Old Wounds (30 page)

24.

C
HRISTIANS
M
AY
F
ORGIVE BUT
O
NLY
F
OOLS
F
ORGET

Thursday, October 20

“Elizabeth, how nice
to see you! And Rosemary! Let’s go back to my office; we’ll be more comfortable there. You just missed Krystalle…or did you see her on your way in?”

The voice was familiar; the smooth, unaccented, woman-in-charge radio voice that dominated much of right-wing talk radio, weekdays from nine till noon. But the impeccably and elegantly attired woman who stood before them…

“Patricia?” Elizabeth studied her ex-neighbor doubtfully. The bouffant yellow hair of the past had become a carefully toned ash blond, worn in a classic cut that fell just along Trish Trantham’s classic, sculptured jawline. The tight, bright clothes that had adorned Mrs. Barbie were gone; Trish Trantham wore an artful and expensive layering of cashmere, silk, and suede: a symphony of understated taupe, gunmetal, and pearl.
And what happened to the big bosom? I saw her in a bikini. I know it was real, or at least, real implants. Where’d those go?

“Was that Krystalle going out the door?” Rosemary asked. “I didn’t recognize her. I think Jared said she works with you?”

Trish Trantham motioned them into a large office without replying. Ignoring the imposing desk, she led them to a sitting area furnished with a luxurious mole gray velvet sofa and wingback chairs covered in heavy silk the deep purple of a thundercloud. The chairs were pulled close to the sofa to allow for intimate conversation.

“One of my assistants will bring us coffee.” Trish Trantham composed herself gracefully in a wingback, bestowing a benevolent smile on Elizabeth and Rosemary. “Yes, Rosemary, that was Krystalle. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize her. She’s working through a number of problems at present, and choosing to ignore her appearance is one of the passive-aggressive mechanisms she’s employing.”

Trish kicked off her improbably high heels and pulled her feet up under her. She resembled nothing so much, Elizabeth thought, as a blue-point Siamese, right down to the huge sapphire eyes that had just turned her way with an appraising stare.

“You know, Elizabeth, I’m glad that you came with Rosemary. I’m afraid that after we left Mullmore I tried my best to forget everything about Marshall County. I didn’t even know about Sam’s death until I spoke with Rosemary. Please, may I offer my condolences?” She extended a manicured hand and lightly brushed Elizabeth’s arm. “He was such a lovely man. Such a devoted father…and husband.”

Elizabeth felt her arm tighten in an involuntary response. “Thank you, Patri—excuse me,
Trish.
Yes, he was that.”
And you certainly did your best to undevote him back then.

Why the hell did I agree to come? What bloody good is it to stir up the past this way? Sam’s interlude with this woman was over almost before it began and my brief moment with Mike was just that—a moment. Sam and I were a faithful, loving couple for years and years afterward. And now, that one bad time’s the main thing I can remember. Oh, bloody hell!

The door opened and a dark-haired young woman came in, carrying a silver tray. She set it on the coffee table in front of them.

“Thank you, Melissa.” Trish Trantham uncoiled herself and picked up the silver coffeepot. “Have them hold all my calls, please. Elizabeth, do you take it black?”

The interruption helped; the small ritual of cup and saucer (thin, creamy porcelain—
you couldn’t hurl this across the room in anger, not like a mug
) and fragrant steaming coffee forced Elizabeth back into the present moment and its purpose.
We’re here for Rosemary—to talk about
her
memories, not mine.

“…and we have to recognize that after all this time, none of us is the same. Obviously, you’ve grown up, Rosemary, but I mean something more…. I like to think that we’ve all grown.”

Trish Trantham was in radio mode now. She set her cup and saucer back on the tray and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin resting on her interlaced fingers. “Let me share with you something of my journey since we left Mullmore. I’d like you to know who I am now before we go back to the old Patricia Mullins.” She smiled a self-deprecating smile. “I often share my story with groups—parents who’ve suffered traumatic loss; they seem to take strength from it. Forgive me if it sounds a bit…practiced.”

The story
was
obviously a well-rehearsed, often told tale. Silly young woman…dysfunctional family background…poorly educated…bad choices…lack of values…false goals…achievement of false goals…realization of emptiness of life…and then disaster. Trish Trantham was unsparing in her condemnation of Patricia Mullins.

“My behavior in those years before we lost Maythorn was terrible, I confess.” Trish held Elizabeth with a limpid gaze. “I knew the moment you walked in that you were still carrying anger toward me; your body language shouted it out. And Patricia deserved that anger—sad to say, she had the morals of a cat in heat. Elizabeth, I’m truly sorry for any pain that she caused you…” the sapphire eyes swiveled to encompass Rosemary “…or you, Rosemary. Please forgive Patricia, and know that granting of forgiveness is a step toward your own healing as well.”

Something a friend had said years ago ran through Elizabeth’s mind:
Any Christian can forgive. But only a fool forgets.
Repressing a powerful desire to repeat this, she nodded at Trish, who was holding out her lovely hands in somewhat dramatic supplication. “You’re right, Trish. I
was
remembering several occasions. But as you say, we’re none of us the same people anymore; Patricia has my forgiveness.”
For what it’s worth. And I still wouldn’t trust her
or
Trish in my meat house with a muzzle, as Miss Birdie says.

Trish sighed and leaned back. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You know, one of the truly important lessons that I learned from the loss of Maythorn was the power of forgiveness. Yes, I had to learn to forgive myself, as well as others. And I had to face the fact that my firstborn child was gone forever—accept the reality and go on with my life. It was then, in the depths of despair, my child ripped from me, my husband lost in the bottle, it was then that I found my strength, my voice, my true calling.”

The second half of the Trish Trantham story: enlightenment…self-realization and actualization…the perfect mentor…the lucky break
…All made possible by the extremely munificent divorce settlement she hasn’t mentioned. Rosemary said that Jared told her it was around ten million dollars. I may throw up if she says much more about the struggle of a single mom. I don’t know—I think I liked her better as Mrs. Barbie.

But at last the saga was drawing to a close. “So you see, I’ve moved on. As
you
should, Rosemary. But, of course, I want to help you. Let’s treat this as if you’re a caller to my show.”

Trish leaned forward again and stared into Rosemary’s eyes. “Good afternoon, Rosemary, what’s your question? Tell Trish.”

“Well, I guess—”

“No guessing. If you have a question, ask it.”

Elizabeth watched—fighting back a growing annoyance
or is it jealousy?
—as her daughter struggled to arrange words in an acceptable form. Finally Rosemary said, “Trish, I think that Maythorn wants me to find out what happened…to find
her.
Do you think I’m crazy?”

Trish Trantham studied Rosemary intently. “When you say ‘Maythorn wants,’ do you mean that you believe she’s
spoken
to you?”

“No, nothing like that…I’m not hearing voices or seeing ghosts. But I have had…well, it sounds ridiculous, but at various times I’ve been almost overpowered with the feeling that she’s trying to contact me, trying to tell me to find out the truth.”

“And you feel you owe her this because…?”

Elizabeth watched in horror as her daughter, typically so self-contained and unemotional, struggled to answer, then began to cry. Without a word, Trish pushed a strategically poised tissue container across the coffee table to Rosemary.

“Take your time, Rosie,” said Trish Trantham. “Pull yourself together and then tell me why you feel it was your fault.”

“What? You can’t—”

Elizabeth’s outcry was halted by Rosemary’s uplifted hand. “She’s right, Mum. It
was
my fault—I should have warned her.”

25.

H
IDEY
H
OLES

Thursday, October 20

“Yeah, I’ve told
her what we’re looking for. She says Sam never mentioned any deposition or photos. We’re making a systematic search…. Remember, he said he
gave
her the key—so we’re looking at all the gifts Sam gave Elizabeth from the time we found out Landrum was alive to the time Sam died.”

Phillip looked at his watch with some irritation. The voice on the cell phone went on and on. “Trust me, Gabby, I’m checking out everything…. I know, Red was big into puzzles and codes. There’s a little box he made with some intricate carving—I’ve sent it to Del for his people to look at, along with a ring; she thinks it’s an antique, but the designs on it are pretty odd…could be a cipher of some kind. And both of these are things he’d gotten her for Christmas the year he died.”

He looked at his watch again. “No, nothing new on the plane crash. But it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it, what a lucky break it was for Landrum…. No, I haven’t.”

From his perch on the front-porch railing, he could hear the sound of Elizabeth’s jeep. “Listen, Gabby, I’ll get back to you later. You keep an eye on Landrum’s people; let me know if it looks like they’re going to make another move…. Okay, will do.”

He returned the little phone to his pocket and watched the approach of the car, moving slowly up the road, Molly loping gracefully alongside and Ursa trotting behind. James, who had been keeping him company on the porch, bounded down the steps and pattered along the stone path to be ready to greet Elizabeth. With an inward chuckle, Phillip followed the little dog.

“Afternoon, Miz Goodweather.” His strong arms encircled her as she stepped out of the car. “How’d it go with the radio lady? Find out anything useful?”

She leaned into him, savoring the embrace. “Useful, I don’t know. But I did find out that when it comes to Rosemary, I haven’t had a clue. Just like I didn’t have a clue about Sam and that Vietnam horror story.”

She tried to keep the bitterness and hurt out of her voice. It had not been easy to sit and watch Rosemary unburden herself of the guilt she had carried so many years—
to watch her bare her
soul
to Trish bloody Trantham, of all people! And then to hear her accuse
Cletus.

“Cletus?”

Sitting there in that luxurious office, watching a professionally sympathetic Trish Trantham extract the story bit by painful bit from a weeping Rosemary, Elizabeth had at last grasped the meaning of the rambling, tearful account her daughter was giving.

“Rosemary? You mean you thought that
Cletus
was responsible for whatever happened to Maythorn? And it was somehow your fault?”

Trish had ignored Elizabeth’s outburst. “I always said that it was that half-wit—excuse me, developmentally disabled young man. I said so over and over, but the sheriff was sure it had to be that other local, the one who had threatened Moon. Of
course
it was Cletus!”

Elizabeth had looked on in disbelief as Rosemary, fighting to control her voice, stammered out, “I…I should have told someone. If I’d just warned Maythorn, told her that he scared me…”

“Or you might have told
me
!” Elizabeth reached for Rosemary’s hand. “Rosie, what did Cletus
do
that scared you? And why didn’t you—”

“Oh, Mum, you and Pa and Laurie all loved Cletus so much. I felt bad that he made me feel creepy just because he was the way he was. But there was this one time…”

“Phillip, I don’t know what to think. I’m glad Rosemary had plans with Jared tonight so I could talk to you about all of this before she comes back.”

The temperature had dropped during the day and the heat of the logs crackling in the fireplace was welcome. They sat after supper, side by side on the sofa facing the fire, their feet propped up on the old chest that served as a coffee table. Phillip’s arm was around her and the warmth of his body was even more comforting than that of the fire.

“So the incident that actually scared Rosemary was when Cletus skinned a squirrel?”

“Yes, and that, in itself, doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people used to hunt and eat squirrels. Still do. She knows that. But she got it in her mind that he was going to do the same thing to her dog, Dinah, the little hound we had back then. Rosemary said that one day Dinah had been missing since the night before and she found Cletus in the woods leading Dinah on a rope.”

“Why didn’t she tell you at the time?”

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. At last she spoke. “That’s what makes me feel so bad. First Rosemary said that she hadn’t thought we’d take her seriously. Then, after some of Trish’s trademark badgering, Rosemary said it was because when she came to the house right after this happened, Sam and I were in our room with the door shut. She said that I was crying.”

Phillip’s arm tightened around her. After a pause he said quietly, “Did that happen a lot? Sam always gave me the impression that you two had a really happy marriage.”

She laid her head against his shoulder and shut her eyes. “Like the curate’s egg, parts of it were excellent. No, that’s not fair—
most
of it was excellent. It was his dreams that were the problem. I told you, they were bad when we first moved here, and though they got less frequent, there were still times…I’d given up trying to talk him into getting professional help, but I still tried to get him to talk about it with me.”

Elizabeth stared at the dancing flames. “You know, Phillip, during those first three years we were here, between getting going with the farm, taking care of Laurie, who was something of a handful, and worrying about Sam’s state of mind, I was just thankful that Rosie didn’t seem to need much attention. It took the loss of Maythorn for me to see that she did. And then she shut me out.”

When the meeting with Trish Trantham had finally ended, Elizabeth had felt an urgent necessity to talk to her daughter alone. They had stood by their cars in the parking lot, both still shaken with emotion, reluctant to pursue the revelations just uncovered but unable to ignore them. Rosemary’s dark glasses hid her eyes, but Elizabeth suspected that they were still wet with tears.

“Rosie, when are you meeting Jared? Could we go somewhere for coffee first? Or maybe to the Botanical Garden and take a walk?”

Rosemary had stood there indecisively, jingling her car keys and looking away. At last she said, “A walk would be nice, Mum. I’m not meeting Jared till five.”

The winding paths of the UNCA botanical gardens were almost deserted, and Rosemary, still hidden behind her dark glasses, had set off at a brisk pace as though attempting to outdistance her demons. Elizabeth lagged a little behind, hoping that the exertion would calm her daughter and leave her ready to talk. Almost twenty minutes went by with only the muffled sounds of their footsteps on the leaf-strewn paths, birdsong, the chatter of squirrels, and the murmur of water in a distant creek. Finally Rosemary halted by a bench and waited for her mother to catch up.

Elizabeth sank down gratefully and tried to catch her breath. “Could we rest a bit before going on?” she implored. “And I need to apologize to you, sweetie.”

Rosemary took off the sunglasses and sat beside her mother. “Apologize? For what?”

“For not understanding how you felt about Cletus, for not knowing how afraid you were, for all the things I did that were wrong or didn’t do that I should have done
…We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; And we have done those things which we ought not to have done
—words of confession, seared into her brain by attendance at morning prayer in the dim past rose unbidden.
And there is no health in us.

“Rosemary and I went for a walk after seeing Trish Trantham and we talked about things. We talked about Rosemary’s shutting me out back then, just as I had, in a way, shut her out. Of course, I felt, and still feel, that I was protecting her.” Elizabeth made a small, rueful sound. “In a weird way, that was
her
reasoning: she couldn’t tell me how she felt about Cletus because she knew I liked him.”

“And now that she
has
told you, do you think there could be any truth in it? In your opinion, was Cletus capable of murder?” Phillip’s arm was still around her and his voice remained carefully neutral.

Elizabeth sighed heavily. “I don’t know. My gut feeling is that Cletus would never have hurt anyone. And back then when people pointed fingers at him, Sam and I just saw it as ignorant prejudice. But now I’m thinking that maybe we were just as prejudiced
for
him as others were against him. I never even considered it as a possibility, that he could have done something like that.”

“Motive, means, and opportunity,” Phillip mused. “He would have had the last two, easy—didn’t you say he always roamed the woods and always carried a shotgun?”

“He did. And a lot of the time Maythorn roamed the same woods all alone. But motive…Now, that’s where my mind stops working. I can’t imagine Cletus—you never knew him, but he was so
gentle
—I just can’t imagine him hurting anyone.”