Tomato Girl (17 page)

I followed him into Mama's room, where he laid her on the unmade bed. Her head sank into the pillow. She looked like a broken doll, and her blistered face was red, swollen, and bruised. The stitches on her forehead had broken open in the struggle, and dried blood streaked down her cheek. Garden dirt soiled her white nightgown.

At the foot of her bed, I stood and watched Mama breathe. As long as she breathed, she couldn't be dead.

I wanted to wash her, make her pretty and whole like she was on the day I left her alone to get my chick. If only we could go back to the time before her fall. Tess wouldn't have come, and the baby wouldn't have died. We would not be facing this awful, awful night.

Sitting on the edge of Mama's bed, Daddy motioned for me to climb onto his lap.

I paused. The syringe might still be in his pocket. Needles scared me. Lately, my father scared me, too. Who knew what the medicine in the brown bottle might do with Mama so weak from losing the baby? Daddy didn't know about the blood she'd lost. What if he'd given her too much?

Mama's chest moved up and down, but the rest of her body stayed perfectly still. She didn't seem to hear. Her eyelids didn't flicker the way they did when she dreamed. Except for the rise and fall of her chest, Mama looked dead.

Daddy stood and placed his hand on my shoulder. His touch startled me. My body jerked. Had he stabbed me with the needle?

As if reading my thoughts, Daddy pulled the medicine and syringe from his pocket and set them on the bedside table. “I'd never do anything to hurt you, Ellie. Never.” When Daddy motioned for me again, I climbed onto his lap, sinking into his arms.

Not so long ago, Daddy's lap was a place to hear stories, steal kisses, or beg for help with homework. Now his lap was where he explained hard and awful things. Maybe Daddy could make sense of it all, but to me everything was coming apart.

“Ellie, you have to know I wouldn't hurt your mother on purpose. I couldn't just leave her locked in the pantry. She wasn't going to calm down by herself. You saw how she acted. Now, what if she really hurt Tess badly? What if the ambulance and police had to come?”

“You mean Mama might go to jail?”

“Well, that's one possibility. That would be really bad, don't you think?”

“Yes, but …”

Daddy cleared his throat. I smelled the whiskey smell as he talked. “So I did what I had to do to calm Mama down, make her sleep.” He paused before continuing. “Remember when you bought Mary Roberts that glass ballerina and accidentally knocked it off the table?”

“Her head broke into pieces. She was ruined.”

“Exactly. And it was Christmas Eve. We couldn't glue the broken head back together because there were so many small pieces. And all the stores were closed …”

“So we went out to your toolshed and made Mary a cradle for her ragdoll.”

“Yes. And remember what we said?” Daddy's face looked hopeful.

“It wasn't the fanciest cradle …” I recited.

“… and it wasn't the gift we'd wanted for her …” Daddy chimed in.

“But we'd done the best we could …”

“… and no one can do better than that.”

Daddy smiled and hugged me for remembering. “That's all I did, Ellie. The best I could do. I wish your mother understood and handled things better, but she doesn't. And I can't let her hurt Tess or herself. So I gave her medicine that will keep her asleep. Maybe, just maybe, she'll be calmer when she wakes up. Understand?”

I nodded, but still didn't like what he'd done. Maybe he'd given Mama shots in the past to help her. This time it was different.

This time wasn't about Mama.

This was about Tess.

Daddy hugged me again, harder, burying his face in my hair. I loved him and hated him all at once. So many feelings swelled inside me. I wanted to stay the night in Mama's room to watch over her, but Daddy said no. “Not until she's better, Ellie. The tranquilizer will wear off tomorrow and you can see her then.”

Too tired to argue, I nodded. “Can I kiss her good-night?”

“Of course.”

I climbed down from his lap and walked to the head of Mama's bed. Careful not to jar the mattress, I leaned forward and kissed her soft, damp cheek. “'Night, Mama.”

“You go on to your room now. I'll be there in a minute.”

I left the room to get ready for bed, but knew somehow I'd find a way back to Mama before morning.

Tess wouldn't let Daddy sleep downstairs in the sewing room. “I can't sleep up here alone, Rupert. I'm afraid of her.”

Daddy didn't tell Tess he'd given Mama a shot to make her sleep through the night. He put his arms around Tess and said, “Don't worry. I'll stay right here with you.”

The three of us slept in my bed.

Tess wore her pink baby-doll nightgown and curled up against my father who'd taken off his clothes down to his white boxers.

Sleeping in bed beside Daddy and Tess felt all wrong, like wearing somebody else's underwear. I scooted to the bed's edge and faced the wall. I tried to pretend they weren't there, but it was useless. The ointment Daddy had rubbed on Tess's shoulders mixed with her honeysuckle perfume and made a thick, sickening smell. The sour whiskey on Daddy's breath tinted the air, and each time he moved, I smelled sweat from his body.

I placed Jellybean beside me and wrapped my arm around him so he wouldn't tumble off the bed. I inched as close to the edge as I could without falling.

There wasn't any sound from Mama's room. She didn't cry, scream, or call out for anyone. The medicine had put her into a deep, deep sleep. At least if the dead baby cried, she wouldn't hear it. If she slept, she couldn't prowl the house in search of Daddy's gun. But the quiet worried me, too. What if she stopped breathing? I didn't know how far it might be from deep sleep to dying. That scared me.

I didn't want to sleep. Too many bad dreams might come: Daddy shooting me with the syringe … the dead baby chasing me … Tess's father with dirty hands … Mama pointing a gun …

Daddy snored, tossing from side to side. With so little room in my bed, his face ended up against the back of my neck, his warm breath dampening my skin.

My stomach felt queasy. Quickly, I slipped out of my bed, taking Jellybean with me.

Maybe I intended to go to the bathroom and drink water or put a wet cloth to my face. Maybe I had no plan in my mind at
all. But as soon as my feet touched the floor, I wanted only one thing: to go to my mother.

The hallway was so dark—dead babies, dirty hands, tomato girls, guns.

I shoved the door open and rubbed the wall to find the light switch.

When I saw Mama, my knees folded. I had to lean against the wall to steady myself.

Daddy had put a rag into her mouth. Her hands, bound with bedsheets, were pulled up to the headboard. Stretched out on the blanket, Mama looked like a snow angel tied to a tree.

M
AMA DIDN'T STIR
when I pulled the rag from her mouth. I kissed her lips; they were dry and chafed. How could Daddy do such a thing? Part of me wanted to run back to my room and shake him as hard as I could. Didn't he know that what he was doing was wrong? What had happened to the Daddy who took care of Mama?

The knots on Mama's wrists were as tight as fists and had turned her hands blue. I tugged and twisted, tried to find a gap to slip my finger through, but the knots wouldn't give.

I'd need something sharp to cut Mama loose. Scissors, even a knife might work, but that meant going downstairs.

I put Jellybean inside a clothes basket in Mama's bathroom closet. Then I hurried back to Mama. I placed my palm across her mouth and nose to make sure she was breathing. Warm breath kissed my skin.

I didn't want to leave her side, but I needed the scissors to free her.

I walked softly, trying not to make the floorboards creak. A
sure way to get caught in a sleeping house is to make too much noise. If I imagined myself going to the kitchen for an ordinary reason, like getting a glass of milk, the trip downstairs wouldn't frighten me. I'd gone to the kitchen many times during the night, never afraid unless thunder cracked outside the window or a spider crawled across the floor.

But now, thinking of milk reminded me of baby bottles, and the frozen baby wrapped in tinfoil. So many bad pictures came to my mind, no amount of pretending could erase them.

I chewed on my bottom lip and kept walking. I had to fight the bad pictures.

I pushed myself forward, down the dark stairs.

In the kitchen, my feet stepped on something damp, cool, and soft. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming, then remembered the pansies scattered on the floor. I'd need to sweep before Mama woke in the morning and saw her wilted flowers again. Sometimes, after the shots, Mama didn't remember too much. Maybe she'd forget her ruined pansies.

I'd left one pair of scissors in the kitchen drawer when I trimmed flower stems, but I'd need bigger ones to cut the knotted bedsheets. Those scissors should have been in Mama's sewing basket, but nothing was in its usual place since Tess had rearranged the room for my father.

I hunted through Daddy's clothes and shoes, bumping into the table that held his razor and shaving cream. I was afraid to turn on the light, but the moon glowed through the window and made it a little easier to see. The black-handled shears lay on the chair by the bed. As I reached for them, I heard gurgling sounds from upstairs as someone flushed the toilet.

Daddy or Tess must have awakened. I prayed it was Tess. She wouldn't notice me gone, and if she did, she wouldn't care.

Footsteps moved across the hall, maybe into Mama's room. I couldn't tell whose footsteps. Bare feet don't make much noise.

“Ellie?”

Daddy's voice, coming downstairs.

Think. What would Mary Roberts do? Whenever she got caught, she twisted the story or left something out. She was clever that way.

I'm not such a fast thinker. Sometimes I need more time than I have.

What to do? What to say?

“Ellie?” Daddy's voice grew louder. The pad of feet against wood told me he was almost there.

I crawled into Daddy's bed and shoved the scissors under the pillow.

“Ellie, what are you doing down here?”

I peeked out of one eye. Daddy leaned against the door frame, a cigarette in his hand. His dark hair stood up on his head.

Rubbing my eyes as if I'd been asleep, I explained there wasn't enough room in my bed. “I want to sleep down here, Daddy.” I faked a yawn, hopeful that Daddy would think twice about making me return to my bed.

“Okay, angel.” He stepped into the room and put out his cigarette in the bottom of his shaving cup. As he leaned to kiss my forehead, I smelled the cigarettes and whiskey on his breath. “I'll stay with you until you fall asleep,” he said, crawling into the bed with me. As his arm fell across my belly, he whispered good-night. His breathing slowed in my ear. A few minutes later, Daddy's mouth opened in a snore. What scared me most was that Tess would wake and find Daddy gone. She might scream and wake Mama, and I didn't want Mama to wake up and see her tied hands.

Inch by inch, I slid down the bed. Daddy snored again, pausing for just a second when my hand fished under the pillow for the scissors. I kissed Daddy's rough cheek. Despite all the bad things he'd done, I still loved him. He wouldn't have done these
things if not for Tess. She was like a witch casting an evil spell on him. If only I could make her leave. I wanted my father back.

M
AMA NEEDED ME
. I hurried back upstairs, walking down the hall on tiptoes to avoid waking Tess. Asleep, she'd be less trouble. I held my breath as I passed my room. The bedsprings creaked, then were quiet again.

Wet with sweat, my hands made the scissors slippery to hold. I nearly dropped them before opening the door.

Inside Mama's room, I sank to the floor and leaned my head against the dresser to watch her breathe. Her chest rose and fell under her dirty nightgown. Sleeping, only sleeping, I reminded myself.

Cutting the knots worried me. Mary Roberts would call this a bona fide dilemma. If I cut the knots, Daddy would be furious. Who knew what he might do? He'd already locked Mama in the pantry, given the shot to make her sleep, and tied her to the bed. What if Daddy decided this was the last straw and called the police or the asylum, and had them take Mama away for good? Or what if I let Mama go, and then she hurt herself? She'd done that before, taking too many aspirin, and Daddy had to shove his fingers down her throat until she threw up.

And yet, it wasn't right to leave Mama like this. She looked dirty and smelled bad. Dried blood stained her face. Her arms, pulled over her head, were sure to get stiff and sore. She'd grow thirsty, hungry, and need to go to the bathroom.

If I cut her loose, maybe we would have to run away. Mama, Jellybean, and me. Where would we go? What would we eat? The night I ran away, Miss Wilder looked after me. Could I go back there with Mama? No—Miss Wilder would call Daddy.

Without Daddy, could I handle Mama on my own? I'd practiced all my life, knew all her moods, how to go slow and easy when she grew upset. There were the times, though, when only
Daddy knew how to handle Mama, times when she grew out of control and only someone bigger and stronger could stop her. Sometimes the shots were the only way.

My mind was a spinning top of worries. I blinked my eyes and tried not to think anymore.

This was my mother tied to the bed. Not a stranger, not Tess, not some madwoman. My mother. No matter how mad Daddy would be, I could not leave her this way.

I climbed onto the bed to reach Mama's wrists. My knees sank into the soft mattress, and for a second, I feared falling forward with the scissors. Quickly, I balanced myself by standing on my knees. I slid the blade between the knots and Mama's skin and began to cut the sheets. I had to use both hands to cut the fabric because Daddy had twisted it like rope, making it hard to tear.