Face the Winter Naked (22 page)

"It
was you! You tried to knock my brains out and stole my money."

"It
wasn't me, I didn't do it."

There
was no other explanation for the coins he'd heard clinking in Chris's pocket.

"You're
a thief, and not a very good one."

"I
ain't either, let me go!"

"Don't
lie," Daniel said. "I heard money jingling in your pocket. You said
you didn't have any. Bottle caps don't clink with nothing to clink on, young
man. I know what money sounds like."

Daniel
glanced around. Seeing no one else on the street, he held Chris with one hand
and reached in a pocket with the other. Out came the old leather pouch, not
quite as full as it had been. It was partially open; some coins had spilled.

"Give
it back," Chris cried. "My—my family needs it."

"Take
me to your family."

"No!"

"You
don't have a family, do you?" Daniel brought his face down level with the
boy's. "Don't try to change your story."

"Yes,
I mean no. I don't have any family."

Daniel
focused his owl eyes on Chris.

"You
working for somebody? Stealing money for them?"

He
scooped the rest of the coins out of Chris's pocket and dropped them in the
purse. Holding tightly to Chris's arm, he picked up his belongings with his
other hand. Every time he bent over his head throbbed like it was coming off.

"C'mon,
you little thief."

Chris
struggled as Daniel tightened his grip.

"Ow!
Where you taking me?"

Daniel
pulled him along the street. A man in a business suit came around the corner
and glanced their way before continuing on.

"Be
quiet," Daniel said. "If you yell, I'll tell that man you stole my
money."

"I
didn't steal nothing!"

"Hmmm.
First time I ever heard of a money purse jumping in a boy's pocket. Darn funny,
if it really happened."

"Let
me go! Where we going?"

"We're
going to find us a woodshed, Master Christopher. I'm going to teach you not to
lie. Going to teach you not to hit people on their poor heads when they're
trying to sleep. Teach you not to steal no more." Daniel snorted.
"Fine way for a boy to start out his life. If you needed money, why didn't
you ask someone for it? You don't have to steal."

"Asking
is begging, and I don't beg."

"Which
is worse, Chris, stealing or begging? Stealing might get you in jail, but
begging could bring you a sandwich."

"I'll
be good. Please don't hit me, Daniel, I won't do it anymore. Please—you—"

Daniel
pulled him into the shadows of a building. Not a soul in sight; the man they'd
seen had passed on down the street and turned a corner. He set his supplies on
the ground and looked around for a piece of board for a paddle. Finding none,
he sat on an empty keg and pulled the struggling boy over his knees.

Chris
was strong. He kicked and flailed, trying to connect with Daniel's face.

"Don't!"

"Be
quiet," Daniel warned, "before I turn you over to the sheriff."

Chris
cried and squirmed, but Daniel held firmly with one hand, yanked his dusty
pants down a little and smacked his butt hard with the other.

"Ow!"

"Going
to steal again are ya?"
Whack.

"No!"

Daniel
smacked the bare butt again, this time a little harder.

"Let
me go—you ain't my old man."

"Good
thing I ain't." He aimed at Chris's butt again. "He'd prob'ly kill
you for stealing."

He
gave the boy a good shellacking, then pulled his pants back up and turned him
loose.

"Now
you just sit there on the ground and think about what you did. I ain't mad no
more, Chris. I was easy on your butt, believe it or not. If I'd had me a board,
I might have busted all your butt bones." Chris sniffed and sobbed, and
Daniel went on. "Now, young sir, next time you see an opportunity to swipe
a man's hard-earned money, you just walk on by."

They
sat together for a long time, and Daniel was surprised the boy didn't run away.
He played the banjo with the strings missing. Chris dried his face with the
back of his hand, smearing tears and snot from ear to ear and leaving a slimy
trail in the dirt. He was more embarrassed than hurt. Finally, he rose to
leave.

"If
y'all don't have a home," Daniel said, also rising, "then come along
with me. There might be a few cents left in this here purse to buy us a sandwich
apiece." Chris's face lit up at the mention of food. "I mean if you
don't mind seeing the man you tried to blame on stealing from me."

"Don't
tell him."

"Naw,
I ain't going to tell him," Daniel said. "You had your punishment.
You hungry?" Obviously a dumb question. "Come along then, we'll go
somewhere else. It's the least I can do after getting my money back and taking
my meanness out on a little kid." He handed the banjo to Chris.
"Here, make yourself useful."

A
few minutes later, the two sat inside a small café eating bean soup. In
addition, Daniel splurged and bought Chris a glass of milk.

Chapter 16

LaDaisy
yanked the calendar off the wall and threw it at him.

"Whoa!"
Clay ducked, then reached down and picked it up. "Watch where you're
throwing things, you might hurt someone."

"If
I could hurt you, I would!"

He
flipped through the calendar. "What am I supposed to do with this? I know
what day it is. Don't need a calendar to tell me."

She
took a deep breath and moved between the table and the cabinet.

"Look
at the date. Then go back a couple weeks to an X on the page. That should tell
you what's wrong."

"So?
It's still August."

"Think,
dammit, Clay."

"What's
the X for?"

"Are
you stupid or what? Ida Mae marks X's on her calendar."

"Yeah,
she does. But—"

"You
don't know much about women, do you?"

"I
know all I need to know."

"All
you know is they have a private place between their legs. You know how to rip
their underpants off, but not enough to keep them from getting pregnant."

Clay
studied the calendar again.

"Are
you telling me you didn't keep your date with the red X?"

"I'm
more than two weeks late."

He
tossed the calendar on the table.

"You
miscounted."

"I'd
never miscount something as important as that. I'm late, and you—stupid as you
are—should know what that means."

"So?"

"So
you did this to me and I don't want it."

"Now
you wait a goddamn minute!"

"No,
you
wait a minute. If I had a kid of yours, I'd drown it like a litter
of pups with rabies."

"You're
talking stupid."

"Try
me."

She
took the big mixing crock off the counter and turned it upside down on the
table. Grabbing the butcher knife from the drawer, she drew the blade across
the rough bottom edge of the crock.

He
leaned in the doorway watching, his customary smirk gone. With each swipe of
the blade across the stone, he shifted nervously.

"If
you got yourself knocked up, it's your problem, not mine."

LaDaisy's
eyes blazed as she came from behind the table, the sharpened knife in her hand.
He straightened up and stepped back.

"What
a damn coward you turned out to be." She brandished the blade in the air
and moved toward him, thankful the kids were at Bernie's. "You're afraid
of this. The mighty Clay Huff is dandelion fluff."

"Put
the fucking knife down!"

She
burst out laughing. "You think I'm going to cut you? Funny." She
jabbed the blade at him. "It'd be so easy to slide this in your fat, ugly
belly and not feel any regret after what you did to me and my sister. To all
other women who've ever been raped. You're part of that disease, Clay."

His
face paled. Sweat broke on his forehead. He searched for a way out but seemed
unsure what to do.

"Leave
Ida Mae out of this."

"Why?
Maybe she'd want to know what a louse she married. I'd be doing her a
favor."

He
was afraid. Afraid of a woman. One specific woman with a knife.

"She's
about to have the kid," he said. "You want her to lose it?"

"You
know I don't."

He
ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Okay, what do you
want from me? Just don't tell Ida."

"Or
the sheriff? I could turn you in."

"You
wouldn't."

"Dare
me. Or maybe I'll tell Reverend Pitney. You couldn't show your filthy face in
church anymore."

"I—I'll
get something. What'll it take to fix your—
situation
? Tell me, I'll get
it."

She
stopped smiling and laid the knife on the table within reach.

"It's
not easy to get rid of ... unborn babies." She couldn't believe she
actually said it aloud. Now the whole universe could fall in on her.

"I
thought women knew how."

"There
are some who try ... and some die of blood poisoning from poking themselves
with knitting needles or other sharp, dirty things. That's—that's what happens
when animals like you can't keep their pants on."

He
sucked in his breath, puffed his cheeks, and let the air explode from his
mouth.

"Damn,
what a bitch!"

"Abortion's
a nasty business. You should've thought about it before you raped me. I told
you, my body belongs to someone else."

"Daniel
ain't here, is he? If he liked your body so damn much, he would've stuck around
to claim it. Don't give me that bullshit. You wanted it as much as I did."

He
spoke tough, but his customary smirk was gone.

"What
I wanted was to take this knife—" She snatched it up again and swung it at
him. "—and slice the dirty old thing off. Throw it in the road for the
crows." She burst into tears.

"No
knitting needles. But are you sure?"

She
glanced at the calendar through her tears. No, she wasn't sure. She'd been late
before, but she couldn't take any chances. There were Daniel's children to
consider.

"I'm
sure."

Clay
spread his hands before him. "What do you need? Would the doctor do
it?"

"No."

"Then
what?"

She
sat down at the table, still holding the knife.

"Quinine."

"Where
will I get it?"

"Steal
it." She cried harder. "You go now, Clay, and don't come back without
the quinine. You do it fast if you don't want people to know." She stopped
to wipe tears. "Because—because, for sure I'm going to shout all over this
town what you did to me."

"Okay."
He started to leave. "I'll see what I can do. You sure it works?"

"I
don't know. I've heard it can cause miscarriages. I'm not sure, but I'll try
anything."
And pray it doesn't kill me in the process.
"I'm
still nursing Mary. If it hurts my little girl, I'll see you hang!"

Clay
returned an hour later and handed LaDaisy a small bottle of liquid.

"This
shit better work, I went to a lot of trouble. How long does it take?"

She
stood in the open bedroom doorway, and behind her Daniel's shotgun leaned
against the bed. Clay saw it and backed away. If she'd thought to bring out the
gun weeks ago, there'd be no need for quinine.

"I
have no idea how long it takes, or if it works."

She
studied the label. There were no directions, just the name and amount. She
imagined Clay snooping in the doctor's medical bag while he examined Ida.
Pictured the coward slipping the bottle in his pocket. Saw Dr. Wilson zip the
bag without realizing the quinine was missing. It would've served Clay right
had he been caught.

He
left her standing there clutching the bottle as he went to let himself out.

She
called after him. "Don't come back till rent time, and don't get any ideas
about collecting like you did before. I'll have the money." How? Washing
and ironing for some rich old lady? Cooking or cleaning her house? She didn't
know. But somehow she'd have the rent.

"All
right, shut the hell up, I'm leaving."

LaDaisy
walked into the front room. "If you do try anything, mark my words, I'll
blow your goddam brains out." She gripped the bottle tightly, waiting for
him to go.

The
coward ran to his car with his tail between his legs and wasted no time burning
rubber down the drive.

She
locked the door and waited a few minutes to be sure he wasn't coming back, then
replaced the gun in the closet and went to the kitchen. She dipped out a glass
of water and set it on the table next to the unopened bottle. Then she checked
Saul's garden through the back screen to make sure he hadn't come yet. Mary was
quiet; the others still gone. She was alone. Alone to undo whatever damage her
loathsome brother-in-law had created. She sat down, closed her eyes and whispered
a prayer.

Forgive
me.

She
twisted the cap off the bottle. How much is enough? How much is too much?

She
thought of poison. She knew the drug was prescribed for fevers and malaria. But
most women also knew it could cause birth defects and early labor.

She
choked back a sob.
Lord, help me. I don't want to do this, but Ida Mae would
know it was his
. Tears ran freely down her face.
How much?

She
held the bottle to the light. Two ounces of clear, grainy liquid. Was it
enough?

She
emptied half the bottle into a glass of water and stirred it with a spoon.
Damn,
it won't dissolve.
Before she could change her mind, she drank the tonic
straight down, almost gagging. Her head swam and her eyes blurred. Clay
could've given her cyanide and she wouldn't have known. Her stomach resisted
the liquid. Her eyes watered as she swallowed it again when it tried to come
up.

When
her stomach settled somewhat, she hid the rest of the drug in Daniel's closet
and lay on the bed with her eyes closed. For better or worse, the deed was
done. She'd taken poison to kill new growth in her womb.

Three
hours later LaDaisy became violently ill. She struggled to nurse Mary through
bouts of vomiting and stomach cramps. Mary screamed in frustration, beating her
mother's bare chest with her fists.

"Mama's
sorry. Shhh."

She
tried not to puke again, but managed to get Mary back in the cradle just before
she threw up all down the front of herself. Mary wailed. She tried to comfort
her with ears ringing and head swimming. She retched until nothing remained but
dry heaves.

"Baby,
baby, it's—it's okay. Wait. Wait."

She
staggered to the kitchen and poured a tea kettle of warm water in the wash pan,
then pulled off her smelly dress and dropped it by the back steps. Hearing Mary's
frantic cry, she hurried to clean herself. The ringing in her head grew louder.
Dizzy and confused, she stumbled back to the bedroom, slipped a clean smock
over her head with shaking hands, and tried to console her child.

With
her stomach on fire and more nausea rising in her throat, she lay on the bed
with her daughter in the crook of her arm, sobbing while Mary nursed.

What
have I done?