Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(73)

Certain it had been one of the twins who’d let Sissy out, Martha grumbled that Darlene should have been the one to go in search of the cat. She knew it was an unrealistic expectation. Darlene would have given a single call, then come back and said Sissy was gone.

Martha seldom left the house at night. Her bones ached in the damp chill, and darkness was her enemy. With just one good eye, she couldn’t see well and had to poke at the ground to feel where she was stepping. Last year when Louise Green went out to drop a bag of trash in the garbage can, she’d stepped in a gopher hole and spent three months hobbling around with a cast on her leg. Martha thought of that when she moved into the backyard.

Edging her way toward the far end where the tool shed stood, she heard voices. They were low and barely distinguishable. She stopped and listened. The first voice was unfamiliar; a man telling of a rainstorm and a woman hit by a car. At first Martha could catch just a few words here and there, but the sorrow of his voice drew her in. She inched her way closer to the tall hedge that separated one yard from another.

“It’s because of Isaac,” the voice said. “How can a boy grow up happy when he knows his mama’s killer’s walking around free?”

Free? Martha thought. At least Tommy’s killer went to jail. She continued to listen, inching closer and closer until she was standing in the thicket of the hedge.

The next speaker was Paul; Martha recognized his voice right away. It was strong and sharp, still carrying that twang of West Virginia.

“All this hatred,” he said. “It’s so wrong. How can it be fair that some men are born black and some white?”

Sidney spoke, and his was a voice almost as familiar as Martha’s own. “It’s not just black and white,” he said. “Look what happened to Ezra.”

Someone mumbled an answer Martha couldn’t hear, so she pushed back the branch blocking her way and edged further into the brush.

“Folks start to fear somebody or something, then it grows into hate. I know it’s hard to believe now, but Carmella was that way with Paul.” Sidney gave a weary sigh and continued. “She’s one of the kindest women on earth, but when she thought Paul was responsible for the shooting she hated him with a vengeance. She did everything possible to see he was punished and never once stopped to consider whether or not it was fair.”

“Hard to believe that of Miz Carmella,” the stranger said.

Martha stood there listening until a squirrel leapt from an overhanging branch and landed on her shoulder. She let out a piercing shriek and fell forward into the thicket of the hedge.

All three men jumped up and came to investigate. Martha’s cane lay under her chest, and she couldn’t get to it.

“Martha?” Sid said, then bent to see if she was okay. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “Just can’t get up.”

With Paul on one side and Sidney on the other, they lifted her from the brush and set her back on her feet. Benjamin picked up the cane and handed it to her.

“What were you doing in there?” Sid asked.

“Sissy got out. I’ve been trying to find her.”

“She an orange-y looking cat?” Benjamin asked.

Martha nodded.

“I seen her going up the tree.” He pointed to the oak in the Klaussners’ backyard.

Benjamin and Paul started toward the tree and, hanging onto Sid’s arm, Martha hobbled along behind.

Sure enough, the cat was up there, two limbs down from the top.

“Sissy baby, come to Mama,” Martha called, but the cat didn’t budge. She repeated it several times, promising treats, holding up her arms and wiggling her fingers. The cat huddled close to the tree trunk and mewed.

“She’s scared to jump,” Benjamin said. “I can fetch her if you want.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Martha pleaded.

There were few things in life Martha valued as much as she did Sissy. In the long and lonely evenings, the cat came and sat next to her on the sofa. Stroking her fur and listening to her low purr as it rumbled through the small body reminded Martha she was still alive. In time she had begun conversing with the cat in much the same way she’d spoken to Big Tom.

“Let’s watch the Ed Sullivan Show tonight,” she’d say as if she were talking with her dead husband. The truth was Martha found Sissy a lot more loyal than Darlene and definitely easier to like.

Benjamin was used to climbing trees; he’d trimmed half the oaks in Bakerstown. He was up and down in almost no time, and when he handed Martha the cat she looked up into his face and smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, and a touch of sincerity floated up through the words.

Afterward, Sid helped Martha back to her front door. Halfway through the door, she stopped and turned back. For a moment it seemed as though she was about to say something, but the moment passed and she stepped inside with nothing more than a good night nod.

Darlene was still sitting at the desk. Hearing Martha’s footsteps, she turned and triumphantly leaned back in the chair.

“Well, Mama,” she said, “it’s done! I got six lawyers willing to work for us. We’re gonna get that nigger out—”

“Shut up, Darlene,” Martha snapped.

“Mama! I thought you’d be happy—”

“I’d be a whole lot happier if you’d go home where you belong.” She set Sissy down on the floor and turned toward the staircase.