Every Day After (17 page)

“No, ma’am,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Not yet! Young lady, it’s been two months!”

Mr. Cooper leaned closer to me. “Don’t worry. We’re here to help.”

Mrs. Sawyer shifted. “Yes, well, the type of help you need hasn’t quite been decided, but we brought you some canned items from the church food drive to hold you over: Mrs. Martin’s prizewinning pear preserves, some sugar courtesy of Hinkle’s General Store, and two quarts of my special bread-and-butter pickles.” She patted her pickles, then passed me the basket.

“Thank you.” I stood, hoping they’d take a hint and get the heck out. But Erin wasn’t gonna let me off that easy.

“Don’t you think we ought to speak to Mrs. Hawkins before we go?” Erin asked. She nudged her mother, and I
knew that Mrs. Sawyer had already gotten an earful from Erin about her visit with Mama earlier.

“She’s fine,” I said quickly. “She’s on the porch resting. She isn’t feeling well and doesn’t like visitors seeing her looking so poorly. You understand.”

“It’s no wonder she isn’t feeling well,” said Mrs. Sawyer. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if my husband had left me. We might do her some good. Visits can help cure what ails you like nothing else. Besides, it’d be rude of us not to see her.”

Mr. Cooper couldn’t resist throwing his unwanted opinion into the discussion. “Absolutely.”

“No, I really think it’d be best if—”

“Nonsense, Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Sawyer, bumping me out of her way. “Now behave yourself. This is no way to treat charitable neighbors who come to call.”

Mrs. Sawyer reached for the doorknob and turned it. Hurried prayers for Mama to be miraculously healed, for Mrs. Sawyer to pass out cold, for the world to end raced through my mind. The room started to spin around me, paralyzing me where I stood. I watched as three vultures made their way out to prey on Mama.

“Hello, Rose. How are you today?” Mrs. Sawyer’s shrill voice shattered the heavy air.

I rushed out to stand beside Mama. Mr. Cooper bent over into her line of sight.

“We hope we’re not intruding,” he said, “but it is so good to see you.”

Mama stared through Mr. Cooper, her eyes fixed on the invisible scene at the pond. Mrs. Sawyer glanced out at the pond, then back at Mama.

God, she’s all I have left. Don’t take her away from me
.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Hawkins?” Mr. Cooper asked. He gently tapped Mama’s hand, trying to make eye contact. “Can you hear us?”

Mama didn’t acknowledge Mr. Cooper’s question or his touch. Her rocking persisted in the silence.
Rumm-rumm, rumm-rumm, rumm-rumm
. Mrs. Sawyer was, as usual, the first to open her mouth.

“Elizabeth Hawkins! Your mother needs a doctor.”

Mr. Cooper wasn’t gonna miss his second opportunity to put in his opinion. “I agree entirely.”

Erin stood beside her mother, scrutinizing my every move. She knew I was panicking, and after she watched me suffer through the next few minutes of discussion concerning Mama’s condition, she decided to up the stakes.

“Poor, poor, Lizzie,” she said, running to my side and wrapping her arms around me. “How can you stand to live here with your father gone and your mother ill like this? How do you make it all on your own?”

Mr. Cooper and her mother were now staring at me—Mr. Cooper with pity and concern, Mrs. Sawyer with sharp disapproval. Erin had successfully planted a seed of doubt in their minds, a doubt that I had any business living in my own home under such circumstances.

Quivers rattled my stomach. I fought to keep them
from erupting through my voice. “Mama doesn’t have a condition. She misses Daddy. I told you she didn’t feel like visitors.”

Mr. Cooper put his hand on my shoulder. “People do miss loved ones when they leave, but sometimes it consumes them to the point they no longer function. That seems to be the case with your mother.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Sawyer, “and when that happens, it’s best to seek medical assistance. Your mother looks perfectly well on the outside, but she’s not well at all on the inside.”

“I know!” said Erin. “Why don’t we bring Dr. Heimler over to examine Mrs. Hawkins?”

“No one can afford extra doctor bills right now,” I argued. I glared at Mr. Cooper. “I’m sure you know bills are already hard enough to pay without them.”

Erin smiled and placed an insincere hand on my shoulder. I wanted to slap it right back off. “That’s true,” Erin said. “I can’t see how you pay any bills without your mama or daddy working, but money won’t be a problem because Dr. Heimler will examine your mother for free. Haven’t you seen the sign posted on his front door?”

I shook my head, praying it was a trick and there wasn’t any sign on Dr. Heimler’s door. I didn’t know if there truly was, since I avoided Dr. Heimler’s house like it would disease me.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Sawyer. “It reads:
Offering Reduced Charges or Free Services to Those with a Need. Inquire Within
. I’ve already spoken to him once about your mother. Has he never come to see about her?”

I decided it was best to ignore the part about her calling Dr. Heimler on Mama. “Please,” I said. “I don’t think she needs him.”

“Look at your mama! We simply won’t take no for an answer.”

Erin looked at me, her eyes dark and cold. “You’re not afraid of what the doctor might say, are you, Lizzie? I mean, it’s only the worst crazies that get sent off, and even if that happens, you’ll get to go live somewhere else for a while. It’ll take a lot of worries off you.”

I grabbed the front of Erin’s dress and yanked her close. “Listen here, you pigheaded brat, my mama’s not crazy. And I’m not going anywhere. Just you try and make me!”

“Elizabeth Hawkins! Take your hands off my daughter this instant.” Mrs. Sawyer glared at me with a look that could’ve melted ice. “Hasn’t your mother taught you any manners? We come here offering help and this is the thanks we get. I’m going for the doctor
and
the sheriff immediately. I can only imagine what living in this situation must be doing to a girl your age. Your mother isn’t so high and mighty now, is she?”

“You don’t know anything about Mama!” I shouted. “I’m not in a situation, and I never asked for your help. I don’t need it, and neither does Mama. Now get out!”

“You’d best ready yourself,” Mrs. Sawyer said, pointing her finger in my face, “because your life is about to
change whether you want it to or not. Mr. Cooper, you stay here with them. We’ll be back shortly.”

Erin shoved past me. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The meaning in her push was apparent—salt in the open wound she’d inflicted upon me.

Mr. Cooper moved aside to let the “ladies” pass. I couldn’t read his face. He walked over to me and patted my head like I was a two-year-old. “I’m sorry, Lizzie,” he whispered, “but something must be done. For both your sakes.”

 
Seventeen
 

He Who Makes a Mouse of Himself Will Be Eaten by the Cats

It was over. A sick, uncontrollable feeling of absolute failure swept over me. Dr. Heimler, the sheriff, Brightside Orphanage, all of it careening closer with each passing second.

I closed my eyes, imagining my arms wrapped around Daddy. Comfort didn’t come. It’d been too long since I’d seen his face, heard his voice. He wasn’t there, and there was no use trying to pretend he was.

But even in defeat, my stubborn nature refused to die. I knew I had to keep fighting, and keep fighting I would. For Mama.

Mr. Cooper cleared his throat and attempted to make small talk with Mama by asking her about the book she was holding. He didn’t succeed. I almost felt sorry for him. He nervously tapped his right foot and fiddled with his collar. I’d gotten used to Mama’s silence. But I could see that it made Mr. Cooper uneasy.

I tried to be brave. I mustered up all the gumption I could, trusting myself to think of something to get us out of this mess. I spoke steadily. “I’m about to fix some supper. Care for anything?”

I feared Mr. Cooper would fling his arms around me for breaking the silence. “Why, yes, Lizzie!” he said loudly. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Won’t be nothing much, but I reckon something’s better than nothing.”

“Not a soul around here’s going to deny that.”

I brought a chair out for Mr. Cooper to sit on, then headed into the kitchen. I’d decided to make biscuits. Each time I made them, the smell of the flour and buttermilk reminded me of the first time I’d tried. I was eight and Mama was sick with a cold. Daddy loved biscuits with supper, so I was determined to make them for him. I mixed all the ingredients together and stirred. And stirred. And stirred. They seemed a tad too wet and sticky so I added more flour. After a few more stirs, and some kneading, I cut them out and put them in to bake. It felt like years passed before they were ready, but when they were, I placed them in Mama’s prettiest basket lined with a blue-and-white-checkered cloth.

They looked like Mama’s—golden brown with a shiny butter top. Daddy grabbed one and bit. The biscuit bit back. It was hard as a rock. They all were. You could’ve hammered nails with them.

Mama let me practice a lot after that, and I’d gotten
much better at biscuits over the last four years. Now I was careful not to overmix or add so much flour. They usually came out like Mama’s. Sometimes better.

Mr. Cooper had just finished his third biscuit with Mrs. Martin’s pear preserves when Mrs. Sawyer came huffing around the side of the house. True to her word, both Sheriff Dawson and Dr. Heimler were tagging along behind her.

Dr. Heimler came onto the porch and narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s this Mrs. Sawyer’s telling me about your mother, Lizzie? Because from what I’m hearing, she’s far worse than you let on. Why didn’t you come get me? I left a note on the door.”

My stomach did a backflip inside me, and every inch of my body went tingly. To save my life I couldn’t think what I was supposed to say. I glanced at Erin. She had
that
look. The same one she’d had at school the day after the Myra Robinson incident. The same one she always had anytime she was on the verge of making somebody pay—her nostrils flared at the sides, one corner of her mouth turned upward in a sneer. Well, I wasn’t about to let her see how scared I was. They could cart me off and leave me for dead and I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing one bead of sweat or one single tear coming out of me.

Dr. Heimler shifted his weight. “I’m guessing you don’t have a proper answer for me, then.” He walked past me and went up to Mama.

“Now you see, Doctor,” said Mrs. Sawyer, wagging her finger at Mama. “I told you she was bad.”

Erin still hadn’t said a word. I reckon there wasn’t any need. She’d already put all the ingredients for trouble into the pot and stirred it, now all she had to do was enjoy watching it boil over.

Dr. Heimler patted Mama’s hand and talked softly to her, but he didn’t get in her face the way Mr. Cooper had. He didn’t do much else besides take her pulse and flash a little light in her eyes.

“Well?” said Mrs. Sawyer. “What’s to be done?”

“I need to think it over,” said Dr. Heimler. “I don’t want to make her worse.”

“What about the girl? It’s unthinkable to leave her here with no father, a mother in that condition, and the bank about to take their house. She has to go somewhere. Sheriff Dawson, did you do as I asked and call over to Brightside? That’s the only reasonable option.”

The sheriff stepped forward and removed his hat. “Yes’m. They said they had room. But what if we were to—”

“Were to what? Leave her here to her own devices? I should think not!”

Sheriff Dawson stepped back and stared down at the ground. He was bigger than two Mrs. Sawyers put together and wearing a sheriff’s badge, to boot, but the way he was acting you’d think he was neither sizable nor sheriff.

Dr. Heimler spoke up. “Why don’t you keep an eye on Lizzie, Mrs. Sawyer? Just until I’ve examined Mrs. Hawkins’s condition more thoroughly.”

Mrs. Sawyer reeled at that. She put her hand over her heart like she might die of shock at the mention of such a thing. “I should think not, Doctor. Lizzie terrorized Erin quite enough in school. And you should’ve heard the way she was speaking to me before we came for you. No, sir. I simply could not tolerate such an ill-behaved child in my house.” She turned to me and grabbed hold of my arm. “Get your things together, Elizabeth Hawkins. You can’t stay with me, but you’re not staying here, either. Not while I’m still breathing.”