The Innocent (8 page)

It was out of the question to do a lick of work around the place. This is my apartment, Marjorie thought. I am Mrs. Charles Carter. I am Charles Carter's wife and I live with him in our apartment. She glanced around the room, knowing that she had never felt it hers before, that she had felt guilty of living here. Guilty of living, she amended, guilty of being alive. Marjorie did attempt to dust and tidy the living room but couldn't settle to it. She sat in a chair near the baby's basket with one of Charles' socks stretched on a darning egg, but she was too excited to weave the thread up and under, up and under. She tapped the darning egg against her flushed cheek and waited for Edna's sister.

It bothered Marjorie that this girl, this sister of Edna who had been so abominably treated here, should automatically go to the back door. Marjorie really wanted Grace to march in the front door and demand justice, but Edna's sister had barely sufficient courage to creep in the back way. Because of Claire's description, Marjorie expected someone beautiful, but Grace was a skinny, mat-brown girl of about seventeen or eighteen, very young, anyway, and very frightened. When Marjorie waved her into the kitchen, she took two steps forward and halted. As if she had been forbidden to look Marjorie in the eye, she limited her vision to her own feet. “Please sit down, Grace. I'll get the uniforms in a few minutes.” Grace obediently sat on the edge of the kitchen chair. “Tell me about your sister. What happened to her?”

Grace spoke to her feet. “Eddie ain't been right since Andrew—”

The husband. “Since Andrew—” Marjorie prompted. Since Andrew died?

“Since Andrew, she doan eat. She doan sleep. She walk around the room all day and when I wake nights she still walking. Since Andrew—”

Marjorie closed her eyes. “Is he dead? Is Andrew dead, Grace?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She would hire a lawyer for Edna. They would produce the papers in court. “Gentlemen of the jury, I will not deny that the defendant did this murder, but I will attempt to prove that she was forced to do it.…” “Have you come here for the papers, Grace?”

“Ma'am?”

“The papers, Grace.” Marjorie pointed to the closet door.

“I doan know about no papers, just Eddie's uniforms.”

“Just the uniforms? Please don't look so frightened, Grace. Please trust me, won't you?” She sat on the table facing the girl, smiling at her, trying to win her confidence. “Tell me about Andrew's death, Grace all you know.”

“They found Andrew in Newark.”

“In Newark?” No, in Harlem! In that room in Harlem. Dead drunk. Drunk dead.

“Yes, ma'am, He went away and Eddie, she went wild, and they they found Andrew in Newark.”

“And then?”

“Then they made Eddie go see him and she was so bad, saying all the time she did it.”

“Saying she killed Andrew?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Could she ask Grace whether it was true? “Andrew was found dead in Newark?” She couldn't bring herself to ask.

“Yes, ma'am. They found Andrew in Newark.” She pressed her dark fingers together, and drew them across her throat to indicate how they had found Andrew in Newark. It was a gesture terrible in its simplicity.

“Oh!” Marjorie said. She said, “Don't!” Because the girl was about to make the gesture again.

“Eddie carried on something terrible. That's why I stayed with her. I had to leave my job; I was working in a laundry in Hackensack. Eddie doesn't have no other folks, only Miz Brown she lived with, and Miz Brown couldn't stay with Eddie all the time so I stayed.”

So no accusations had been made? Claire had written that Edna could get away with the murder if she used the insulin, and she had gotten away with it? But why had she cut Andrew's throat? Why had he been found in Newark with his throat cut? “What about the police, Grace?”

“When Eddie say that was Andrew in Newark, they let her take him. The police didn't pay Edna no mind. Eddie keep saying she killed Andrew but everyone know she didn't. But she say so. The police didn't bother any. I guess she been crazy like they say, but she didn't act like crazy.

“We had her to the doctor and he told me to watch her good, and I watched her good. After a while she didn't talk about Andrew and then she didn't talk at all, but then the other day Miz Brown give Eddie a good lacing down. She say Eddie have to see all things come to an end sometime. We didn't have any money left and Miz Brown can't help us out any more, she has to pay her own rent. She say to Eddie——

“That was yesterday. Eddie seemed fine to me. She says she was going to get a job and we didn't have cash for uniforms, and Miz Brown says how about these uniforms here and how she knows Eddie paid for them herself. Miz Brown says no matter what, those uniforms are Eddie's. Eddie wouldn't call you up; she wouldn't talk to you, nohow.”

“Not to
me
, Grace!”

“No, ma'am. Eddie wouldn't have no part of you, but Miz Brown says I could call, so I called.”

“Mrs. Carter is dead, Grace. I told you that Mrs. Carter was dead, remember?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Grace began to rock back and forth and the tears came from her eyes in a steady stream.

Marjorie gave Grace her handkerchief. “Please tell me, Grace.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You told Eddie—Edna I said Mrs. Carter was dead and she ran out of the drugstore?”

“Yes, ma'am. She ran out all right. Oh, Eddie did a terrible thing, Eddie did a terrible thing!”

“You told her and she ran out and then?”

“I ran after Eddie and I caught and held her good and took her home. Some men they thought Eddie was drunk. They were laughing. I took Eddie home and then she seemed like she'd been, not talking, just sitting there, and then she perked up and said I should go down and buy us a couple a bottle a beer.

“Eddie used to like beer, not hard liquor I don't mean. Andrew was the one for liquor. Just beer. Eddie said I should go and get beer because she was going to get a job like she told Miz Brown she would. She said I should go to St. Nicholas and get this kind of beer. She said that was the only place kept that kind of beer, and I should go there, no where else.

“I would have gone way over to St. Nicholas, too, only on the street I met Miz Brown and she asked where I was going and I said how Eddie wanted this special kind of beer and she said there wasn't anything special about that beer. She said I didn't have to go way over to St. Nicholas. We went right into the candy store on the corner and we got the beer and we walked back to the place.

“I didn't think nothing of it.”

Grace raised her head for the first time and Marjorie saw the eyes swimming in tears and the face wet with them.

“If I had done like Eddie said and gone straight over to St. Nicholas, I would have got back too late.”

“Grace! Oh, Grace,” Marjorie whispered.

“She had the door locked. Eddie. She had the bureau pushed up against the door. Miz Brown said another fifteen minutes woulda been too late. If I'd gone all the way to St. Nicholas like she said, Eddie would have been gone and it would have been my fault.”

Marjorie took Grace's hand. It was wet where she had swiped it across her face. “Oh, no, Grace!”

“Miz Brown says I had to call the police and tell them what Eddie did. She says this proves how Eddie is crazy. She says when a person does like that, you got to call the cops.”

Marjorie was patting Grace's hand, pressing it.

“They're coming for her,” Grace moaned. “They're coming to take her away.”

“The police?”

“No, ma'am, the hospital where they put them. I didn't need the uniforms now. I couldn't stay there, that was all. I couldn't watch them do that to Eddie. You don't know how good Eddie's been to me. She wanted me to go to school. She wanted me to learn like she did, but I'm too dumb. The way Eddie used to talk, you wouldn't know! I couldn't be there when they came to take her, so I came here.”

Marjorie said, “I'm very glad you did. I'm very happy you did, Grace. Listen to me, listen to me carefully if you want to help your sister. You go right back home, straight back to her. Say it isn't her fault. Tell her to stop blaming herself about Andrew. Say Mrs. Carter knows all about it and it isn't her fault. Say I understand how she feels but it wasn't her fault.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Grace whispered. She pulled her hand out of Marjorie's and stood up, edging away.

“Oh, I wish I could talk to her. I could tell her—” This girl couldn't do it. She didn't understand what it was all about. She hadn't been lying when she said she didn't know about any papers. “Grace—” Oh, she didn't know from nothing. “Listen to me, Grace, go back and tell Edna that there's no reason for her to feel guilty. Repeat that after me.”

“There's no reason—I doan want to go back! I doan want to. I can't say nothing to Eddie after what I did. I should'na called. I should'na. I'll just bust out crying.”

“But you must go! You must go back there immediately!” Grace was moving backward, away from her. Grace was looking at her as if she were crazy and, unless you knew the story—“If I could see your sister, I know I could help her.”

“You want to see Eddie, ma'am?”

Marjorie went to the door of the living room. Little Pete was sleeping quietly in his basket. He had most of his fist pushed into his mouth and his cheeks were sucking in and out. Marjorie whirled and faced Grace. “Have you ever taken care of a baby?”

“Yes. ma'am. I was a sitter lots of times.”

Marjorie glanced at the clock. If she could do it in two hours, she would be back before the next feeding. “Wash your hands,” she said. “Wait—get out of that dress and into one of those clean uniforms. I'll get one. Wait. No, start getting out of your clothes.” Marjorie reached into the closet and chose the white uniform, which looked most professional, to give to Grace. “Hurry, please. Now wash your hands right away at the kitchen sink. Do you know how to change a diaper? If he's wet and cries, can you change him?”

“Yes, ma'am, I kin do that.”

“Please pay attention to every word I say, Grace. Peter isn't an ordinary baby, he's so delicate. He weighs five pounds. He mustn't be chilled or left in a draft—” Marjorie gave explicit directions. While the girl washed and put on her sister's white uniform, Marjorie fetched her own coat from the closet. She hadn't put it on once since she came back from the hospital with little Pete. She hadn't been out of the house once since the doctor had shaken his head and she had dismissed Miss Brush. “Grace, you'll do exactly what I've told you, won't you? I'm leaving my baby only because I think I can help your sister, so you'll be very careful, won't you?”

“I'll do like you say. What you going to do with Eddie.”

“I want to bring her something. Now, where do you live? Quickly.” The girl gave her address, which was complicated because they rented one room in a large apartment. Mrs. Brown, who was staying with Edna until they came to take her away, might not hear Marjorie's knock; the bell was broken. All the other people who shared the flat were out working. Finally Grace fished a key out of a flamboyant red purse and gave it to Marjorie.

“You got to walk pass the kitchen, through two rooms, turn to the right, the first door after you go by the bathroom.” Grace began to cry. She said Marjorie would know which door it was because it had been broken the night before when they had to force it to reach Eddie in time.

Marjorie drew a talkative taxi driver. He wanted to know what she was going to do in Harlem, then he wanted to tell her about some of his experiences in Harlem. She could not plan what to say to Edna. Would it do simply to hand her the papers? They crackled inside her muff where she had put them. There was a bright side to the gory stories wafting back to her from the front seat of the cab, because even if they kept her from planning her interview with Edna, they kept her from worrying about little Pete. Marjorie said yes, and no, and my gracious, and then they were there. They arrived.

In spite of the saga of Harlem she had just heard, this street merely looked tired and run down and, at this time of day, rather deserted. Only two little boys noticed the cab pulling up before the old tenement; only one old woman told Marjorie how many flights of malodorous stairs she would have to climb. Marjorie arrived unheralded. She put the key in the lock and turned it and found herself in a square dark kitchen with two beds, covered with elaborate pink satin spreads, set in the middle of the floor. Marjorie walked through the kitchen, pushed aside the pistachio satin drapes which divided the room from the next one. This had three beds in it and no windows. The next in line, for this was a railway flat, had one window and one bed. The furnishings here looked as if they had been lifted intact from a show window. After that, following Grace's instructions, Marjorie turned to the right where the bathroom proclaimed its presence by an onrushing odor of perfumed disinfectant. She knocked at the next door and caught her glove on a piece of splintered wood. The door had been broken into; it was true.

The very worst that could be imagined was true when you looked into Edna's thin face and saw the bruises on her throat. Claire wouldn't think her beautiful now. Because Edna took no notice of her appearance in the room, Marjorie spoke to the fat woman who sat on the one chair, with a mending basket on her lap and her feet up on the empty shelf of a small bookcase. (“Andrew tore up all her books,” Claire had written.) “Are you Mrs. Brown? I am Marjorie Carter. Edna's sister just came to see me and—May I talk to Edna alone, please?”

“Well, I doan know about that.” Mrs. Brown returned the sock she was darning to her mending basket but made no further move.

What large feet those socks must belong to. “Please, Mrs. Brown. I really don't have much time.” If Charles called—if Grace was changing little Pete—if she left him uncovered on the bathinette while she answered the call. “I really must get back home and I want to talk to Edna.” It would take a long time to explain to Charles why Marjorie, who was always there, was not there. Charles would want to know who it was she left little Pete with, because she never left little Pete with anyone. “Please, Mrs. Brown.”