Little Mercies (23 page)

There was the crunch of gravel beneath tires and Jenny turned to see Maudene’s familiar car pull up behind them. On shaky legs Jenny slid from the car, her mouth agape in confusion as to how Maudene had found her. Jenny’s gaze flicked to Jimmy and then to her mother, who both looked equally alarmed.

Maudene emerged from the car and reached her hand out toward Jenny. “Jenny, come here,” she urged, but Jenny found she couldn’t move. In a cloud of dust, the passenger-side door of Maudene’s VW opened and Ellen stepped from the car and, to Jenny’s surprise, said in a quiet, calm voice, “Deidra, it’s Ellen Moore. Do you remember me?”

Chapter 37

A
s my mother and I pull into the bus station we see a small charcoal four-door car driving away. At the wheel is Deidra Olmstead and next to her in the passenger seat is her husband. A small figure sits in the back. From a distance we follow the car to the outskirts of town where it parks alongside the road.

I tell my mother to stay in the car but she is out the door before I can stop her and I carefully step from the car and try to keep my voice low and calm so as to not make an obviously stressful situation much worse.

“Deidra, it’s Ellen Moore. Do you remember me?” I say again.

Deidra turns her ire away from Jenny and on me. “I remember you,” she says bitterly, but her eyes are filled with fear. “Why can’t you people just leave us alone?”

I glance at Jenny, who is standing just outside the car. She briefly looks at me, her face a canvas of tumult and hurt. “Mom?” she asks sadly. “Aren’t we going to Georgia?”

Deidra gives a shrill laugh and shakes her head. “Stupid girl, you go on now. Go with the lady.”

James Olmstead remains in the front passenger seat, his body is tense. I can tell he’s trying to decide how involved he should get in this conversation.

“She’s a runaway,” Deidra says angrily. “She needs to go back to her dad. He has full custody.”

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “We’ll make sure that Jenny gets to her father.”

“Good,” Deidra says venomously. “Get her away from me.”

“Jenny, come here,” my mother says imploringly. “You get in the car and come with us.”

Jenny is crying despairingly now and shaking her head from side to side.

Finally, James Olmstead decides to materialize from the car. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks.

He doesn’t appear to recognize me and this makes me as angry as anything. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I want him to know that I know, that I’ve always known. I step close to him until we are merely a breath away from each other. “I’m Ellen Moore, James.” I whisper so that Jenny can’t hear. “I’m the social worker that visited your home before you pushed Madalyn out of the window.”

His face turns an apoplectic shade of purple and he clenches and unclenches his fists. He’s itching to strike out at me. “You can’t prove anything.”

“No,” I say, my voice quivering with fear, but I can’t stay quiet. “I can’t prove it. But I know it’s true and I can make sure you don’t hurt Jenny ever again. I know what you did to Jenny. I’ve seen the pictures.”

I’m afraid that I might have said too much, gone too far. His hand twitches and I try not to flinch, my heart pounding so loudly I can feel it thrumming through my entire body. Instead of hitting me, he leans in even closer. I can feel his hot breath against my ear. “You will never be able to prove it,” he says so quietly that I almost don’t believe he’s said the words, “Jenny or Madalyn.” He pulls back, smirks at me, stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks casually back to the car. “Get in the car,” he orders Deidra, who is trembling so violently I don’t know how she will be able to drive the car.

“Mom?” Jenny says, and takes a step toward her mother.

Deidra turns away, slides into the car, turns the ignition and pulls back onto the road without a backward glance toward her daughter. The spinning tires stir up a cloud of dust and Jenny runs after the retreating car for a few futile yards, her flip-flops slipping from her feet, and stumbles to her knees on the hot asphalt.

My mother and I exchange glances. We both know that we have just been in the presence of something evil, inhuman. Wordlessly, we go to Jenny, who can’t stop sobbing. Her hair is flattened against her head, slick with sweat, and her knees and palms are bloodied. My mother finally coaxes her back to the car, where she cries incoherently about Georgia, stars and Oreos. I try to steady my shaking hands by gripping tightly to the steering wheel and drive while my mother sits in the backseat with Jenny’s head in her lap. The only sound in the car is Jenny’s mournful weeping and my mother’s gentle murmurs of comfort. A few miles down the road I see a flash of red in a ditch and swing the car to the side of the road. James or Deidra had thrown Jenny’s beloved backpack out the window. Numbly, I step from the car to retrieve it. It’s no worse for wear, but a few of her prized possessions have tumbled from the bag. I locate two of her Happy Pancake figurines, a few articles of clothing, her cell phone. I always thought that one day I would come face-to-face with James Olmstead, but figured it would be in the grocery store or maybe at a restaurant. Not once did I imagine that I would confront him on the side of the road and accuse him of murdering his daughter. I lean against the car until my breath steadies, until my hands stop shaking.

When we arrive at the house, even though Jenny is nearly my height, I pick her up and carry her into my mother’s home. “Upstairs,” my mother says, and I trudge up the steps and carefully lay Jenny amid the blankets and pillows in the white bedroom. Jenny halfheartedly protests, saying something about her dirty feet, but my mother shushes her and gently presses a wet washcloth to her bloodied knees and palms. I watch as my mother tends to Jenny in all the ways I have forgotten that she had done for me as a child. She bandages her wounds, wipes her tearstained face, lifts a mug of cool water to her lips and sits quietly by her side.

After a few minutes, I leave the room and go downstairs to call Joe to let him know that we’ve found Jenny. I also call Ruth Johnson and, without going into detail about our encounter with the Olmsteads, tell her that we are in need of a social worker, one that isn’t suspended, who can make sure Jenny gets safely to Nebraska as soon as possible, one who will make sure that her mother and stepfather never come near her again.

Chapter 38

B
ack at Maudene’s house, Jenny tried to lie as still as possible in the big white bed. She tried to pretend that she was asleep, but her skin felt too small for her body and something hot and mean was writhing in her chest trying to squirm out. She didn’t know the last time she had cried so hard. Not when Jimmy had beaten her so badly. Not when she was first placed in foster care and realized that her mother wasn’t coming back.

Maudene was trying to be nice but Jenny wanted her to go away, just leave her alone. Finally she batted away Maudene’s hand that held the antibacterial ointment that she was trying to put on Jenny’s scrapes, sending the tube flying through the air. “That hurts!” she cried. Maudene had apologized and said she would come back a little later to check on her.

But that wasn’t what was hurting. It was the way her mother had turned on her so quickly. One minute they were running away to Georgia together, the next her mother couldn’t stand the sight of her. It would have been easier, Jenny thought, if when her mother found her sitting among the tall grass of the neighbor’s house she would have told her to leave, to get the hell away. Jenny had been expecting that. But her mother had invited her into her house, had fed her Oreo cookies and asked about her life. She had hugged her and cried. She didn’t understand how her mother could have chosen Jimmy over her own daughter. Again. Where would she go now? Maudene would let her stay at her house. Jenny heard Ellen and Maudene talking about temporary guardianship, which was another word for foster care. She didn’t think she would mind having Maudene as a foster mom, but the thought of being in the same town as her mother and Jimmy made her stomach burn. What if she ran into them on the street or at the grocery store? What if her mother started yelling at her the way she did earlier? No, she had to get out of town.

She reached for her backpack, which Ellen had rescued from the side of the road. Jenny didn’t have much in her life, but what she did have was in that bag. Everything seemed to be in its place if a little dusty, but she went through it to be sure. Clothes, Happy Pancake toys, envelope. She opened the envelope. Her grandmother’s letter was still there, as was the map. The pictures of a beaten and battered Jenny were gone, but Jenny didn’t mind. She never wanted to see those photos again. Even the money she had hidden in a sock was still there. She scanned her personal articles lying before her and knew that something was missing. There was scratching at the door and a long brown nose pushed its way into the room. Dolly limped up to the side of the bed, sniffed at Jenny’s bandaged knees and, with surprising agility, leaped onto the bed. The dog turned around two times and plopped down next to Jenny. “I still don’t like you,” Jenny whispered into the silky folds of the old dog’s neck. Dolly gave an indifferent yawn and closed her eyes.

Then she remembered her father’s cell phone. That was what was missing. Panic clawed at her chest. That cell phone was the only connection she had left to her father, the only way she could possibly contact him. It must have fallen out when Jimmy had thrown the backpack from the car. She pawed through the contents of her backpack, reaching into the deep corners and shaking out each article of clothing. Finally she checked a zippered side pocket and with relief she pulled it out noticing a few new scratches from when Jimmy threw it into the ditch.

The more Jenny thought about all that had happened, the angrier she became at her mother, the more terrified of Jimmy she became. She hated this town. It was a horrible town where mothers left their babies in hot cars and mothers made their daughters feel like they wanted them and then said terrible things to make them go away. Jenny couldn’t wait to leave. She wanted to go back to Benton, but to be with her father, not to go to some foster home, and it didn’t sound like that was going to happen for a while.

Jenny’s eyes burned hotly, but she knew what she had to do, who she had to call. Connie. Connie said she would come and get her if she wanted. Connie, who was the closest thing to a mother she had, even though it was only for a little while. Connie, who took her to get her nails done, who made her supper, watched movies with her, helped her with her homework. Maybe, just maybe, Connie would let her stay with her until her father got out of jail, got better. With rising hope she opened the phone, wiped away a smudge of dirt that clung to it from when Jimmy threw it out the window and pressed Send. The phone rang and rang and then went to voice mail. She disconnected and tried again but still there was no answer. Jenny sat on Maudene’s bed, her legs tucked up beneath her, Dolly at her side with her head on Jenny’s lap, and pressed Send over and over. No one answered. But still she tried, tears splashing onto Dolly’s collar as she methodically dialed, listened, disconnected until Maudene came into the room and gently pried the phone from her fingers and pulled her into her arms and held her until no more tears would come.

Chapter 39

T
he first thing I do after calling Joe to let him know that we found Jenny is call Adam. “How’s Avery doing?” I ask as I settle into a chair at my mother’s kitchen table.

“She’s doing great. They’re talking about moving her out of intensive care and into a regular pediatric unit in a few days. Dr. Grant says that everything looks really good. She hasn’t had any more seizures, her temp is normal, her breathing is good.”

“Oh, thank God,” I exhale in relief.

“Is your mom still planning on coming up to the hospital to sit with Avery?”

“You are not going to believe what’s been going on this morning,” I say, and explain Jenny’s disappearance and finding her with James and Deidra Olmstead.

“Ellen,” Adam begins, and I can tell from the tightness of his voice that he’s angry. “Don’t you think you need to focus your energies on our children? What if that in-home FSRP person showed up and you were off chasing those crazed parents. And where are Lucas and Leah in all this? Were they tearing around town looking for Jenny with you?”

“Of course not! I would never put them in danger!” Adam is silent. “Well, it’s all over anyway,” I say. “Ruth is taking care of what’s going to happen to Jenny.”

“Good,” Adam says. “I know you’re just trying to help, but we need to focus on getting our life back. That social worker from Peosta County’s Department of Human Services came to see me.”

“Oh?” is all I can say.

“She asked a bunch of questions about us, you. Your reliability as a mother.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you are a great mother. That this was a one-time thing. That it was both of our faults.”

“Thank you,” I say simply.

“What is the attorney saying about everything? How did your meeting go?”

“We had to reschedule,” I say, afraid of what his reaction will be.

“You mean you skipped it to go running off in search of some little girl that means nothing to us. You skipped the meeting with the man who can possibly make this whole thing go away to chase after a man who you
think
murdered his daughter while our daughter is fighting for her life! What the hell are you thinking, El?”

My eyes fill with tears. “Please, Adam, please, it’s not like that,” I plead. “Will you please listen to me? That little girl’s life was in danger! James Olmstead is Jenny’s stepfather!”

“Yeah, well, I have to go. I’ll call you later. You
are
watching after Leah and Lucas, aren’t you?”

“I’m just going to pick them up from the Arwoods’ now. Please don’t be mad. I can’t stand it if you are mad at me.”

“I’m tired and worried, okay? I’m worried about Avery, about Lucas and Leah, and you. Just give me a little time to work through this in my head. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I have to do what’s best for the kids and I’m beginning to think that I don’t know what that is.”

“But we do know!” I cry. “We will work through it together. The investigation has to be over in twenty days. Everything will be all right then.”

“I don’t know that. You don’t know that. We have to look at all the options, all the different scenarios. Weigh and measure the implications of everything.” I can picture Adam, sitting in the hospital waiting room, raising and lowering his hands, palms upward, as if the heft of what I have done can be weighed in ounces, pounds or tons. “Please,” I cry. “I need you, Adam. Avery’s getting better, I’m going to see the lawyer right now and then I’m going to pick up Leah and Lucas. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

I hear Adam swallowing and I know he’s trying to hold back his own tears. “Okay, El,” he finally says. “I’m just tired. So, so tired. I’ll talk to you later.” And then he is gone.

My mother is standing in the kitchen doorway, watching, frowning. “This is all my fault,” she says wearily, and comes to sit down next to me. “I should have called the police first thing when I found Jenny. I should have told you about the pictures, about her mother.”

“You were doing what you thought was right,” I say patting her on the hand. “And I was, too, Mom. I know that Adam doesn’t see it that way. But I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to Jenny and I knew she was with the Olmsteads. James Olmstead is an evil man.”

My mother nods. “It looks like Deidra Olmstead is no prize, either. I can’t believe all the hateful things she said to Jenny.”

“I don’t know. That doesn’t make sense to me. The Deidra I remember would never have said those kinds of things. She was gentle. Stupid for staying with such an awful man. But not mean. Did you see James’s face when she was going off on Jenny? It was like he was seeing her for the first time. I think it even scared him.” I shake my head. “Something wasn’t right there, but Ruth will get it all straightened out, I’m sure.”

“Yes, it will be good to have everything settled for Jenny. She’s been through so much. I wish...” My mother pauses as if what she’s about to say is too crazy to say out loud, but I know what she’s thinking. She wishes that Jenny could stay with her forever, but she’s a seventy-year-old widow and Jenny’s a ten-year-old with a lifetime’s worth of baggage and somehow they have found each other.

“I do, too,” I finish for her. “I wish that, too.” I stand and stretch my arms above my head. “I have to go to my pretrial conference at the law enforcement center and then go see my attorney. On my way back I’ll pick up Lucas and Leah. Ruth is planning on stopping by this evening to talk with Jenny.” I give my mother a long hug. “You guys going to be okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Once Jenny gets up, we are going to do something fun. Bake cookies I think.”

I smile. Growing up, whenever I was sad or lonely, my mother would get me into the kitchen and we would bake together. The baking was always for someone else. A sick neighbor, new parents, to welcome a new family to the neighborhood. We’d always eat a few, of course, and then go deliver the goodies. It was my mom’s way of saying,
Yes, you’re feeling bad right now, but look at the world around you. There are others we need to think about.
“Save me a few,” I say as I move to the front door.

I am hesitant to enter the police station, but Joe is there to greet me and leads me in the back way so I can avoid any press that may be lingering. Joe takes me through the area where yesterday I was photographed and fingerprinted. I check my watch—I hope I’m not too late. I was supposed to have my pretrial conference done within twenty-fours of my initial hearing.

Behind me I hear a commotion and three police officers are leading a woman into the station. She is wearing shorts and a t-shirt that are splattered with what can only be blood. Her head is down and she is shaking so violently that two of the officers have to hold her up, practically carrying her into the lobby. She lifts her head and flecks of blood dot her face and neck like freckles. It’s Deidra Olmstead.

We see each other at nearly the same time and it takes her a moment to place me and then she is desperately trying to move toward me. “Is Jenny okay?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, trying hard to focus on Deidra’s green eyes, Jenny’s eyes, and not the blood. Her hair is stiff with it and a sickly, metallic smell rises from her skin. “Jenny’s fine.”

The officers begin pulling her away, but she continues to speak to me. “You were right.” With twitching lips she smiles sadly at me. “He killed Madalyn. I think I knew it all along.” She shakes her head back and forth as if trying to shake the image from her head. “He told me that she wasn’t listening and he hit her. Hard. When he saw what he had done he got scared. Madalyn tried to run away from him, but he chased her into the bedroom.” A faraway look comes to Deidra’s eyes. “She must have known and she tried to run. He said he grabbed at her and she fell, knocking her head on the windowsill. She wouldn’t get up, so he picked her up and pushed her into the window screen until it gave away and she fell out the window. He laughed when he told me and said that no one would ever believe me. And he was right. Who would believe me? So I...” She looks down at her bloodstained hands as if mesmerized.

“You really shouldn’t say anything,” I tell her. “Not until you get a lawyer.”

She gives an angry little laugh. “We almost got away. Jenny and me. But he found us and he found the picture of what he did to her. He was going to kill her, and me, too. I know he was. He thought we were going to go to the police with that picture.” Deidra is shaking so hard that her teeth are clanking together.

“I think she’s in shock,” I say to the officers. “I think she needs a doctor.”

“I had to do it,” she murmurs, trying to wipe the blood from hands on her shirt.

“Don’t talk,” I beg her. “Don’t say another word.”

“Tell Jenny I had to say those terrible things. Tell her I had to get her away from him. Please,” she begs.

“I’ll tell her. I promise.” Someone appears with a blanket and wraps it around Deidra’s shoulders and guides her through the same door that I was led through just the day before. Dizzily I stagger to a chair. I can’t believe what Deidra has done. I put my head between my knees and try to steady my breathing. My phone buzzes and I want to ignore it. I can’t take any more bad news, but it could be Adam with information about Avery. “Hello,” I say, my head still down near my knees.

“Ellen, it’s Ted. You need to come to my office right now.”

“Ted, I’m at the police station right now. Deidra Olmstead just killed her husband. Can’t we do this tomorrow?”

He is silent for a moment. “We can’t worry about that now. You need to come over to my office as soon as you can,” he says briskly, and hangs up.

Panic fills my chest. What could be happening? Was I too late for my pretrial conference? Could I be arrested for missing it? I’m terrified that he is going to tell me that for some reason my bail had been revoked and I am heading back to jail. I really tried to be so careful, making sure to stay far away from the PICU so that no one could accuse me of violating the protective order. But maybe the security guard from the hospital reported me. Each night, before Avery goes to sleep, Adam calls me and places the phone next to Avery’s ear so I can say prayers with her or read her a story or sing her a song. I’m so afraid that she is forgetting me. Forgetting what I sound like, what I look like, what I smell like. Worst of all, I’m scared that Avery thinks that I have abandoned her, don’t love her anymore.

Once Joe and I arrive at Ted’s office, we are led into a large conference. I am shocked to see Prieto and Caren Regis sitting at the large, mahogany, boat-shaped table and it is all I can do to keep from running right out of the room. And to my surprise, so is Adam. I look at him questioningly and he shrugs his shoulders.

“Everyone already knows one another,” Ted says, pulling out a chair for me next to Adam, “so let’s get started right away.”

“Richard, it’s clear that you are determined to follow through with bringing this case to trial,” Ted says, looking squarely at Prieto.

“You are correct and I’m not willing to offer Ellen a deal. However, if she pleads guilty, I will ask the judge to take into account her willingness to cooperate,” Prieto says.

“That’s very generous of you, Richard,” Ted says, and smiles. “But not necessary. Ellen will not be pleading guilty and I’m hoping that after you hear what we have to say today, you will reconsider your decision to go forward with the charges.”

Prieto simply looks at his watch. I feel Adam stiffen next me and, beneath the table, I reach for his hand. Ted slides a thick file folder across the table and in front of Prieto. “What’s this?” he asks.

“Fifty-three good reasons as to why you should drop the charges against Ellen,” Ted explains.

Prieto opens the file folder, flips through the pages slowly at first and then quickly. With pursed lips he looks up at Ted. I want to grab the folder, want to see what Prieto is looking at, but I wait, my heart thumping.

“These are just fifty-three affidavits from Ellen’s colleagues and families that she has worked with over the years. All describing how she has made life-changing impacts on the lives of her clients.” Prieto looks skeptical. “These were gathered in just the last three days, Richard. We are confident that hundreds of others will be willing to step forward to speak on Ellen’s behalf.”

“Drug addicts and child abusers.” Prieto gives a dismissive flip of his hand.

“Troubled people, who have successfully made significant changes in their lives with Ellen’s help,” Ted says with feeling. “In there you’ll find rehabilitated addicts who now work to help get others off drugs and alcohol, neglectful mothers who took parenting classes and are now homeroom moms at their children’s schools. There are signed documents from children that Ellen saved from horrific home lives who are now grown, attending college, who are doctors, or teachers, or social workers.”

Prieto closes the folder. “Anything else?” he asks, clearly not impressed.

Caren Regis clears her throat. “The Peosta County Department of Human Services has finished their investigation of Ellen. The complete report is here.” She hands Prieto the folder. “You’ll see that the caseworker has determined that the neglect in this instance was confirmed...” Beside me, Adam begins to protest, but I shake my head, imploring him not to say anything because I know there is a second part to what Caren has to say. The one word that will make all the difference in the world to our family’s future.

“Unfounded,” Caren says, and I nearly collapse in relief. “Their investigation determined that Ellen is no danger to her daughter, Avery, or her other children. The charge of child abuse is unfounded.”

“What does that mean?” Adam asks, looking at those arranged around the table. “What’s happening?”

“It means,” Joe says, speaking for the first time since we arrived, “that this was a terrible, unfortunate accident that could have happened to any one of us.”

Prieto is quiet for a long moment. I know he is running through the different scenarios in his head, trying to figure out how he can come out on the other side of this as the hero. “I’ll be in touch.” He stands, picks up the folder and leaves without another word.