Seasons of Her Life (14 page)

It was so dark in the room and the gentle voice was fading away. Her chest felt like a giant balloon about to pop from too much air. She had one split second of lucidness. Mikel was waiting for her, but he wanted her to do something. What? He was trying to tell her, but the golden light behind him was so bright, she could hardly see him. He was pointing to something. She wanted to go to him, to the bright light where there would be no pain. She wanted to join her cossack and ride across the steppe again, where they would join all those who had gone before them. What? she screamed silently. What do I have to do before I can cross over? The letters, of course, Mikel was pointing to the pile of letters on her dresser. She struggled then, in that split second, to make her deformed mouth work, to say the words to the gentle voice. They catapulted from her lips in an explosion of garbled sound. “Ruby's letters!” She left then, a young girl dancing her way to the golden light and Mikel's arms.

Irma bounded from the chair, her swollen feet almost giving out under her. She grabbed the edge of the dresser and saw the pile of letters. Her eyes swiveled to the bed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She made the sign of the cross. Gently, she closed the wide, staring eyes. She had to call the priest. She should have done it before, done it sooner. George would never forgive her. None of his brothers and sisters would forgive her. For so long she'd obeyed orders without questioning them. She never thought for herself, never exercised her mind in any way. Mary had ordered her with her last words. How clear they'd been. Ruby's letters. She tottered to the dresser and picked them up. So many. Where in the world was she to hide them? Where? She wanted to read them, all of them, more than anything in the world. Maybe if she kept just one, the last one, the one on top. She had to hide the rest, though, before they came. She had to call the priest, too. In her frenzy she leaned over and blessed her mother-in-law, knowing it wasn't the same, but still she did it.

As fast as her swollen feet could walk, Irma made her way down the hall to the staircase. Pain shot up her legs, but she didn't stop. Her hands gripped the banister for support. She fumbled with the phone and dialed the rectory. In a trembling voice she reported Mary's death. Next she called George, who listened to her shaking voice. When she finished he demanded to know if she found the ring.

“It's not in her room. Mrs. Matia was here for a while and I couldn't look. I'll look now until Father Flavian gets here.”

She had to hurry. George had long legs; he'd be there in a few minutes. She had to hide the letters. She finally wadded them into the back of the walnut radio. No one would be playing it for a while, not with a death in the family. The top letter, the one she kept, she folded into a neat square and slipped it into the pocket of her dress. If only she could take off her shoes. She couldn't, not with the priest coming. Someone had to call the undertaker, but who? She didn't think it was her place. Or was it? She didn't know anything anymore. She hobbled up the steps, stopping to stare at her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror. How awful she looked. So plain and dowdy. She'd been pretty once with a nice complexion. Almost as pretty as her three jewels. Opal was going to be a beauty someday. Amber would be pretty, too, once she learned how to be happy. Ruby's face swam into focus. Ruby would be pretty once she got rid of the anger and hurt. “I did it so you could all survive,” she whispered as she made her way down the hall to the big sunny bedroom where her mother-in-law lay at peace. If she had a choice, right now, this very instant, she would choose to follow Mary Cozinsky to that place from which there was no return.

She wondered why she had married George Cozinsky. He wasn't George Connors when she married him. That had come later. Why had she been so stupid? She should have seen, sensed, that he was like a devil, but she hadn't. He was handsome, charming, and such a churchgoing Christian, her parents had been delighted. “A good man,” they said over and over, until she began to believe them. Her friends all thought he was a good catch; she did, too. He was confident, arrogant, and seemed to want to please her. They picnicked, canoed, took long walks, and held hands in the movie house. He said he loved her and wanted to marry her. She walked on air. All her friends were so jealous.

Her parents had given her a wonderful wedding. They got so many presents. They went to Niagara Falls for their honeymoon, or nightmare as she now thought of it. She'd found out on those terrible seven days just how brutal George Cozinsky was. In bed. The rest of the time he was almost as bad. Two weeks after their marriage he changed their name. The whole town, including her parents, had whispered about that for months. He'd even been considerate of her, but he never listened to anything she had to say. The consideration stopped when her parents died. An only child, she'd inherited the house they now lived in and four thousand dollars, after the funeral expenses were paid, of which she'd never seen a penny. To this day she had no idea what happened to the money. If only she had it now, she would leave. She knew she was lying to herself. Where would she go, what would she do? Four thousand dollars wouldn't last forever. Amber and Ruby certainly wouldn't take her. How could they? First they had to forgive her, and they might never do that. Then there was Opal. She couldn't leave Opal.

In the mirror Irma could see Father Flavian at the foot of the steps. “Please, Father, come up. It was so sudden. I wish I had called you sooner, but . . .”

“Don't fret, Irma. It's done. I'm certain the Lord has her in His arms even as we speak. Mary was a good woman and the Lord is forgiving.”

Irma waited in the hall, unable to watch the priest. She felt faint and needed the support of the sturdy banister. She looked around to see what was so special about this house that all her children loved. She wanted to believe it was the house and not the woman she called her mother-in-law.

She turned to see George's brothers, Hank and John, walk through the door. Their eyes pleaded with her. She shook her head ever so slightly. As they passed her at the top of the stairs, she saw their eyes fill with tears. Seconds later, George walked through the door. It was all she could do not to put her hand into her pocket. How cold and unrelenting his eyes were, she thought as he passed her. There was no sign of a tear. She hadn't expected any.

“I'll see myself out, Irma, don't bother coming down,” the priest said. Irma nodded gratefully.

“I didn't call the undertaker,” she said, addressing the three brothers. “I thought . . .”

“You always think the wrong thing, Irma,” George said harshly. “Call him now.”

“No, Irma! George is the oldest, let him do it,” Hank said coolly. “He expects all the privileges of the oldest, so let him earn them.” He moved an inch or so in George's direction, his brother behind him. They were as tall and as muscular as George, and younger by ten years. If they had a mind to, they could wipe the floor with him. A long time ago Irma learned that George was good only at bullying women. She watched him stalk off. She would pay for Hank's intervention, but she didn't care.

They were so handsome, Irma thought, look-alikes of George, but these two young men had feelings, feelings they weren't afraid to show.

“I was holding her hand, talking to her . . . and ... and ... she ... went to sleep, I came as soon as Opal told us. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Did she ... did she say anything?” Hank, the youngest, asked.

Irma licked her dry lips as she looked over her shoulder.

“She . . . said ... very clearly . . . Ruby's letters. That's all. They were on the dresser. I ... I stuffed them behind the radio downstairs. I ... I kept one, the one on top,” Irma said in a low whisper, her back to George. Both young men nodded.

“I'll get your mother ready. Show me where her things are. I imagine the undertaker will be here soon.”

“All her things are in that dresser. Her good church dress is hanging in the closet. She made us all swear we wouldn't deck her out in one of those purple things the undertakers put on everyone. We have to get washed up. We'll use the bathroom downstairs. My God, Irma, what's the matter with your feet?” John asked, horror in his voice.

“It's nothing. They swell up around this time of day. At home I usually wear slippers, but I had to walk over here.”

John's eyes popped. “Like that! Didn't George drive you?”

“No, I didn't. I was at work the way you were. Don't worry about my wife's feet,” George said coldly.

“Someone should,” Hank said, pushing Irma gently to the only chair in the room. “John, get Ma's slippers for Irma.” He tugged on the leather shoes until Irma thought she would scream. Free of the confining leather, her feet seemed to swell even more. She tried to fight the tears in her eyes but failed. Oh, she was going to pay dearly for this, too. “Jesus,” both brothers said in awe as they stared at Irma's feet. Even George wore a stunned look. “You sit there, Irma, we'll get cleaned up, and we'll wash up Ma. You can't do it. We'll drive you home.” Irma didn't demur. There was no sense to it.

“You're a very stupid woman, Irma,” George said coldly. “I thought you had more sense.” The look of disgust on her husband's face frightened her.

 

Opal cowered at the top of the steps. Something terrible was going to happen. She'd watched her mother get out of Uncle Hank's car. She could hardly walk. She lay down flat on her belly so she could see through the spindles on the staircase. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw her father punch her mother, who was staggering across the room. She leaned closer to the first step, craning her neck to see better. She wished she hadn't when she heard the cellar door open and then watched as her father pulled his belt free of the loops on his pants. So far, the only sound she heard was a grunt. She turned, crablike, and crawled to her room, where she buried her face in the pillow. In the cellar Irma cowered on the floor. Her voice was a hoarse croak. “Why are you doing this, George? What did I do?”

“You made a horse's ass out of me in front of my brothers with your stupid feet. By tomorrow every woman and man in this town will be talking about us, saying I prevented you from going to a doctor and my brothers had to take care of you. Every one of our neighbors saw you get out of the car. And you didn't get the ring like I told you. You're just like your daughters, you never do what you're told.” He slapped out at one of the cellar beams with the belt. It was so loud, to Irma it sounded like thunder.

She inched along to get away from her husband. He reached down and grabbed hold of her shapeless dress, dragging her to her feet. His hold was secure, otherwise she would have toppled to the floor. He ripped her dress, the thin material giving way until the fabric snagged on the huge patch pocket. George gave a tug and the dress ripped to the hem line, where it snagged again. Irma's eyes rolled back in her head when she saw Ruby's letter, folded so neatly, fall to the floor. George let go of her so suddenly that she fell backward and struck her head on the sauerkraut barrel.

Irma would have thought it impossible for her husband to be angrier than he had already been, but now his face grew so contorted that his eyes seemed to pop from their sockets, and his handsome face became ugly and infused with purplish-pink. Huge veins swelled on the sides of his neck. Dear God, what had Ruby written in the letter?

“Get up, Irma!” George raged. “You weren't going to give it to me, were you?”

Irma tottered, but stood her ground. He would beat her if she lied, and he would beat her if she told the truth. “No, I wasn't going to give it to you.”

The blow to the side of her head was so hard, so fierce, she knew her eardrum was ruptured. She fell and made no move to get up.

George dropped to his haunches and waved the letter under his wife's nose. “I'm going to read this to you, Irma,” he said softly. Irma shriveled inside herself. She didn't know which was worse, his loud rage or this quiet, ominous tone.