Johnston - I Promise Page 21

  “Where did you get all this information?” Delia asked, astounded and perplexed.

  “Eula Hutchins told me most of it. She found out from her mom, who’s Sheriff Koehl’s sister. So why did you run away?”

  “I had problems at home, like a lot of kids do, but instead of staying and working them out, I took off.”

  Billie Jo ruminated on that for the rest of the trip back to the Circle Crown. “One more thing,” she said as Delia turned off the ignition.

  When she didn’t speak right away, Delia said, “You might as well ask.”

  Billie Jo took a deep breath and said, “Is it true your mother killed your father?”

  Delia’s eyes rounded. “What? Where on earth did you hear that?”

  “Eula Hutchins said—”

  “I don’t care what she said,” Delia interrupted. “My mother had nothing whatsoever to do with my father’s death. He was cleaning one of his guns, and it accidentally went off and killed him.” Delia realized her hands were shaking. At least, that was the story she had clung to all these years.

  “Let’s go inside, and I’ll show you where you can sleep.” She shoved the car door open, grabbed the quilt from the back seat, and raced for the kitchen door, Billie Jo close on her heels. It wasn’t really necessary to run, because the storm had passed overhead and gone, leaving only dripping eaves and the pungent smell of wet grass and fresh air.

  Delia stuffed the quilt in the dryer before she showed Billie Jo to Rachel’s room, where she would be close enough that Delia could keep an eye on her and far enough away not to disturb Hattie. “There’s a TV room downstairs next to my mother’s office if you’d like to watch, or there’s a radio in here if you’d like to listen to music. The study—the room with the gun cabinets in it—has a lot of old books, if you’d like to read.”

  “I saw the guns in there,” Billie Jo said. “Who do they belong to?”

  “They belonged to my stepfather.” Delia could not, for the life of her, understand why Hattie hadn’t gotten rid of them. “If you need anything, I’ll either be in my room right across the hall, or down the hall in my mother’s room.”

  She left Billie Jo changing her clothes for bed and went to check on Hattie. Delia still hadn’t gotten over Billie Jo’s last question in the car.

  Did your mother kill your father?

  How did rumors like that get started anyway?

  She heard Marsh’s voice saying, Figure it out, Delia.

  Her father had struggled with someone. Someone had come to the sheriff’s office and explained Ray John’s death and cleared Marsh’s name.

  Who’s left, Delia? Just Rachel. And Mother.

  Just Mother.

  It wasn’t possible for her mother to have fought with Ray John. Hattie had met Delia at the top of the stairs that morning and gone down with her.

  Think, Delia. You heard the shot. You thought it was a dream. The scream didn’t come until much later. Hattie had time to come back upstairs. Maybe Rachel was telling the truth. Maybe she did find the gun on the floor.

  Delia found herself at her mother’s bedroom door, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. It felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice that was crumbling under her feet, and any second she was going to fall off.

  The moment of truth had come. There was no putting it off any longer.

  Delia reached out and grasped the doorknob and opened Hattie’s door enough to peer in-side. Her mother was still asleep. In fact, she didn’t look like she had moved an inch since Delia had seen her last. Delia gave a chickenhearted sigh of relief. She had a respite. The showdown could be put off one more day.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would learn the truth.

  Delia was pulling the bedroom door closed again when an alarm went off in her head.

  Hattie hadn’t moved an inch.

  Delia shoved the door wide, turned on the overhead light, and hurried to her mother’s side. Hattie’s face looked bloodless under the bright light. Delia reached with trembling fingers to touch her mother’s throat. She found no pulse. Hattie’s flesh was cold.

  Delia refused to believe what her eyes were telling her. She laid her ear against her mother’s chest, listening for her heartbeat.

  “Wake up, Mother.” She lifted Hattie by the shoulders, as though to sit her upright. Her head sagged sideways like a broken doll. Delia let go of her mother abruptly, and Hattie fell back onto the pillow, her body lifeless, flaccid.

  Delia shook her head in disbelief. It simply wasn’t possible. The bypass surgery had been a success. Hattie was supposed to get better. She had been resting comfortably.

  And Delia had left her alone to go save a run-down house from a little rain.

  She was dead before you ever left the house. She died sometime earlier in the evening. Without making a sound. Without crying out for help.

  Delia felt like howling. She had been cheated. She hadn’t made peace with her mother. She hadn’t even spoken much with her, except to argue. There should have been more time. She should have had more time!

  There were questions she had wanted to ask. Things she had wanted to say. Things Hattie had wanted to say to her.

  Now it was too late. Too late.

  Hattie Carson was dead, taking whatever secrets she possessed to the grave with her.

  Delia reached for the Bible on her mother’s bedstand, and it fell open to a page where Hattie had left a folded piece of stationery. The parchment was crisp, pure white, as though it had been put there recently. Delia was written in her mother’s bold script across the front.

  Delia carefully set the Bible down and opened the note.

  I forgive you. Can you forgive me?

  Delia stared at the words until her eyes blurred with tears. Oh, God. Oh, dear God. How had her mother known she needed forgiveness? How had her mother known she still loved her all these years, even though she hated what her mother had done?

  Delia slowly crushed the note in her hand. She looked at her mother lying there so peacefully, as though she were merely asleep. Hattie Carson wasn’t a monster, just an old woman. Her mother. Her repentant mother.

  Can you forgive me?

  Delia’s chin quivered. “I don’t know, Mama,” she whispered. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “After the cardiac catheterization, I realized there was considerably more damage to your mother’s heart from the second attack than I’d hoped,” Dr. Robbins said. “Surgery was necessary if she was to have any kind of functional life. Hattie opted for it, despite the risks.” Dr. Robbins took a breath and let it out. “We almost lost your mother on the table. That’s why the surgery took longer than expected.

  “I never mentioned any of this before, because Hattie specifically requested that I not discuss her condition with her family. When I spoke to her after the surgery, I told her she only had a few months, maybe a year to live, and that she ought to tell her children. But you know Hattie.”

  Delia rubbed her temples with her thumbs. Yes, she knew Hattie. “Thanks for telling me, Dr. Robbins.”

  Hattie’s doctor had come to the Circle Crown with the coroner and the ambulance that had taken her mother away to Mortenson’s Funeral Home. Mortensons had been burying Carsons ever since the two families had traveled west from Pennsylvania together in 1877 and settled in Uvalde.

  “Would you like me to prescribe something to help you sleep?” Dr. Robbins asked.

  “No, thank you,” Delia said.

  “Give me a call if you need me.” The doctor laid a comforting hand on her shoulder before he left her alone in the parlor and let himself out the front door.

  He was the last to leave of those who had come to carry away the mortal remains of Hattie Carson, and the house fell silent.

  “Delia?”

  Delia turned and saw Billie Jo standing at the entrance to the parlor in a thigh-high T-shirt, one bare foot atop the other.

  “Is everybody gone?” she asked.

&n
bsp; “Yes. I’m sorry for all the commotion, Billie Jo.”

  “It’s all right. I mean, how could you know . . . I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “Thanks, Billie Jo.” Delia sighed and looked at her watch. “It’s only eleven, but how about a midnight snack?”

  Billie Jo grinned crookedly. “To tell you the truth, I’m starving. I hardly ate any supper.”

  “I noticed,” Delia said with an answering smile.

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slip an arm around Billie Jo’s waist as the two of them headed down the hall to the kitchen. What surprised Delia was Billie Jo’s arm curving around her waist in return. It dawned on her that Billie Jo knew how much she needed the comfort, because she knew what it felt like to lose a mother.

  The two of them raided the refrigerator and filled the tile counters with sandwich-making stuff. They carried their creations and a glass of milk apiece over to the table and sat down to eat.

  Delia was ravenous. She hadn’t consumed any more at supper than Billie Jo. Amazing how one sought the solace of food—and offered it—in times of sorrow. It was probably some primordial, instinctual thing, Delia thought, as she swallowed a large bite of ham and cheese, some reaffirmation of the need to keep on living in the midst of death.

  Billie Jo kept the conversation going with descriptions of Todd and their tube trip down the Frio. She was entranced with the boy, and no detail of their day together was left undiscussed.

  “Todd lost his older brother Jeff in a car accident a year ago, so he knew exactly how I felt about losing my mom without warning,” Billie Jo said.

  Like Delia had lost hers.

  Billie Jo shot a mortified look at Delia, obviously sorry for having brought up the subject of death, which everybody knew should be avoided at all costs in a situation where someone had just died and which, therefore, inevitably came to mind.

  Billie Jo took a bite of her sandwich and concentrated on chewing.

  Delia had opened her mouth to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence, when the kitchen door swung open and Rachel stepped inside.

  “Rachel!” Delia was on her feet and headed for the door in two seconds flat. Before she reached Rachel, Marsh stepped inside holding Scott, who was sound asleep against his shoulder.

  “Marsh!”

  “Daddy!” Billie Jo cried, jumping to her feet and heading toward him. “You’re back!”

  A confusing series of hugs and kisses and exclamations followed while Scott, who Rachel said had been awake during the whole plane flight and most of the drive to Uvalde, slept through it all.

  “How did you all get back here so quickly?” Delia asked Marsh, her arm around Rachel.

  Rachel answered for him. “I was packing when Marsh rang the doorbell. I’d already made up my mind to leave Cliff. I’m sorry I hung up on you like that. I had no idea you would be so worried, but I didn’t answer the phone again because I was afraid it might be Cliff, and that I might give everything away on the phone—that I meant to leave him, I mean.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. Don’t worry, Rachel. We’ll work everything out.”

  “I think Scott needs a bed,” Marsh said. “Where would you like me to put him?”

  “Mrs. McKinley can have her bedroom back,” Billie Jo offered, “and I’ll go home with Daddy.”

  “I’ll show you where it is,” Rachel said to Marsh, heading toward the hallway that led upstairs. “You stay and finish your sandwich, Delia.”

  “Rachel, wait!” There wasn’t any way for Delia to say it except to say it. “Mother’s dead. She died in her sleep earlier this evening.”

  She watched the blood drain from Rachel’s face, saw the grim look appear on Marsh’s. Her sister set a palm against the kitchen wall to steady herself.

  “Dr. Robbins said her heart was failing, and that she knew it but decided not to tell us about it,” Delia said. “He was here earlier with the coroner. Mother’s been taken to Mortenson’s Funeral Home.”

  For a moment Delia thought her sister was going to be all right. They had both already grieved once for Hattie Carson, only to find that she wasn’t dead, after all. This second death, coming after the false alarm, seemed unreal somehow. Like the story of the little boy who cried wolf, it was difficult to believe Hattie was really gone this time.

  Delia saw the moment her announcement sank in. Saw Rachel reel as though she had been physically struck. Saw her face crumple and her mouth stretch wide in an ululating wail of grief.

  Scott half roused against Marsh’s shoulder in a subconscious response to his mother’s cry of distress.

  “I’ll take Scott upstairs and put him to bed,” Marsh said, “so you two can have some time together.”

  “I can show you where Mrs. McKinley’s bedroom is,” Billie Jo offered. She led her father down the hall, leaving the two sisters alone in the kitchen.

  Delia laid a comforting hand on Rachel’s back and felt her shudder. A moment later, Rachel turned to her, and they clutched each other tightly.

  Delia felt numb, too battered by everything that had happened in the past week to feel anything more. She simply held on to Rachel while her sister cried, her own eyes dry, her throat aching.

  Some time later, Marsh reappeared at the doorway to the kitchen with Billie Jo. “Scott’s asleep upstairs. I’m going to take Billie Jo home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Delia.” He hesitated a moment and sought out Delia’s gaze before he said, “If you need me before then, give me a call.”

  He ushered Billie Jo quickly through the kitchen, not waiting for a reply from Delia. There wasn’t really much she could say. It was only after he had closed the kitchen door behind him that she realized he hadn’t offered condolences on Hattie’s death.

  Rachel sank into one of the kitchen chairs and dropped her head onto her crossed arms facing away from Delia. Delia sat down next to her and reached out to touch her arm, so Rachel would know she was there.

  “I never really felt like I knew Mama,” Rachel said, reverting to the childhood name she had used for her mother. “It was as though she lived on a mountain so high that even if I climbed forever, I could never reach her. Did you ever feel like that?”

  “Um-hm,” Delia agreed.

  “Daddy was different.”

  Delia’s jaw tightened reflexively. She and Rachel had not discussed Ray John Carson once since the day he had died.

  “Daddy could be so funny,” Rachel mused. “He used to play with me and hug me and kiss me . . . I mean when I was really little. Before . . . before the other.” Rachel turned her face toward Delia. “Why did he do those things to us, Delia? What was wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Rachel turned her face away again, staring at a Timmons Feed and Grain Store calendar hanging on the wall with the days crossed off in black marker.

  Delia noticed the Xs stopped on the day she had come home, as though that was the day all those Xs had been leading up to. Of course, the real reason there were no more Xs was simply that Hattie had gone into the hospital.

  Six days ago. Not even a week.

  But enough time to turn her life upside down.

  The refrigerator hummed. The wind brushed a branch of the old live oak against the kitchen window.

  “Mama didn’t mean to do it, Delia,” Rachel murmured. “It was an accident.”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill Daddy.”

  Delia stared at Rachel, who remained unmoving with her face turned away. “Sit up and look at me, Rachel.”

  Rachel pushed herself upright as though her upper body weighed a ton. She stared at Delia, her eyes dazed, her lower lip swollen where she had been chewing on it, her mascara streaked by tears.

  “Repeat what you just said.”

  Rachel stared blankly at her. “What? That Mama killed Daddy?”

  “Damn it, Rachel! Don’t play dumb with me.” Delia’s hands clenched into fists on the table.

  “I’
m not, Delia. Why are you so upset?”

  “What do you mean by saying Mama killed Daddy? Why would you say such a thing?” Delia demanded.

  “I was there when she pulled the trigger,” Rachel said simply.

  Delia’s brows arrowed down. She shook her head in confusion and disbelief. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Mama made me promise I wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”

  Delia felt betrayed. “You should have told me. I’m your sister. I was entitled to know.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I couldn’t, Delia. Please understand.”

  Delia didn’t understand. How could Rachel have kept such a secret for so many years? “Will you tell me now what happened? Or are you going to keep it to yourself a little longer.” Delia couldn’t help the sarcasm in her voice, even though she could see it upset Rachel.

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “Sure, now that it’s too late to say anything to Mother,” Delia snapped.

  “Do you want to know, or not?” Rachel snapped right back.

  “Just tell me the damned story,” Delia said.

  “All right. Stop yelling at me and I will.” She pulled a strand of hair from her no longer perfect coif and twisted it agitatedly in her fingers.

  “I came down to the kitchen that morning because I was thirsty and wanted a drink of water. I had already put my glass down in the sink when I heard Mama and Daddy arguing in Daddy’s gun room.

  “Mama blamed herself for what had happened to us, because she had seen signs of what was going on and hadn’t done anything to stop Daddy. She was really mad at him, Delia. And at herself for all the mean things she had said to you.”

  Why didn’t she ever tell me? Delia wondered. Why didn’t she ever admit she believed me?

  “I heard Mama say something like ‘You should be shot’ and Daddy answered ‘Put down that gun.’ I got scared and ran to see what was going on.

  “They were fighting over one of Daddy’s guns when it accidentally went off. I called Mama’s name, and she came running toward me to keep me from seeing what had happened to Daddy. I saw the gun on the floor, but Mama didn’t stop to pick it up.