“No,” Enid lied, willing her heart rate to slow. “I’m fine.”
Dr. Johnson came into the room. He was tall and thin, with a long narrow neck that made Enid think of a giraffe—a giraffe wearing a stethoscope.
“How’s our little mama doing today?” he asked as he stood with his back to her, washing his hands at the sink. He didn’t pretend that he knew Enid’s name. He probably said the same words to every woman who came into the room, whether or not she was little. As far as he was concerned, the women involved—the mothers—were a biological necessity. As individuals they were of little consequence. After all, the babies were what mattered. The Family valued and rejoiced at the live birth of each healthy child and most especially girl babies. As for the unhealthy ones—the ones that weren’t quite right? No one saw them again.
“Fine,” Enid managed. She didn’t want to do anything that might attract unwarranted attention.
“Let’s have a look, then.”
Vera had left the room by then. Dr. Johnson may have said “let’s,” but he was the only one doing any looking. He touched Enid’s bulging breasts, pinching the nipples hard enough that she winced and almost cried out. She wondered if he would have done it had Vera still been in the room.
“These were quite small when you first started coming here,” he observed pleasantly, “but they’re coming along nicely. You won’t have a bit of trouble nursing.”
Along with toothpaste and dentists, baby bottles and formula were something else The Family didn’t believe in. Mothers were required to nurse their babies until they were ready for solid foods. If it turned out that a previous baby wasn’t quite weaned before the next one came along? Too bad. Both kids took turns nursing while the mothers had little time to do anything else.
Dr. Johnson ducked out of sight under the sheet that covered Enid’s raised knees. She held her breath while his searching fingers—cold despite the latex gloves he wore—probed inside her.
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “Other than a little bruising here and there, everything’s fine as frog’s hair. By my calculations you’ve got another six weeks to go. From now on, though, you might tell Gordon to ease up on you some. I’m sure you can find some other way to satisfy his needs besides spreading your legs.”
Enid nodded. She knew exactly what Dr. Johnson meant as a substitute because she had done it before. She also knew that Gordon liked it and she didn’t. “I’ll tell him,” she said.
“Good girl,” he said, patting her tummy in a possessive way that made her want to squirm off the table. “That’s the spirit. You get dressed now while we see what’s going on with Aunt Edith.”
As Dr. Johnson left the room, Enid scrambled off the table and pulled on her clothing. She was in such a hurry that she buttoned the front of her dress wrong and had to undo it and start over. She pulled on the light jacket she had worn when she left home and checked to make sure that the cheese sandwich she had smuggled out of the kitchen was still safely in her pocket. So was that precious piece of paper, the tiny one that promised Enid and her baby had a future that wasn’t a part of The Family. Last of all, she picked up the cloth pouch.
Enid was grateful that Aunt Edith was missing from the waiting room when she emerged from the examining room. Behind the counter another of Dr. Johnson’s wives, this one named Donna, was intent on what appeared to be a game of cards laid out on her computer screen. Gordon kept a computer on the desk in his office. If Enid had ever been allowed to touch it, she wouldn’t have wasted a moment playing cards.
Enid walked to the door, moving calmly and hoping to arouse no suspicion. “I’m going outside for a while,” she announced over her shoulder as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Sure,” Donna said, giving her an unconcerned wave. “Go right ahead.”
Enid stayed outside in the early afternoon overcast for only a minute or so before she opened the door again and stuck her head back inside. “Bishop Lowell just came by,” she said. “Tell Aunt Edith I’m riding home with him.”
“Will do,” Donna said, again without looking up.
Enid closed the door behind her, then turned and walked away from the office, traveling in the same general direction as where she would be expected to go. She walked past the post office and the little storefront library filled with long shelves of books that she had never been able to check out or read. As she walked past the grocery store where Aunt Edith would stock up before driving the twenty miles or so of dirt road back to The Encampment, Enid couldn’t help smiling. Aunt Edith would be furious when she learned that she’d have to push the grocery carts herself and load the bags and boxes into the minivan without Enid along to do the heavy lifting. Aunt Edith would be even more furious when she got home and realized Enid had played her for a fool.
Walking through town, Enid knew exactly where she was going, but it was a desperate gamble. She had no idea if her carefully thought-out plan would really work, and she knew that severe punishments awaited her if she was caught and taken back home. Rather than think about that, she concentrated on moving forward and doing so at a steady pace. Running would attract too much attention—something Enid Tower could ill afford.
Neither could her baby.
4
Ali wasn’t surprised when the doorbell rang in the middle of the afternoon. Bella, having lived most of her life in a condo where there had been a knocker rather than a doorbell, had taken several weeks to learn that a ringing doorbell meant company. With B. out of town, the dog had taken possession of B.’s customary chair. When the bell rang, Bella bounded down and scampered to the door. Leland soon ushered Athena into the library with Bella barking at her heels. As Athena sank into the chair opposite Ali’s, the dog leaped into her lap. Athena hardly noticed. Absently patting the dog’s head, she looked distressed and uncertain. Ali was surprised to see her usually self-possessed daughter-in-law in such apparent disarray.
“Are you all right?” Ali asked.
“I’m not,” Athena answered, “but thank you for talking to Gram. I called between classes. She said you made her day because it sounded like you believed her.”
“I did believe her,” Ali agreed, “and I still do. As soon as I called, she knew exactly who I was, and she had no difficulty keeping her story straight. I’ve learned a thing or two about Alzheimer’s in the last year or two, and Alzheimer’s patients have trouble doing that. In fact, she didn’t seem impaired in any way. When I asked her if she had any enemies or if she knew of anyone who might wish her ill, she mentioned something about a disagreement over Communion glasses at church. That didn’t strike me as the kind of quarrel that would rise to the level of an attempted homicide.”
“Did you speak to Sheriff Olson?”
Ali nodded. “I did. He seems to be of two minds on the subject. His first choice is that Betsy turned on the burners herself and doesn’t remember doing it. His second option is that the whole incident is a figment of her imagination. He felt compelled to imply that anyone who would go outside barefoot in the snow is a couple tacos short of a combination plate.”
“In other words, one way or another, he thinks this is all Gram’s fault. What do you think?” Athena asked.
“If my house was filled with gas and I thought it might explode, I’d boogie out through the nearest door, barefoot and stark naked, too, if necessary—snow or no snow.”
“So you think someone really did try to kill her?” Athena asked.
“I do,” Ali answered.
“But who?” Athena asked.
“That’s the question, isn’t it. Let’s think about that. If you look at the homicide statistics in this country, most of the victims and perpetrators are involved in some kind of criminal enterprise. Drug users and drug dealers knock one another off with wild abandon. Your grandmother’s not likely to be involved in any kind of illegal activity, so we can discount the idea that this is some kind of criminal infighting.”