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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781449038779 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 08/17/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 360 KB |
Read an Excerpt
Successions of Somethings
By M.E. Woolery
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 M.E. WooleryAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-3875-5
Chapter One
"He Himself will deliver you from the hunter's net, from the destructive plague" Psalm 91:3
She stood at the kitchen sink, filled the stainless steel, cobalt blue bulb percolator, and looked out into the foggy, damp street. There she saw the street lamp flicker in those early morning hours. Twenty-seven year old Pearl Mackinac woke early in order to prepare for guests. No, she had not invited anyone, but she knew (the same way she instinctively knew so much before it ever happened) that someone would stop in for a visit today. She filled the percolator—as she was always unconventional where coffee was concerned and didn't like the taste of that brewed in the coffee maker—placed it on the cook-top, and set the table for her guests. She set out muffins, sugar, creamer, butter, cream cheese, and other items to make her guests feel comfortable while they visited.
Seeing the table prepared, Pearl went into her bedroom, slipped into the shower, cleaned and dried, then put on her jeans and a blouse, fixed her hair and make-up, and tidied up the bed. She continued neatening the interior of the house and then turned the pot on the stove down to stay warm until the arrival of her guests. She was not nervous, as she had known for 20 years that this day would come, and all truth would be exposed. She sat on the couch and opened her Woman's World magazine. She began reading and thumbing through the recipes when the telephone rang. Checking the caller ID, she answered.
"Hi Mom. What's up?"
"Pearl, I had another dream about you. Are you ok?"
"Yes, mom. I am fine. I'm just sitting here reading."
"Pearl, I tried to call you last night and couldn't get a hold of you. Your voice mail said that you were not receiving calls."
"I'm sorry mom. I just wanted some quiet time. The kids are at their dad's, and it was just nice to be alone."
"Okay then ... as long as you are okay. But, well, I know you are not telling me the truth. You never just turn off your phone. Hmm ... Anyway, what are your plans today?"
"Mom, I am fine; just a little down. You know how I get when the kids are gone. I am alone with my thoughts and ... well you know—I just threw myself a pity party and stayed in for the most part."
The truth was that her mother didn't know how Pearl got when she was alone. Pearl thought; sure, but the memories that perplexed her mind were not only of her children but those of her own childhood and how she longed to protect her children from ever knowing the terrible truths that she survived. She longed to keep that part of life a secret and protect her children from ever seeing an existence like that. A life that they were unaware of, and as far as anyone else knew Pearl too was oblivious to pain of that nature.
"Mom, I am in the middle of something right now ... balancing my checkbook, and then, well, I am expecting a couple of people to discuss some business. May I call you back later tonight?" "Okay, Pearl. You call me when you have time. Are you sure everything is all right? Sure you don't need to talk? You don't need any money do you?"
Slightly grinning at the comment she answered, "No, mom. Everything is fine. I will call you tonight after the kids get home."
"Bye Pearl."
"Good-bye mom."
Pearl hung up the telephone and continued thumbing through the pages of her magazine stopping only to stare at a recipe for which she would save that issue, only to throw it away later and never make the featured dish. She had always loved cooking. By the time she was eight years old, her parents had given her free reign in the family kitchen. She thought she was the queen of the "cook-and-serve Jello" chocolate pudding. She was the fourth of five children, and cooking supper with her mother became one of her primary responsibilities and passions.
As Pearl sat in the living room, she listened to the clock on the table next to her tick tick tick tick: Time plodded loudly as she sat in her aloneness. The phone did not ring except for her mother, nor had she heard a knock at the door. She began to play the previous night's details through her mind. Starting with her ex-husband picking up her kids and telling her that he had forgotten about something they were going to do, so they would be late Saturday night. She quickly replayed moment by moment of the next ten hours and brought herself back to the moment she sat waiting on the couch for her guests. She was brought back to that time by a loud, sharp rap rap rap at the door and simultaneous chirping of the doorbell.
"I'm coming. I'm coming. Just a minute," she said as she glanced through the glass then opened the door slowly to see who might be on the other side. There on her front porch stood her friend, Tom Conner, a man in his mid-forties who worked as a sergeant for the local police force. He stood with a female officer who looked to be all of 17. Both were dressed in uniform.
"Ms. Mackinac, Pearl" Tom asked.
"Yes. May I help you?"
"Ma'am, uh Pearl, this is Detective Walters, and well—you know me. We need to ask you a few questions. May we come in?"
"Why, I suppose. I have kind of been expecting you anyhow."
The two detectives looked at each other in smug suspicion and quietly stepped in to the entrance of Pearl's home. She showed them to the living room and asked if she could get them anything.
"No, we are fine. We just need to ask you a few questions about last night."
"Ma'am," said Detective Walters, "There has been an accident, and we have some pretty difficult news to tell you."
The phone rang again, and Pearl excused herself from the room to take the call in the other room. From the other end she only heard crying and sobbing that was tinged with words she could not make out.
"Mom—Is that you?" She looked at the caller ID and said it again. "Mom, is that you?"
"Yes, Pearl.... iiiiit's awful. Ohhhh, Pearl."
"Mother, where's daddy? Tell him to get the phone. You go sit down, and get dad."
Pearl's father was always better in a crisis than his wife. Countless times in Pearl's youth, her father proved this, but one time always stood out more than others. When Pearl was twenty, her grandfather was murdered. Her mother was distraught and could not bring herself to attend the arraignment of his assailant, so Pearl and her father went instead. During all of the formalities there was a young, gangly looking couple in the courtroom. The two argued and caused commotion for about twenty minutes. The man finally got his fill of his partner, stood up, and hit her in the face. She stood and hurriedly backed away from him—moving toward Pearl in the process. At that point, Pearl's father literally picked Pearl up and swung her to a seat farther inside of the row of seats and then restrained the man until the officers could remove him from the courtroom. Her father always came to the rescue. That day was embedded forever in her memory.
"Hello," he said in his quick, matter of fact voice.
"Hey Dad, what's wrong with mom?" Pearl asked as she poked her head around the doorway to check on her guests. They were still there, sitting and talking about what sounded like their kids and work.
"Pearl, a horrible thing has happened. I am afraid, well Pearl, we need to talk. I don't want to do this over the phone."
"Dad, I can't come right now. There are two detectives here, and they want to talk to me."
"Why are they there?"
"Daddy, I am sure they are just checking on some things. I will come over just as soon as they leave. Are you and Mom going to be Okay?
"Pearl, it's terrible, just terrible. Please come soon."
"All right dad, I will hurry." Pearl hung up the phone and returned to her guests. She looked at them and asked if they would join her in the kitchen for coffee and muffins." Why don't we talk in the kitchen? I have not had breakfast yet. I have plenty; won't you indulge me? You two appear to have serious conversation in mind and might need to stay for a while. That call was from my parents, and I think they really need me right now, so we should get talking and make this as quick as possible."
The two detectives looked at each other once again as they stood and followed Pearl into the kitchen, they moved methodically, as though under a strange hypnotic power. They took their seats at the table, while Pearl poured hot coffee from the percolator and into the cups she had placed there earlier that morning. "Looks like you were expecting someone Ms. Mackinac."
"Well, I was expecting you," she replied, "Not so much you personally, but I knew someone would be here to ask questions about last night."
"Last night?" Walters said quietly.
"Yes, you see, I have been expecting this for about twenty years." Pearl said.
"Twenty years?" asked Conner.
"Yes," she replied.
"Pearl, are you aware of the reason we are here?" Conner questioned.
"I believe I am more aware of your presence than you realize," she said calmly, "Please, have a muffin while we talk."
The two detectives peered into the face of the young woman, and each searched for some kind of response: fear ... anxiety ... but they found nothing, nothing but a hospitable hostess offering breakfast with a conversation.
Chapter Two
"The unfolding of your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple." Psalm 119:130
Pearl picked up the plate of muffins and held it toward each of detectives as she looked at them one at a time and assured them that she was not a lunatic ready to pop at the slightest move. Walters looked deep into her eyes, searched her face, and then said, "Ms. Mackinac, you have not heard yet, have you?" "Heard what?" she replied
"There has been a terrible accident involving your older brother. The reason we are here ..."
"Is because his wife said that she saw me last night on her street as she was returning from work," Pearl interrupted, "I had no idea she had been working such long hours since their daughter left for school, but she was offered a pay raise if she took the position of head nurse in the pediatric unit at the hospital. She really is a brilliant girl, and except for the mistake she made when she married my brother, I would say she is the best person I know. When she took that position, I thought my brother was going to lose his mind. He got so angry—beat her until she couldn't stand. She called me and asked me to help her get the house back in order while he was out. I did. The house was a wreck. He has been doing that stuff since the day they married, but she won't ever leave him. No, she always says that if God had intended for her to be without him, He would take care of it. So ... I ... well—I tried to help."
"Oh, hold on. You mean to tell us that you took care of the problem?" Conner asked surprised.
"I mean to tell you that I finally took care of a problem in my family. For the first time in my life, I stood up to the man who tried to take every dream I ever had away from me—from all of us. And, I mean to tell you that I stopped something that should have been stopped over twenty years ago."
"Ms. Mackinac, will you tell us exactly what happened last night and where you were between nine and midnight? Maybe you would like to tell us what led you to visit Little Rock last night?"
"Yes, I would like to tell you everything I can remember, but it goes further back than last night, much further. You see the things my brother did to his wife; he did to his previous wife, to his daughters, to our brother, and to me. He was the "Freddy Krueger" of reality, and I have dreamed every day since I was five that this day would come, not just for me, but for all of us."
She looked at the two strangers in separate glances and poured herself some coffee. She opened a packet of artificial sweetener and poured it into her cup followed by some cream, then she stirred gently. As she moved the spoon in circles, she peered into the bottom of the cup as if she were peering into a mirror, a reflection of herself or what she once was. The pictures she saw all representing a part of her, a longing for freedom that had never been released, and now, today, there was a glimpse of hope that they would all be set free. The bars are cut—all they lack is the prying open, and then the torment will be over.
"Please, go on Ms. Mackinac. We are still not clear as to what took you to his house last night and what you did once you got there."
"Well, I guess you need to know a little more background before I go on into my secrets and the secrets of my youth. Please eat—there are plenty of muffins"
Chapter Three
"... weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning" Psalms 30:5
"I remember when I was very young, and I volunteered to help my sister-in-law with her new baby. I cooked for the little family and helped with the housework and anything else she needed assistance doing. The biggest and most exciting part of that job was the care for the new baby, my only niece (at that time). I was ten years old and was already an aunt. I was elated.
For about two weeks my mom dropped me off at my brother and sister-in-law's house after school and let me stay until she finished at the office. During those two weeks, I noticed that my sister-in-law was really quiet. My brother's wife would just sit there, never saying a word, and let me do anything I wanted. She didn't get up. She didn't feed the baby unless I said something. She didn't attempt to do anything. Being so young, I didn't realize that there was anything wrong, well, not at first anyway. I thought that maybe that was how women acted after they gave birth.
It wasn't until my last day helping that I realized she was not acting right. My brother came home early and took her into the bedroom. He asked, well ordered me to stay in the living room and care for my niece. He looked angry, so I consented. I recognized that look and dared not speak a word in disagreement. I stood in the living room; baby pressed against my small chest, paced back and forth across the floor and sung, "His Eye is On the Sparrow."
With every step I took in trepidation, I heard the wincing and whimpering of the woman who seemed so somnambulant. I watched the clock, knowing that time was nearing for my mother to pick me up, but the hands did not moved. All time stopped, but the noise of the clock still ticked. It was so loud, but the sounds from the next room became more and more vivid. He was hurting her. Her voice was weak and tired, and all I could hear was the ticking of that clock and the begging from beyond the bedroom door, "Please, please, I can't. Please." I had no idea what all was happening, but I couldn't seem to stop listening at that point, not even listening really ... that was all I heard. It played over and over again in my head and got louder with each repetition. Then I heard him tell her to shut her whore mouth and then he hit her. I heard the slap, then the sound of something crashing against furniture, and then a thud.
I stood in fear and wished my mother would hurry. I knew if she did not pull up, I would be next and then, oh he just couldn't ... the baby, but if I could get her to come in and visit her new grandchild, he would be forced to calm down before the baby was left for him to care for on his own.
A knock at the door proved my theory. Mom came in and took her firstborn grandchild. She held her and asked how the day had gone. I said fine, but she paused. "You seem a little upset. Are you feeling okay?" she asked.
"I am okay mom, just a little tired I guess. This baby stuff can wear on a person."
"I am glad you have been helping. I am sure Sonny and Gwenn appreciate it too. Where are they?"
"Sonny came home a minute ago, and he helped Gwenn into the bedroom. She still seems really out of it."
"Well, having a baby is not easy, and she had a really tough time of it."
Sonny appeared from the hallway and greeted mother. He looked straight at me and asked how the baby was and if Gwenn had been okay this afternoon. I told him that I was worried about her, and he just looked at me as if to warn me not to say another word. I sunk slowly into thoughts and tried to hurry my mother along. I told my brother that supper was on the stove, and all he had to do was heat it; then added that I would do the dishes when I came the next day. He dismissed it and said he wouldn't need me to help anymore and that he thought he could handle things now.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Successions of Somethings by M.E. Woolery Copyright © 2011 by M.E. Woolery. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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