Baptism in Blood(123)

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling down the hill, her eyes blurred with the start of tears she wouldn’t let come. She had broken the heel on one of her shoes and the toes of both feet had blisters. She was in so much pain when she moved she thought she was going to pass out. She was in so much pain even when she didn’t move. The hill seemed to be endless, and much steeper than she re­membered it. The streets between the hill and the center of town seemed to be more numerous and more full of people. Everyone must have seen her go up to talk to Zhondra Meyer. Everybody must have realized what she was going up to do. Everyone must have seen her come down again, rejected, turned down, shut off. Everyone, everyone, every­one.

When she got to her big Victorian house, she took the back way in and went up the stairs to the rooms on the second floor where she lived. Kathi was in the store taking care of business. Rose turned on the tap in the bathroom sink full blast on cold. She put her head under the water and let the chill go through her. She wanted to be cold, as cold as she had ever been, as cold as a corpse.

After she heard that Zhondra was dead, it was differ­ent. Then she had thought it was only a matter of time. Clayton Hall would get to her. The whole town would get to her. Everybody would know everything about her and then—

She was still in the bathroom upstairs when she heard the news about Stephen Harrow, and after the report was finished she had turned the dials on her little portable radio, searching for some other station that had the news. She had come so close, she thought. She had almost given up everything she had ever known and everything she had ever loved and everything that had ever been any good for her, and for what? For a perversion she had no idea if she would actually like once she tried it? She thought now of Zhondra’s long-fingered white hands, with their blunt-cut nails. She had once lain in bed and imagined those hands trailing along her body, the tips of the fingers brushing against the tips of her nipples, the flats of the palms lying in the hollow curve made by her waist. She had imagined herself drunk on emotion, defenseless and free, able to do nothing else but feel.

Now she stood up, and brushed the carpet lint off her skirt, and went to the bathroom door. It was late, but Kathi was still here, making pudding in the kitchen to take over to the church in the morning. There was something going on with the Sunday school classes later in the afternoon, and Janet Holborn said they all needed food. Rose didn’t use to go out to Henry Holborn’s church to worship, but now, after all that terrible stuff had happened with Zhondra, she knew she needed to get back to basics, back to the Lord. The Lord was the only person she had ever known who had been able to make her feel safe.

Rose went down the little hall to her kitchen, and found Kathi filling custard cups with rice pudding. The little television was on, showing a sitcom Rose didn’t rec­ognize, instead of one of the religious stations, which was what she and Kathi usually watched. Kathi saw her glance at the program on the television and changed the channel, blushing.

“I heard all that stuff about Stephen Harrow coming from your radio,” she said. “I thought one of the local stations would have news.”

“Did it?”

“CBS had a bulletin sort of thing,” Kathi said. “It didn’t say much. You know what I think?”

“What?”

“You know those sirens we heard about an hour and a half ago? All that fuss in the street? I bet that was this.”

“Oh,” Rose said. “I bet you’re right.”

“I told you we should have gone to see what was going on. I know you think it looks trashy, Rose, but some­times you have to sacrifice your dignity for your education. I wonder how many people went to see.”

“Not as many as you think,” Rose said. “We don’t usually chase ambulances in this town. Just police cars.”

“I’ll bet those reporters were there,” Kathi said. “Oh, I wish we could have seen. Isn’t it exciting? Now it’s all over with, and we’re going to find out everything on the news shows or people will know it around town. I hate mysteries. I can’t even read the fake kind. I like to know what’s going on.”

“Yes,” Rose said. “I do, too.”

“And they’ll have to let Ginny Marsh out of jail now, too. I never did think she’d done any of those awful things they said she’d done, and I don’t think a lot of people in town thought it, either. It’ll be good to see her back in church.”

“Yes,” Rose said. “Yes, it will.”

“Is there something wrong with you?” Kathi asked. “I thought you’d be excited. I’m excited. I can’t believe the way all this worked out. That damned Yankee phony with all his fancy books about God, as if nobody could under­stand God if they hadn’t gone to Yale and studied—what­ever.”