Face the Winter Naked (32 page)

A
few days later, LaDaisy raised the brass horseshoe knocker on her mother's front
door and let it drop with a thud. Her mind was made up. It was now or never.
Time to stand up to her mother once and for all. She smoothed Mary's fine hair
and glanced down at Catherine as the child tugged at her skirt.

"Is
Grandma Vera home, Mama?"

"I
think so, honey. She just needs time to come to the door." She raised the
knocker again, but the door opened.

Taken
by surprise, Vera stepped back.

"LaDaisy."
She glanced down at the child. "And Catherine. What brings you two
here?"

LaDaisy
followed her inside, Catherine trailing behind, and the door closed behind
them.

"We
came to see Grandma," Catherine blurted. "And Mama's dolls. Mama said
her dolls live at your house."

"Wh—?"
Vera frowned at her daughter. "What on earth, LaDaisy? What's this about
your dolls? What have you told this child?"

LaDaisy
smiled and replied with exaggerated sweetness. "I've brought your two
granddaughters, Mama. We'd like to go up to my old room."

"See
the dolls!" Catherine shouted.

Vera
stepped back. "Well, I never. I told you the dolls stay here. You have no
right to them anymore."

LaDaisy
moved toward the stairway. "Of course I do, Mama. There's no need to deny
my daughters their own mother's toys." She started up the stairs, but Vera
grabbed her arm. "I know the way to my room, Mama. So please? Let go of my
arm, I'm going up."

Vera
removed her hand. "I—I don't know what's come over you."

"What's
come over me? Let's say I've finally grown up and found courage to come here
and take back my property. My dolls are going home with us today."

"Well—"
Vera reached out and touched Mary's cheek. "After all that's happened,
maybe it's ... I have two granddaughters, and may never get another." She
held out both hands. "May I hold Mary while you take Catherine
upstairs?"

LaDaisy
hesitated, then smiled and passed the child to Vera.

Vera
pressed her cheek against Mary's as tears leaked from her eyes.

LaDaisy
smiled, grabbed Cath's hand and started up the stairs.

"We
won't be long."

When
they came down a few minutes later, carrying four dolls of various sizes, they
found Vera rocking Mary in the parlor, humming and whispering.
It takes a
baby to make a woman
, LaDaisy thought.

Catherine
cuddled one of the dolls, the one her mother had loved best. The one that
looked like a real baby wearing a real diaper, a real wool soaker, and swaddled
in a square of outing flannel LaDaisy herself had hemmed.

Chapter
27

The
day was still young as Daniel stood with Chris a block from his house, his
heart banging and feet dead weights. The walk from town—from the county jail—had
given him time to reflect. When he'd inquired about his wife's arrest and Clay's
death, Sheriff Gudgell had given him the whole story: LaDaisy's sister had
confessed to shooting her own husband and Mrs. Tomelin had been released.

"Then
I'll head on home and get her side of the story."

Daniel
touched the brim of his cap and went outside to find Chris rubbing the belly of
a small brown dog.

"Found
yourself a pup, huh?"

"She
must be lost." The dog rolled over. "She likes me, see? Maybe I'll
keep her."

"Funny
looking mutt. Seems healthy enough, but be careful she don't bite your
hand."

"Nah,
she likes this." Chris paused. "Never had a pup before."

"If
you want her, you'll have to find a way to feed her. I got enough mouths to
fill."

The
dog jumped up and wandered off, but Daniel was in no hurry to leave. He reached
in his pocket and pulled out some coins.

"See
that ice cream store yonder?" He pointed to the Tasty Ice Cream shop.
"How's about you run over there and buy yourself some ice cream? Whatever
you want, you buy it."

"No
kidding? You coming?"

"Nope,
I'm going to sit down here and rest. There's tables and chairs in there, so
take your time."

Chris
observed Daniel with his head cocked to one side. "You all right?"

"Sure
I am. I just want to sit here and think a while."
It's been one heck of
a long year
. "Now go on, beat it before I change my mind."

Daniel
sat on a bench outside the shoe shine parlor as Chris crossed the street and
entered the ice cream store.

How
can I go home? If I hadn't left my family like the coward I am, none of this
stuff with Clay would've happened
.

He
thought about LaDaisy. If what the sheriff had told him was true, that Clay had
forced himself on her, could he handle that? Maybe, maybe not. Every time he
looked at her, he'd remember she'd been raped, she'd had another man inside her
privates. Whose fault was it but his own? If he hadn't got a wild hair up his
ass and skipped out, Clay wouldn't have dared touch her. His wife would be
within her rights to spit in his face and throw him out the minute she saw him.

He
hoped his job would still be there when he went back downtown. With winter
coming, he was going to need money. Lots of it. There'd be bills to pay and
school for a couple of kids—maybe LaDaisy had already enrolled Earl at Mc Coy.

He
lost track of the time as thoughts buzzed around his mind like a hornet
convention. Then Chris's voice startled him.

"Do
you want this?" Chris shoved a vanilla cone at him.

"Sure
I do." He took the cone and ran his tongue around the outside of the
frosty ice cream. "It's darn near too cold for ice cream. A mug of hot
coffee would suit me better." He looked the boy over. Chris had filled out
since they left Springfield. The wool sweater he'd picked up cheap at a
second-hand store was almost too small. "We'll have to find you some
warmer clothes before long."

"I
guess." Chris hiked up his britches and shrugged. "What now,
Daniel?"

Daniel
tousled Chris's hair with his free hand. "I guess I have to go home. No
more putting it off. C'mon, let's get moving."

They
didn't go immediately. Daniel had an itch to see the town again and show Chris
the sights. He pointed out various businesses as they moved down the streets.
Bundschu's Department Store on one side of the Square. Knoepker's nearby.
Milgram's Food Store.

"It
looks a lot like home," Chris said.

They
stopped walking. Daniel ate the rest of his cone and pointed up to the big
square clock in the middle of the courthouse roof.

"See
that clock up there? My great-uncle made the hands." He glanced down at
the boy. "Uncle Walt was a metal-smith."

"Uh
huh. Shouldn't we go to your house now? What are we waiting for?"

"I
just wanted to see my hometown first, Chris. It's been so long."

Liar.

He
was putting off facing his wife, his dad, and LaDaisy's mother. He didn't feel
like the same man who'd left Independence the year before. Hell, he didn't even
look
like the same man. And worse, he was bringing home a strange boy.
How would his family feel about that?

They'd
say I can't even feed the ones I've got
.

He
reminded himself a depression was in progress. Money was still tight. People
still homeless, still dying from hunger, the weather, and disease. He worried
about keeping his own skin. He worried about his nightmares, though they'd
become infrequent since finding Chris and airing out his fears. If he'd known
how much talking about the bad stuff would help, he might've opened up to his
wife years ago, or at least his dad and sister. Would LaDaisy think less of him
if she knew he was nothing but a scared little boy inside?

He
tapped Chris on the arm. "Guess I'm just a big sissy. Afraid to face my
family after walking out on them."

"Yeah.
That'd be tough. They might hate your guts."

"That's
what I'm thinking." Daniel glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
"Come on, then. I have to face the music sometime. You bring the
banjo."

Chris
laughed. "I'll play the banjo while you face the music."

South
on Noland Road to 23
^rd
Street. Past the church. They stopped at the
cemetery. Chris hopped up and sat on the stone wall, dangling his feet on the
other side.

Daniel
gazed longingly toward his family's graves through the trees beyond the wall.
The native stone reminded him of Grandma Susannah, her house and the woolen
mill she'd described. Stone fences. The church he'd seen through driving rain
walking through southern Missouri. An imaginary scene. But he'd wanted so much
for it to be real.

The
last time he came to this cemetery was to say good-bye to his baby boy.

When
he started walking again, Chris jumped down from the wall, adjusted the banjo
on his shoulder, and followed.

At
Pearl Street, they stopped to adjust their bundles and rest their feet. Moving
on again, they came to Hereford Avenue.

"Are
all the streets named after cows?"

"Devon,
Aberdeen, Angus, and Hereford." Daniel pointed. "Right up that road
is where I live, where I
used
to live."

Here,
he almost refused to go on, not knowing what he might find ahead.
But I
promised this boy a home, and I'm not turning back now.

"I
thought I had a good reason for leaving, but now I'm not sure." He nodded
down the street. "All right, let's get it over with. She'll probably throw
the rolling pin at me."

Chapter
28

A
shaft of cool morning sunlight slanted across the clothesline as LaDaisy hung
wet diapers, shirts, baby blankets, and little boys' trousers with slim wooden
clothespins. She held a pin in her mouth, pinched a small pair of long
stockings at the toes and pinned them to the line. Then, reaching down to pull
a tattered dishtowel from the basket, she caught movement from the corner of
her eye and straightened up.

It's
too early for Saul and the kids
.

She
automatically clutched the front of her old wool sweater, a habit she'd
developed after Clay's attack. Her fear of him hadn't diminished, though her
rational mind knew he was dead. At the sound of a familiar male voice behind
her, the skin prickled at the nape of her neck, and she gasped.

"Howdy,
ma'am, what's for dinner?"

She
turned slowly to face a tired-looking tramp with a burlap bag at his feet and
tools in his overalls. She almost didn't recognize him, as though a thousand
years had separated them. The round lenses and battered flat cap didn't quite
register in her mind. But when they did, finally, both clothespin and towel
slipped back into the basket.

"You—oh,
my God!"

Their
eyes met, but the words he'd rehearsed walking from town refused to come. He
was too late to see what was coming next as she pulled her hand back and slammed
a blow against his face that almost knocked his head off. Daniel staggered momentarily,
straightened his glasses, and waited for his eyeballs to stop bouncing.

"What
the hell?" He shook his head and rubbed his cheek. "Why'd you do that
for?"

Her
eyes blazing, she snatched his cap off the ground and threw it at him.

"You
son-of-a-bitch! Get out of here!"

"But—"

"You're
not welcome here anymore."

He
shook his head. "Can we at least talk?"

"No."
She shook her head and started to turn away. "Just go."

Daniel
spread his hands before him, palms up. "This is my home," he said.
"Where will I go?"

"Go
back where you been for the last year. I don't
care
where you go. "

"No."

When
she raised her arm to strike him again, he caught her wrist and held tightly,
staring her down.

"Now
you look here, you little hell cat! Just settle yourself down, I ain't going
nowhere."

"Let
go my hand! God damn you, Daniel Tomelin! You should be horse-whipped within an
inch of your life."

He
released his grip and dropped her wrist.

LaDaisy
gave him one more murderous look, and without further ado, tightened her grip
on the sweater and marched regally across the yard, climbed the back steps and
went inside, slamming the screen door behind her.

Daniel
stared after her, thinking how beautiful she was, how she hadn't changed much
while he was gone. She still carried herself with dignity—not even the rat Clay
had been able to steal that from her. But he couldn't bring himself to follow
her into the house. She needed time alone. Time to get used to him again. He
had to face the possibility she might not want him back.

He
was home again where he belonged, but the woman he loved had refused to speak
to him. Well, she had a good reason. His guilt had gnawed at his heart and mind
almost constantly since he read the news article. Of all the other things he'd
considered important—the war, finding his buddies' families, filling his
pockets with money, healing his own pain—none were more so than the respect of his
wife and children, and he'd failed them.

Deep
inside he had always suspected what kind of animal Clay was. From the first day
he'd met the man, he'd guessed something wasn't right with his mind. But never
in all his born days had he imagined Clay would attack LaDaisy. Yes, he'd been
an arrogant, egotistical son-of-a-bitch. But not even those negative traits had
revealed clues. Certainly, the man had been a pathetic individual who'd kick a
homeless dog when nobody was looking, but rape? Daniel couldn't imagine any man
raping a woman. Now he had images in his mind of his wife submitting to Clay's
advances, unwelcome though they might've been. She might willingly have put her
own feelings aside for the sake of their children.

He
forced the shadowy images away and glanced toward the back of the house, where she
watched him from the kitchen window.

He
couldn't think of a single action that would make up for the pain he'd caused
her.

Absently,
he leaned over and pulled a damp diaper from the clothesbasket, shook it out,
and attached it to the clothesline the way he'd seen her do so many times
through years of diapering babies. He shook his head as he reached in the
basket for another one.

Where'd
all these dydees come from? You'd think Bobby would be housebroke by now
.

He
wondered if Ida Mae was staying here with her new baby. Was his wife washing
the clothes of a baby fathered by the man who raped her? The thought sickened
him as he pinned the square of material with the other white flags, then
finished hanging what was left in the basket.
It ain't the baby's fault. I
have to remember that
. He glanced toward the window again. She was gone
now, probably looking for something to throw at him.

He
picked up his sack and turned toward the little house beyond the privy. Surely
his dad was still speaking.

What
the hell?

While
tramping through Missouri, he'd seen phantom houses and churches, apparitions
of woolen mills and sheep grazing on foggy hillsides. But this ...

He
hadn't noticed when he first came in the yard, or while hanging diapers. His
thoughts had been focused on just one thing: his wife. But unless his eyes
deceived him, the little house had disappeared. In its place lay the wreckage
of boards, window frames, roofing tarpaper, and broken furniture. He walked
closer and surveyed the debris, thinking it resembled a war zone, or at least
the results of a cyclone. His throat constricted.
Did my dad die?
A
sudden panic seized him at the possibility of never seeing his father alive
again: one more reason to blame himself.

Not
understanding what had happened, nor seeing any sign of Saul, he turned away
and walked back toward his own house. He would ask about it later. His main
concern now was how to make up with LaDaisy. He went around front and dropped
his pack on the ground, then sat on the porch step, thinking how quiet the
place was.

Where
were the kids? They should've been romping in the yard. Taking turns pushing
each other in the wheelbarrow. Swinging from the big tree limb. The tire swing
hung straight down, like an arrow pointing to the bare patch where small feet
had worn off the grass till the roots despaired of fighting for life and died.

His
Model T truck sat exactly where he'd left it the year before. Of course, LaDaisy
had never learned to drive, and she probably couldn't have bought gas anyway.

Someone
sat in the driver's seat: Chris? The youngster had left his hiding spot by the
side of the road and was giving himself driving lessons in the rusty old heap.

How
do I explain him to LaDaisy?

He
caught Chris's eye and shook his head "no." It wasn't time to
introduce the two.

Daniel
waited for his wife with his head in his hands, so weary, but relieved to be
home at last. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He rose and turned around
just as she opened the door and stepped onto the porch with the shotgun leveled
at his face. Her eyes—painfully red, wet, and swollen—looked straight at him.
She cocked the gun with a loud click. Her hands shook as she placed her finger
on the trigger. Drops of moisture broke on his skin. He didn't know if the gun
was loaded.

"Wh—what
are you doing?"

"Git,
dammit!"

He
threw up his hands to ward her off. "LaDaisy ..."

"I
don't want you here anymore. You can't come flouncing in here like you own me."
Her voice faltered. "Now go away before I blow your head off."

Daniel
backed away, his eyes on the gun. She lowered it slightly, then aimed it again.

"Go
ahead and shoot me," he said. "I deserve it. Without you, my life
ain't worth living anyhow." He couldn't take his eyes off the shotgun,
surprised she could even touch it again after what happened to Clay. She was
scared. He could see the fear in her eyes. "But you can't pull that
trigger any more than I can."

"Damn
you, Daniel Tomelin. You—you have the gall to leave me for no good reason."

"Well
I—I thought I had a reason."

"I
trusted you all these years, and you put me through hell!" Her voice rose.
"And now— now you come home asking 'what's for dinner?' like nothing
happened. Damn, Daniel!
What's for dinner?
Maybe a mouthful of buckshot!"

"Wait,
LaDaisy, listen honey, I can explain." He thought he might risk taking the
gun away from her, but the look in her eyes told him he'd better not try.

"I'm
done listening," she said. "Now, are you going to leave?"

Daniel's
mouth was dry, his forehead beaded with sweat. Was she trying to scare him? Oh,
he was scared, all right! It was hard to tell what a furious woman might do
with a gun.

"I
put myself through hell, too," he said. "I'm just a wore out old nag.
Go ahead and put me out of my misery. I ain't never stopped loving you, girl.
All I ever wanted was to come home." He paused, his bloodshot eyes
pleading with her. "Is it hopeless? Don't all our years together mean
anything?"

"They
didn't mean anything to you when you left."

"They
did, but—" He knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't get it out.

Her
mouth quivered. With a choking sound in her throat, she lowered the gun, stared
at him for a long time, then turned and went back inside.

He
sat on the step again, knees shaking and heart pounding, trying to collect
himself. It'd been years since he'd looked down the barrel of a real gun.

He
glanced toward Chris again. The boy was climbing out of the truck, but he
stopped when Daniel shook his head and mouthed, "Not yet." He must've
seen the gun and been terrified.

The
screen door closed softly. Daniel glanced around as LaDaisy came out and sat
next to him on the step. She kept her own counsel with her mouth firmly shut,
though she seemed on the edge of a dammed-up flood.

"Are
you all right?" he asked.

"No.
I'm not all right. I'll never be all right again."

"I'm
trying to make it right again," he said. "I came back, LaDaisy.
You've got a right to be mad. I'd be mad too if I was in your shoes."

She
didn't reply.

"I
deserve everything you think of me, all the bad names you'd call me." He
waited. "Do you hate me? Because if you do, I'll turn right around and
leave again."

Her
sobs broke then. "No, no."

"Just
give me another chance, honey." He wanted more than anything to wrap his
arms around the woman he loved.

Their
eyes locked, and after a minute she wiped hers. She struggled to find words,
and finally they came, one on top the other. More than a year's worth of
sadness, pain, and confusion came pouring out.

"We
have to talk. I don't know why you left or where you went." She stopped to
wipe her wet cheek. "What's your story, Daniel? You have to tell me. I
thought you died, but Saul said no. He saw you, but I couldn't."

Daniel
pulled his gaze away from her face. He could not bear to see her misery, and
instead looked at the sky, the ground, his hands.

"My
last string busted, girl."

She
studied his face. "What do you mean?"

"It
means I stopped running. It means I don't have any more excuses." He
reached for her hand, and this time she didn't resist. "Just to be clear
on one thing, I never stopped loving you or the kids. Leaving my family was the
hardest thing I ever did."

"Then
why?"

"Because
I had to—I had to because I stopped loving myself." He glanced out toward
the truck. "It took me a long time to realize that. A lot of things
happened while I was gone. There were things I had to do."

"I
don't understand."

"I
hope you will after I explain." Daniel looked around. "Where are the
kids? My dad? Did he die, LaDaisy? What did you do with him?" He half
grinned. "Well, I didn't mean that like it sounded."

"They're
at Bernie's." She glanced toward the road. "I expect them home soon."

"I've
missed them. Every single day I was gone, I missed them sorely, and you."

"Damn
you, Daniel! I should hate you for leaving me here alone." She was close
to tears again, her mouth quivering, biting her lower lip. "I need time to
sort things out. I don't know how I feel. How I'm supposed to feel. But hate
you? No, I can't."