Eleanor (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T
here were only three days of school between the prom and Christmas vacation. Eleanor stayed home for them all. She stayed on the couch drinking milk and chewing vitamins while Tabitha answered concerned phone calls from David, Karen, and the school.

David dropped off some homework on the last day of school and begged to be let in to see Eleanor, but Tabitha staunchly refused. He went away upset. He called to her window from the porch.

“Eleanor, call me,” he yelled. “Please call me.”

By Christmas, Eleanor was able to walk. She did not heal as quickly as she usually did. Her heart wasn't in it, Tabitha said. Still, the recovery amazed her nurse-mother, who never failed to comment on it with each dressing change. Her breasts had receded to their normal form before the sun set the day after the prom.

Tabitha kept close watch on her. Twice during that first weekend, she talked to Eleanor about possibly going to the hospital. “Your blood pressure is so low,” she explained. “You're weak. So much blood lost.” Eleanor had, of course, refused. She told her mother that she'd be fine and dispelled any suspicions she had, that she secretly wanted to die and refused treatment because of that. “I wouldn't have come home if that were my goal.” Tabitha agreed to wait and see.

By Monday, it was academic. Against Eleanor's wishes, her body had replaced the blood, and her pressure was normal. She had no appetite, but her body hungrily absorbed every calorie her mother made her eat. Her mood was somber, bleak, and broken, but her body wanted to survive and knitted itself together against its master's wishes.

Eleanor finally forced herself off the couch and gingerly into the kitchen a week after the dance where an exhausted Tabitha had fallen asleep in her chair. Their stores were nearly spent. Eleanor had drunk every drop of condensed milk, eaten every piece of protein, and consumed all the bread, butter, and fat in the fridge. Tabitha had lived on Spaghetti O's, black coffee, and pain pills. She'd stayed at Eleanor's side like a loyal angel. Eleanor would wake up in the darkest hour of the night only to find Tabitha asleep beside her, a chair pulled to the couch, her hand holding Eleanor's. She held her all the time, as if by touching her she might channel hope into her daughter.

Eleanor searched the kitchen and checked their account balances. It was time to work the magic of changing invisible credit into food, a spell that required her to get to the store. Tabitha, for all her energized caregiving, was not up to so long a walk, not now, not in the snow. Eleanor heated a can of corn on the stove and watched the snow bury her tomato pots in a silent shroud of cold.

When Tabitha woke, she and Eleanor made a shopping list. It was the weekend before Christmas. The stores would be crowded. Eleanor didn't relish a public appearance, let alone one in front of the whole town. They decided they could last a few more days. Late Sunday night, two days before the holiday, Eleanor would go to the store and bring back enough provisions to see them through the new year. That would give them time consider their options.

Eleanor used the time to mend her feet. She stayed off them as much as possible and, though it made her mother sad, she crawled around the house on her aching knees. By Sunday, she felt strong enough for the trip.

Jamesford rolled up the sidewalks on winter nights. Without tourists, in constant freeze, few went out after sunset. Eleanor saw not a soul and nary a light on her trek to the grocery store.

She waited outside the glass door and looked in to see if Karen Venn was working. She knew she'd been moved to days and didn't expect to see her, but if she did, Eleanor would turn around and head to Cowboy Bob's for supplies. She didn't see her. She didn't see anyone. She slipped in the automatic door, took a cart as quietly as she could, and like a burglar, gathered provisions.

It didn't take her long to find what she needed; canned stuff mostly, and a chicken for Christmas. She bought real potatoes and some cheap pork she could freeze for emergencies. The sales gave her a little extra spending money. She found a cute red and blue wool cap for her mother. Her old one was pretty tired. It served its purpose of warmth and vanity for a woman whose hair had not come back from years of chemotherapy, but a new one would not be unwelcome.

Eleanor surveyed her cart and realized she couldn't carry all the groceries back to her house. She could manage two, maybe three bags, but this was five at least. She'd just have to take the cart.

She headed to the self-check-out lane when Mr. Woods appeared at the front and beckoned her over. They exchanged small talk which consisted of asking Eleanor if she'd found everything she needed and offering to sell her stamps and ice, a company script copied on every register. When he was done, he wished Eleanor a Merry Christmas and disappeared into the office. When he was out of sight, Eleanor pushed her cart out the doors and into the darkness

“You going to push that all the way home?”

Eleanor turned to see David waiting for her by the door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Waiting for you,” he said. “You won't see me. You won't come to the door. You won't talk to me on the phone.”

He looked awful. In the last vision she had of him, he was splendid in a tuxedo, rapt with dancing, flush with heat. He looked cold and broken and lost now.

“I can't,” Eleanor said and pushed her cart forward.

David followed. Eleanor didn't stop.

“What about all the blood?” he said.

“I scraped my foot. No big deal.”

“Your mother said it was more than a scrape.”

“She worries. It was nothing.”

“She told my mom that you got afraid at the dance, that Russell scared you.”

Tabitha had come up with the story from the few details Eleanor had given her that night. When Karen Venn called early next morning, she spun it as a silly girl overreacting to a shove. It satisfied David's mother, who was clearly relieved to hear that David had not caused Eleanor's fright.

“What did you say to your mom?” Eleanor asked.

“I didn't say anything,” he said. “I didn't know what to say.”

“But you didn't tell her it wasn't Russell?”

“No.”

“What about Brian and Jennifer?”

“They didn't see,” David said. “I told them it was Russell.”

“There was nothing to see,” Eleanor said sharply. She pushed the cart out of the lot and along the icy sidewalk. Her feet were sore, but she could run if she had to.

“Eleanor, I want to understand,” David said, trotting behind her. “Please, give me a chance.”

“I can't,” she said.

“What I saw—” he said.

Eleanor spun on him. “There was nothing to see. You imagine too much.”

Even under the heavy coat, Eleanor could see his drooping shoulders and defeated chest.

“What you did was . . .”

“David, leave me alone.”

“Yes it scared me—surprised me,” he said, ignoring her protests. “Eleanor, nothing has changed with me.”

“It has with me,” she said.

David looked like he'd been slapped.

“Eleanor, don't,” he begged. “Please, talk to me. Trust me.”

“I'm sorry, David. It's no good. Go away.”

“Eleanor, please.”

“Don't make me run away. My feet haven't recovered, and we need this food.”

“Let me—” He reached for the cart.

“David! I'm not who you think I am. Leave me alone. It's better for everybody.” She wished she could have said it without her voice breaking, without her face flushing, without tears. But that was too much to ask.

“Eleanor . . .”

“Please, David. Please,” she said and pushed the cart out of his hands. His fingers slipped from the bar and fell to his sides. She pushed past him. He didn't follow but stood in the cold dark and watched her go. She forced herself not to look back, but when she did, he was gone.

She took her time going home. Besides her feet, her heart ached like it'd been crushed, like it had slipped out of her chest and she herself had stepped on it. She let herself cry a little in the quiet darkness between street lamps, and by the time she arrived home, her eyes had mostly recovered.

Tabitha was asleep in a chair when she came in and roused herself to help with the groceries.

“You should have gone to bed,” Eleanor told her mother. “You know I can manage.”

“I know you can,” she said. “That doesn't mean you should.” She looked at Eleanor and brushed her cold cheeks. “You were crying again,” she said. “Why?”

“David was at the store,” she said as calmly as she could.

“At this hour? Whatever for?”

“He said he was waiting for me,” Eleanor said.

“I always said he was a smart boy,” Tabitha said. She clucked her tongue and pulled the wool hat out of a shopping bag. “What's this?”

“Oh, Mom, you weren't supposed to find that. It's for Christmas.”

“I love it,” she said. She slipped off her scarf, and Eleanor saw the bald scalp beneath. She puffed up the cap and slid it over her head.

“Finally, something warm,” she said. “How do I look?”

“Like you're going skiing,” Eleanor said, a little crestfallen.

“Perfect,” Tabitha said. “I'm in disguise.”

Eleanor smiled. “Do you really like it?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes, I do.”

“I'm glad.”

“So, what happened with David,” her mother pressed. “I won't be able to sleep if I don't know. I can't wait until morning.”

“He backed up your story,” she said.

“Smart boy,” Tabitha said. “It gets him off the hook.”

“Mom, he wasn't on the hook. It was me. All me.”

“That's true, but you did it for him. It's the sad tale of women everywhere that we feel we have to change ourselves to please a man. You don't, cupcake. I hope you know that.”

“I don't think you can say that about me,” she said.

“You stop that, Eleanor Anders, right now,” her mother said. “You are a woman. You can be many things, but you are a woman. Your people were people, you are a person. You're a different race, is all. So what? You are female. You have the body and mind of teenager, and you are becoming a woman.”

“I'm older than a teenager,” she said.

“Years don't mean anything. You have years, yes, lots of them. But they were lost years. You were twelve when you lost them and six when you got them back. Since then you've been progressing wonderfully as a young woman, displaying in your own way every silly idiosyncrasy of the species I know. Don't think you're any worse than people, nor any better. You're perfect.”

Eleanor sulked and nearly put the chicken in the freezer.

“Aren't we going to eat that?” Tabitha asked.

Eleanor put it in the fridge to thaw for Christmas dinner.

“Was he scared?” Tabitha said after a while. “What else did he say? What about your friends?”

“He said the others believed the Russell story. They didn't see me.”

“That's good. Everything will blow over, you'll see.”

“I told him I didn't want to see him,” Eleanor said.

“I thought we were going to wait and see about that?”

“It's stupid to try, Tabitha. I'm going to slip up again, or get caught, or go to the doctor and then I'm going to have run or, or . . . or else. There's no future for me with David.”

“Eleanor, cupcake, I won't tell you the future doesn't matter, that I don't think about it constantly. I do. I worry and cry and fear and plan. I tried to face my future once, take it all at one time, and it took me to that lake. I swallowed my entire future, and I was done. But then there was Eleanor, beautiful, mysterious, lovely Eleanor, and I was saved. I stopped thinking about my future when you gave me our present. I don't want to sound too philosophical, but all of us, even you, yes, even you with your regeneration, are going to die one day. Does that mean we shouldn't live while we're here?”

Eleanor didn't say anything.

“Of course not,” Tabitha said. “We do the best we can. I want you to dance, Eleanor. You deserve a dance. I'm glad you got one. I want you to have more. I understand why you did what you did. You're in love.”

“No, I'm not,” she said. “I was confused.”

“At your age, it's much the same thing,” Tabitha said.

“I can't face him, Mom. I just can't.”

“Okay, cupcake. We'll let it alone for a while. We'll see how things go. But, my lovely little girl, you know better than anyone that things change.”

“Ha ha, Mom,” said Eleanor with a smirk. It was the first real moment of mirth she'd had in weeks.

Christmas morning, Tabitha was too sick to leave to her bed. Eleanor served her butler style, and they read aloud while it snowed outside their windows. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T
he new year started in a snowstorm. Eleanor hadn't left the house except to shovel the walk since Christmas, and she and Tabitha had hibernated happily in their little house at the edge of town, away from what dangers waited beyond the yard. Eleanor cared for her mother, and her mother cared for her, though there was little to do. She'd mended and looked every bit as healthy as she did when she returned from Nebraska. Every bit.

Tabitha's strength was sporadic, but there was no need to test it. Eleanor kept her company and did all the chores, played cards, and broke out board games when that grew tiring. The two grew closer than they'd ever been.

Eleanor dreaded going back to school and being seen again, but with Tabitha's help, they approached the problem theoretically and dispassionately, as if writing a script for someone else. When the curtain rose, the day school started back after the Christmas holiday, Eleanor donned her clothes and coat like a costume, fell into character, and trotted off to the fiction that was her life.

There hadn't been time to shovel the fresh snow before school began and, of course, Eleanor refused to take the bus. She was late by ten minutes. She made it fifteen by pausing in the hall to gather her courage before facing her classmates. She'd be gone from Jamesford for good if it weren't for Tabitha. Her mother had soothed her fears and convinced her to return to school. It hadn't been easy. In a fit of denial and desperation, in a weak moment, Eleanor had lashed and blamed her mother for the mess she was in.

“Was it so terrible?” Tabitha asked her. “Was it not wonderful?” she said. “Think of the dancing. Before your little stunt. How was that?”

Eleanor had had to pause. “It was wonderful,” she said.

“If you could go back, would you? Taking it all, or leaving it all, would you trade that away?”

“No,” she said.

So in the end, Eleanor had to trust her mother that things would get better. She just had to bear them until they did.

Of course, the door squeaked. It screamed in Eleanor's ears like a siren in a bowling alley. It silenced the class, who looked up from their papers and watched her come in.

“Glad you could make it back,” Mrs. Hart said with dripping sarcasm.

Eleanor kept her head down, her hair a wall. Her headbands, even the new ones her mother had given her for Christmas, were hidden away in a drawer in her loft for the foreseeable future. She found her seat and ignored the staring students. Mrs. Hart continued talking only after a long painful pause to give everyone time to gawk at Eleanor.

In between Mrs. Hart's classes, Eleanor remained at her desk and read papers her eyes would not focus on. She kept to herself, and no one approached her.

At lunch she found her usual table empty. She ate with her back to the cafeteria and pretended no one was looking at her.

David brought his lunch tray to the table and set it down.

“Don't sit here,” Eleanor said bitterly.

Without a word, he collected his tray and left.

No one said a word to her the entire day. She'd forgotten her gym clothes and so watched as the rest of her class did stretching calisthenics. In Spanish, Mr. Blake didn't call on her or offer her a reading. When the bell rang to go, Eleanor was the first outside and past the parking lot before the buses even arrived.

And so it went for January. Eleanor kept to herself, and no one bothered her. She forced herself to stop looking for her old lunch mates but she was unable to keep her back to the room at lunch. Too much Hitchcock in that. She'd wanted to see what was coming at her.

She caught snippets of gossip, and though her countenance was firm and expressionless, inside she swallowed her guts when they chewed at her bones.

“I heard David felt her up on the dance floor. Right in front of everyone.”

“I heard that Russell Liddle grabbed her.”

“No, I heard she took her top off—flashed her boobs to everyone. What a slut.”

As troubling as these whispers were, it was from Robby Guide, the Shoshone, that Eleanor heard an old, familiar, and terrifying word, a word she'd last heard used to describe her dying family before she ran into the desert. Witch.

David was miserable. Eleanor could see it. She felt sorry for him, ached to be with him, but kept away nonetheless. Several times, he tried again to talk to her, but each time she told him to go away with increasing venom. The notes he slipped into her locker she threw away without reading. When his grades began to fall in chemistry, she ignored Mr. Graham's suggestion that she tutor him again.

“Your grades have slipped a bit, too, Eleanor,” he said, “so I think it would be beneficial for everyone.”

“No,” was all she said.

Rumors swirled and boiled, became greater, became smaller, until what had actually happened was completely lost. Eleanor racked her brain to remember who had actually seen the transformation, but aside from David, she couldn't remember.

The one rumor that stayed alive, albeit in different forms, was Eleanor's promiscuity. Conflicting stories about the dance found purchase with the old rumors of her Halloween tryst when she was seen sharing a booth with Dwight at Cowboy Bob's. Though details were sketchy, the overall picture was one of a girl out of control. It wasn't long before the rumors reached the ears of teachers and then administration. Eleanor wasn't surprised when she was called to the counselor in early February.

Mr. Sullivan was the Jamesford High School counselor. Since the other counselor had quit in November, at the moment, he handled the school from kindergarten through graduation. Most of his time was spent with juniors and seniors helping them graduate and plan for college, but he also dealt with “troubled youth.”

“Eleanor,” he said. “Tell me what's happening at home.”

“Not much,” she said behind her bangs.

“I understand your mother is very ill,” he said, reading a file the origin of which Eleanor could only speculate. “I see you're on public assistance.”

“So,” she said. “Many kids are. This is Wyoming.”

“That's not a constructive attitude,” he said with an edge to his voice. “Why would you say that?”

“I know a lot of kids on public assistance.”

“According to my records, you don't have any friends.”

“You keep track of my friends? Who are you, Big Brother?”

“No, of course not,” he said. Eleanor glared at him. This was not going well; her hackles were up. “I've just been asking around about you.”

“Don't believe everything you hear,” she said.

“No, of course not,” he said, steepling his fingers. “But I have heard some disturbing things concerning you.”

Eleanor tried to read the file under his elbows, but couldn't.

“I understand there was an issue at prom,” he said. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No.”

Mr. Sullivan smiled a crocodilian grin, and Eleanor retreated as far back in her chair as she could. It wasn't a nice office. It was cluttered and smelled of aerosol room freshener and clandestine smoking.

“Why don't you want to talk about it?”

“Why do you?”

“I'm here to help,” he said. “Did someone threaten you at the dance? Did someone touch you?”

“No,” she said.

“Sometimes boys get a little aggressive. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn't your fault. Was it?”

“Was what my fault?”

“What happened at the dance. You going topless on the dance floor.”

“That didn't happen,” she said.

“I heard otherwise,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Eleanor decided to ignore him.

“I've had a talk with David Venn,” he said. Eleanor stared at a mug of pens. “He said you were upset about Russell Liddle. Is that what happened? Did Russell take your shirt off? You don't need to be afraid to tell me. I can protect you.”

“That didn't happen,” she said. “Russell was an ass, but my shirt stayed on. David didn't say that. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

She instantly regretted insulting him. That kind of thing would only prolong this terrible interview and make things worse. But she felt she had to fight back, if not for her, then for David, the true innocent.

“Can I go?” she said.

“No,” Mr. Sullivan said firmly. “I want to talk to you about Halloween. You were seen at Cowboy Bob's truck stop with a man late at night. Why were you there?”

Eleanor fell mute. Mr. Sullivan endured the silence for several minutes before pressing again.

“Eleanor,” he said as soothingly as his wooden voice would go, “many girls have a hard time coming to terms with teenage changes. They think that it will make them popular and thus make bad decisions. That doesn't mean that they're bad people or that they can't change. A reputation can be restored. Souls can be saved.”

“I didn't do whatever it is you think I did,” she said.

“What do you think I think you did?”

Eleanor stared at the desk. “Anything wrong,” she said.

He sighed. “Your grades are slipping, Eleanor. What you do in your own time is ultimately your own business.”

“Thanks,” she put in.

“But,” he went on. “If I think that it's affecting your academic career or general wellbeing, I have to step in. I'm stepping in. Mrs. Hart tells me that you've been a problem student for months. She says you've been disrespectful and show racist tendencies. I see you had detention for it. These are all signs of a student sliding into bad habits, bad habits that could lead you very far from where you are now.”

“Where am I now?”

“In a nice safe place with people who want to help you.”

“I just want to be left alone,” she said.

“Did your father molest you, Eleanor? Did your mother?”

With that, Eleanor stood up and left the office without another word.

That night while she was telling Tabitha about Mr. Sullivan, Stephanie Pearce decided to drop by unannounced.

“I just wanted to see how you all came out of the holidays,” she said, pushing her way through the door.

Eleanor was glad she'd cleaned up. Busying herself with chores kept her mind off of things. Their home was in good order. There was even a new cactus plant on the window Eleanor had bought from the drug store earlier that week.

The social worker glanced around the house, taking it in, looking for dust or other neglect.

“That smells great,” she said. “What's for dinner?”

“Eleanor is making a casserole,” Tabitha said. “We had a lovely Christmas. Thanks for the card, by the way.”

“My pleasure,” Stephanie said. She fell into the couch, and the springs heaved under her weight. “I understand you're going to Riverton again this month. Is Eleanor going with you?”

“She usually does,” Tabitha said. “We make it a girls' trip.”

“I understand she's been having trouble at school,” she said. “Her grades have slipped, and she's fallen into some bad habits.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Sullivan called me today, Tabitha,” she said. “Maybe Eleanor should leave.”

“Yes, of course,” said Tabitha. “Go do your homework in my room.”

Eleanor picked up a paperback and strolled to her mother's room at the back of the house. Tabitha knew that Eleanor would be able to hear everything said in the house regardless of where she was.

“Eleanor has a reputation,” Stephanie Pearce said.

“What kind of reputation?” asked Tabitha.

“A reputation,” she said again with emphasis.

“Oh, that kind.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I'm afraid you've got to control your daughter better, Miss Anders. She's out of control.”

“It's all rumors,” Tabitha said. “Do you believe every rumor you hear?”

“When it comes from her counselor, and her teachers, and people I know personally, yes, I do.”

“What about people who were there? Or how about Eleanor herself? Russell Liddle was rude to her at the dance, and she fled. You need to control that little brat.”

“I heard there was something at the prom,” she said.

“Well, good. You have a reference for the rumors. That's a start. Next you can verify them before threatening us.”

“I'm not threatening you, Miss Anders. I'm here to help.”

“You're here to meddle and slander. My Eleanor is not that kind of girl.”

Eleanor heard a deep sigh escape the big woman.

“I'm not at liberty to discuss other clients,” she said. “But I know Russell Liddle. He says that he did nothing to Eleanor at the dance.”

“Are you kidding?” said Tabitha.

“Let me finish,” Stephanie said. “He said he did nothing, but I'm inclined to disbelieve him.”

“Okay,” Tabitha said. “That's something.”

“Do you know that Eleanor was seen at Cowboy Bob's in late October? With a man in the cafe? Very late at night?”

“I sent Eleanor to get some aspirin. She was cold and warmed up. I can't help it if someone talked to her.”

“People say she stayed the night in his truck,” she said.

“People say that Children's Protection is just out to break up loving families. We can't always believe what we hear, can we?”

Eleanor heard the social worker shift on the couch. She'd gotten bigger since she'd last seen her, holiday treats no doubt. She felt sorry for the sofa.

“Tabitha,” she said.

“Mrs. Anders will be fine,” said Tabitha curtly.

“Mrs. Anders,” she said, patience stretched thin in her voice, “be that as they may, Eleanor is going through some hard times at school right now. I think you'll agree. Her grades are suffering. She's now barely passing several classes. She's in real danger of failing English and social studies.”