31

It had been a painfully emotional evening for Carlie. She had revealed secrets to Jon that she had not spoken about for two decades. In many ways, she was begging for Jon’s acceptance and forgiveness for what she believed to be the unforgivable. More importantly, by bringing her sins into the light of day, she was finally seeking forgiveness for what had happened—both for her and for the baby she never knew.

Carlie had lived with the ingrained belief that God had taken her baby away as punishment for what she and Julie’s stepfather had done.

Jon knew better, though. He believed that if there were a God, it was not a vengeful creature. God would never take an innocent life as retribution for a simple transgression.

Moreover, he couldn’t fathom how anyone, even God, would consider what had happened to Carlie a transgression.

As he held her, he knew that nothing he could say would provide her soul with the peace and serenity that finding forgiveness within herself would.

That night, as Jon lay staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but wonder if Carlie had actually fallen down the stairs as she remembered—or if she had been pushed. It was not a question he wanted to ponder; however, it was not a possibility he was ready to completely dismiss either.

The question of the morality of having a child out of wedlock, or even the legalities of having sex with a minor, never once entered his mind. For hours, he replayed the conversation he and Loretta had had at the café. There was one common factor that he couldn’t manage to dispute, no matter how hard he tried. Loretta’s grandfather had been right—everything in this house seemed to revolve around the children. He remembered how adamant he had been about him and Carlie not having children. Loretta must have thought he was a naïve idiot to carry on like that.

Carlie’s dreams involved her reliving the horrific abuses one child had suffered at the hands of his parents and siblings. This was an indisputable fact. It was beyond him how this child’s life had any bearing on the violence that seemed to be increasing in intensity and regularity, and why the visions of the young woman were coming more frequently and with such clarity.

Loretta was bound to tell him who this girl was; after all, she had given him the picture of her.

As the sun began to break the horizon, the last image that ran through Jon’s mind before he fell asleep was of the young woman holding the infant in her arms. Could these two possibly be the us?

Carlie spent most of the next day reading Edith’s journals. Edith’s cavalier attitude toward the physical and psychological abuse of her own child absolutely appalled her. Edith had made notes in her journals describing, in part, many of the same experiences that Carlie had relived in their entirety during her nightmares. But it was beyond her how this woman could dismiss everything that had happened to her child as being either justifiable punishment by her husband or—how had she put it?—“a little overzealous but simply mischievous play by her other sons.”

How the fuck could anyone—especially a mother—consider the barbaric and unconscionable beating of her own child justifiable or even overzealous? Carlie was positively livid when Loretta arrived that afternoon.

Stepping out of her car, Loretta stopped for a second and focused her attention on the farthest corner of the property. There was no movement in the garden, so she reached in across the car and retrieved a large brown paper bag from the passenger seat.

Loretta scanned the property for Carlie. It took a moment before she could make her out sitting in the shadows on the front porch. When Carlie looked up from what she was doing, she waved at Loretta. Loretta waved back and headed across the driveway to meet her.

When Loretta reached the top of the steps, Carlie stood and opened the screen door. She allowed Loretta to go in first and then followed her into the living room.

Tossing the journal on the couch, Carlie stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. Looking at her friend, she said, “I can’t believe that woman. She pisses me off to no end.”

Loretta didn’t seem to be following Carlie’s one-sided conversation. With a quizzical look, she asked, “Who pisses you off, sweetie?”

“Edith—Edith McPherson pisses me off—like no one ever has before.”

Smiling, Loretta took Carlie’s arm and ushered her toward the kitchen. “Come on, cutie, you tell me all about it while I put these sandwiches together.”

Carlie pulled out a chair at the table and sat down while Loretta busied herself at the stove.

“Do you remember my telling you about the dream I had about Edith’s youngest son being beat almost to death by her eldest son, Patrick?”

Loretta stopped for a second and thought back to a couple days earlier at the café. “Of course I do. Poor little guy. I can’t believe his mama let that happen to him.”

“Well, I woke up; I don’t know what happened to the boy after that. The last thing I remember was Edith telling me/him to not fall asleep and that she would be back with some food and check in on him. Evidently, that never happened. In her journal, she wrote that Andrew had been badly hurt; however, she went into no detail as to what had happened to him. I don’t know for sure that she knew any more than it had been Patrick who had done the beating.

“She wrote that the incident had started at breakfast. Ian, Patrick, and Patrick’s wife, Becky, were at the table talking when Patrick jumped up and left the room. A few minutes later, Patrick dragged Andrew through the kitchen and out the back door.

Only known photo of Patrick McPherson.

“About ten minutes later, Patrick returned without Andrew. When Edith tried to find out what had happened to the boy, Ian told her to shut up and cook breakfast, and that it was none of her concern.

“When Andrew didn’t come back in an hour, she went looking for him. That’s when she found him sitting in the mud by the barn. She did tend to him exactly as I remembered, but that’s when she actually forgot about him. She completely forgot to feed him, and she left him lying in the freezing barn.

“Can you fucking believe that?”

Loretta just stared at Carlie, disbelief and disgust turning her face into a mask of contempt. Unable to find any words, Loretta simply shook her head.

“It was well after Ian and the other boys had gone to town the next morning that she remembered Andrew was still out in the barn. She never once mentioned that she was worried about him. She left him in the barn with a concussion, dehydration, and freezing temperatures for the greater part of one day and an entire night.

“She managed to get the boy back into his own room, build a fire in the stove, and bring his body temperature back up.

“You have to admit, Loretta—that was one tough little boy. After reading Edith’s accounts and reliving this kid’s life in my dreams, I can’t find a single reason why he would have wanted to survive. Personally, I would have lain down and died. I would have relished death; it would have been so much better than what I was living through.”

Loretta was so captivated by Carlie’s recounting of Andrew’s story— and Carlie in its telling—that neither of them heard Jon when he walked through the back door into the kitchen.

Having missed the crux of the conversation, Jon had no idea at all what would prompt Carlie to tell Loretta that she would relish the idea of dying. Curious and a little disturbed by what he had just heard, he set his briefcase on the counter loud enough to draw the women’s attention.

Carlie jerked her head up and after a moment gave Jon a radiant smile. “Hi, babe, I didn’t hear you come in. So, how was your day?”

“Good, good. How was yours? Did something happen that I should know about? Something that might make you welcome death?”

Both Loretta and Carlie sat silently looking at Jon as if he had two heads.

Loretta was the first to realize what had happened—what he had overheard. “Oh God, sweetie. Carlie was just telling me what happened to that poor little boy Andrew. She couldn’t understand why this kid had such a will to live. Anyone else—including Carlie and me—would have given up. That’s what you heard.”

Relieved, Jon broke down and started laughing at his foolishness. His laughing jag was actually relief that Carlie hadn’t gone into another fit of depression.

Edith’s journal portrayed an entirely different picture of the woman than the one Jon had mentally painted.

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