Yule Tidings (8 page)

             
Anne drove home slowly, afraid to hit anything else.  The car seemed to be running fine, just dented.  She’d have to get it in the shop tomorrow.  She struggled out of the car, her swollen ankle making it even more difficult to move.  She made it in the house, sore and exhausted.  She didn’t feel like icing her ankle, but Merle thought it was necessary.  She always made the kids ice anything that swelled.  She pulled an ice pack from the freezer, reluctant to place it on her body.  She didn’t want to get cold again.  She still wasn’t completely warmed up, but she hobbled into the living room, cuddled under a blanket and put the ice on her leg. 

             
Anne dozed as the ice settled on her leg.  She took a couple Motrin for the pain and swelling, hoping to ease both.  Merle, she thought, had been a rather frightening individual.  He was brusque looking and stern.  He barely said anything the entire time he helped her, yet there had been tenderness in him when he looked at her ankle.  He’d been extremely careful not to hurt her as he pressed on her sore limb.  She wondered what his story was.  She hadn’t recognized him, which was unusual for such a small town.  Even if she hadn’t met him, the fact that she’d never even run into him somewhere in town before was odd.  She could still see his dark eyes looking at her.  She knew she must have looked awful, not that he’d been any prince charming she mused.  Anne stood, determined to shower and clean the dirt and mud off her body before going to bed.  When she was finally out of the shower she could barely keep her eyes open.  She climbed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.  For the first time in years, she slept soundly and dreamt.

             
Anne dreamt that the family was back together.  That the kids were all home for Christmas, and everyone was laughing and smiling.  The grandkids all played on the floor while the kids joked together.  Anne watched and smiled contentedly until she realized, somewhat belatedly, that Jason was missing.  She called his name, but he didn’t answer.  Rose, Michael, and Trisha didn’t know where he’d gone, and the grandkids suddenly seemed to disappear, one by one.  Anne searched the house for Jason, but she couldn’t find him.  She was panicking, searching everywhere for him.  She knew it was imperative that she find him.  He had to be part of the gathering.  She was crying, looking for him in desperation as sobs shook her when the door opened and a shadowy figure entered.  She reached out to Jason, but he didn’t respond.  His shadow hovered in the doorway, neither in nor out, and nothing she tried brought him into the house.  She woke, calling his name. 

             
Anne was sore and stiff in the morning.  She felt relatively well rested for the first time in years, but her body definitely felt the effects of the accident.  She struggled to sit up.  Her sides ached and her ankle felt like a mass of pain.  Maybe she should have gone to the hospital after all, she thought.  She stood slowly, reluctant to put any weight on her ankle.  It started to give immediately.  Anne hobbled to the bathroom, holding onto the wall.  A hot shower might help, she thought.  She closed her eyes, trying to control the pain.  She took a long shower, but it didn’t seem to ease her aching body.  She dressed infuriatingly slowly, each step done with painstaking care.  Pulling her socks over her swollen ankle proved the most difficult feat, and she resisted the urge cry out as elastic tightened around the swollen appendage.

             
When she finally made it downstairs, Anne couldn’t get the unusual dream out of her head.  She rarely dreamt.  The entire episode played in her mind’s eye over and over, leaving her uncertain and afraid.  A cold lump of fear climbed up her throat and she fought the urge to gag; if she didn’t do something, she knew she’d lose Jason forever.  The urge to call him and apologize was so intense she couldn’t help herself.  She picked up the phone, unaware of the time, and dialed Jason’s number. 

             
One ring. Two rings. On the third ring a woman’s voice answered.  She sounded half asleep, her voice cracking slightly.  Anne listened to the voice for a moment.  She wanted to ask to speak with Jason.  She wanted to make things better, to apologize or something, work things out, but that voice froze her.  She couldn’t bring herself to respond to the repeated “hello” so she hung up, her good intentions washed away.  She hadn’t expected Alexia to answer.  Jason said she lived with him, but it hadn’t clicked, it hadn’t been real.  Anne didn’t want it to be real.  She didn’t want to see that her son was an adult and didn’t need her anymore; in fact, he had already replaced her.  Anne shook her head.  She needed to get going for work, anyway, but first, one more call. 

Chapter Six

             
Merle watched, relieved, as the woman drove off.  She pulled away slowly, looking left and right several times as she passed him. 
At least she’ll be extra careful now
, he thought to himself as he started to search for the deer.  He didn’t really need the meat, but there was no reason to waste it if it was still good.  Venison was always a special treat to him; especially in stew. 

             
The deer wasn’t in the road, so she’d either knocked it off the road, or it had lived long enough to get out of traffic.  He glanced around, the darkness making it difficult to see. 
Work
smarter, not harder, Merle,
he thought to himself, climbing in the cab of his truck.  He drove up the road a short way and then turned around to drive back down the road, spotting a trail of blood about thirty feet adjacent to where her car had been.  Merle got out of the truck and followed the tracks down the steep slope of the ditch and into the trees about five yards before he found the deer, unconscious, but alive.  It wouldn’t survive the night, he knew.  If it didn’t die naturally, the wolves would take after it.  He grabbed his knife from his truck.  He’d have preferred to shoot the thing; safer and quicker, but he didn’t have a gun on him, so he came around behind it, slitting its throat cleanly in one deft motion.  He waited while it bled in the trees before he hauled it up the ditch to his truck.  He would rather clean it at home, where he could take his time and dispose of the waste properly.  It took some effort, but eventually he managed to load the carcass into the bed of the truck.

             
The cab of his truck was warm compared to the bitter wind of the open road.  Merle had taken a chill while he searched for the deer.   His pants were wet from hooking the tow cables up to the woman’s car, and his legs ached, his pant legs frosted over ever so slightly, making them stiff.  He was getting too old for this.  Traipsing about at all hours of the night, helping strange women on the side of the road at his age was ridiculous.  It was a young man’s job.  He shook his head at himself.  He should retire and move back to Virginia.  He’d left this town the day he turned eighteen, and he never planned on returning.  He only came back because Martha insisted.  They’d gone to college together, not even friends, but united in their insecurity.  They both grew up in this small northern town, and Virginia was alien to them.  Before long, they fell so deeply in love that it consumed them. 

They married, had two beautiful children, and then, after the kids were grown and he was nearly ready to retire, Martha was diagnosed with cancer. She wanted to come home, where she was raised, to die in peace.  She wanted to be buried in Holy Mary Catholic cemetery and to spend what was left of her life visiting old haunts and sitting on the porch looking out at the laurel trees.  Merle couldn’t deny her.  She’d followed him across the country and back, supporting him when he started his first construction company, and then again when he started his second.  She had been more than just his wife, and the mother of his children.  She’d acted as his secretary when he couldn’t afford to pay one, his friend when he needed someone to talk to, his confidant when he thought he was a failure, and his strength when he was weak. He moved without complaint, because it was the first thing Martha had ever really asked of him, and he knew it would probably be the last. He couldn’t deny her when she’d devoted her entire life to helping him achieve his goals and aspirations.

He didn’t want to be back in this small town with all the memories of his childhood.  His father’s drinking and wasting all the money.  His mother, desperate to provide for them, did whatever she could to put food on the table.  She worked at the grocery store, sold clothes at the JC Penny’s, and even walked the streets begging when she couldn’t make due.  Merle had been mortified, not that his family was poor, but that his family was poor
because
his father was such a dead beat.  His beautiful mother, aged much more than her years, died a year after he left.  His sister, also away at college, never came back, not even for the funeral, and Merle, though he returned to see his mother laid to rest, would never have come back again without Martha’s request.

It wasn’t long after they came back that he realized that he couldn’t just sit at home and watch Martha die.  He started his third construction company to keep him busy a couple days a week when it was too difficult for him to see Martha suffer.  The company had his name and his money, but he had a local man run it, only stopping in here and there for a short breather.  He couldn’t bear to watch Martha waste away, but knowing she was suffering alone while he was at work was hard for him too, and he’d find himself going home two hours after leaving just to be near her.  Sometimes he’d drive back and forth from the office to the house, struggling with his desire to be with her and the pain he suffered from watching her fade away.  She’d refused chemo; she refused any life-saving measures.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to live, but the cancer was far too advanced.  The most any of the doctors could give her were months.  She didn’t think it was worth it. 

In the last weeks of her life, Merle believed it would have been worth it, but she told him he was being selfish.  That keeping her alive in such misery and pain was cruel.  It wasn’t for her or the children, but for him.  Merle couldn’t deny her accusations, and as she turned comatose, he spent every moment at her bedside, holding her frail, diminished hand.  He read to her.  She’d always meant to read the bible, so he started there.  He read page after page until his throat was raw and sore and his eyes refused to focus any longer.  He slept with his head resting on her pillow, and when he woke he started reading again.  He finished the bible, more of a believer than he had ever been.  He called the priest, who had offered to speak with Merle several times, even after Merle rudely dismissed the man from his home. 

He read her
Little Women
, another book she had always planned on reading.  When Beth died in the book, he wept, holding his wife close against his chest.  He knew that their love rivaled that of Jane and Mr. Rochester in
Jane Eyre
, and that he was Mr. Darcy and she was Elizabeth Bennett from
Pride and Prejudice
.  He read her love stories, and true-life stories.  Anything he thought she might enjoy or appreciate.  

In his heart he believed she knew he was there, and he wouldn’t leave her side.  The kids and grandkids came to say their goodbyes when it was clear her time was near.  He found strength in supporting them as they cried for her loss: in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in his grief.  The funeral was beautiful.  The sun shone brightly upon her grave, covered with roses, her favorite flower.  The music had been touching and the kind words that their dear friends uttered were full of praise to her wonderful character.  This year would mark the second holiday season without her.  The kids were after him to come to Virginia for the holidays, convinced that he needed a change of scene, but he wasn’t quite ready.  He didn’t want to ruin their holidays because he was still grieving.  No, he’d rather be alone, remembering Martha.

Merle stopped in the driveway of the dark house.  He could see the silhouette of Sherlock, his German shepherd, through the window.  His daughter brought Sherlock to the house on the one-year anniversary of Martha’s death.  She insisted he keep him for a week, despite his objections.  Of course he couldn’t get rid of the puppy that helped him through one of the worst weeks of his life.  He was a smart pup, and Merle had trained him to control himself at construction sites, but he’d left him home today.  Merle climbed from the truck and opened his front door.  Sherlock bolted from the house to relieve himself.  Merle went inside, turning on the kitchen light as he searched for his butchering kit.  He pressed a button, turning on the gas fireplace.  The flames flickered eerily as he opened cupboards. 

Merle thought about the woman.  What was her name? Amanda? No, it was something simple.  Anne?  Yes, her name had been Anne.  Martha was always so prim and proper.  Anne had seemed almost vulgar in her appearance.  She was overweight.  Not grossly, but enough that he noticed.  She held the weight well, though.  It didn’t slow her down, or detract from her person, and her face was lovely.  It was rounded, and he discerned few wrinkles in the dim light. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips were a luscious red.  She was quite disarrayed, but after talking to her, he thought it was more the accident than a general state of being.  She had a pleasant voice, he thought off-handedly as he prepared to slaughter the deer.