Rosalind (25 page)

"
…for Maggie," she said. Her breathing had become more shallow. "…love her so much."

And when Rosalind took her last look at Susan,
it was Henrietta looking back at her. The room glowed a bright yellow with white trails of light that danced around her mother. Her flowing white gown waved gently in some impossible breeze as the woman looked down at her daughter.

"Momma?"

"Yes, Rosa," the woman in white said to her.

"What are—" Rosalind started to ask.

"I've come for you."

"Why? Where—"

"Home, Rosa. Home."

The room grew brighter and in the vastness behind the slowly fading walls she saw a black veil, and from that veil she felt
the warmth of a million stars rushing toward her. All the pain of her short life left her body as they filled every burn and every cut and every scar. She held her mother's hand and let the light consume her.

"Rosalind?
" She looked at her limp arm touching the floor. Susan couldn't cry, and at that moment she didn't know if she even wanted to. She put her hand to Rosalind's chest, but she couldn't feel a heartbeat. It didn't matter; she had what she had always wanted—a child. She didn't need the mess of fighting Rosalind over what was rightfully hers. It all came together neatly.

She grabbed the baby and put her back on the bed.
The page fell out of Rosalind's lifeless hands and onto the floor.

"Maggie!" Susan yelled from the porch. She scanned the yard and didn't see her anywhere. Her heart was pounding. Where could she have gone? she asked herself. "Margaret Byrd, where are you?"

Nothing.

Susan held her chest and tried to calm herself down, but she knew that was a useless exercise.

A
tall, slender figure with bright, red hair popped into view on the right. Susan turned her head to see Maggie carrying a box to her car.

"My God," Susan said. She hurried as fast as she could off the porch and ran to her. Maggie foresaw the impending collision so she dropped the box and welcomed her mother into her arms.

"What's wrong, mom?" she asked her.

"I thought you'd already left."

Maggie looked at her and then at her car. "Can't go anywhere without that," Maggie quipped.

"Oh, right," Susan said. "Did you pack enough underwear?"

"Yes, mother."

Maggie tried to lean down to pick up the box, but Susan held her tightly by the arms and looked sternly at her. She looked Maggie over—her long red hair glowing like fire in
the midday sun and her freckled face twisted in impatience—and smiled. For a moment Susan was lost in a moment, but when she thought about it later, she knew it was recognition.

"
Oh Rosalind," she whispered.

"Who?
" asked Maggie.

Susan just smiled and shook her head.

"Mother, I chose University of Louisville so I could be close to you. It's not that far, but I need to get going."

Susan snapped out of her dream and nodded reluctantly.

"Of course, dear. I'm sorry."

"Hey," Maggie said, running her delicate fingers across Susan's cheek. "I love you, mom."

"I know," Susan replied. "No boys."

"But I
like
boys," said Maggie in a sultry voice.

For a moment Susan thought she was going to cry. It wasn't because she was afraid of Maggie mixing it up with boys. She knew that was inevitable
and, more importantly, natural. It was at that moment that she thought about Rosalind; about a thirteen-year-old girl who gave the world—gave Susan—everything and got nothing in return.

Maggie kissed Susan on the cheek, picked up the last box, and loaded it into the rear seat of her car.

"You be sure to write me as often as you can," Susan said.

"I will." Maggie opened the door to the car and looked at Susan. With a little wave, she slid into the car and started the engine.

Susan watched the olive colored Pinto drive away.

She went into the house when Maggie's car disappeared down the road and went upstairs to Maggie's room. She bent down and sat on her knees as she moved the oval rug away and pulled up a loose board from the floor. Her hand came out with a cigar box in it and she opened it. The smell of eighteen years
washed over her and made her shiver. She reached in and pulled a discolored page out and unfolded it.

It brought her back to the rainy day when Maggie had been born.

She remembered the rain.

She remembered the ambulance that had come to carry Rosalind away. She remembered when Wilkes had come to her house and told her that they had found Joe Hanes floating in the quarry next to a half-submerged truck that was registered to her husband. She remembered how easy it
had been to tell Wilkes how John confessed to killing the Peterson girl and the sheriff (and of course how she had just discovered his complicity herself) and that she had to defend herself when he threatened to kill her. She remembered the trial and acquittal of killing her husband and the sympathy that poured out once the town had learned of John's vices and the death of Jessica Peterson. But she never told anyone that he was Maggie's father.

The Byrd
household had taken a hit in the small town of Whispering Pines. Her status and reputation were gone, but she didn't care. She had what she wanted. She remembered that she didn't cry for Rosalind.

She remembered it all.

The woman in the yellow dress smiled at Susan, but she ignored her and looked at the name scribbled beneath it:

Susan
moved her fingers over each letter. Her hand began to shake, but she closed her eyes and tightened her lips. The tremors stopped and she touched her name again.

"
Thank you for my daughter," she said, and put the page back into the cigar box.