Consequence (17 page)

Robert Hall was a local attorney, and Boone
worked with him on occasion. The most recent encounter was in
August, after Erica Moore’s daughter had been in a car accident.
Hall and Moore were partners in the local bookstore business, East
of Eaton.

He could see why the women swooned, but he
wasn’t intimidated by the man’s elegant good looks. He wondered why
Hall stayed in the area, though. With his kind of looks, he could
be a movie star. Even now, at eleven o’clock at night, he was
impeccably dressed, his hair perfectly styled. Here it was January
and the man was even tanned.

As impressive as Robert was, Boone considered
him the ugly duckling of the Hall family. His breathtaking sister,
Katrina, was more attractive. As the court reporter for the Eaton
Daily News, she haunted the jails and courts of central
Pennsylvania, sniffing out secrets. Men were thunderstruck and
tongue tied in her presence, unable to say no when those luscious
red lips requested anything, be it a redacted file or access to
forbidden areas.

Since Boone was lucky enough to oversee the
most boring township in the region, Katrina rarely contacted him.
It was a good thing; she put a serious dent into every man’s armor
and he doubted even he could resist her charms. No one could
compare; no one could compete.

Well, he thought, except for Bridget. Boone
had to admit he preferred Bridget’s voluptuous golden beauty to the
exotic, dark-eyed, red-lipped Katrina Hall. Not that he’d noticed
her. Not even when they worked together, years ago at the Chance
Police Department. He realized Robert Hall was speaking. “I’m
sorry, what did you say?”

Robert flipped through the report. “This is a
whopper. Did you put together all of this?”

Boone shook his head. “No, Bridget Cormac
worked on a lot of it. It was a cold case.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. He knew Bridget by
reputation. She’d worked with Katrina before launching an
impressive career as a syndicated columnist.

“She’s good.” He closed the file. “James told
me the defendant waived her right to private counsel, but he’s not
confident the local guy can handle this. He said she’s pled guilty.
I’m here to represent her interest, whether she wants it or
not.”

Robert cocked his chin at the cup in Boone’s
hand. “Is that any good?”

“Nope.” Boone took another sip.

“I think I’ll head over to Beano’s. I’ll grab
a box of fresh coffee and some donuts. I think we’re going to be
here for awhile,” Robert said.

Diara kept pace with the police car in front
of her, focusing on the red taillights. As a result, she didn’t
anticipate the plethora of city lights greeting her when she
rounded the mountainside. The small city of Eaton lay in a river
valley and was most impressive at night when southbound motorists
descended Weeping Woman Mountain.

The GPS indicated she had less than three
miles to go before reaching her destination, the Eaton City Jail.
It was a steep grade to the valley, so she braked lightly and
coasted down the roadway. She wondered how her grandmother fared,
if she were uncomfortable or if she had been able to sleep. It had
been a long drive and the poor woman had little rest the night
before.

Diara shook her head, wishing she could wake
from the surreal situation. Forty-eight hours earlier, she left her
Manhattan apartment, ignorant and foolish. She believed the world
revolved around her. It hadn’t taken long to change her
perspective.

During the lonely drive, she relived the
events of the past two days, especially her Gran’s late-night
confession.

It took longer than the thirty minutes
allowed by the police officer on night duty, who showed sensitivity
in allowing Diara to stay another hour. The two women sat on the
cot in the jail cell, one listening without judging, and the other
speaking, holding nothing back.

It was a story only one other person knew and
she lay in a hospital bed on the other side of town. It was a sad,
dark secret they shared for fifty years.

“I was fourteen when I met Roy Gaumer. I
worked in the cafeteria at Fort Lee in Virginia,” Ethel said. “He’d
been a soldier, but he wasn’t a good one. He had a violent temper
and was always getting into trouble, fighting with the other men.
The Army discharged him, but he still worked at the post as a night
janitor.

“He was handsome and rugged. He was older,
too. A lot older. I’d see him at night when we were closing the
cafeteria and he would be cleaning floors.

“I needed a job. My daddy was dead and my
momma was sick. I had two little brothers who were always growing
out of their clothes. It was after the war and all the men had come
home. There weren’t any good jobs left for the women. My momma,
when she could, would take in laundry and scrub floors. My brothers
would pick through garbage for scrap to sell. It may have been a
boom for many folks, but not we black folk living in Petersburg,
Virginia.

“I lied about my age. Told the cafeteria
manager I was sixteen and she believed me. Working there meant I
could eat for free and what I didn’t eat, I put in my pocket to
take home for my brothers. They were always hungry.”

Diara wanted to ask about them, about any
relatives she had, but listened to Ethel’s tale without
interruption. The answer came soon.

“Then, one day, my littlest brother caught
influenza. He was so sick. Poor little mite. My other brother
caught it too, and then Momma, who was too sick to nurse them. She
didn’t live long, she was weak. I came home from work one night and
the neighbor told me she’d died and the social workers had come and
taken my brothers. I tried to get them back, but they were sick and
in the hospital. Poor people didn’t get very good treatment in
those days. My little brothers grew weaker every day until they
died.

“I was alone,” Ethel said, her voice a
whisper.

Diara poured her a glass of cool water and
rubbed her back. Soon, Ethel continued her story.

“Like I said, I was alone. I didn’t have a
home anymore since my Momma died, so late at night, when I got off
work, I would creep into a storage closet and try to sleep. I
washed myself and my clothes in a big sink in the mop closet. The
soap was a harsh detergent used to clean the floors. One night, I
was lying on some cardboard on the floor when the door opened and
it was Mr. Gaumer, the night janitor. He saw me sleeping there, in
my shift, but he didn’t tell anyone. He was my friend.

Sometimes he’d visit with me and tell me
about his past. He had scars on his hands and arms. His nose had
been broken, but I still thought he was handsome. He had freckles
and his hair was red as a firecracker. He had brown eyes and a deep
laugh. It didn’t take long for me to begin admiring him. He took
care of me, kept my secrets and even brought me some sweet-smelling
soap.

“He talked about Pennsylvania, about green
hills and trees, and the fresh stream ending in a beautiful
waterfall. About the apple orchard his granddaddy planted, and
about a little dog he used to have.

“One night, he kissed me and it felt nice. I
was lonely, you see. My Momma hadn’t told me about where babies
come from; she’d had more important things on her mind, like trying
to stay alive.

“But I knew. I’d been working with the other
women in the cafeteria for awhile and I’d listened to them talk
about their dates. Although the older women tried to shush them up,
hoping to protect me, I suppose, I still heard them. I wanted to
know about it.

“So when he kissed me, I had a pretty good
idea of why and what he wanted. A few weeks later, I let him do
more than kiss me. I wanted to be held and loved again. I have to
tell you, I liked it. Well, not at first. It was pretty scary and
uncomfortable, but he was kind and patient. You see, he wasn’t
always a bad man. He was good to me, in the beginning.

“Sometimes, I wouldn’t see him for days. He’d
go out drinking and get into fights. He’d call off work on those
times. When I’d see him again, he’d have bruises on his face and
scrapes on his knuckles. He’d always laugh and say, ‘You should see
the other guy.’

“Well, they don’t put up with that kind of
behavior for long and one day he came to me and told me he’d been
fired. He had to pack up his locker, turn in his uniform and leave
the premises. I was devastated. He’d been my friend. By then, I
considered him more than a friend. We’d been lovers for several
weeks and I thought he wanted to marry me.”

Ethel shook her head at this point and
snorted.

“Like a white man is going to marry a poor
black girl. I was naive. I had stars in my eyes. I cried and told
him I’d miss him, that I’d do anything for him, to not leave me.
Then he put his arms around me and told me to gather my things. I
could go home with him. I was in heaven! He meant to take me to his
family’s home. I would be his wife!

“What a silly girl I was. By then, I was
fifteen and although I didn’t know it yet, I was pregnant with your
mother. I thought I was moving on to a better life. And, for
awhile, it was better. We did try to make a go of it.

“The cabin in Pennsylvania was an eyesore. It
wasn’t a house at all, just a pile of logs in the woods. And even
though he didn’t marry me, we lived together as man and wife. He
worked outside, trying to clear the fields and get the orchard
going again. I worked inside the cabin, cleaning and repairing
whatever I could. It was a cozy place after a bit. I thought I’d be
happy there.

“But money was hard to come by and he’d get
angry at little things. He started going out by himself, going off
to town. Like at Fort Lee, he got into fights with other men,
coming home drunk and bloody. I’d fix him up as best I could,
washing his cuts and putting him to bed.

“Then your mother was born and he was a saved
man. He loved his little girl. He didn’t drink as much as before,
and things started to improve. I wanted to work, but we lived far
from town. I couldn’t get a job and watch over Cherry.

Diara interrupted her at this point. “Cherry?
Who’s that?”

Ethel chuckled. “That’s your mother. Your
grandfather Paul-Henri changed her name to Cerise when he married
me and adopted her. God bless his soul.”

Diara waited for Ethel to continue.

“I know this is a long story, but I wanted
you to know he wasn’t always a bad man. He changed. Disappointment
will do that to a man. He wouldn’t stop drinking and it seemed like
he was always drunk. When he couldn’t get to town and raise hell,
he’d raise it with me. He started beating me and he’d get angry
when I refused to cry out. You see, I didn’t want to frighten my
daughter. I wanted Cherry to think things were fine and her Poppa
was a good person.

“When she started school, I was able to get
into town more often and do small jobs. I started sitting for other
people, watching their children. Sometimes I’d take in laundry,
like my Momma did. Every little bit helped. That way, I could
afford to buy Cherry her school clothes and books. Everything I did
from that point on was for her. She was smart. Such a good
child.

“I wanted to fight back when he’d come home
drunk and looking for someone to beat. The few times I did, he made
sure I was sorry. He’d pin me down and hit me until I stopped
fighting and then he’d rape me.”

Ethel shuddered and closed her eyes. “I lost
three babies from his abuse. I began to hate him.”

Diara bit her lip, the anger surging through
her. At times, while listening to Ethel speak, she tried to imagine
the scenes, but they were getting too horrific.

“Cherry could see what was happening, of
course. She was afraid of him by then. She flinched when he came
near her. And all the love he said he felt for her as a baby? Well,
that was gone too. He started to resent her, especially her fear of
him. It reminded him of the monster he’d become. He’d yell at her
and tell her to go away, but there wasn’t anywhere for her to go.
It was a one-room cabin.”

“You mean, she saw everything?” Diara asked.
“Even when he raped you?”

Ethel nodded. “When she was little, we would
put up a blanket to separate us, and we’d wait for her to go to
sleep. But later, he didn’t care anymore. He was always drunk and
always looking for someone to hurt. If it wasn’t me, it would have
been her.

“And one night, it was,” Ethel said.

Diara gasped. “You don’t mean he ….”

“I mean he tried. That was the night I killed
him.”

“Mom saw it?”

“Yes,” Ethel said, her voice becoming sharp.
Her breathing increased as she continued. “He came home one night,
cussing and falling down drunk. He wanted his dinner, he said, and
for me to get to the stove and fix it now. Cherry was curled up on
her mattress, trying to pretend she was asleep. I lit the stove and
put my black iron skillet on the flame, then went outside to the
smokehouse to cut off some bacon. When I went back inside, Cherry
was screaming, her Poppa pressing her into the mattress. He had his
pants around his ankles and he meant to rape his own daughter.”

Ethel turned and looked Diara in the eye. “I
saw red. I remember grabbing the skillet and slamming it against
the side of his head with all my strength. It was enough. He fell
over and never moved again.

“Cherry crawled off to a corner and cried.
She never spoke of it, thank the Lord. I think she just erased it
from her mind ... until now, I am afraid.”

Diara wrapped her arms around her trembling
grandmother.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Diara parked her Lexus in the public lot,
then sprinted across the street to the back entrance of the Eaton
City Jail through which, minutes earlier, the police officer
escorted her grandmother.

She caught up with them as a tall,
dark-haired man strode through a set of wooden doors at the end of
the corridor. Another policeman, this one wore a brown and khaki
uniform, not blue like the Eaton officer. He also wore a Stetson
hat. For a moment, Diara thought about giggling. He was an American
version of Dudley Do-Right.