Bent Road Part 6

Chapter 9.

Trying to outrun the cold air that follows them onto the porch, Celia hustles everyone through the back door. Evie darts left, squeezes between Elaine and the doorframe and slips in front of Ruth.

"Sorry," she says, tripping over Ruth, and the two of them stumble into the kitchen.

"Evie." Celia grabs Evie's collar before she falls face-first on the kitchen floor. In a quieter voice, she says, "You be careful of Aunt Ruth. And mind yourself. We have company."

Celia pulls off her coat and tips her forehead toward Father Flannery, who sits at the head of the table. Arthur sits at the other end, and Reesa has taken a seat in between.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, Father," Celia says. "We lost track of time."

Evie steps up to Father Flannery, extends her hand the way she and Celia practiced in the living room the night before and says, "h.e.l.lo, Father Flannery."

Father Flannery pushes back from the table, his knees falling open to make room for the belly that hangs between them. He takes the tips of Evie's fingers in both hands. "Fine day to see you, Miss Eve."

"I'm Evie in our house, Father. Eve is only for Grandma Reesa's house. And church."

Father Flannery studies Evie over the top of his gla.s.ses. The tip of his nose and chin are still red from the cold. He finally nods and drops Evie's hands. "Your hair is cut," he says to Ruth.

"Yes." Ruth touches the ends of her new shorter hair and smiles up at Elaine. When she looks back at the Father, he isn't smiling. Ruth drops her eyes to the floor.

"Elaine cut it, Father," Evie says. "She's going to color it, too. Red maybe."

Reesa, who has made herself at home in Celia's kitchen, having already brewed the coffee and set out the cream and sugar, shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. "Good gracious," she says.

Arthur scoots up to the table, the squeal of his chair legs silencing Evie and Reesa.

To break the sudden silence, Celia opens the refrigerator and says, "Has Reesa offered you pie, Father?"

Reesa frowns, causing deep creases to cave in at the top of her nose, and shakes her head at Celia. "Didn't seem the time for pie yet."

Father Flannery, still staring at Ruth, says, "Pie'd be real nice, Mrs. Scott. Real nice about now."

Arthur waves off Celia's offer of pie and focuses on Father Flannery. "Seems there must be something the church can do for Ruth," he says. "Something that can help her out of this mess."

"It's not that easy, Arthur. They've been married a good many years."

Arthur exhales and runs a hand through his hair, pus.h.i.+ng it off his forehead.

"What about 'inadequacy of judgment'?" Celia says, leaning into the refrigerator and pus.h.i.+ng aside a carton of eggs. No pie. She stands, hands on her hips, and looks around the kitchen. Everyone at the table is staring at her.

"One of my aunts on my mother's side married quite young," she whispers.

"That's good, Celia," Arthur says, motioning for her to hand him the coffee pot. "Does that work for us, Father?"

Celia unplugs the pot and pa.s.ses it to Arthur. Without even tasting it, Celia knows the coffee is strong, too strong, because that's how Reesa makes it.

"That sounds like just what we need," Arthur says. "Inadequacy of judgment."

Father Flannery holds his mug out to Arthur and presses his gla.s.ses back onto the bridge of his nose. He sniffs as he does it, as if this will cement them into place. "That doesn't seem to apply, Arthur. Not after twenty years."

Reesa nods, closes her eyes and pats her forehead with a yellow handkerchief while pus.h.i.+ng her mug across the table toward Celia to be refilled. Giving the pot a little shake to show that it's empty, Celia mouths the word "sorry" and steps to the counter to brew up some more.

"Sure it applies," Arthur says. "Inadequacy of judgment. We all had it."

He turns to Celia for help.

"They were very young when they married, right?" Celia says. "Young people don't always make good decisions." Then, dropping one spoonful of coffee into the percolator, shorting the batch by two scoops of grounds, she checks inside the stove. Still no pie.

"They were both adults," Father Flannery says, sipping his coffee. "Young, but adults. Both of sound mind. No undue force, I presume. How's that pie coming, Mrs. Scott?"

"Won't be but a moment, Father." Celia stands at the head of the table, her hands still on her hips. "I can't imagine what I've done with it."

Father Flannery leans back in his chair, his large stomach pus.h.i.+ng against the edge of the table. "Did you try on top of the refrigerator? Some of the ladies like to keep their pies on top of the refrigerator."

"Father, there has to be something." Arthur rubs the heel of both hands into his eye sockets. "Undue force. There was undue force. You know what happened. We were all under undue force. That was a terrible time. For everyone."

Slipping behind Arthur, Celia grabs onto the top of the refrigerator and stands on her tiptoes. Nothing.

"I know. I know," Evie says, clapping her hands together. "The Clark City men took your pie."

"Please stop talking about Clark City," Celia says.

"But the kids at school say they escape all the time. Ian's brother says they catch rides on the backs of pickup trucks and jump off when they see the lights of the first house. Everyone knows that our house is the first house after the Brewster place. They take food. Like pie. They take food because they're hungry. Ian says a Clark City man cooked up old Mrs. Murray on the radiator, that radiator right over there in the corner. And Ian says a Clark City man stole Julianne Robison right out of her very own house."

"Good Lord in heaven," Reesa says. "Hush, child. No one took that pie. I put it on the front porch to cool."

Celia spins on her heel to face Reesa. "Reesa, why didn't you . . ." but Arthur gives her a look that tells her he's heard quite enough about the pie.

"So what about that undue force, Father?" Arthur says.

Father Flannery stands, staring at Ruth so hard that she can't lift her head. "I think we owe it to Ray to include him in these discussions. An annulment is no small matter."

"It d.a.m.n sure isn't," Arthur says, also standing.

He is taller than Father Flannery by a good four inches but not nearly as round. Both men rest their fingertips on the edge of the table-Father Flannery on one end, Arthur on the other.

"Ray will not set foot in this house," Arthur says. "I'll make that perfectly clear."

"Understood," Father Flannery says. "We'll meet in the church, then. Or perhaps down at the cafe. When Ray returns, he'll have his thoughts heard." Father Flannery shakes his head as Elaine walks through the front door carrying the pie. "Thank you anyway, Mrs. Scott, but I'll need to be getting along."

"Twenty years this has been going on, Father. Where has the church been for twenty years?"

"And you, Arthur? Where have you been for twenty years?" The Father takes his coat from the back of the chair and drapes it over his arm.

Reesa pats her s.h.i.+ny, red cheeks with her handkerchief, the same one she carries into church every Sunday. Elaine sets the pie on the table and stands by Ruth, who is still staring at the floor. Celia crosses her arms and starts tapping her foot, but she stepped into her lavender slippers when they came back from their walk, so it doesn't make any noise.

"Thank you for the coffee, Mrs. Scott." The Father nods in Celia's direction. "Reesa," he says, giving Reesa the same nod.

"Father." From her spot near the stove, Ruth lifts her head, but not her eyes, and pulls her thin sweater closed as she wraps her arms around herself. "Maybe an annulment isn't called for."

"Ruth," Arthur says. "What are you saying? It d.a.m.n sure is called for. That man beat you nearly senseless."

"Arthur," Celia says, holding up a hand, and then in a softer voice, "Ruth, you deserve some peace. I agree with Arthur. No matter what, that home is not safe for you."

Ruth touches the ends of her new hair. "I don't know if I can ever go back to him, Father." She turns toward Celia and Arthur. "And I'm so grateful that you've taken me in. But I can't have an annulment."

Father Flannery crosses his arms and rests them on his large stomach. "A married woman goes back, Ruth. She doesn't live in her brother's house."

"Yes, Father. I'll stay married, but I don't know if I can go back."

"Ruth, honey," Celia says, running a hand over Ruth's new hair. "You don't have to do this."

"d.a.m.n sure don't," Arthur says.

Reesa crosses her arms and frowns because Arthur cursed again in front of Father Flannery.

"They're right, Ruth," Father Flannery says, sniffing and pus.h.i.+ng his gla.s.ses into place. He stands for a moment, fixing his eyes on Ruth as if the Holy Spirit will sort out the problem if he gives it time and a little silence. "Is there something more I should know?"

"No, Father. Nothing."

Still staring at Ruth, Father Flannery pulls on his black overcoat, tugs his collar into position and puts on his hat. "Reesa," he says, keeping his eyes on Ruth. "Anything I should know about?"

Reesa stretches her chin into the air and pats the folds of her neck. With her eyes closed and her face tilted toward the ceiling, she says, "No, Father. Nothing at all."

"What about you, son?" Father Flannery says.

Inside the back door, Ian and Daniel stand, their cheeks red, their noses s.h.i.+ny because they've just come in from the cold.

"Do you think there's anything else I should know about?"

Daniel steps into the kitchen and looks around the room. "I'm not sure what you mean, Father. We were out"-he pauses-"walking."

"Yeah," Ian says, stepping up next to Daniel and rubbing his right hip with the heel of his palm. "Out walking." Ian seems to shrink every time Celia sees him.

"Very well, then." Father Flannery steps away from the table, pushes in his chair and tips his hat. "It seems we've no need to discuss this matter again." He turns toward Ruth. "I'd like to see you in church tomorrow."

"She hasn't been in church, Father," Arthur says, "because Ray beat her face to a pulp."

Father Flannery ignores Arthur. "Tomorrow, then. You're looking well, Ruth, quite well. Doesn't she look pretty with her new hair, Eve?"

"I'm Evie, Father."

Chapter 10.

Leaning against the kitchen sink, her arms crossed, Celia taps her lavender slipper. Reesa struggles out of her chair and shuffles after Father Flannery. Facing Celia on the opposite side of the kitchen, Arthur stands, his arms also crossed. He lowers his head, staring at her from under the hood of his brow, and as his mother pa.s.ses, he steps aside to make room without ever taking his eyes off Celia. Daniel and Ian have disappeared down the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs, and Elaine, pressing a finger to her lips so Evie won't speak, leads Evie out of the kitchen toward her bedroom.

Celia and Arthur stand facing each other, not moving and not speaking. The floor creaks as the two girls pa.s.s, and when they have closed the bedroom door behind them, the house falls silent. Ruth slips into the small s.p.a.ce between the side of the stove and wall, puts her hands in her ap.r.o.n pockets, and lowers her head. Outside, Father Flannery's engine starts up. Arthur straightens to his full height and unfolds his arms.

"Put a pot of water on to boil. The big pot," he says and follows his mother outside.

Celia, thinking Ruth is no bigger than Evie tucked between the wall and the stove, turns toward her and smiles. When they moved into the house, the stove sat square in the corner, but Reesa moved it because she said a person would want to get a mop in there. She said Mrs. Murray wasn't much of a housekeeper, G.o.d rest her soul, so it wasn't any wonder the stove was pushed to the wall.

"I'll speak to him," Celia says, wrapping her arms around her own waist. "You don't have to go back, Ruth. We want you here. With us. It will work out. It will."

Ruth nods. "I have to tell him. Waiting won't solve anything."

"No," Celia says, as gently as she can, as gently as if she were talking to a sick child. "Let me."

Ruth nods again. She starts to slip back into her corner until Celia pulls out a chair from the kitchen table and motions for her to sit. In the months since they moved to Kansas, Ruth's skin isn't as pale as it once was and she lifts her eyes when she talks to a person. Now, after sitting for a few minutes with Father Flannery, she is back again, to the frail woman, carrying a cold strawberry pie, who stepped so carefully out of the truck on the Scotts' first day in Kansas.

"Thank you," Ruth says. "I'll put on Arthur's water and start supper."

Celia smiles, and walking onto the back porch, she grabs her blue sweater from the row of hooks near the door. She breathes in dry, cool air and presses the sweater to her face, smelling her own perfume. It reminds her of Detroit because she doesn't bother with perfume here in Kansas. Taking a few more deep breaths, as if the cold air will fortify her, she pulls on the sweater, straightens the seam of each sleeve and steps outside.

The sun has moved low in the sky, hanging barely above the western horizon. Soon the chilly afternoon will be a cold evening. She would have said it smelled like snow had she still lived in Detroit, but she doesn't know if Kansas snow smells the same. Pulling her sweater closed, she walks down the three steps toward Arthur, who is standing just beyond the garage.

"What do you need the hot water for?" she calls out when she thinks she's close enough to be heard. Crossing in front of the garage where she can see around the far corner, she stops and drops her arms to her side. Arthur and Reesa stand at the edge of the light thrown from the back porch. "What are you doing?"

"Ma brought it for supper," Arthur says, without looking up.

"I have soup and sandwiches," Celia says. "Ruth is laying it out."

"Now we have chicken."

Standing next to Arthur, Reesa tugs on a rope tied off to a beam jutting out a few feet from the garage's roofline. On the other end of the rope, a chicken hangs, suspended by its wiry, yellow legs. The bird is nearly motionless, seemingly confused by its upside-down perspective. Arthur grabs its head and Reesa steps back.

"I need to talk to you, Arthur," Celia says, b.u.t.toning her sweater's bottom two b.u.t.tons and squinting at the bird. "Reesa and I both need to talk to you."

Gripping the chicken's head in his left hand, Arthur raises his eyebrows at his mother. Reesa dabs the folds on her neck with the corner of the yellow and white checked ap.r.o.n tied around her waist.

"Whatever it is can wait," Arthur says. He lifts the knife in his right hand as if inspecting the sharpness of the blade and rotates it slowly. It would have sparkled if there had been any sunlight.

"No," Celia says, glancing at Reesa. "It really can't."

In one seamless motion, Arthur rolls the bird's head slightly to the left and pulls the knife across its neck. He doesn't cut so deeply that the head comes loose in his hand. Instead, it dangles as if hanging by a hinge. Blood shoots out, a bright red, perfectly shaped arch. Celia lets out a squeaking noise and stumbles backward. After the initial gush, the blood slows and begins to flow in a smooth steam that lands in a bucket that Arthur kicks a few times until it is in the right spot. Then, with the knife still in his hand, he says to Celia, "Okay, what is it?"