Barbara Michaels, page 11
Another neglected duty was nagging at me, and I decided to get it over with. I had forgotten to buy stamps, and I owed Mother a call. She had written once, a conventional note hoping I was not finding my duties too onerous, but I knew she wouldn’t use the phone unless she was desperate. Long distance, to her, was not a convenience but a last resort.
She said she had been hoping I would call. „Such a long time, Julie. I always worry – “
„You could have called me, you know.“
„Oh, honey, I’ve just been so busy. Work is frantic, you’ve no idea.“
I laughed at the complacent enjoyment in her voice. She loved the frantic schedule and the compliments that followed her achievements. „I don’t know how you keep so calm, Mrs. Newcomb. I don’t know what we’d do without you.“
„I wish I could say the same, Mother. I had anticipated being driven crazy by Martha, but I didn’t realize it would be so damn boring.“
„How is she getting on?“
„I am sorry to report that the patient is recovering nicely,“ I said.
Mother had a way of responding to particularly outrageous remarks with pained silence. It was much more effective than a scolding, and usually ended with me scolding myself.
„That was a terrible thing to say,“ I offered.
„Yes, honey, it was.“
„So I apologize. But she is so… Why does she hate me so much, Mother?“
Mother’s ladylike laugh was a little strained. „Now, Julie, you know she doesn’t like anyone, not even her own daughters. You mustn’t take it personally.“
„It’s more than dislike. It’s active, malevolent… When she looks at me I feel as if she isn’t seeing me, but someone else – the child I used to be, perhaps. Was I that bad? Lord knows I hated every second I spent in this house – “
„Julie, I took you away the instant I could. It was impossible for me to have you with me at first.“
The child I had been didn’t believe that. As an adult, I could understand her reasons. She had had a desperate struggle at first, working at minimum wages during the day and going to secretarial school at night. Not impossible with a young child, but close to impossible, and there were other major disadvantages – inner-city schools, a cheap room in a bad neighborhood, drugs, child molesters… I understood, yes, but I also wondered, with my grown-up wisdom, whether there had not been another factor, a kind of social snobbery, sometimes called pride, that made Mother refuse to have anyone, even me, see her until she had attained the goals she considered minimal – a nice garden apartment in a pleasant suburb, a car, a good school for her daughter.
I had never voiced any of my doubts to her, and God willing I never would. She went on protesting, excusing, anxiously demanding my acknowledgment that she had acted for the best.
I cut her short. „Sure, Mother, I know. How’s the weather up there?“
Hot. The weather was hot. I said it had been raining here. Finally she said. „So Martha is better. Still bedridden, though? Well, we can’t expect miracles, can we?“
„No,“ I said. „At least I hope not.“
I made my farewells and hung up before she had that comment figured out, and before I had to admit it was a terrible thing to say.
Chapter Six
I REPORTED FOR WORK THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, TO BE received with something less than enthusiasm. I didn’t take it personally; the weather was hot and muggy, and the open field swarmed with insects of all varieties. I couldn’t blame Alan for being in a glum mood, particularly since it was apparent that his new trial trenches had yielded nothing. (I deduced this because a big young man was filling them in.)
„I came to tell you I can’t come today,“ I told Alan.
Through the cloud of gnats that hovered around his nose he said, „Why not?“
„I have to wash my dog.“
„Your dog,“ Alan repeated. His lips barely parted; whether he was controlling passionate emotion or trying to keep a bug from flying into his mouth I was not certain.
„And see the sheriff.“
„The sheriff?“ This time, voice and expression indicated rising interest. „Has something else happened?“
„Sorry to disappoint you. It’s about that other matter.“
„Ah. Any new information?“
„I don’t know why it’s any of your business, but since there is no new information, I have no hesitation in informing you that such is the case.“ After a moment, during which I decided there really was no reason for keeping the facts from him, I added, „He wants to know what to do with them. The bones.“
„That is my business.“
„Since when have you been the residuary legatee of all the miscellaneous bones found in this county?“
„Let me rephrase my remark. I have an interest in those bones.“ He tossed his clipboard and pen onto a card table that had been set up to serve as an extremely temporary and portable office. „I’ll come with you.“
I lied. „Sheriff Jarboe specifically requested that you not attend.“
„But – “
„I don’t want you either.“
„But – “
„I can’t stand around here arguing with you. I’m late. See you tomorrow.“
I didn’t look back. The big young man with the shovel stopped shoveling and gave me a hopeful „Hello“ as I passed him. I smiled and went on.
I had a drive of almost forty miles ahead of me, so I wasn’t lying when I said I was short on time. On back roads encumbered by slow-moving farm machinery, it took an hour – ample time to think over what the sheriff had told me.
I had been in the kitchen when the telephone rang. It was eight-thirty, and breakfast cooled on the stove as the sheriff rambled on. He had called me by my first name. That didn’t mean anything; everybody in these parts called everybody by first names, unless prefixed by „Mr.“ or „Miz“ if the person addressed possessed the dignity of age or social position. Yet there had been an underlying assumption, in the way he talked to me, that he knew me and expected me to remember him. I didn’t. It was beginning to worry me, how little I did remember from those years with Martha. It had not worried me before this visit because there was no reason for me to remember – no reason to think about that time. I had blotted out four years of my life with a thoroughness that was rather unnerving.
At any rate, he knew me, if I didn’t know him, and he granted me a status I had not realized I possessed – that of resident relative-in-charge.
„I been tryin’ to reach Matt,“ he said aggrievedly. „That boy is never in his office.“
„It’s an election year.“
„Yeah, well, it’s damn early to start campaignin’. When I vote for a man I want him there workin’, not ridin’ the roads lookin’ for more votes.“
I didn’t care whether the sheriff voted for Matt or not, so I had no reason to placate him. „I haven’t seen Matt since Saturday evening, and he didn’t tell me what his plans were. Is there anything I can do?“
„Well, yeah, sure – that’s why I called. I got to do somethin’ with those damn bones, Julie. They can’t lie around here forever.“
„Oh. Those bones.“
„You know the ones I mean. The ones that was found – “
„I know the ones you mean. What do you want me to do about them?“
„It’s rightly Miz Martha’s responsibility. But I don’t want to bother her when she’s so poorly. I can’t find Matt. So I figured you’d be the one to speak for the family, or at least get them to make up their damn minds.“
I could have told him it was not my responsibility, or my right, to decide anything. I don’t know why I didn’t simply refer him back to Matt. Yes, I do. I was flattered at being asked to participate in a decision, instead of obeying orders, like hired help.
With one eye on my congealed eggs, I said, „I’ll come to your office and talk to you about it. Would this afternoon suit you?“
He allowed as how it would, always providing he was not called away by a murder or an accident. I said I’d take my chances; we agreed on two o’clock.
Apparently it was a quiet day for crime in the county. The sheriff was in his office, feet on the desk and cigar in his mouth, in approved county-sheriff style. He swung his feet off the desk when I appeared and rose, stubbing out the cigar.
He was a little man. From the rumbling, grumbling voice that had vibrated over the telephone I had expected someone taller and heavier, with a beer belly hanging over his belt, like the caricature sheriffs in the television programs. If I had met him on the street I’d have taken him for a barber or bank clerk. Thinning hair that had once been blond and was now an indeterminate shade halfway to gray framed a narrow, almost ascetic face, with lined cheeks and wide ingenuous blue eyes.
„Well, now, it sure is good to see you again, Julie,“ he said. „You sure have growed up to be a pretty girl.“
He had known me back then. I hadn’t the faintest recollection of ever having seen him. I didn’t say so; I shook his hand and took the chair he indicated. He asked after my mother and I asked after his family – a photograph on the desk, of a little woman and three hulking children, gave me the clue.
„I really don’t know what I can tell you,“ I began. „I tried to reach Matt this morning; his secretary said he was in Washington and wouldn’t be back till the end of the week. Surely he has talked to you about this business?“
„Not for a couple of weeks. See…“ He paused, studying me, and I realized that the baby-blue eyes were not as naive as they appeared. „How much do you know about this? Did Matt talk to you? Was it in the northern papers?“
„I don’t know much,“ I admitted. „Only the bare facts and the reasonable assumptions one might draw from them.“
„Reasonable assumptions.“ Sheriff Jarboe looked as if he wanted to spit. „I’m gonna tell you what the law says, not what some professor assumes. Human remains turn up, then the law’s gotta be notified. They turn up oftener than you might think – sewer lines, new roads, building sites – not to mention the damn archaeologists. Now if they turn up in the course of digging, whether it’s construction or something else, the professors can tell us how long they’ve been in the ground. If they’re what you might call real antiques, then we don’t worry about how they died; but we do have to worry about what’s done with them. There are laws about disturbing Christian burials, and lately the Indian groups have stirred up a fuss about their people. So that’s one problem. Everybody raisin’ hell about what to do with the remains.“
He reached for his cigar, then glanced at me. „Go ahead,“ I said.
„I think better with the damn thing in my mouth,“ he said apologetically.
„You haven’t done badly without it, Sheriff. I see what you’re getting at. There is a problem of jurisdiction even with skeletons found in situ. But in this case you can’t even be sure whether they are – antiques, as you put it – or remains that might demand a criminal investigation. Right?“
Jarboe’s blue eyes narrowed. „There was a crime committed, no question about that. Those bones didn’t walk out onto the road and lay down. I want to find the kids who played that little joke. But near as I can tell, that was the only crime committed. There was no evidence of violence. I’ve gone through the missing-persons files for thirty years back, and nobody fits the description. I don’t understand why the damn-fool professors can’t tell me how old those bones are, but they say they can’t.“
„That’s the way it is, though. Soil conditions, type of burial – “
„Yeah, well, I’ve heard all that stuff. Point is, she must have been dead a long time or we’d have some record in our missing-persons file. Without evidence of identity or criminal violence, I’ve got no reason to keep the case open. I want to get her out of the morgue and back into the ground. The question is, where?“
„Why ask me?“
„Because – “ He stabbed the air with his cigar. „Because that reasonable assumption you talked about suggests that she came from Maidenwood. The road cuts through your land; I can’t think of any reason why »the jokers would carry those bones very far. If they’d been left on somebody’s porch I’d figure the comedians had a grudge against that person, but they couldn’t predict who would be the first one to drive that road. The doc says she was white – not Indian or nigra – so it’s possible she was an ancestor of yours.“
„Are you suggesting the family cemetery at Maiden-wood?“
„Any objections?“
„It’s okay with me. I can’t imagine why Matt would object, but I’ll ask him. What do you need – some kind of legal document?“
„I’m not sure what I need,“ Jarboe mumbled, scratching his head. „But I can’t move without the family’s permission.“
„You have mine, for what it’s worth. I can’t understand what all the fuss is about, to be honest.“
„Yeah, well, most of the fuss came from that big-mouthed young prof who’s digging at Maidenwood.“
„Alan?“ I leaned back in my chair. „What does he want you to do?“
„Wants me to give him the skeletons so he can study them. He acts like they were – you know – pieces of wood.“
„Sounds like him. He hasn’t actually seen the remains?“
„No. He barreled in here and pounded on the desk and… I maybe would have let him if he hadn’t been so damned high-handed,“ Jarboe added, with a sheepish grin.
„I know what you mean.“
„Hell, he’s not even an anthropologist,“ Jarboe said rather defensively. „We had a prof out here from UVA; I did all the right things. You can see ‘em if you want.“
„Who, me?“ I said, startled. „I’m not an anthropologist either. I couldn’t tell you anything you don’t already know.“
„You are a member of the family,“ Jarboe said. „Seems as if somebody ought to go through the formalities. Course if it would upset you – “
„It would not upset me. I just don’t know… Oh, well, why not?“
You have to be fairly hardened in the handling and viewing of cadavers to find yourself at ease in a morgue. More hardened than I was, at any rate. There’s a smell about such places, and a cold, hard, white look. I certainly was not upset, however. In fact, I had been annoyed by Jarboe’s assumption that I would come all over queer with faint feminine flutterings at the sight of a harmless old skeleton. I was not prepared for the emotion that seized me when Jarboe yanked out the drawer in which the bones had been placed.
Never before had I been quite so conscious of the frailty of the inner structure that holds us upright. She had been a small woman. The soft ivory bones had a sculptural delicacy.
I hadn’t been completely honest with the sheriff when I disclaimed any knowledge of bones. I was no expert, but I had attended a couple of seminars given by Kaufman, the „bone man“ at Pennsylvania. He was a popular lecturer because he had served as consultant to the state police, and he had a repertoire of gruesome case histories. So I knew enough to observe some technical details. Such as the teeth. They were in excellent condition – no sign of caries or abscesses. No fillings, either. The absence of dental work would have made positive identification difficult, even if the missing-person files had come up with a possible candidate.
The baby’s skeleton lay next to that of its presumed mother. Whether by design, or because the space was limited, it huddled close to her latticed rib cage. The bones were not so undamaged as hers; the frail shell of the skull had not withstood the weight of earth. I assumed the pathologist had determined that the injuries were postmortem. I assumed it because I had no intention of handling those softly curved scraps.
I don’t think I exhibited any sign of distress, but Jarboe was determined I should react like a lady. He put a fatherly arm around me. „I shouldn’t have let you look.“
I shrugged off his support. „I’m all right,“ I said curtly.
Jarboe closed the drawer. „I shouldn’t have let you. Let’s go back to the office. I just might be able to scare up a little bourbon, strictly for medicinal purposes.“
„The clothes,“ I said, remembering my comments to Alan. „Could I see the clothes they were – er – wearing?“
„Yeah, sure.“
The clothes had been wrapped in brown paper. Jarboe cleared his desk, pushing the accumulated debris to one side, and opened the package.
Psychologists say the sense of smell is more evocative than any other sense. I don’t know why, or even whether it is true. But the faint aura surrounding those faded garments evoked images, and vivid ones at that – attics of old houses, sunbeams stretching across worn floorboards, hot closed-in air, dust tickling my nose, and a strong, distinctive odor…
„Mothballs,“ I said faintly.
Jarboe nodded. „Yep. Stored away someplace, these were. I showed them around, nobody recognized them. Thought maybe they came from Maidenwood.“
„I wouldn’t know. There’s a lot of junk in our attic; I used to poke around up there…“ Another shuddering jolt of recollection – but this one didn’t drop neatly into place, it streaked through my mind and vanished. I didn’t realize I was swaying gently to and fro, like a windblown weed, until Jarboe s arm guided me to a chair.
„There, now,“ he said, not without satisfaction. „I knew I shouldn’t have let you. Here, this’ll make you feel better.“
I took the glass he pressed into my hand. The momentary faintness was gone, but I couldn’t deny him his amiable revenge. Served me right for being so smug.
I assured him the liquor had indeed restored me, and brushed away his apologies. „I’m only sorry I can’t help you, Sheriff. I don’t remember…“
„Pity I can’t ask Miz Martha.“
„It’s not likely that they came from our attic, is it? We’ve had trouble with trespassers, but I can’t believe thieves could get into the house without leaving signs of forced entry. Shirley Johnson has been on duty ever since Martha became ill, and if anyone had broken in before that, Martha would have raised Cain. She was always a light sleeper, and she has ears like a hawk.“
