Necessary Lies Read online

  “Help!” I called. “We need help!”

  I had to slow down or risk tripping over vines and tree roots. Suddenly something leaped at me from the woods on my right and I screamed, startled. A dog! Big and yellow and friendly. The family had to be nearby. “Hello!” I shouted. “We need help!” The dog headed down the path ahead of me like a guide.

  I broke out of the trees and saw the shack in front of me, but the structure barely registered in my mind. Instead, my eyes landed on the man sitting in the doorway, his shotgun aimed in my direction.

  I stopped running, raising my hands over my head. “Don’t shoot me!” I said.

  “What you want?” he asked.

  “I’m a caseworker from the Department of Public Welfare,” I said. “There are two of us and my friend fell on your bridge. Her leg is broken. I need help getting her to our car so I can drive her to the hospital. Can someone help me?”

  “We don’t need no social work,” he said. I wished he’d lower the gun. My hands were still in the air and I pictured the whole scene in an instant. Charlotte would die on the bridge. I would die from a gunshot wound. No one would ever find us. Robert would never know what happened to me.

  “Please,” I said. “Right now the important thing is to help my friend. I can’t carry her back to the car alone.”

  A woman appeared at the man’s side, and I felt as though I were looking at one of those old Depression-era photos of deep, inescapable poverty. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore a faded gray dress covered by a torn apron. She carried a baby in her arms, and two little children held on to her skirt.

  “My man cain’t help you,” she said. “Got a broke back hisself.”

  “Maybe you, then?” I pleaded.

  The man lowered the gun to his lap. “Git the sled,” he said to his wife. “Tie the little ones.”

  I lowered my arms and watched as she handed him the baby, then tied a rope around the waist of each of her screaming children and handed him the end of it. I was more amazed than appalled by her inventiveness. She walked around the back of the house and returned a moment later carrying an old sled, the type kids would use, one of its slats missing.

  “Where’s she at?” she said, walking toward me with the sled.

  “On the little bridge,” I said. “Thank you so much. I’m very worried about her.”

  “Ain’t no choice, far as I can see,” she said.

  We walked in silence through the woods, and I remembered why Charlotte and I were there. “We can get you some money to help feed your children,” I said. “Get them some clothing. Maybe other things you need.”

  “Don’t need no charity.”

  I glanced at her. Her thin face was set in a determined scowl. Think of your children, I wanted to say, but decided I couldn’t afford to alienate her right now. The first order of business was to get help for Charlotte. We could worry about the family later.

  We reached the bridge where Charlotte lay still and pale.

  “That leg’s busted bad,” the woman said, and she had the good sense to whisper it. “Never be the same. Like my man’s broke back.”

  I knelt next to Charlotte. “Charlotte?” I said. “Can you hear me?”

  She groaned, two frown lines between her eyebrows. I was glad to see her respond even if she was in agony. “We’re going to lift you onto a sled and take you back to the car and then I’ll drive you to the hospital. You’re going to be fine,” I added, though I worried I was lying. I feared the woman was right when she said Charlotte’s leg would never be the same.

  Together, the woman and I lifted Charlotte onto the sled, the bridge creaking and moaning beneath us as we worked. The sled was much too short, and Charlotte’s legs hung from the end. One of us would have to pull the sled, while the other bent over and held her legs to keep them from dragging on the ground.

  “I’ll pull,” the woman said.

  It was slow going up the wooded path, and my back ached from trying to keep Charlotte’s legs from falling. I was overjoyed to see her car come into view. Together, the woman and I managed to get Charlotte into the backseat. She’d stopped moaning by then, and when I got a good look at her on the backseat, I realized she was only partially conscious. Was this shock? People died of shock. I knew that.

  “Do you know where the nearest hospital is?” I asked the woman, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my hand.

  She shook her head. “Never been to no hospital,” she said.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I said. “I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

  She looked in the back window of Charlotte’s car. “She ain’t never gonna be the same,” she said again, and she turned to go back to her family.

  12

  Ivy

  I felt right nervous walking down the lane near midnight. There was enough of a moon that I could put out my lantern, but I still felt like somebody could see me walking past the dark tobacco fields in my nightgown, nothing else on but my shoes. I hurried, trying to shake off the feeling I wasn’t alone.

  I didn’t know why some of the barns was called what they was. The south barn—the one that was curing the tobacco right now and where Henry Allen had to check the burners—wasn’t the most southern barn. And the empty green barn where we was going to meet wasn’t green. The Christmas barn was the only one that made sense, since it was built around Christmastime long ago. None of them had any paint on them at all. But everybody knew which barn was which. We grew up knowing.

  To my right stretched rows and rows of glittery tobacco and I thought of Mama’s fairies again. Nights like this, I could believe they was truly out there and I just hoped they was good and not evil. I walked faster and was glad when I could see the barns and knew I was almost there. Once I was past the south barn a ways, I could see a light peeking out under the door of the green barn. He was there already. I started to run, my lantern banging against my leg.

  Henry Allen must of heard me, because he opened the door when I got close, grabbed my hand, and pulled me inside real quick so nobody would see the light. He kissed me, his hands on my sides where I liked them, close enough to my breasts that it felt real good but not so close that we was rushing.

  “Did you check the burners yet?” I asked, when we stopped kissing. I hoped he had so we could take our time. I liked when we could talk after.

  “Have to check them after you go,” he said. “We ain’t got much time. Daddy’s still up and he’ll come looking if I don’t get in soon.” He looked in the direction of the farmhouse like he could see through the walls of the barn. “Sorry to make you come all the way out here. Ain’t even got a book to show you.”

  “Hush up.” I started kissing him again. If we didn’t have much time, I wasn’t wasting it talking.

  * * *

  I smelled smoke. Henry Allen was inside me, moving fast and wild, and I had to pull his body tight against me to get him to stop. “Henry Allen!” I shook him, but he didn’t hear me. He couldn’t hear nothing when he got like that.

  I pushed against his shoulders. “Henry Allen!” I nearly shouted, and this time he stopped.

  “What?” He could hardly get his breath.

  “Do you smell that?”

  He raised his head and sniffed the air, but by that time I was rolling him off me. Something was on fire.

  “Damn!” Henry Allen jumped up. “Get dressed!”

  I got up quick and found my nightgown where I’d tossed it on the floor. I could hear voices outside.

  “Henry Allen!” his mama was calling, and her voice was loud and scared. “Henry Allen!” She was practically screaming it, and I put my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming myself. Something terrible was going on.

  Once Henry Allen got his clothes on, he ran out of the barn with his flashlight, leaving me in the black darkness. I didn’t dare go out there, not where Mrs. Gardiner could see me. I wondered if I could sneak out the other door of the barn, but I was af
raid to move.

  “I’m here, Mama!” Henry Allen shouted.

  I peeked outside the door and could see the south barn up in flames. It had to be burning a while to look like that, and gold embers floated like fireflies in the air. Mr. Gardiner was out there now. I could see him clear as day with the light from the fire. He shouted and waved his arms, and I saw him smack Henry Allen across the face, yelling something about the burners. He looked toward the green barn and I ducked back inside, scared he might of seen me. I stood inside the door, shaking, wondering what I should do. If I left, they’d see me and know what me and Henry Allen’d been up to. But it would only take one of them gold embers to land on the roof of the green barn to set it ablaze, too.

  Through the crackling sound of the fire, I heard a siren and pictured the volunteer fire truck heading up Deaf Mule Road, turning onto the lane that ran through the fields. Louder and louder the siren got until it sounded like it was inside the barn with me, and I pressed my hands over my ears. Then I heard so much shouting, I couldn’t make out one word from another. Could I just sneak out of the barn while everybody was paying attention to the fire? I cracked open the door and was suddenly knocked clear across the floor, like a boulder hit me. They was spraying the green barn! The water pounded against the door and made the whole building shake, and the sound was loud enough I couldn’t hear myself hollering for them to stop and let me out. Water trickled in the roof and the walls, enough that my hair was soaked in no more than a minute. I tried to move away from the water coming down, but it was too dark to see any place that was dry. I ran to the other side of the barn to try that door, but it was locked from outside. I pounded against it.

  “Let me out!” I screamed. “Help!” I knew nobody could hear me over the sound of the water and the fire and the yelling, and I sat down, curled up in a ball against the wall of the barn, my hands over my head, waiting for it to be over.

  The water stopped as quick as it started and then I could hear the shouting again and I figured the firemen was moving on to another barn or maybe even the house. I was soaked, my nightgown stuck like tarpaper to my body as I walked toward the barn door. It opened before I got to it and two flashlights shined in my face so bright I had to cover my eyes.

  “Ivy!” Henry Allen said.

  “You little tramp!” his mama shouted. “Tramp!” She came into the barn and grabbed my arm, yanking me around like I was a flyswatter and she was trying to kill a fly.

  “Leave her alone, Mama!” Henry Allen yelled, but his mama just pulled me out of the barn so hard I tripped over my feet and would of fallen if she didn’t have such a tight hold on me.

  “Go home!” Mrs. Gardiner shouted, letting go of my arm. Then she started hitting me and I turned and ran. “Go home, you terrible girl!” she shouted after me.

  I ran as fast as I could past the smoldering south barn, my shoes slapping the mud left by the fire hoses. I forgot my lantern in the barn, so I ran through the darkness past the fields and the fairies and then through the woods and the pasture. I let myself into the house as quiet as I could, trying to settle down my breathing, because it was loud enough to wake the dead by then.

  Nonnie was asleep on the couch. Mary Ella and Baby William was still asleep, too. I was lucky they didn’t get woke up by the sirens. My nightgown was stuck to my body and I worried it had turned invisible, it was so thin and wet, and Mrs. Gardiner would of seen everything. I wanted to die, thinking about it. I peeled the nightgown off and put on the only other one I had—my winter nightgown that would of been way too hot if I hadn’t been wet and shaking. I climbed into bed next to Baby William, and then I started to cry. I kept it quiet, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know what would happen now that Henry Allen’s mama and daddy knew about us. Did tonight spell the end of me and him?

  If Mrs. Gardiner told Nonnie … I closed my eyes. I couldn’t even think about it. For all I knew, tonight could spell the end of my life.

  13

  Jane

  I was as tired as I’d ever been as I drove to Grace County the day after Charlotte’s terrible accident. I’d spent all afternoon and evening in the hospital waiting room with her niece, a nervous girl about my age, as we waited to hear the outcome of surgery on Charlotte’s shattered leg. She’d fractured her tibia and would be in the hospital at least a week and then at home for several more. The one thing she would not be, for the next month at least, was my supervisor.

  Over supper last night, Robert went very quiet when I told him what happened. I didn’t mention the man with the shotgun, or at least I didn’t mention the shotgun. Nor did I tell him about the woman tying her children to her husband. It just seemed like more than he needed to hear. The rickety bridge was quite enough.

  “Jane,” he said gently, once I’d finished telling him about Charlotte’s surgery. “This is the kind of thing I’ve been worried about. Please, darling,” he pleaded. “Please quit this job. I hate it for you. I hate that you’re traipsing around God only knows where. What if you’d been going to see that family alone and you broke your leg? You’d still be lying there. I can’t stand to think about it.”

  That very thought had kept me awake half the night. “If I ever feel like I’m in a dangerous situation, I’ll turn around,” I promised. “If I come to a bridge like that one, for instance, I won’t cross it. Don’t worry. I’ll use my head.”

  He set down his fork. “I just don’t understand, Jane,” he said. “Why are you so driven to do this?”

  “It’s the way I was brought up,” I said with a shrug. “You’re supposed to help people, even if it’s hard to do. Especially if it’s hard to do.”

  “You’re not part of that family anymore,” he said.

  I bristled. “I’ll always be part of that family.”

  He touched his napkin to his lips, set it on the table and stood up. “You know, Janie,” he said, “it’s not just you in this marriage. Think about that, okay?”

  We didn’t talk again all evening. He went to bed early, and I called my mother, suddenly missing her. I wanted to tell her everything that was going on—the horror of Charlotte’s accident, the disagreement with Robert. But she said she’d been going through old photograph albums, and I could hear her sadness. There was no way I could burden her with my own problems.

  I stayed up late reading more of Charlotte’s books, Robert’s words playing over and over in my mind. Was I being selfish? Maybe. But quitting now was unthinkable to me. Even if I wanted to quit, the department needed me more than ever with Charlotte gone.

  * * *

  Fred Price was waiting for me when I arrived at the office. He actually opened the main door for me as though he’d been watching for my car from the window. His face was grim. “How are you holding up?” he asked, walking with me to my office.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just worried about Charlotte.”

  He pointed to the two briefcases I was carrying, one in each hand. “I was hoping you had Charlotte’s,” he said as we reached my office. “I was able to talk with her this morning.”

  “Oh!” I set the briefcases down on Charlotte’s desk. “She was awake? How is she doing?”

  “Tremendous amount of pain, so she was quite groggy from medication. I’m sorry your orientation was cut short, but she said you’ll be fine. She said you need to toughen up, but that will come with time.”

  I wanted to ask him if I could spend another week in the field with Gayle or Paula. I didn’t feel at all ready to be on my own, but I also didn’t want to seem that weak. “At the hospital yesterday, they told me she’d be out at least a month,” I said.

  He nodded, running a hand over his balding head. “So much for my retirement,” he said with a reluctant smile. “I’m going to divide the bulk of her caseload between Gayle and Paula, and I’ll take a few cases myself. Charlotte suggested that you focus on the cases you’ve already dealt with for now.” He pulled a piece of notepaper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it and handed it to m
e. “These folks,” he said.

  I looked down to see “Jordan, Hart,” and a few other familiar names written on the paper. “Okay.” I nodded.

  “She said you could try to see Mr. Gardiner Monday. Do you know who that is?”

  “He owns the farm where the Jordans and Harts live,” I said.

  “She said you could get information about those two families from him and see if he has any concerns about them. She also suggested you start working on the sterilization petition for one of your clients. Ivy Hart?”

  “I’m really not sure how to do that yet,” I said.

  “Speak to Paula,” he said. “She’s our resident expert when it comes to the Eugenics Board.”

  Ah, so Paula was the one. I’d guessed wrong.

  “Sorry you’re getting thrown to the wolves so soon,” he said, his hand on my doorknob. “I suggest you just stay in the office today. Familiarize yourself with the cases. Speak to the public health nurse. Then Monday you can head back to the field. Good plan?”

  I nodded, honestly relieved that I didn’t have to go out today. Charlotte and that bridge were still too fresh in my mind. “Good plan,” I agreed. I flashed him a confident smile that I managed to keep on my face until I saw him disappear down the hall. Then I shut my door and stood with my back against it. Oh my God, I thought. I looked at Charlotte’s briefcase, then at the file cabinet next to her desk. I’d seen inside that file cabinet a few times. It was bursting with manila folders. I was glad I didn’t have to tackle her whole caseload. Yet.

  Sitting down at my desk, I pulled out the thick folder on the Hart family. Leafing through it, I came to the notarized permission form signed by Winona Hart, and was stunned to see the X where her signature should be. She was illiterate. Did she understand what she was signing? I remembered the conversation between her and Charlotte, though, where she pleaded with Charlotte to hurry up and get Ivy sterilized. She knew. She knew exactly what she was signing.