Dwelling Places (27 page)

Today Annette looks tired. Jodie heard recently that her oldest daughter just lost a baby, in the third month. She wonders what other events have visited Annette's family, events that Jodie would have known about when she was in regular contact.

“Annette! How are you?”

The woman is slender, her naturally wavy blond hair tied back in the way most women deal with long hair when there's work to do. “Oh, we're all right, Jodie. How about you?”

“Fine, fine.”

“I hear that Mack's doing a lot better.”

“Yes, thanks for mentioning it. He is. I was sorry to hear about Katie—how's she doing?”

Annette's smile is steady. “She and Tim have done real well. It was a first pregnancy, and the doctor says there's no reason she can't keep on trying.”

“Sometimes it's as if the body hasn't caught on yet. And she's young.”

“Yes. They have plenty of time. You look good, Jodie.”

“So do you.” Their smiles linger in the pause that follows.

“You all are still in my prayers.” Annette can say such a thing and not sound condescending or pitying or judging. Jodie feels pain at this renewed understanding of the friendships she has given up in the name of survival.

“We really appreciate that.”

They part company, and it's a few moments before Jodie can remember what she came for and what errands are next on her list. She thinks of the birthday party, the lightness of that afternoon, and the warmth of female company. When, exactly, did she decide to forfeit all of that? Was it the shame of losses that made her withdraw? After a while, if the grief and loss keep coming, the world goes silent. No one knows what to say anymore. Taylor Senior's death was typical enough—farm accident—and he was in his sixties. But Mack giving
up the farm, and then Alex losing his, and then Alex dying. A person was tempted to think that the odds were stacked no matter what. After all that, what support or help is even plausible?

She stops, last of all, at Rita's to deliver groceries and mail and visit for a bit, but not long because Rita feels lousy and is on her way to a nap. With her mother-in-law safely tucked away at home, Jodie takes several deep breaths. She tries to shake out all the negative thoughts that have plagued her this afternoon, and with that in mind, she takes Walnut Street and slows down as she passes Terry's house. The car is in the garage, the ruts in the drive half-filled with the morning's snowfall. Even though she is bundled up in old sweats and a jacket, Jodie feels suddenly voluptuous and close to shivers. She forces herself to keep pressure on the gas pedal, gliding by the small house not unlike most vehicles traveling in town when snow is on. She has never been in Terry's house, at least not since they have become lovers. She thinks she remembers dropping some materials at his door one day, some forms the school secretary had asked her to walk over one time. The memory of Terry at that time is like the memory of another person altogether. He had just moved in, had been in town maybe a month. It is amazing what new chemistry does to another person's being. Terry seems different from the guy who came to Beulah two years ago and bears no resemblance to the kid she knew in high school. Maybe he dresses differently or something. Maybe he just looks more like what he truly is, now that Jodie is paying attention.

When she steps in the door of the farmhouse, her bit of Terry happiness is shattered by music from the living room. Heavy metal something from Young Taylor's collection. Her son is stretched out on the sofa, no light on in the room, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey! Turn it down!” She has to yell this twice before the form on the sofa twitches.

“Mom, listen to this.”

“No! It sounds like a train wreck. Turn it down.”

“You're not really listening.”

She marches across to the CD player and shuts it off. Young Taylor doesn't move; his eyes are closed. It makes her think of the way he covered his face when he was little and getting into trouble, thinking that if he couldn't see Mom and Dad, they couldn't find him.

“You can play it upstairs. Better yet, with your headphones on.”

“Mom, you need to slow down.”

“Yeah, I'll do that once the new maid and cook get here.”

She looks at the clock and mutters Jesus's name. She can't pinpoint when she began to use it as a swear word. She'd hardly used any profanity during all her growing-up years and kept a particularly clean mouth when the children were little. But now she is uttering sacred words right and left as if she has just discovered their power. She suspects that she started using the Lord's name this way to get his attention; obviously, prayers that used the name properly had not been good enough. Or maybe this is how she tells God how angry she is at his system. Whatever, it's a protest. Supper should be ready by now. She throws open the freezer door and finds some hamburger, sticks it in the microwave to thaw. Sloppy Joes tonight. No buns. Oh well, it goes all right over toast.

Mack walks in as she is fighting the can of tomato paste.

“Hey, want me to do that?”

“No, I've got it.” The phone rings. Mack is closest, but Jodie puts the can and opener in his hands and reaches for it herself.

“Jodie, it's me.”

Her lips go numb. Terry's voice has become a private, important sound in her life. She sees Young Taylor's feet still at the end of the sofa, and says to Mack, pointing toward their son, “Would you tell him to straighten up the family room, please? And take his music upstairs.” Mack goes to Young Taylor, still working the can opener.

“Not a good idea, calling this time of day,” she says into the phone, just above a whisper.

“Oh, right. He's back home now.”

“Well, my kids are here too, and most of the time the phone calls are for them.”

“Sorry, Jodie, but the suspense was killing me.”

“Huh?”

The phone is silent. “My note—you haven't read it yet?”

“What note?”

He laughs, nervously. “The one I stuck in the side of your purse while you were in the post office. Yours was the only car on the street, so I thought it was safe. You didn't see it?”

Jodie looks at her purse, which she set on the kitchen cabinet next to the door. The side pocket is empty.

“What did it look like?” She picks up the purse and begins rummaging through it. She looks toward the family room, where Mack and Young Taylor are picking up newspapers, talking quietly.

“Just a plain white envelope. I put it in that side pocket. You couldn't miss it.”

The numbness that began in her lips suddenly rushes the length of her body. This time, Jesus's name is a true prayer.

“What?” Terry sounds irritated.

“I put Rita's mail in that pocket so it wouldn't get mixed up with mine. Terry, what were you thinking? I must have picked up your note with all her stuff.”

His voice turns crackly with panic. “Do you think she's found it yet? Can you go over there and get it?”

“I'm in the middle of supper now, and Mack and the kids are home. I can't leave! And yes, she rips through her mail the minute I give it to her. Did you have my name on it? Was it sealed? She'd just return it to me.”

He sighed. “No, I drew a lily on it—you know, the kind you like so much?”

“I've got to go.” She hangs up as Mack wanders back in. He smiles and hands her the opened can.

Kenzie

 

Dear Jesus,

I'm so confused. I have so many emotions inside me now. I feel love and fear and everything else. And I pray almost every minute of the day, but the more I pray, the less you seem to be around. Oh, I know you're with me all the time, but I used to feel it more. I used to be sure. Your Holy Spirit would fill me with peace and assurance. But now I don't know what I feel.

I love Mitchell. I love him so much. I can tell that he's a godly man, someone so close to you that other people don't understand him. Just like they didn't understand the prophets—or you, Jesus. I became his friend because I thought he needed to know you and that I could help him. But it's the other way around. He's helped me so much to understand you and the world and the future and what we have to do as Christians.

I've waited my whole life for a true, spiritual friend like Mitchell. And you led us to meet each other, but everything's confused. Believing is so hard now. Maybe because I finally understand what it means. You said we had to hate our fathers and mothers. I never thought that would mean leaving Mom and Dad. But I can see what's happening, that the Tribulation is on its way and the Anti-Christ has already attacked our home. I thought you'd want me to stay and do battle, but I can see now that your ways are not our ways.

How can I leave my family? How did you leave, Jesus, when you were grown and it was time for you to start preaching and healing? Did it hurt this much? Did your mother and brothers and sisters not understand why? I know how they tried to lock you up once—they thought you were crazy. Just like people will think I'm crazy when I go away with Mitchell.

But when I'm with him, everything feels sure and true. I know that what I'm doing is the right thing. He and I can pray together and talk about your Word for hours. And he can build anything. He's so much smarter than people think. He'll take care of me. I can't believe that you sent such a wonderful man to me. I thought I was too young, that
you thought I was a kid, just like Mom and Dad and Grandma think. But Mary was just a teenager when you made her pregnant with Jesus. So I guess that in your plan it's fine for me to go away. You're calling me to a better place. I have to be in a community that loves you and only you. I thought I could really help here, and maybe I did. But you're calling me away now, to a real family of faith, a group of brave people who understand all the horrible things that are happening.

Jesus, help me do what I'm supposed to do. Thanks for bringing me Mitchell, who can be strong even when I'm not.

But please, please, make this not hurt so much. I don't mind suffering for you, but is there any way you can make it so my parents don't suffer because of what I'm doing?

At least Dad's home now. Maybe my leaving will make him and Mom work together better; maybe they need the pain so that you can heal them completely.

Thank you for everything. I hope I didn't sound ungrateful or like I don't have faith. I finally do have faith. But it's different from what I thought it would be. Everything is so different. I guess that's what it means to grow up in the spirit.

Give me strength and peace. Help Mitchell as he makes the plans. We want to do everything according to your will.

In Jesus's precious name, Amen.

Jodie

She feels nothing at all as she pulls out the Christmas tins, the ones that get stored from year to year in the top of the pantry. They are round or square, bearing deeply shined winter scenes or patterns of holly or candy canes. By now she has collected about twenty of them, and not too many years ago she and Rita filled each and every one with homemade candies and cookies. Nearly half of the sacred family recipes were brought out only after Thanksgiving and exploited for Christmas and New Year's alone—the fancy confections bearing names of ancient aunts and grandmas, long dead but coming alive for those few weeks in the bleak winter, resurrected in sugar and nuts, food coloring and dustings of flour or cinnamon.

This act of pulling out the tins used to feel sacred, or at least special. Today Jodie lines them up on the counter while fighting panic. She has called Rita twice, and no one answered. Unless Rita is hitching rides with Amos or someone else, she's got to be home. Her refusal to pick up the phone can mean only one thing: she has discovered the note.

Or it could mean that she's too sick to come to the phone.

The logical thing would be to have Mack run over and check on her. But if the note is the problem, that could bring disaster. Jodie would go over there herself, but she hasn't the strength to deal with Rita's wrath, which is the worst kind: courteous and full of a martyr's sorrow. Jodie will wait another ten minutes. It's possible that Rita was simply indisposed before, maybe in the shower or just waking up.

She washes the tins and sets them around the warm kitchen to dry. She will fill them with store-bought food and whatever Rita has been creating on her own. The clock indicates that the ten minutes of waiting is almost up. Jodie stares out the window above the sink. The fields are one continuous color, or a clay-induced noncolor. The wind is too cold. The sky rests on her life too heavily. She would give anything for today to be January 2.

To make matters worse, Mack is working harder than ever to entice the Christmas spirit from everyone. He has trekked to the woods and pastures three times already, gathering boughs off pines, cedars, and spruces. He has made wreaths for both doors and strung the rest around doorways and windows. Even Young Taylor is rooting through dilapidated boxes of decorations for the right bell or angel figurine to set in the middle of his dad's creations. It has been odd to watch the two of them, bent over a crippled wing or missing hook, barely speaking but apparently enjoying the process. This is a nice change. Now that Mack is busy concocting Christmas, he isn't so frantic to become useful in any other way.

Last night, unexpectedly, they made love.

She isn't sure which event has caused the most shock to her system, Terry's note landing at Rita's, or Mack's embracing her in the
dark of their room. It happened innocently enough. She noticed him ratcheting his arm around as though to undo a kink. She gave him a deep massage in those muscles. He's always coming in at the end of the day with something aching. Rubbing away his minor pains has been part of Jodie's routine for years.

So she did what needed doing, and he thanked her and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. She was settled in bed when he got there. She raised her face enough to receive the light good-night kiss, as customary as the massage. Mack kissed her on the cheek, and then took hold of her face and kissed her mouth. Then he lay over her gently, allowing their faces to linger together.

She wanted to stop, feeling, strangely enough, unfaithful. Just two days before she had made love to Terry forty miles away. It had been good, so good that she had found it even easier than before to ignore her guilt. This was costing her husband nothing, after all. He didn't touch her anymore. He would never know. He wouldn't be hurt.

But now, the hands that found the nape of her neck, then her breasts, then her tummy—these were her husband's hands. And possibly because her body had come awake in recent weeks, every touch resonated down to her deepest point of sex. Maybe Mack hadn't touched her in a long time, but he had touched her for years before that, and she'd forgotten how well he knew her specific geography. As he stroked her inner thighs and filled her mouth with his own taste, she lost all sense. The sound in her ears was of her own heart crashing.

When he moved over her, grasping both of her hands in his, she knew that she would let everything happen. It broke her heart to see the joy in Mack's face as he entered her and stayed for some time before climaxing. A few moments later he helped her come too; he really hadn't forgotten a thing.

Then he went to sleep, and she didn't shut her eyes for the rest of the night.

Tomorrow Marty and David and Sharon arrive from Omaha. All of them will gather in this house and do their best to have a holiday.
Jodie and Marty always got along well; it has cost Jodie more than she will think about to have her former sister-in-law and her niece and nephew so far away and out of touch. But to have them here at this particular time…she fears Marty's intuition. She fears having Rita here, full of knowledge she won't dare voice but that will color her every comment anyway. Christmas is a disaster waiting to happen, like thunderheads out of which ominous tails are beginning to form, tornadoes ready to hit earth.

Mack's boots sound on the back steps. He is returning from his walk to the end of the drive to retrieve the newspaper from its box. As he walks in, bringing the smell of cold with him, the phone rings. Jodie grabs it. “Hello?”

“Hello.” Rita's voice is raspy from her cough.

“Mom, I was just about to call you.”

She hears Rita struggling to clear her throat. “Did you call before?”

Jodie can't tell anything from the tone of Rita's voice. She decides to take the cowardly way out and just pretend that everything is normal. There's a thin chance that Rita was too worn out to look through all the mail. Or if she did run across the note with no name on it, she may have assumed it was Jodie's and not opened it.

“Yes, I called a couple of times this morning.”

“It's the cold medicine—really knocks me out.” A silence follows. Jodie pushes forward.

“I'll be over in a while, to run whatever errands you need.”

“I don't need anything.” The voice is distant.

“Well, there might be something. I'll stop by.”

“I have something of yours.”

Mack is sitting at the table, coffee in hand and newspaper spread in front of him. Jodie tries to breathe normally. “I think there was an envelope in my purse that got mixed up with your mail.”

“Yes, I think so.”

Jodie closes her eyes, recognizing the glaze of cold anger in the voice on the phone. “I don't think my name was on it.”

“No, but it was inside.”

God, just destroy me now.
“I'll come over and get it.” Her own voice is flat to her ears. She hopes she doesn't sound afraid.

“I'd rather you send Mack today.”

Jodie struggles to put an answer together, one that will prevent all the wrong things from happening. Rita continues.

“I'll hold the note for you.”

“I'll get it later then.”

“I don't want to upset Mack.”

She is saying that she won't tell him, and Jodie almost says, “Thank you,” but instead replies, “He'll be over in a bit.”

The phone goes dead at the other end. Mack looks at her as she hangs up.

“That Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“She all right?”

“Sure.”

“I'd better not dilly-dally over the paper then. Don't want to keep her plans hanging in the balance.” He smiles and turns a page. Jodie turns away and finds some items to put into the sink. She looks at the Christmas tins and wants to scream.
Merry Christmas to each of us.
To husband and to lover, to children who instinctively worry about what they don't yet know, to mother-in-law who might just die rather than deal with this new catastrophe. To Jodie Barnes, adulteress and humbug, who hates Christmas but somehow loves two men.

Rita

At least her pneumonia has eased up. Marty, David, and Sharon are out at the farm, and tomorrow is Christmas Day. Rita has a pie in the oven and chicken and noodles on the stove. The celebration begins this evening, and she's got fudge cooling. She roams from one room to another, checking the grocery sacks that have Christmas gifts in them, making sure the nametags are on each one. There are a lot of small gifts, items she's picked up at sales throughout the year. No big
gifts for anyone, but no one expects that. All the grandkids are old enough now to appreciate some money in a card. Of course, she's found them other things besides. It's just not Christmas without presents to unwrap, even if all that's inside is a new pair of socks.

As if she could really celebrate anyway. In the kitchen drawer where she keeps her bills, underneath her checkbook, is Jodie's note. Jodie has not been out to get it, and Rita has been too busy cooking and wrapping to have someone drive her out to the farm. She can't take the note with her, knowing that Mack is there. The whole mess is just so awkward and painful. She's managed not to speak with Jodie since the other morning when they first discussed it on the phone.

She has read it twice. Once, when she didn't know what it was. After the meaning sank in, she read it another time, carefully. Truth be told, she took it out a day later and read it again. Written on school stationery, it was more romantic than sexual, but a person could not mistake its meaning. Every morning since, Rita has awakened feeling sick to her stomach. She has watched Mack and Jodie fuss and fight over the years, but she always trusted that they'd make up and keep going. Both of them were steady people, at least until Mack's illness got the best of him. But even then, he stayed committed to his family. Rita's not convinced he would have gone into the hospital at all if it hadn't been for that. He really did not care about his own life back then. Watching him stumble through his days had been like observing an infant born without an immune system. You didn't know when, but you were sure that sooner or later some malady would overcome the child and there would be no fighting it.

But Mack rallied because he had a wife and children. That was born into him. And Jodie just got stronger and kept them all afloat. It doesn't make sense that, after all they've weathered, she would get weak now.

This is what Rita tells herself, because it is the logical argument. But underneath that is another logic altogether. A woman gets tired, sometimes so tired that her very character crumbles under the weight. Rita has seen this happen; she remembers her own fatigue
during the years when both sons were newly married and siring children and her responsibilities had grown to embrace not one but three families at the very time when she and Taylor could barely hold on to their own farm. She tries not to remember those unbearable afternoons when the quiet of her kitchen would surround her while the worries multiplied in her head. She tries to push that knowledge away now, but instead she sits on the sofa, surrounded by Christmas goodies and gifts, and remembers the women of her town.

She has known a few who carried their unhappiness like a tradition they couldn't part with. Rita decided long ago that such women would be unhappy no matter what the situation or who they were married to. But others were given burdens they could not bear: husbands who drank or beat them or simply dismissed them and defiled the marriage bed again and again. Rita figures that this is true in any place, but in Beulah the secrets have never stayed secrets. How often she had wished (though she could never bring herself to pray it) that the husband of her good friend Teresa would meet his end early. It was clear to everyone that Ted Hallowell was simply mean. When he finally did die, they all traipsed by his casket to be respectful of the dead and especially of Teresa. But the relief in her living room after the service was palpable. Teresa burst out of prison that day and hasn't stopped to catch her breath since.

Sarah James lived with her husband for forty years and had two lovers at different times. John never knew of it. And even the most righteous churchgoers stopped short of all-out condemnation. Sarah had married young because she was of age and John was there. The families had been friends and neighbors for two generations. And Sarah's father had two younger daughters to marry off as well; he would not have a grown daughter at home when she could be setting up her own household. Possibly this was why the blame people held for her did not run completely deep and true. Rather than feel sorry for herself and turn into a lump by middle age, Sarah made a life she could endure, even enjoy.

None of that matters now. Jodie is family, and she has injured the family, and Rita is so angry at her that she is afraid to be in the same room with her. And Jodie is her daughter; in every way she has loved and cared for Rita as much as a daughter would have. She is the mother of Young Taylor and Kenzie. She has become blood kin, and the thought of losing her sends streaks of panic through Rita's soul. She does not know what to do with all of this commotion inside her.

So she gets up from the couch and checks on the pies, stirs the pot of noodles. As the homemade strips of egg dough swirl in the fresh chicken broth, Rita makes a decision. She will put off dealing with this crisis over the next two days. Marty and the kids are here, the first gathering of this sort in nearly three years. Mack is doing better, and Rita is still trying to stay out of the hospital. That's a full enough plate. She will be civil to Jodie, and this adultery topic will not come up until after the holiday.

She goes to the kitchen table and writes this new request on her list of prayers: “Help Jodie and me to get through the holiday without any upset.”

In a few hours, Mack comes to pick her up in the truck. He has loaded a heavy cooler into the truck bed, and in this he carefully places the pot of noodles and the pie. The sacks of presents and an additional sack of holiday cookies and candies get shoved up against the back of the truck cab, where they won't slide around. His grasp feels strong as he helps Rita step up into the cab.