A Shattered Wife (4 page)

Martha came out onto the porch carrying a tray that held a
pitcher and two frosty glasses. "I made lemonade," she said brightly.

Paul grinned, and bent to kiss her cheek. "Great!
Lemonade is my favorite."

"Lunch will be ready soon," Martha said, blushing
at his kiss.

Even though this wasn’t necessarily a "professional"
visit, Paul’s trained eyes noted a slight change in Martha’s appearance. She
looked pale and a little thinner, even though her eyes still glowed with warmth
when she looked at him. Her crisp cotton housedress made him think of
buttercups as he watched her return to her kitchen. He thought that she needed
grandchildren, lots of them, to cuddle and spoil.

Contrary to Martha’s slight change in appearance, Bill
seemed, if anything, to be gaining more strength and looking healthier every
week. For a man in his sixties, he had made a remarkable recovery from the
accident. On his last examination, all of Bill’s vital signs were normal and he
was strong with a good healthy color, alert, and interested in his
surroundings. With a man of Bill’s character, this was not surprising. During
his hospitalization, he had never once mentioned pain or fatigue, although
there must have been plenty. Admitting to either of these might be misconstrued
as weak and unmanly; Bill was certainly neither of these, and Paul felt fierce
admiration for the man.

"How’s the hunting?" Paul asked as he sank lazily
into a nearby chair and poured himself a glass of lemonade. He stretched his
long legs out in front of him and relaxed with a sigh.

"Not bad," Bill answered with a rare smile that
showed teeth too straight and even to be his own. "The more of those
groundhogs I get rid of, the better."

That was Bill; go get ‘em! Just like Marshall Dillon, with
guns blazing, he was after the ornery critters that put him in the wheelchair. "They
can do a lot of damage to your land," Paul said as he watched a bumble bee
working on clover nearby.

"That’s not all they can damage," Bill grunted,
indicating his legs.

"Lunch is ready," Martha called from the open
door.

Delicious aromas tugged at Paul’s appetite, bringing him
quickly to his feet. The house was filled with old but comfortable furniture
and, like the outside, kept neat and tidy. The linoleum floors glistened and a
fresh pine scent was always present.

On Wednesdays, Martha made lunch their biggest meal of the
day, and today she had outdone herself. There was a juicy roast smothered with
potatoes, baby carrots and onions and thickly sliced homemade bread hot from
the oven. Martha’s prize winning apple pie topped with creamy ice cream
completed the meal.

"That was delicious!" Paul exclaimed, patting his
flat stomach when he finished the last of his pie. "Probably the best meal
I’ve ever had."

"You say that every week!" Martha felt herself
grow warm with pleasure at his compliment. Bill rarely noticed what he ate and
never complimented her. "I’m glad you enjoyed it."

Paul tipped his chair back on two legs, stretched his long,
lean frame and yawned. "And now, with your permission, sir, I would like
to go for a long walk."

Bill pushed his plate away and took a sip of his coffee. "Be
my guest. I’d go with you but…"

Paul grinned. It was good to hear Bill joking about his
legs. He was well on his way to almost a full recovery, mentally as well as
physically, except for the use of his legs.

Martha was disappointed when Paul stood up to go. She
thought about bribing him to stay with more pie.

"You just watch out. Someone might mistake you for a
deer or a squirrel. Accidents do happen, son. Even when you’re careful."
Bill warned, but his smile softened the stern sound of his voice.

Paul frowned slightly and then remembered something he had
been meaning to ask. "You know, Bill, you never told us exactly what
happened."

"What happened?"

"You know, the accident. We only guessed at the
circumstances." Paul crossed his arms and leaned casually against the door
frame. Sunshine filtered through the sheer curtains, giving him a golden halo.

Martha, jolted by Paul’s question, busied herself clearing
the table, not daring to look at anyone. She expected Bill to explode into a
white-hot rage as he had when she asked about the accident. If that happened,
Paul would never come out here again.

Instead, Bill took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair
and focused his gaze on a distant object. "It was one of the damnedest
things that ever happened to me."

Anticipating a long story, Paul returned to the table and
held his cup as Martha poured more coffee.

"I was in one of the upper pastures checking on a
storage barn when I spotted a young buck. You know the kind - fast, perfect
condition and full of himself." Bill flicked an amused glance and Paul
hooked his thumbs across his massive chest and nodded. He knew the kind of
animal Bill was describing; an animal in its prime, the perfect trophy.

"He would get just out of range and then turn and look
to make sure I was with him. I swear, he was daring me to come after him."
Bill paused to light a cigarette. "I fired once or twice and missed, so I
followed him into the woods. That’s when it happened."

Martha and Paul waited patiently. The only sound was the
solitary ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the hall.

Taking a deep drag and blowing out smoke, Bill continued. "Those
damn groundhogs must have a series of tunnels all over that hillside. I was
unlucky enough to step into one of the entrance holes to their burrow."

"But according to the EMT on duty, you were found at
the bottom of the hill," Paul interrupted.

Bill nodded. "I was running. I really don't remember,
but I guess I must have been going too fast to stop. When I stepped in that
hole, my weight must have pulled me out and I kept going. I remember rolling
over and over and when I finally stopped, I couldn’t move."

"I imagine that suddenly not being able to move your
legs is a frightening experience," Paul said softly, shaking his head.

"It sure as hell was. And I’d lost my gun. When I think
about what could have happened out there in the woods with no protection and
not being able to move, I want to kill every groundhog I see."

Bill’s voice had suddenly grown so angry that both Paul and
Martha looked up, startled. His mouth was a hard white line and his eyes were
glassy.

"Well I, for one, intend to be very careful," Paul
said as he rose and went outside.

The heat generated by the sun was more like mid-summer than
early spring and felt good on his head and back after being in the cool
interior of the house. Within minutes he was completely out of sight. Peaceful
solitude surrounded him.

"Were you trying to scare him?" Martha asked
timidly when she was sure Paul could not hear her.

"Why would I do a thing like that?" Bill was
heading out the door to resume his constant vigil on the driveway and garden.

"Were you?"

His wheelchair stopped at the door and the silence was so
long that she was afraid she had pushed him too far and made him angry - again.

Without turning to look at her, he answered, his voice full
of knives and ice. "Accidents do happen, Martha. We both know that."

Martha studied the toe of her shoe in silence as Bill left
the room, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. He could and would talk
to Paul about everything, but if she tried to discuss anything but the weather,
she ended up making him angry and feeling guilty and ashamed.

After a brisk walk to help digest his lunch, Paul came to a
clearing in a grove of trees beside a small pond. It was shady and he welcomed
the coolness. He relaxed his lean body on a carpet of soft pine needles with
his hands clasped behind his head. A bee buzzed nearby and a bird chirped
somewhere overhead. The earth smelled good, rich and fertile. This was his
favorite place on the Landry property, maybe even in the whole world.

With everyone else worlds away, the young doctor closed his
eyes and let his thoughts wander aimlessly. He was not surprised when Kate
Alberton danced brightly through them like a prim ballerina on tiptoe.
Copper-red hair, green eyes and freckles came to mind every time her name was
mentioned. Slim but well-built, she had a pert nose and small heart-shaped face
that made her look half her age. Hearing her happy laughter made him glad to be
alive. Best of all, she loved him.

After the wreck of Paul’s first marriage, he swore off
women. He distrusted them and vowed he would never open himself up to be hurt
again. Katie was changing his views quickly, though. She was a gifted
psychologist who worked with abused children and their families. They met at
the hospital where they were involved in the same child-abuse case and quickly
became fast friends. After only one or two casual dates, Paul knew that a
miracle was happening. He was falling head over heels in love. A contented
smile crossed his face when he thought about making love to her. Someday soon,
he was going to bring her out here. He had an important question to ask her and
this was the perfect spot. He closed his eyes and smiled.

The next thing he knew, the digital watch on his arm told
Paul that he had been asleep for an hour. Leaping to his feet, he brushed twigs
and loose dirt from his jeans as he hurried back down the path. He hadn’t
intended to go to sleep at all and still had to examine Bill.

He stopped by his car and grabbed his medical bag before
going back to the house.

"What’s that for?" Bill asked, indicating the
black bag Paul was carrying.

"Time for your 5000 mile checkup," Paul said
lightly.

The examination was carried out in the bedroom with Paul
poking and prodding and asking a great many questions. Bill was not happy about
being examined; he never was. Telling the doctor to take his cold instruments,
get back to his hospital where he belonged and stay there would have given him
great pleasure. With effort, he kept his anger under control.

"Your recovery is amazing," Paul said as he
finished. "It must be the fresh air."

Bill buttoned his shirt and shrugged. "Clean living."

After Paul left, the house felt cold and empty to Martha.
She needlessly straightened cushions on the sofa and rugs on the floor, made a
fresh pot of coffee and finally, as a last resort, joined Bill on the porch.
Even the silence between them was better than being alone in the house.

Bill made no attempt at conversation. He sat, brooding and
clutching his gun tightly, and watched for some tell-tale movement in the
shrubbery bordering the driveway. Suddenly, with one swift, easy movement, he
jerked the rifle into firing position, the iron sights automatically lining up
as the stock touched his cheek.

Martha folded her hands in her lap, squeezed her eyes shut
and held her breath. A cool evening breeze blew across the porch, making her
shiver. The sharp crack of the gun echoed off the surrounding hillside.

"Finally," Bill chuckled softly to himself. "I’ve
been after that big bastard all week."

Too bad, little groundhog, Martha thought.

"What did you say?" Bill asked, the pleasure
already gone from his face.

"Nothing," Martha answered quickly. Had she spoken
her thoughts aloud? She didn’t think so.

Bill cocked his head, looking like a big moose, listening.

"What did you hear?" Martha asked quietly.

After a few minutes Bill shrugged his broad shoulders as if
it were unimportant. "Never mind." Martha saw the dark look come over
his face. It was clear that he had been listening for and heard something. But
what? She was too afraid to ask. A mixture of worry and fear engulfed her, two
emotions with which she was becoming more familiar every day. With trembling hands,
she smoothed her apron and said, "It’ll be dark soon. Why don’t we go
inside?"

Bill made no reply.

"It’s chilly. At least let me at least get you as
sweater," Martha said, rising.

His voice steady and low, he said, "If I want a
sweater, I’ll get it. Now go inside and leave me alone."

Unlike her plentiful vegetable garden, Martha kept her
flowerbeds small and easy to manage. Caring for the beautiful flowers was more
than a hobby. The roses, azaleas and geraniums were substitutes for her distant
grandchildren, and she spent pleasurable hours poring over catalogs and
learning the names and needs of each special flower. Her garden included Blue
Girls with four inch double flowers, the dazzling red Mon Cheri and delicate
pink Royal Highness, both boasting five-inch blooms. Her favorite was the
unusual Caribia with dashing red markings on yellow petals. Diligent study had
taught Martha about the particular soil requirements needed for healthy plants.
All of her plants were tall and bushy and had deep green foliage. If she was so
inclined, she could have won blue ribbons at any flower show with her
wonderfully fragrant and showy plants.

Grateful for the morning sun that warmed her arms and back,
she stooped over these plants, digging out the last of the winter coverage. By
Memorial Day they would be in full bloom, fragrant and beautiful.

"Martha," Bill said softly from the porch. He'd
been sitting there, brooding and watching her, all morning.

Surprised at his tone of voice, Martha looked up to see him
leering at her. Her heart began to pound.

"Come here," he said.

With both hands on the ground, Martha pushed herself to her
feet and slowly went to him.

"You know, it’s been a long time since I felt like your
man," he said in a husky voice.

"Y…y…you’ve been s…sick," she stammered, not
really knowing what to say, almost afraid to look at him.

"Well, let’s go inside and see how sick I am."

Martha wanted to protest, wanted to run away from him. But
this was her husband. At least he was paying attention to her.