The Devil's Beating His Wife (18 page)

The priest walked from the kitchen and stepped out onto the small back porch. Ronnie's tension eased with each thump of the priest's feet as he walked down the stairs.

Lily brushed past Ronnie and opened the refrigerator door. She started grabbing food and placing it into her arms. "Ronnie, I'm going to get started on dinner. How about you take a nice, long bath. I'm sure you're tired from working outside all day. Perhaps after we're done eating, I can give you a back massage." Her pink lips curled seductively.

Ronnie's eyes were trained on the priest, watching as he climbed into his old car and drove away. Ronnie raised his hand and Lily flinched. Ronnie smiled a bit as his hand ran through his sweat-soaked hair. "You're right, baby. I need a nice, long bath. I used muscles that I ain't used in a long time."

"Do you need me to get the ointment?" Lily asked, relaxing. Her fingers began to unwrap the film around the pork chops. Then she grabbed a towel to wipe the sticky blood from her fingers. "I think the ointment is in the medicine cabinet."

"I can get it," said Ronnie as he turned away from her.

She turned her back to him and walked to the kitchen sink to grab a plate from the drying rack. Her body began to relax as she grabbed utensils and spices to prepare their dinner. Even I relaxed a bit, feeling the immediate threat fade away.

Baxter backed away from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he had moved to stand against the wall. I lifted my eyes in his direction and caught the quick shake of his head. His mouth opened as he roared, "No!"

I turned around in time to see Ronnie walk quickly across the floor, pull his arm back, and slam his fist into the back of Lily's head. She stumbled on her feet. Her face smashed against the cabinet in front of her.

She turned towards her husband, her hands covering her wounded mouth. Blood poured through her fingers. Fear darkened her eyes.

Ronnie grabbed a fistful of her hair and hurled her across the room. Lily slid across the wooden floor and slammed into the wall. Her already wounded head slammed against the floor paneling. Ronnie pointed down at his injured wife, his finger long and accusing. "You brought this on yourself."

In a blur of movement, Baxter began shoving the glass containers from the counters. Ronnie leapt in surprise. Baxter kicked the table in Ronnie's direction and the man stumbled away from the moving furniture.

Ronnie's eyes widened as he looked around the kitchen. His gaze narrowed on Lily, but she had crawled into a corner, her legs tucked under her. She was terrified, but not of the hidden forces that had broken and moved things.

The Adam's apple in Ronnie's throat bobbed as he swallowed. He stepped in Lily's direction and Baxter flipped the table. I could sense that Baxter felt empowered and in control. He moved towards Ronnie and raised his hands to wrap them around the man's neck. But they simply went through Ronnie's body. At least Ronnie shivered from the contact.

Ronnie glanced down at his wife once more before throwing his hands into the air. "I'm not going to waste any more time on you. Don't bring that fucking priest into this house again." He looked around the room again, and then left the kitchen to enter the small bathroom.

When the sound of running water filled the house, Lily uncurled herself and stood. She sobbed into the sleeve of her shirt, trying to keep her whimpering quiet.

The sound of creaking wood snapped her from her sorrow. Baxter and I turned, expecting to face Ronnie, but it wasn't him. It was the small child, Abby.

Mother and daughter shared a long look. Lily ducked her head as if to hide the blood and bruises on her face. The child clucked her tongue, a sound that seemed too grown up for someone that size. She grabbed a cloth from a drawer and ran it under water. After wringing it out in the sink, she turned and walked towards her mother. "Here. We should stop the bleeding."

Her mother stood frozen. Her eyes roamed over the child's small body. More tears gathered in her eyes and made their way down her cheeks. Her body began to shake as she sank down onto her knees. She leaned into her daughter, who wrapped her small arms around her mother.

As the mother took comfort in her daughter's safe arms, the child glanced over Lily's head and stared directly at Baxter. "Thank you," she mouthed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

October 30, 1970, Laurens County

As was my habit, I stood in the corner watching the interactions of the family. I liked to imagine that I was part of the scene. That I was a living, breathing person.

"Do you like my costume, Daddy?" asked Abby as she spun in a circle. She held out the edges of the white sheet, keeping the unhemmed edges off the ground.

Ronnie laughed as he ran his fingers through his daughter's blond hair. "Are you some kind of witch, baby girl?" he asked, a touch of humor in his voice.

"Ow!" the child yelped when her mother accidentally stuck a pin into her daughter's leg.

Lily removed the pins from her mouth and glared at her daughter. With a snap of her fingers, she stopped the girl's fidgeting. "If you would keep still long enough, I can finish pinning the hem." She ran her fingers along the edge of the dress. A spot on the white cloth was darkened by dust. Lily lifted the cloth and said, "See what you've done? You got it dirty. Take it off."

"But you said that I could try it on," the girl whined.

Lily swatted the girl's behind. The impact wasn't hard or harsh. It was just enough to quiet the young girl. "Off now, Abby."

The girl's head dropped to her chest as she stomped out of the living room and entered her bedroom. I followed behind the girl, removing myself from Ronnie's presence. Baxter remained, standing guard as usual.

"She never lets me have fun," the girl muttered.

I sat down on the bed and watched as Abby tossed the costume over her head and hurled it into the corner. "That's no way to treat your dress," I said.

The girl walked to the corner and grabbed the costume from the floor. She grasped the shoulders in her hands. "I don't see any dirt."

"It's all around the bottom where you let it drag," I said out loud. "Your mama was right in not letting you keep it on. It would be all black by the time Halloween rolled around. You're mama put a lot of effort into making that for you."

Abby's arms lowered. "I should have been a witch, after all. I could have worn all black, then I wouldn't have mama yelling at me for getting it dirty."

For the last few days, the woman had slaved over the gown. At first, I thought the mama had been making them white hooded sheets that the Klan wears around these parts, but then I noticed a pretty little gown take shape. "What is it supposed to be, anyway?"

Abby turned towards me with an exasperated look. "I'm going to be a ghost, silly."

That knocked the wind right out of me. "Why in the world would you want to be a ghost?"

"I want to be just like you and Baxter," she said, full of innocence.

I tried really hard to stifle my laugh, but it made its way out. "Lord, child, you don't want that."

"Why not?"

"Because we're dead. You don't want to be dead."

The child glanced towards her bedroom door. Her shoulders dropped. Sadness was clear on her face. "Sometimes I think it would be better if I were."

"What?" The words were spoken with such lack of hope that I wanted to cry for the girl. Instead, I stood up from the bed and knelt in front of her. My hand hovered near her face, wanting to touch her smooth skin. But we both knew that was not possible. It was never possible.

Since the moment she had thanked Baxter for saving her mother, the little girl had become our shadow. When Baxter and I lurked in the dark quiet areas of the small house, she would hunt us down. In her small, childish voice, she began asking us questions. At first, I was too scared to say anything. I would run away and hide in the attic. I didn't want to get to know this grandchild of Charles Vincent. Baxter would make noises, trying to shoo the girl away. But Abby was persistent. She continued to haunt us until we allowed ourselves to warm to her awareness of us.

Over the last few months, the girl and I had developed a friendship. Abby had a strange relationship with her mother, Lily. It was like she was the mother instead of the child. I think, with me, Abby felt a motherly bond. She confided in me. She sought me out when she needed comforting.

Lily didn't seem to mind or notice. She spent most of her time trying to keep the peace. She was mostly successful, but a few times Ronnie's mood had switched and the air became dark and heavy. Baxter had shuffled the furniture, making our presence known. Ronnie's eyes would dart around the room, trying to find the source. Knowing something was there, watching him, Ronnie's brutal fists had been kept in check.

But I didn't expect that to last long. Lately, Ronnie had begun to taunt us, begging us to strike him. When nothing did, he grew bolder. Baxter and I continued to toss things around, but it was losing its effect. Ronnie knew that our aim was fairly limited.

"Abby," her mother yelled, "get cleaned up. It's time for dinner."

"What are y'all having?" I asked the child.

"I think it's tacos. They're Daddy's favorite."

"You don't sound too happy about that, kiddo." I didn't bother to mention that I had no clue what a taco was.

"I was hoping it was pizza."

I knew about pizza. I never had one, but this family seemed to love it. They ate it at least once a week. "You keep eating that pizza and one day, you'll turn into one."

"I'd rather become a ghost," she whispered.

My hand grazed her hair, feeling nothing. "If you were a ghost, you would never have pizza or tacos again. You wouldn't need to eat, so that would mean no more cookies, no more pie, and certainly no more cakes. You wouldn't like that."

Abby raised a finger to her chin and tapped it. "On second thought, I don't want to be a ghost."

"I know, chil'."

"I like eating," she said primly.

I rubbed around her little belly, once again feeling nothing. "Don't I know it. Now go get cleaned up before you get your mama cussin'."

She smiled and tucked her chin down. She opened the bedroom door and took a quick step back. Realizing it was Baxter and not her father, the girl took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

Baxter threw his hands into the air. Then he dipped low into a bow. The child curtsied in response. Laughing at their silent play, Abby skipped away to the bathroom.

"Her daddy's beginning to notice," said Baxter as he stepped into the room.

My breath caught in my throat. "You mean us? He's noticing us?"

Baxter laughed and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "Lord, Spicey, he damn sure knows about us. I meant Abby talking to us. He was talking to Lily about overhearing Abby talking to herself. He thinks his kid is bonkers."

I curled my fingers, wanting to smash them into Ronnie's face. The only crazy person around here was him. Baxter noticed my anger. His big hands wrapped around my small fists. The devilish smile blossomed onto his face. "If only he knew. You'd give him the what-for, wouldn't you, darlin'?"

The bathroom door opened and Abby came skipping out. I tossed my head back, walked around the spiteful devil, and followed the child into the kitchen. Neither the mother nor father knew it, but Baxter and I had been welcoming ourselves to their dinner table for months.

We took our seats at the table. Baxter usually sat with his chin in his hand as he watched the family eat. He would groan occasionally and talk about how he missed steak and collard greens. I usually sat there quietly, listening to the family conversation.

Sometimes, I would voice my opinion on a subject, but only Baxter and Abby knew it. Abby would smile and laugh, causing her mother to share a worried glance with her husband. On a few occasions when Baxter wasn't busy envying them, he would throw out a comment or two.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to need you to start dinner, honey," Lily began. "I'll leave the pot roast in the fridge. All you have to do is place it into the oven and set it to 325."

Ronnie held a crispy yellow thing. He spooned beef and cheese into it, and then grabbed another yellow thing and repeated the process.

Baxter leaned forward and stared at Ronnie's plate. "That's a taco." His voice was loud and clear to me while Lily and Ronnie talked about cooking a pot roast.

"You know about tacos?" I asked him.

Baxter laughed and grinned. "Man, I'd kill for one of those." His eyes locked on Ronnie's movements as Ronnie turned his head and took a big bite of the food.

"Would you kill Ronnie for it?"

Baxter sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I sure would. Hell, I'd kill him for a glass of water."

"You value his life so little, huh."

Baxter shrugged his massive shoulders. "Don't you? I mean he is Charlie's son. That particular apple didn't fall far from the tree."

"He really does favor his daddy, don't he?" I said. "Got the same meanness about him. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Charles raised a wife beater."

"I hated his daddy," Baxter said.

"Did you? And here I thought he was one of your friends." Being dead had its benefits. You didn't need to worry about being polite. I leaned on the table, placing my elbows onto the surface. "What's it like?" I asked.

"Killing a man?"

"No, eating a taco."

"Oh."

That startled a laugh out of me. He actually seemed more excited about the killing of a man than the eating of his beloved taco. "Did you keep a count?"

"Why would I keep count of the number of tacos I've eaten. That seems mighty strange. I've kept track of the number of women I've sl—" His eyes darted towards Abby's watchful stare. "Shared my dinner with."

"I'm not talking about the tacos, Baxter. Do try to keep up. I want to know how many men you killed," I said.