By: Betsy J. Bennett
CHAPTER 6
Mama,
The baby is dead. I know you know this. I know Richard called you and told you. I still can’t believe it. It seems so unreal. But what’s not unreal is the way it’s affecting Richard. He’s gentle with me, so gentle, but he is grieving so desperately I wish there was something I could do for him.
Richard was the one who told me. Did you know that? I came out of the anesthesia, and I was so hoping to hold my child, my son, although I felt drugged, and yes, I’ll admit it now, empty. His hands shook. That’s the first thing I noticed, how his hands shook. That frightened me, so I looked around the room, for signs of the baby. I knew he would be in the nursery, but certainly there would be something to indicate he was born. I’ve been in enough post-partum rooms as a nurse to know what to expect.
There was nothing. And Richard’s hands trembled.
I looked into his eyes, frightened. I’ve never been frightened in his presence before. We’ve always had the best marriage. And I saw despair. I had no trouble recognizing it, no doubt what it meant.
“No!” I screamed. “No!”
“Helen,” he said, calling my name as gently as he ever had so many times in love over the years we’ve been married. It came out as a whisper, as if he’d lost his voice, as if it hurt him as much to speak as it would hurt for me to hear. And then, I only thought of myself, of my loss, of my failure. How could I see this as anything but my failure?
There were tears in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. He hadn’t shaved, and he’s always so meticulous with his appearance. Funny how now that’s one of the strongest memories. I’ve seen him cry before. When he loses a patient, sometimes, not always, there’s a child who gets to him. He wants to save them all. He’s such a good doctor, he believes if he studies enough, works hard enough, he can cure them all, and it’s not possible. He’s lost children before, but not my child.
My child was supposed to be perfect. We had everything ready, the crib, the changing table, the stacks of diapers and rubber pants and everything we would need. We’d even started a college fund. Not much, but it pleased him to think already about college, even before we knew if we’d be blessed with a boy or a girl.
Blessed. What an ugly word now, facing this nightmare. There will be no blessing in our life. Not now, not ever. I will have no child.
Do you think he’ll divorce me? Barrenness is cause for divorce. I think of that all the time, and it’s destroying my mind. All I can do is cry. The wastepaper basket in the room is filled to overflowing. I won’t let him hold me. I won’t let him talk with me. I am so terrified he’ll leave me. He swears he won’t, that he loves me as much now as he ever has. How can he? Doesn’t he know I am no longer whole?
Richard removed the baby clothes we picked out so lovingly. It’s all gone. He painted the room eggshell, an off-white, and said I can have a sewing room, as if I want to ever go inside that room ever again.
God how I love him. How I’ve always loved him. And I realize after this tragedy, it’s me I can’t stand. I hate myself. I want to lay here in this bed and weep all the time. Just cry for the perfect life I had and that now I’ve lost. Please come, Mama. Please. I can’t move. I can’t cook. I can’t clean. I don’t know how I can go on living.
But I love him. I love him so much. He doesn’t deserve this pain.
Olivia put the letter back in the envelope, back in his drawer. There would be no tomorrow for Helen Kimble. A voice from the grave, speaking about her husband who had six years of hell, as a convicted murderer.
She swallowed, wondered if she would throw up. What food she had eaten had been over twelve hours before. Alone, Olivia rubbed her stomach. She hadn’t had the test. She’d have to one of these days. She was a doctor and she knew the symptoms. They hadn’t made love once as a married couple, but they had been together every night for a little under two weeks before they were married. Hadn’t used anything, although he insisted, and she resisted, thinking everything was perfect in her life. It was time to start a family.
She’d gotten her wish. So much for thinking everything perfect could last.
Sunday morning. Yesterday she had promised him that she wouldn’t go into work, that they would have the whole day off to celebrate their new marriage. She didn’t have the courage to go to the clinic, when no one would be there, simply because the walls were closing in on her. There were things she could do here, balance her checkbook, paint one of the unused bedrooms, or mop the kitchen floor. She could make an almost endless list of things she wasn’t going to do while Richard was behind bars, probably awaiting extradition to wherever this horrendous crime had taken place.
It had been too late to find news when she got home last night, and Sunday mornings were not well known for local news, so she did not know if his arrest had been made public and everyone knew but her. There was nothing in the fat Sunday newspaper but ads for shampoo, used cars, and pre-Christmas sales. She would have called Decker if she had the presence of mind to have asked for his phone number, not that he would be at his office, but someone might know where to find him.
She sat and paced and sat and paced. She wondered if this was how Donna had gotten through the fugitive years when her brother was on the run, and decided no. A brother was not a husband.
The doorbell rang and caught her off guard. She was expecting ten thousand reporters, asking for her opinion, her blood to flash across their headlines, and so she almost didn’t open the door, until she heard yelling, obviously childish calls of brothers fighting, and knew who had come. What she wanted to know was did she want to speak with Donna Taft?
Yes. Anything was better than this crippling terror of not knowing what was going on. Olivia raced, hoping somehow she had garnered information. Donna at least, had experience, would know who to call, what to think.
“You two, play in the back. Go. And don’t get muddy.” She pointed her finger around the side of the house, the other hand holding the sleeping infant. The boys took off yelling. Olivia had watched Richard while they were getting married, how the boys playing in the chapel instead of annoying him, seemed to make him glow with pleasure.
Donna’s look, when she studied Olivia, turned immediately compassionate. “He didn’t come home last night.” She had no need to make it a question. Olivia’s features must have given it away.
“No.”
“Or call?”
“One call, lasted about a minute. Said he loved me. That’s all. Nothing about the charges, nothing about anything.”
“The conversation would be recorded. Anything he would have said to you would be admissible in court. He knew this. Olivia, know this, Richard does love you. Whatever these charges are, he’ll get them straightened out. Leonard is on his way to the local police department. We don’t know if that’s where they’re holding Richard, but they should be able to find out. Now, have you had breakfast?”
“No. I couldn’t eat.”
“Let me make you something. If you hear anything strange, the boys are probably killing each other in the back yard. Billy’s got a soccer ball. He can entertain himself for hours, kicking it back and forth. David’s undoubtedly digging up earthworms with his bare hands.”
Olivia pulled the curtain back on the kitchen window over the sink, a lacy, brilliant yellow curtain that Richard had put up only last weekend. She wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have cared if she had, for she didn’t intend to spend much time in the kitchen, but she had to admit the curtains, and the drapes he’d hung in the living room and in the bedrooms gave the house a comfortable, homey feeling. As Donna said, one boy was kicking and chasing a soccer ball, the other on his knees digging in the dirt. “There’s no good fishing around here.”
“I know. For reasons that escape me, David loves them. I’m sure he’s just checking if Michigan worms are any different from Indiana worms. Don’t worry. Richard called him an oligochaeteologist, which is certainly a word and a half. I had to practice for a month before I learned how to pronounce it. It means someone who studies worms. With all that my brother knows, I’m sure he had to look that one up, and I have to admit, I had grown rather partial to the phrase wormologist, which is what he had been using, if I could possibly be partial to anything having to do with worms. David is young, but it looks like he’s found his calling. Ask him about worms if you have six hours of your life you never want back.”
“Here, take this,” she said, handing over the sleeping Veronica. Olivia took the baby as she might a hand grenade. “In case you’re wondering, none of my medical training is in pediatrics. I do handle the occasional child in the clinic, but mostly I was planning on leaving that part of the practice to Richard.”
“That’s ok. Ronnie doesn’t need a doctor. You can put her down anywhere. She doesn’t roll over yet. She should be good for another hour. My boys were terrorists about taking naps, still are, if you want the truth, but this little angel is a sleeper.”
While Donna had been talking, she had been making coffee, searching the refrigerator for something to make for breakfast. There were eggs, bread going stale, and a find, pancake syrup, not all of it destroyed from the day before. “French toast?” she asked.
“Sure,” Olivia agreed, still studying out the back door.
“Don’t worry. The rule is no worms in the house. He collects them, says he’s studying them for an hour or two, as if he expects them to turn into butterflies, then lets them go.”
“Worms don’t—“ Olivia started.
“Yes, I know. So does David for that matter. It keeps him happy. He wrote a six page paper on worms, sort of a ‘what I did on my summer vacation’. Got an A. There’s no stopping him now.”
Donna started cooking, looked up when the doorbell rang. Olivia ran to get it, Donna had no heart to tell her not to get her hopes up. If Richard were returning, it wasn’t likely that he’d knock on his own door.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” the woman said, “I’m Marie Gerard.”
The woman wore as suit and a hat, white gloves, every hair in place. If she had been at the wedding reception yesterday, Olivia didn’t remember seeing her.
“Yes?”
“Did Dr. Kimble come home last night?”
“No. Won’t you come in?”
Donna stood in the area between the kitchen and the living room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Mrs. Gerard,” she said in acknowledgement. There was clearly no love lost between the two women, but then Donna wasn’t a fan of Lieutenant Gerard either. She found it much more difficult to forgive than her brother, and too much ugliness had passed between them, the fugitive’s sister and the man obsessed with his capture, for them to be friends.
“Phillip didn’t come home either. I’m sure they’re together. I was hoping you’d know something.”
“We don’t. Tell Phil he can go around back and play soccer, or dig up worms if he wants. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes. Will you eat with us?” Donna asked. She may have had a grievance with Lieutenant Gerard, but her manners were certainly evident.
“We couldn’t face anything this morning, not until we got news. I don’t mean to be rude, but I was hoping all this mess with Richard Kimble would be over by now.”
Donna’s smile was tight, lacked warmth. “I’m sure we all believed that.”
“Come on back. There’s fresh coffee,” Olivia said, oblivious to the tension between the two women. The kitchen was bright, painted a sunflower yellow, the counters spotless. “Richard said he spent some time as a short order cook, that’s why there’s food in the house.”
“I’m sure he did.” Mrs. Gerard’s tone of voice was not one of a person bestowing a compliment.
Marie Gerard settled herself at the kitchen table, accepted coffee from Donna. “I always thought he was guilty,” Marie said.
“Did you?” Donna responded, cold enough to make the freezer unnecessary.
“When Phil would go, and the kids were asleep, I would think of that poor murdered woman. How could a man do that to his wife?”
“He didn’t.” Donna spoke between clenched teeth.
Marie pulled off her gloves, slowly. “Killing her because she couldn’t have children, certainly there must have been another motive than that.”
“There was,” Donna said, forming her hands into fists. “Helen had heard something while working at the hospital. A really evil man named Judge Reisling wanted her frightened. Fred Johnson killed her.”
Marie continued, oblivious. “Phil would come back from his trips, each time unsuccessful in catching Richard Kimble. Why would people help him? Apparently he always told them he had been convicted of murder.”
Olivia, sitting at the kitchen table, rocking Ronnie, finally caught on to the nuances between the two women. She found herself fascinated.
“Maybe because he was innocent?” Donna said, her voice definitely a growl.
“I met him you know, when he was a fugitive.”
“Yes,” Donna said.
“No, I didn’t know,” Olivia answered. Another story Richard hadn’t told her, and probably another insight into his life on the run. And since this likely wouldn’t make “Top of the Deck” she listened intently.
“I was so terrified when I met him. I saw him get on the bus. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, that the murderer Richard Kimble was on the same bus I was.”
“Bus?” Olivia asked. Donna busied herself cooking, her back very straight, muscles tight in her shoulders.
“Phil and I had been on vacation, when he got the call Richard Kimble had been sighted in the area. He left to oversee his manhunt, and I decided to leave, get back to my children.”
Fighting, Donna thought, for she smiled. She didn’t know this story either.
“I tried desperately to contact Phil. There was no place to call. I was sure Kimble would recognize me, kill me.”
“I’m sure you did,” Olivia said, peacemaker now, for she could see high color rising on Donna’s cheeks, and knew although Richard could not be considered violent, that maybe his sister could be with a little more provocation.
“I’m sure that’s why, when the bus crashed, I couldn’t see.”
“I’m sure.” Donna opened the back door, hollered for the boys to come in. She set plates on the table, then served French toast.
Mrs. Gerard picked up her coffee cup, had yet to taste. “The jury, you see, they were so sure he was guilty.”
Donna marched David to the sink, stood with him while he washed his hands. He wiggled like this was some sort of torture, but obviously the action had become routine: wash, wiggle, then in a touching moment between mother and son, giggles, from both.
With David wrestling with a towel to dry his hands, Donna had time to address the conversation. “Not every member of the jury was convinced he was guilty. The judge broke legal protocol and all but forced a guilty verdict. Three of them were holding out for acquittal.” She smiled, lacking any kind of pleasure. “If you don’t believe me, maybe you should check the newspapers, see why Judge Reistling is in jail now.”
Letting David go, Donna returned to the table, buttering French toast and cutting David’s, since he was shoving the entire slice into his mouth, as if to set a world record. There was one boy who would need his hands washed again in another minute. Ignoring David for a moment, Donna stood over Marie Gerard, and Olivia thought heaven help anyone who threatens her children or her brother.
“So overall you survived your time with Richard Kimble when he was an interstate fugitive?” Olivia asked, first because she wanted the story and second because she knew it might help deflect any violence Donna was planning. The butter knife Donna held was not sharp by any definition, but probably could do some damage. Best not to spill blood at the breakfast table.
“Survived? I still have nightmares.”
Olivia met Donna’s gaze, both of them thinking the exact same thought. “Richard has nightmares.”
Olivia could be compassionate, it was her nature and her training. She put a warm hand over Marie’s chilled one. “Think, did Richard hurt you? Do anything to frighten you?”
Marie sipped her coffee. She made it light enough it was basically warm milk. “He was a killer. There was a woman dead, a woman he swore he loved. What was I to think he would do to someone who could help catch him?”
“Is that what Lieutenant Gerard told you when he returned from his trips? That Richard was dangerous, that women all over the country were in danger?” Donna was so angry that although she had finished cutting David and Billy’s French toast, she started in on Olivia’s.
Marie shifted her eyes, looking for inspiration in the ceiling, but in her defense, when she answered it was honest. “No, never. He always said he thought Dr. Kimble had done the only murder he would ever do, but when Kimble got on the bus, that’s not what I was thinking. There was blood on his hands.”
“When he got on the bus?” Donna asked. Veronica gave a large burp, then smiled, deflecting attention.
“I can understand why you’d be scared,” Olivia answered, trying to put herself in that position, deciding there was no way Richard would have scared her.
“No one else recognized him. That’s how he spent so many years on the run. People wouldn’t recognize him.”
Donna snarled, but returned David to the sink to wash his hands yet again.
“Kimble would do anything to get away. That was enough to terrorize me. But no, to answer your question,” she said looking at Olivia, “he did not hurt me.” She looked like she had said all she cared to on the subject, when she continued. “Overall he was gentle, supportive, and helped me when he could have abandoned me.”
With the boys escaped to the backyard, Donna picked up Veronica before the baby had a chance to fuss and opened her blouse to feed the little girl. Veronica latched noisily. “He has never hurt anyone. Do you read the papers?”
“Yes. And on Fridays, after we’ve read the article, Phil tries to discuss the stories with me, especially the ones he was involved with. But you have to understand, for years Phil believed Richard Kimble a murderer.”
“Even when Dick told him countless times that he was innocent, and saved his life three or four times.” Although her hand thumping the baby’s back was gentle, Olivia noticed blood in Donna’s eyes. “What did Lieutenant Gerard say to you when he came home after Dick gave him a blood transfusion, or stopped bleeding, or prevented him from being lynched?”
Olivia wondered if she should start taking notes. So much of this Richard had never mentioned, and although Gerard had written in, twice, to Top of the Deck, obviously rather significant details had been omitted.
Marie had no need to straighten her back, she had perfect posture. “He would say he never questioned the law. A jury found him guilty. A hundred kind acts would not erase that. That woman was dead. He was a doctor, should not kill.”
Donna rolled her eyes, looked to Olivia who took up the narrative. “Now a judge as expunged his record, and he’s been completely exonerated. Richard is a free man, and when this ugliness in Wisconsin is over, he’ll be back. It’s time for you to face the fact that he’s innocent, and always was.”
“Well, there is that,” Marie said in a huff. “And you know animals breast feed.”
“Good for them,” Donna said. “That’s probably why animals are so healthy.”
Marie continued. “Really, did you ever consider bottle feeding? It’s the modern way.”
Olivia was trained the same way, that bottle feeding was the scientific way, but she kept her mouth shut.
“Breast feeding is the best way to keep a baby healthy.” Sharply, deliberately, Donna turned her back to Mrs. Gerard, faced Olivia. “Give me a few minutes to wash up these few dishes and then let’s go to the clinic. You can open your wedding presents.”
“Actually I can wash dishes—“
“I know this isn’t much of a honeymoon, but you’re the bride. Let me.”
Olivia studied the small pieces of French toast on her plate, had even gone as far as pouring a moderate amount of syrup on the stack. What she hadn’t done was take a bite.
“I don’t know. Richard was insistent that I not work this weekend.”
“You won’t be working. You’re not to touch a chart, organize a med cabinet or see a patient, is that understood?” Donna said, her voice gentle. “Do it for me. I’d love to see what presents you got, especially since there wasn’t any time for me to host a bridal shower.”
Carefully Donna placed the baby on the kitchen floor, dug through her shipping trunk of a purse and located a pacifier. Veronica was looking glassy-eyed. “So think, if we get the presents opened, that will be one less thing you’ll have to do when he comes back. Think of it as freeing up some time for later.”
Olivia had never been indecisive in her life, but then, she’d never been married before either. “Shouldn’t we wait here, by the phone?”
If it wasn’t for the fact Donna knew exactly what Olivia was feeling, because she’d gone through the same emotions herself, she would have suspected Olivia weak, unable to cope without her husband. Instead she recognized what she saw was strength, tempered with love.
When Donna looked at Olivia, her grin was sincere. “Would Richard expect you to be here, at home waiting by the phone or doing something at the clinic?”
The response needed no thought time and brought an honest grin. “The clinic.”
Donna started buttoning her blouse, then collecting plates. The baby kicked her fat legs, then burped a large amount of milk. Although Olivia knew almost nothing about babies, she knew that was not a concern, and surprisingly, Marie picked up Veronica, cooed, and taking a napkin, wiped the baby’s chin and chest.
“That answers that,” Donna said, although her face showed mixed emotions, she let Mrs. Gerard rock her infant.
A few minutes later, the kitchen put to rights, Donna opened the back door, hollered, “Come on, boys. You can play at the clinic as easily as you can here. Mercy it’s cold. I bet he didn’t find a single earthworm.” Instead of looking overjoyed, her expression was the opposite, as if “what am I going to do with this kid all winter long?”
“I watched, I made sure all the presents were taken in,” Donna said, picking the pacifier off the floor, sticking it in her own mouth for a second, before giving it back to Veronica. “Your staff was really quite efficient. We should open the presents. It will be fun. You do like opening presents, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And since you didn’t get much of a honeymoon, at least not yet, this is one thing that will help you feel like a bride.”
“Well, I suppose we could organize them. Richard said he made a list of things needed for the clinic and for the house.”
Taking a second from buttoning her own coat, Donna studied Olivia, who had yet to move. “Or would you rather stay here? I know we’re a bit much. You couldn’t have gotten any sleep last night. Believe me, no need to explain, I know why.”
“I’m sure he’s ok.”
“I’m sure he’s ok,” Donna interjected before Marie could possibly add something about escaped murderers.
Although Livi didn’t do anything overt like rub her stomach, Donna had her suspicions. Feeling maternal, Donna doubted all of Olivia’s lack of appetite, had to do with Richard’s unexpected arrest.
“Before we go, could you teach me how to make this? It was delicious,” Olivia said.
Donna looked, and it was her best guess only a single piece was gone. Olivia must have tasted the French toast. “You want to learn how to cook?”
“Maybe breakfast. I don’t think I’m quite ready to plan dinner menus. I don’t think I should make Richard do all the housework.”
“I’d be honored to.” And Donna hugged her, this woman who was hurting and who through marriage vows and a shared love of the same man, had become her sister.
“You will come, Marie?” Olivia asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”