Necessary Lies (11 page)

“Mrs. Hart.” I leaned forward in the chair. I wanted to touch her, but I wasn’t sure if that was allowed. There was so much I didn’t know! “Mrs. Werkman is filling me in about your family, and you and I will get to know each other very well and I’ll learn how I can help you. It will be all right.” I smiled, but she turned her head away, a weariness in her sagging shoulders.

“Tell us how Mary Ella is doing,” Charlotte said. “I wish she was here to meet Mrs. Forrester. Where is she?”

“You know as well as me I can’t keep no tabs on that girl,” she said. “Good thing we got her fixed, that’s all I can say, and Ivy’s worse every day. When can she get the operation? She flunked that test you give her, right?”

“No, no. It’s not the sort of test you pass or fail. It only measures her ability to learn, and she didn’t score all that low, so I’ll use her epilepsy to get her the surgery. Actually”—she looked at me—“Mrs. Forrester will be taking over Ivy’s case.”

Mrs. Hart sank even farther down into the chair, if that was possible. “Does she know what she’s doin’?” She pointed at me.

She’d picked up on my insecurity and, in doing so, fed it. I tried to smile reassuringly.

“This one’s a quick learner,” Charlotte said, nodding in my direction. “She’ll know the ropes in no time. Don’t you worry.”

“Ivy’s a nice girl,” Mrs. Hart said to me. “Don’t go thinking these girls ain’t nice, ’cause they is. But there’s so much evil in the world and it all just settles on their shoulders.” She leaned toward me. “The devil lives in them woods.” She pointed behind me in a way that sent a chill up my spine. “He lives on this here farm. Took my son—” She looked at Charlotte. “Does she know about that?”

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, I told her.”

“The devil took my son,” Mrs. Hart said. “Made his wife, Violet, go clear out of her head. Turned Mary Ella into a girl I don’t know. Now it’s doing its dirty work on Ivy. I pray to Jesus regular to watch over them, but it ain’t helpin’.”

I remembered Charlotte using the word “marginal” to describe Mrs. Hart. Talking with her, I thought I understood the meaning of the word.

“What’s going on with Ivy now?” Charlotte asked.

“She sneaks out at night, just like Mary Ella used to.”

“How do you know?” Charlotte asked.

“I hear the squeak of the front door,” she said. “She thinks I sleep like the dead and most nights I do, but sometimes that squeak wakes me up like a bomb dropping next to my head.”

“Do you say anything to her then?” I asked. “Do you try to stop her?”

She stared at me, then looked at Charlotte. “I thought you said she was smart?”

“Well,” Charlotte said, “it’s a reasonable question.”

“These girls rule the roost here, I tell you,” she said. “I’m just the old woman who washes their clothes and takes care of their baby. And I can’t manage another one of them, so back to getting Ivy fixed. When can you do it? What’s the holdup?”

“We have a long road ahead of us before we can get permission to have her—”

“I already give you my permission!”

“No, sorry,” Charlotte said. “I meant the board that has to give its permission. A group of people who decide if she can have the surgery or not.”

“What group? They don’t know us.
You’re
the one knows us.”

“This is the process we went through with Mary Ella and it worked, so have some faith that it will work again. But just realize that there’s no guarantee that I …
we
can get her approved by the board, since it’s been quite a while since she’s had a seizure, and—”

“Oh, you can’t never tell when she gets them,” Mrs. Hart interrupted. “She stares off and I think, is this one or maybe not?”

I remembered Robert telling me about a little boy he’d treated who had petit mal seizures. No one knew what they were at first, because he’d just stare into space, ignoring everybody. His parents thought he was just being difficult.

Charlotte looked at me. “We’ll get you working on that petition right away,” she said, and I nodded although I was thinking, what does
Ivy
want? Shouldn’t that count for something? “In the meantime,” Charlotte said, “has Nurse Ann talked to Ivy about preventing pregnancy?”

“Nurse Ann don’t know which way her head’s screwed on,” Mrs. Hart said. “She don’t pay no attention to Ivy. She spends all her time lookin’ over Baby William and tryin’ to explain about them blue testing pills to me and the test tubes and all. I got to boil them tubes like I’m some kind of scientist. Stupid, if you ask me.”

“Well, if Nurse Ann says it’s important to do, I’d believe her.”

“She give me some new salve for my knees, but it don’t work much. Got some in my eye the other day and nearly went blind.”

“All right.” Charlotte jotted a note on her pad, then looked at me. “You’ll call Nurse Ann to tell her Ivy may need contraceptives.”

I nodded.

“I hear a boy at church got his eye on her,” Mrs. Hart said. “He might be the one she seein’ when she sneaks out.”

“We’ll get Ann out here sooner rather than later.”

Ivy suddenly appeared on the porch. “Mrs. Werkman, these clothes is all too small. It’s nice you brung them, but even Baby William’s too big for the baby ones.”

“Oh my,” Charlotte said. “You girls have really grown now, haven’t you?” She looked worried. “When was the last time you got your monthly, Ivy?”

I couldn’t believe she’d ask her straight-out like that, but Ivy didn’t seem shocked.

“Just last week,” she said. “I ain’t doin’ it, Mrs. Werkman. I know Nonnie thinks I am but I ain’t. I don’t want no baby.”

“Who do you see when you leave the house at night?” Mrs. Hart asked.

Ivy looked alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“You think I’m stupid, girl?” Mrs. Hart said. “I know you’re sneaking out.”

“I don’t see nobody,” Ivy said. “I just have to get out sometimes.”

“I’m going to ask Nurse Ann to come talk to you about ways to keep from having a baby,” Charlotte said.

“I know the way.”

“Just in case, all right? And bring the bags of clothes back out here, please. Mrs. Forrester and I will find you some in larger sizes.” She turned back to Mrs. Hart, notepad at the ready. “Now, about how much food is Mr. Gardiner giving you these days?” she asked.

“Hardly nothin’,” Mrs. Hart said, turning her head away from us as though she heard a sound, or maybe didn’t want to look Charlotte in the eye when she answered. “Odds and ends from time to time. Whatever they have laying around.”

“Like what, for example?” Charlotte asked. She’d told me any gifts of food needed to be subtracted from the welfare money the family received. We also needed to take their garden into account, since they could grow some of their own vegetables.

Ivy had brought the bags back to the porch and her grandmother looked at her. “What did Mr. Gardiner give us the last time, Ivy?” she asked. “Little scrap of ham?”

“Right,” Ivy said. “And some turnips.”

“That’s about it. So don’t go cuttin’ our money over a couple of turnips.” She motioned to where Charlotte was writing.

“And how much have you made this week?” She directed her question to Ivy.

“Twenty-five cents an hour,” she said. “And I work from eight to five.”

“You ain’t worked that many hours!” her grandmother scolded. “Pity’s sake, girl. Don’t make them take more off than they have to.”

I knew Ivy and Mary Ella and the Jordan family made less than the other workers, because Mr. Gardiner allowed them to stay in their houses for free. “He’s a very generous man,” Charlotte had told me.

“May we take a look inside?” Charlotte asked Mrs. Hart now. It was one of those questions that could only be answered with a “yes.” It was clear who was holding all the cards here.

Mrs. Hart got to her feet and hobbled ahead of us into the house. The kitchen was similar to the Jordans’, except there was no cot. Little William sat on the floor of the room crying his eyes out. Ivy squatted next to him, trying to comfort him, but he barely seemed to notice her.

Charlotte and I peered into their cupboards and their refrigerator, and I squirmed with discomfort at the way we were intruding into their lives. It was demeaning. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have someone like me—a total stranger—push her way into my kitchen, making judgments about how I lived and what I bought with the little money I had.

I remembered the conversation I’d had in bed with Robert the night before. He worried I might be seen as more of an intruder than a helper when I went into strangers’ houses.

“We seem welcome wherever we go,” I said, but that was not quite the truth. Most people did seem glad to see us coming, since we rarely showed up with empty arms. They liked and trusted Charlotte and my admiration for her was growing by the hour. But one old-timer chased us back to Charlotte’s car brandishing an ax, telling us he was providing for his granddaughters and didn’t need our help, and a few other people seemed wary, although they let us in their houses and talked to us. They definitely didn’t trust
me
yet, though.

We were still in the kitchen when another girl appeared in the open back doorway. One look at her stopped my breath. She stood there, the fading gold sunlight illuminating her wild blond hair. Her eyes were sky blue, her perfect full lips a study in symmetry.

I stepped back against the table with a gasp.
Teresa?

In one second, the charged, surreal moment was over as the girl walked into the room and became herself—Mary Ella Hart. She glided past me in two long strides that barely seemed to touch the floor and picked William up in her arms. She cuddled him, burying her face in his neck, and his crying stopped as if by magic.

“Mary Ella, this is Mrs. Forrester,” Mrs. Hart said. “She’s gonna take over for Mrs. Werkman.”

Mary Ella glanced at me but I didn’t think she really saw me. She had eyes for her little son only, and watching them I felt profoundly moved.
Madonna and child.
William pressed one pudgy hand to her cheek and she turned her head to kiss his palm. There was a bond between them that touched me deeply. It nearly made me want to throw away my pills and have a child of my own.

*   *   *

Charlotte and I walked back across the pasture, then through the darkening woods. I felt different walking away from the house than when we had walked toward it. Changed in a way no other home visit had changed me.

Charlotte was ticking off on her fingers what needed to be done for the family.

“We have to find larger-sized clothing. And call Ann Laing. That rash on Baby William … I bet it’s the laundry soap they’re using to wash his clothes. Ann needs to check it and also bring Ivy contraceptives, just in case. And we need to talk with Davison Gardiner to find out exactly how much he’s supplementing their food and what he’s paying them for their work on the farm.”

“Charlotte…” I couldn’t quite organize my thoughts, and she waited patiently while I tried to find the words. “What does that matter, really?” I said finally. “They have nothing. They have
less
than nothing. So what if he gives them two turnips instead of one?”

Charlotte nodded. “I felt the same way when I was new at this,” she said. It was very dusky in the woods, but I could still see the small smile on her lips. “I know it seems picky, but these are your taxes and mine going to help these people. And if you multiply their need by all the other needy families in Grace County and all the extra turnips … well, I’m sure you can see how that adds up.”

If I thought about the big picture, counting every penny made sense. But if I thought about those four unfortunate human beings in that little house … well, that was something else again.

“We can’t take that little boy away from them,” I said. It had been one thing to talk about placing William in foster care before I’d met him. Now that I’d seen him and seen the love his mother had for him, it was unimaginable.

“He doesn’t stand a chance there,” Charlotte said.

“Mary Ella clearly loves him.”

“All the love in the world doesn’t put food on the table,” Charlotte said. “Those three can barely take care of themselves, much less a child. A good foster home could make a world of difference for William.”

“That would kill Mary Ella,” I said.

“And maybe save William,” Charlotte said. “Trust me. The only member of the Hart family who stands a chance is Ivy, but not if she starts having babies.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes. Just when I was wondering if we’d ever get out of the woods, she suddenly asked, “What happened back there?”

“Back … at the Harts’ house?” I knew exactly what she meant, but not how to answer.

“When Mary Ella walked in,” she said. “You seemed … upset or … I’m not sure what.”

“She reminded me of someone,” I said. “It surprised me, that’s all. She’s so beautiful.”

“It’s the beautiful ones who are the real problem,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Beauty and mental retardation are a dangerous combination in a girl. They can be taken advantage of so easily. We need to help girls like Mary Ella.”

We were finally to the car and I was relieved to drop the bags back into Charlotte’s trunk. We drove slowly down the dirt road. Tobacco fields stretched to infinity on either side of us. There were no workers now, with sunset close upon us. I felt inexplicably sad, a heavy weight around my shoulders that made it hard to breathe.

We rode in silence for a few minutes and when we came to a corner, Charlotte pointed toward a man walking along the side of the road. He was a large man with thinning brown hair and a sluggish gait. Behind him, he dragged a small block of wood on a string.

“I’ve seen him before,” Charlotte said. “I’ve seen him closer up. That block of wood has a duck face painted on it. It’s his toy. He pulls it around with him everywhere.”

I could hardly speak. “It doesn’t even have wheels on it,” I said.

Charlotte nodded. “It’s only a block of wood.” She looked at me. “That”—she pointed in the man’s direction—“that’s William Hart in twenty years if we don’t get him help now.”

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