Stella said, “Please start the car, Joel, I’m getting cold.”
He made no move toward the ignition.
Florry said, “At the same time, I have always kept my distance from Liza, and certainly from Nineva. I can’t imagine Pete living in the same house with both of those women, but then that was never any of my business.”
To which Joel wanted to reply something along the lines that the house was actually quite pleasant, before the war anyway, back when life was normal. And Stella thought, though she would never say, that it had always seemed to be Aunt Florry who caused trouble in the family. But then, too, it had been before the war, back when both of her parents were more or less in one piece.
Joel pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “I’m not accusing my mother of anything, you understand? I certainly have no proof, but the circumstances demand these questions.”
Stella said, “You sound like such a lawyer.”
Florry snapped, “Good heavens, Joel, it’s thirty degrees outside and I’m freezing. Let’s go.”
At noon on Christmas Eve, as Nineva was buzzing around their kitchen preparing at least five dishes at once and Joel and Stella were trying their best to pester her and make her laugh, the phone rang. Joel grabbed it first and said hello to Nix Gridley. The call was expected. When he hung up he informed Stella that their father would be home in about an hour. Then he left to fetch Aunt Florry.
Ten weeks in jail would weather any man, but Pete Banning seemed to be aging faster than most. His hair was grayer and the wrinkles were spreading at the corners of his eyes. In spite of Florry’s takeover of the jailhouse kitchen, he somehow managed to look even thinner. Of course, for some prisoners ten weeks meant time closer to freedom. For men like Pete, though, there would be no freedom; thus no hope, no reason to keep the spirit alive. One way or another, he would die as a captive, away from home. For Pete Banning, death had certain advantages. One was physical; he would live the rest of his life in pain, at times severe pain, and that was not a pleasant prospect. One was mental; he would always carry images of indescribable human suffering, and at times these burdens drove him to the brink of madness. Almost every hour, a battle raged as he tried gamely to purge them from his mind. Only rarely was he successful.
As Pete looked at the future, he figured this was to be his last Christmas. He convinced Nix of that and finagled a quick visit to the farm. He had not seen his children in months and might not see them for a long time. Nix was sympathetic to a point, but he was also unable to erase the thoughts of the Bell children never seeing their father again. As the weeks dragged on and the trial approached, Nix was even more convinced that sentiments in the county were running strongly against Pete Banning. The hard-won admiration he had enjoyed only the year before had vanished in a matter of seconds. His trial wouldn’t take long either.
At any rate, Nix agreed to a brief visit — one hour max. No other prisoner was allowed such leniency and Pete was to tell no one inside the jail where he was going. Dressed in street clothes, he rode in the front seat with Nix, as usual saying nothing and staring at the empty fields. When they stopped behind his truck, Nix at first insisted on waiting in his car, but Pete would have none of it. The weather was frigid and there was hot coffee inside.
For half an hour Pete sat at the kitchen table, with Joel on one side and Stella and Florry on the other. Nineva stood by the stove, drying dishes and all but taking part in the conversation. Pete was relaxed, delighted to see his children, and asked a hundred questions about school and their plans.
Sheriff Gridley sat alone in the living room, sipping coffee and flipping through a farmer’s magazine with one eye on the clock. It was, after all, Christmas Eve, and he had some shopping to do.
Pete and the children moved from the kitchen to his small office, where he closed the door for privacy. He and Stella sat side by side on a small sofa and Joel pulled a wooden chair close. As he began to talk about his trial, Stella was already fighting tears. He had no defense to offer and expected to be convicted with little effort. The unknown was whether the jury would recommend death or life in prison. Either was okay with him. He had accepted his fate and would face his punishment.
Stella cried harder, but Joel had questions. However, Pete cautioned them that the one question they could never ask was why he did it. He had good reasons, but they were between him and Dexter Bell. More than once he apologized for the shame, embarrassment, and hardship he was causing them, for the irrevocable damage to their good name. He asked for their forgiveness, but they were not ready for that. Until he could make some sense out of what was happening, they could not contemplate mercy. He was their father. Who were they to forgive him? And why forgive when the sinner had yet to come clean with his motives? It was confusing and terribly emotional, and finally even Pete shed a tear or two.
When an hour had passed, Nix knocked on the door and ended the little reunion. Pete followed him to the patrol car for the ride back to jail.
For the sake of her children, Jackie Bell took them to church for the Christmas Eve service. They sat with their grandparents, who smiled with pride at the lovely family, minus the father. Jackie sat at the far end of the pew, and two rows behind her sat Errol McLeish, a rather wayward Methodist himself and occasional attendee of the church. She had mentioned that she was taking the kids to the service, and Errol just happened to drop by too. He was not stalking her at all, just keeping tabs from a distance. She was terribly wounded, and rightfully so, and he was smart enough to respect her mourning. It would pass eventually.
After church, Jackie and the kids went to her parents’ home for a long Christmas dinner, then stories by the fire. Each child unwrapped a gift and Jackie took pictures with her Kodak. It was late when they returned to their little duplex. She put them to bed and killed an hour by the tree, sipping hot cocoa, listening to carols on the phonograph, and wrestling with her emotions. Dexter should be there, quietly assembling toys as they shared a special moment. How could she be a widow at the age of thirty-eight? And, more urgently, how was she supposed to provide for those three precious children sleeping just down the hallway?
For at least the past ten years, she had often doubted if the marriage would last. Dexter loved ladies and had an eye that was always roving. He used his good looks and charisma, as well as his pastoral duties, to manipulate the younger women of his churches. He had never been caught outright, and certainly had never confessed, but he had left a trail of suspicions. Clanton was his fourth church assignment, second as senior pastor, and Jackie had been watching closer than ever. Because she had no hard evidence, she had yet to confront him, but that day would come. Or would it? Would she ever have the courage to blow up the family and drag it through a terrible divorce? She had always known that she would be blamed. Would it be easier to suffer in silence to protect the children, and to protect his career? In her most private moments, she had grieved over these conflicts.
And now they were moot. She was single, without the stigma of a divorce. Her children were scarred, but the country was emerging from a war in which half a million American men were killed. Families everywhere were scarred, wounded, trying to cope, and picking up the pieces.
It appeared as though Dexter finally messed with the wrong woman, though Jackie had not suspected Liza Banning. She was certainly pretty enough, and vulnerable. Jackie had been watching and had seen nothing out of line, but with a husband prone to cheat every pretty woman was a potential target.