“Why, Liza? It’s not a good story.”
“Why? Because it’s a pretty damned important part of my life, don’t you think, Florry? My husband kills our preacher and gets executed for it, and I don’t know the details. Come on, Florry, I have a right to know. Tell me the story.”
Florry shrugged, and the story flowed.
One led to the next. Life at the jail; the hearings in court; the reactions around town; the reports in the newspapers; the trial; the execution; the burial; the veterans who still stopped by the grave.
At times Liza cried and wiped her face with the back of her hands. At times she listened with her eyes closed, as if absorbing the horrors. She moaned occasionally and rocked a little. She asked a few questions, made only a couple of comments.
“You know he came to see me the day before they killed him?”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“He said he still loved me but that he could never forgive me. How about that, Florry? A lot of love but not enough for forgiveness. Facing a certain death, he still could not forgive me.”
“Forgive what?” And with that, Florry managed to ask the great question.
Liza closed her eyes and leaned her head on a pillow. Her lips were moving as if she were mumbling something only she could understand. Then she was completely still and silent.
Softly, Florry repeated, “Forgive what, Liza?”
“We have so much to talk about, Florry, and I want to do it now because I’m not going to live much longer. Something is wrong with me, Florry, and not just the crazy stuff. There’s a disease deep in my body and it’s getting worse. Might be cancer, might be something else, but I know it’s there and it’s growing. The doctors can’t find it but I know it’s there. They can give me drugs that soothe the nervous breakdown, but they have nothing for my disease.”
“I don’t know what to say, Liza.”
“Say nothing. Just listen.”
Hours had passed, hours with no sign of Joel. Liza seemed to forget about him, but Florry was well aware that he should have been there.
Liza stood and said, “I think I’ll change clothes, Florry. I’ve been thinking about a certain pair of linen pajamas and a silk bathrobe that Pete always loved.” She walked to their bedroom door as Florry stood and stretched her legs.
Florry went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. A wall clock gave the time as 11:40. She took the phone to call Joel, and then she saw the problem. The wire running from the baseboard to the phone had been cut, snipped cleanly in two as if by scissors. The phone was useless, and it had probably not been used that night to call Joel.
She returned to the den and waited. Liza was in her bedroom with the door open, and she was crying, louder and louder. She was lying on the bed she had shared with Pete, wearing the white linen pajamas under a cream silk bathrobe. Her feet were bare.
Florry leaned over her and said, “It’s okay, Liza. I’m here with you. What’s wrong, honey?”
Liza pointed to a chair and said, “Please.” She wiped her face with a tissue and struggled to get control. Florry took a seat and waited. Liza had not called Joel. Joel had not called the doctors, nor Stella. They were all waiting frantically for news from somewhere, and here was Liza on her bed, in her home.
Florry wanted to ask why she had cut the phone line, but that conversation would go nowhere. Liza was on the verge of talking and perhaps revealing secrets that they thought would never be revealed. Best not to distract her. She didn’t want Joel around at this moment.
Liza finally asked, “Did Pete talk to you before he died?”
“Of course. We discussed a lot of things — the kids, the farm, the usual things you might expect a dying person to cover.”
“Did he talk about us and our troubles?”
Indeed he did, but Florry wasn’t taking the bait. She wanted to hear it all from the closest source. “Of course not. You know how private he was. What kinds of troubles?”
“Oh, Florry, there are so many secrets, so many sins. I really can’t blame Pete for not forgiving me.” She began crying again, then sobbing. The outbursts became something of a wail, a loud, aching, agonized groan that startled Florry. She had never heard such painful mourning. Liza’s body retched as if she might vomit violently, then she heaved and convulsed as she sobbed uncontrollably. It went on and on, and finally Florry could watch no longer. She went to the bed, lay down beside her, and clutched her tightly.
“It’s okay, Liza. It’s okay, honey. You’re okay.”
Florry hugged and whispered and cooed and promised and patted her softly, and she rocked her and whispered some more and Liza began to relax. She breathed easier, seemed to withdraw into her own little emaciated body, and cried gently. In a whisper, she said, “There are some things you should know.”
“I’m listening, Liza. I’m here.”
She awoke in a dark room, under the covers, the door open. The house was dark, the only light from the small lamp in the den. Liza quietly shoved back the covers, got to her feet, and walked out of her bedroom. Florry was on the sofa, under a quilt, dead to the world. Without a sound, Liza walked by her and into the kitchen, through the door, across the porch, down the steps. The air was cold; her feet were bare and soon wet. She glided through the grass and onto the footpath that led to the barns, her silk bathrobe flowing behind her.
The moon came and went between the clouds, with its bluish light washing over the outbuildings and the fields before disappearing again. She knew where she was going and didn’t need the light. When she passed the last barn she saw the silhouettes of her horses in a paddock. She had never passed by without speaking to them, but she had nothing to say.
Her feet were wet, muddy, and frozen, but she did not care. Pain was of little consequence now. She shivered in the cold and walked with a purpose. Up the slight rise to Old Sycamore, and she was soon among the dead — all those dead Bannings she had heard so much about. The moon was hidden and she could not read the names on the tombstones, but she knew where he was buried because she knew where the other ones were. She pressed her fingers to the limestone and traced his name.
She had found her husband.
Though overwhelmed with grief, guilt, and shame, she was tired of crying. She was frozen and praying for the end.
They say people are at peace when they reach this point. They lie. She felt no peace, no sense of comfort, no belief that what she was doing would ever be considered anything other than the desperate act of a crazy woman.
She eased down and sat with her back against his headstone, as close as she could possibly get. His body was just a few feet below hers. She told him she loved him and would see him soon, and prayed that when they were together again, he could finally forgive her.
From a pocket in her bathrobe, she removed a small bottle of pills.
Chapter 47
Amos found her at daybreak, and when he got close enough to the tombstones to make sure he saw what he thought he saw, he broke and ran back to the house, yelling and running faster than he had in decades. When Florry heard that she was dead, she fainted on the back porch. When she came to, Nineva helped her to the sofa and tried to console her.
Nix Gridley and Roy Lester arrived to help with the search, and when Amos described what he’d found in the cemetery, they left him behind and drove to it. The empty pill bottle was sufficient evidence. There was no crime scene to bother with. A misty rain was falling and Nix decided that she should not get wet. He and Lester loaded Liza into the rear seat and returned to the house. Nix went inside to deal with the family while Lester drove her to the funeral home.