him go on, Irene. I don’t care. He is only showing himself for what he is.”

“Right you are, Saintie. That’s what I am. And that is how come the busting of the balls stops with these. That’s right, you smile through your tears, you smile how smart you are and what a terrible mouth old Julian has. Oh, I have got a terrible mouth. I am an old no-good beast, besides. But I’m going to tell you something, Lucy—you busted his balls, and you were starting in on little Eddie’s, but that is
all
over. And if that strikes you funny now, let us see how funny it is going to strike you in the courtroom, because that is where I am dragging your ass, little girl. Little twerp. Little nothing. You
are going to be one bloody little mess when I get through with you, Saint Lucy.”

“
You’re
taking
me
to a courtroom?”

“Dirty language and all. Uh-huh.”

“You?” she asked, still with a strange smile on her face.

“That’s right. Me.”

“Well, that’s marvelous.” In her purse she found a handkerchief. She blew her nose. “That’s wonderful, really. Because you, Julian, are a wicked man, and to get you in a courtroom—” At the top of the stairs, at last, Roy appeared, Eleanor behind him. So here they all were, those who only a few hours earlier had conspired against her … Well, she would not weep, she would not plead; she did not have to. She would speak the truth.

She looked from one to the other of them, and with that unshakable knowledge that she was right and they were wrong, a great calm came over her. It was not necessary to raise her voice, or to shake a fist; only to speak the truth.

“You are a wicked man, Julian. And you know it.”

“Know
what?
” His shoulders seemed to have thickened as he hunched forward to hear her words. “Know what, did you say?”

“We won’t need lawyers, Julian. We won’t have to go any further than this living room. Because it is not for you to tell me, or to tell anyone here, what is right and what is wrong. And you know that, I’m sure. Shall I go on, Julian? Or do you wish to apologize now before your family?”

“Listen, little loudmouth,” he said, and started for her.

“You are a whoremonger,” she said—and it stopped him. “You pay women to sleep with you. You have had a series of mistresses. You cheat on your wife.”

“Lucy!” Ellie cried.

“But isn’t it the truth, Eleanor?”

“No!”

She turned to Irene Sowerby. “I would rather not have had to say what I just did—”

Irene dropped onto the couch. “You didn’t have to.”

“But I did,” said Lucy. “You saw how he was treating me. You heard his intentions. Have I any choice, Irene, but to speak the truth?”

Irene was shaking her head.

“He had a sexual affair with the woman who was the manager of the laundromat in Selkirk. I have forgotten her name. I’m sure he can tell you, however.”

The glare Julian had fastened on her was murderous. Well, let him try. Let him lay one finger on her, just let him try, and then he’ll see who it is who will be appearing before a judge. Then his marvelous dream would come true all right—only the defendant would not be her, but himself.

“And,” she said, returning his gaze directly, “there was another woman, who he was either supporting, or keeping, or paying for her services. I would imagine there is now someone else, somewhere. Am I wrong, ‘Uncle’ Julian?”

It was Irene who spoke. “Be still.”

“I am only giving you the truth.”

The woman stood. “You have spoken enough.”

“But it is
the truth!
” said Lucy. “And it will not go away, Irene, because you refuse to believe it. He is a whoremonger! A philanderer! An adulterer! He schemes behind your back! He degrades you! He despises you, Irene! Don’t you realize that? That is what it means when a man does what he is doing to you!”

Ellie was holding the banister with her two hands, her hair half covering her face. Whatever she was sobbing, Lucy could not understand.

“I’m sorry, Eleanor. This is not my idea of how to behave either. But there is only so much bullying, so much filth and treachery and hatred I can willingly stand here and take. I did not come here, I assure you, for the purpose of attacking your father. What I said I said in self-defense. He is a heartless man—”

“But she knows,” wept Ellie. “She knew, she always knew.”

“Eleanor!” said Irene Sowerby.

“You know?” cried Lucy. “You mean,” she said to Irene, “you
know
what he is—” She was incredulous. “All of you in this room
know
what he is and what he has done and still you were going to allow …” Momentarily she could not even speak. “I don’t believe it,” she said at last. “That you can be so utterly unscrupulous and deceitful, so thoroughly corrupt and—”

“Oh, Roy,” said Ellie, turning to her cousin. “She’s crazy.” And she put her face into his chest and wept.

Roy was wearing a plaid robe of Julian’s that was sizes too small for him. With one arm he began to pat Ellie’s back.

“Oh,” said Lucy, looking up at the two of them, “is that the story, Roy? Not that your uncle is crazy, not that your aunt is crazy—but that I am? And what else, Roy? I’m crazy, and what else? Oh, yes, Edward hates me. And what else? Surely there must be more? What other lies have you invented to justify what you have done to me?”

“But what has he done to you!” Ellie screamed. “You are crazy, you
are!
You’re insane!”

She waited until Ellie had regained enough control over herself to listen. Irene Sowerby was now standing by her husband, preventing him from making any move toward Lucy; she had her face half hidden in his chest—in the chest of that man who cared nothing at all for her honor.

To Eleanor, Lucy said, “I am not Skippy Skelton, Ellie, if that’s what you mean. Nor am I you. Nor am I your mother, though probably that is clear by now.”

“Nothing is clear! Nothing you
say
is clear!” cried Ellie, even as her mother raised a hand to tell her to be quiet.

But Ellie cried, “I want to know what she even means!”

Lucy said, “I mean, Eleanor, that I am not promiscuous—I don’t run around with married men. I mean that I am not a vain and idiotic child. I don’t spend half my waking hours, and probably more, thinking about my hair and my clothes and my shoes—”

“What are you?” wailed Ellie. “The Virgin Mary?”

Julian stepped forward, freeing himself from his wife, who had begun to cry now too. “Enough, Eleanor.”

“Daddy,” Ellie wept.

“Daddy,” repeated Lucy. “Wonderful Daddy.”

“You get on the phone, Lucy,” said Julian, breathing thickly. “You call your grandfather. You tell him to get over here and take you home … Now either you do it, or I will.”

“But my home happens not to be here, Julian. My home is in Fort Kean, with my husband and my child.” She looked up toward her husband. “Roy, we are going home. I want you to get ready.”

All that moved were his eyes; they darted from one to the other of the people in the living room.

“Roy, did you hear me? We’re returning to our own home.”

He remained motionless and silent.

“Of course,” she said, “the choice is yours, Roy. You can either be a man about it, and return with me and Edward, or you can follow the advice of this most worthy—”

“Lucy!” Roy threw his hands over his head. “For God’s sake, cut it out!”

“But I can’t, Roy!” Cut it out, indeed! “Nor can you! Oh, you can cut out, all of you, the fact that this uncle, this Daddy, this husband here, happens to be a filthy beast. You can fool yourselves about this cheat, and tell yourselves I’m insane—oh, live with him, sleep with him, who cares! But cut it
out?
Oh, no, Roy—because there happens to be one more important fact to consider. I’ll tell you why it so happens you can’t take your uncle’s advice, Roy—and I’ll tell your uncle too. It so happens, Roy, and Julian, and Eleanor, and Irene, it so happens that I am pregnant.”

“You are what?” whispered Julian.

Roy said, “Lucy … what do you mean?”

There was no need to raise her voice now to be heard. “I am going to have a baby.”

Roy said, “I don’t understand you.”

“The daughter that you wanted, Roy, is alive inside me. Alive and growing.”

Julian was saying, “What daughter?
Now
what in hell are you—?”

“Roy is going to be the father of a second child. It is our hope that it will be a girl.”

Julian was looking up at Roy.

“Roy,” she said, “go ahead. Tell them.”

“Tell them
what?
”

“What you told me. Roy, tell them what you told me you wanted.”

“Lucy,” he answered, “I don’t under
stand
you.”

“Roy, are you actually now going to deny—”

“Pregnant?” said Julian. “Oh, not that old song and dance—”

“Ahh, but I
am
, Julian! I know you yourself happen not to like them, but facts are facts! I am pregnant with Roy Bassart’s child. The child he wanted. The child he has been dreaming of all his life. Linda, Roy. Well, tell them!”

“Oh, no,” Roy said.

“Roy, you
tell
them.”

“But, Lucy—”

“Roy Bassart, that snowy night—did you or did you not—I can’t believe you will actually lie about this now too! Did you or did you not get out of bed—? Did you or did you not tell me—? Linda, Roy—Linda Sue!”

“But, Lucy; oh my God—we were just talking.”

“
Talking!
”

He sank onto a step at the top of the landing, his head cradled in his hands. “Yes,” he moaned.

“Just
talking!
Roy, do you seriously mean—”

“Daddy,” cried Eleanor, “
do
something!”

But Julian had already started after Lucy, who was advancing toward the stairs.

Swiftly she turned on him. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on me. Not if you know what is good for you, you whoremonger.”

“You get your ass down here,” he said fiercely.

“I am a woman, Mr. Sowerby. You may think I’m a twerp like your daughter, but I am not! You will not treat me like nothing. No one will! I am pregnant, whether it suits you or not. I have a family to protect, whether that pleases you or not. Now, Roy,” she said, turning once again and making for the stairs.

“Oh, no,” said her husband, still with his head in his hands. “I can’t take any more. I really can’t.”

“Oh, but you can, Roy. Because you have made me pregnant again, Roy!”

“Roy,” called Julian as Lucy broke for upstairs, “stop her!”

“Roy,” she cried, “we are getting Edward! We are going!”

He raised his face, which was wet with tears. “But he’s
asleep.
”

“Roy—move—” Then Julian’s hand fell upon her once again. She kicked backward—the hand grasped and caught her ankle. Meanwhile Roy’s face was moving up—to block her way! Her husband, who should be protecting her! defending her! shielding her! guarding her! instead stood between herself and her child, herself and her home, between herself and the life of a woman!

“Get her!” said Julian. “
Roy!
”

“No!” cried Lucy, and with no choice left, brought her hand up from behind her, and closing her eyes, swung it with all her might.

And had the vision once again.

INNOCENT

When she opened her eyes, she saw Roy standing over her; he was holding his mouth. She herself was stretched across the stairway.

Then above her on the landing, in his undershorts and shirt, a blanket dragging in one hand, she saw little Edward looking down.

He began to shriek, either at the blood on his mother’s hand or the blood on his father’s face. Eleanor, who had been hovering
over Lucy, swept up the stairs, lifted the screaming child and carried him away.

They could not get her to let go of the banister, so she remained across the stairs while Julian stood on the step below her, holding firmly to the back of her coat, and Irene telephoned to Daddy Will.

He came, and moved her down the stairway, and through the hall to the door. Every light was on in the Sowerby house when Willard backed the car out of the driveway and drove her home from The Grove.