Tilla raised her head from her pillow, trying to gauge the timbre of the cry. Two of her children were crying: Eunice’s cry overpowered Bessie’s. They were not familiar cries to Tilla, ones indicating hunger or even some kind of agitation. The decibel levels ratcheted up; they were wailing.
“John, wake up,” she said while rocking him on his right shoulder.
John grumbled. “What is it?” He was annoyed after being awakened so early after just going to bed.
“The kids are crying.”
“They’ll settle down,” John offered, hoping to be able to quickly return to his peaceful repose.
John had always been a heavy sleeper, which Tilla didn’t necessarily mind even though it was she who got up in the middle of night to tend the children when they cried. She had something John didn’t: breasts to sate the nighttime hunger of her children. The children also preferred Tilla’s soft touch and words to settle them. John just didn’t have Tilla’s touch, her well-honed motherly skills, the right unction that a young child needed in the middle of the night.
The screaming continued and didn’t quite seem right to Tilla. The screams seemed laden with fright. Tilla wondered whether her children were too young to have nightmares. Normally she’d check on them, but she wanted John to carry the load that night.
Now that he was awake, John couldn’t ignore the screams any longer. Tilla demanded that John check on the children. John thought it was one more punishment being meted out for him coming home so late last night.
He scooted to the edge of their bed where he came to a momentary rest, hoping the cries would cease. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand, stood slowly, and toddled blindly to the closet door where he retrieved his housecoat from the hook on the inside of the closet door.
As he walked out of his bedroom and into the hall, he felt a tinge of cold air. As he neared his girls’ bedroom, cold air rushed over him. He turned on the light and saw Theo holding Eunice in bed, trying to comfort his younger sister. The bedroom window was shattered. He walked slowly toward the window, apprehensive with each step. A large rock sat about a foot from Eunice’s bed.
His heart sank as it began to beat with odd little jerks. His children could have been killed. He turned around and saw Tilla standing in the doorway, sobbing heavily.
He looked into her pained eyes for a few seconds, all the while resisting the urge to look away. Finally, he said, “Honey, I don’t know what happened.”
Tilla said nothing.
“Let’s take the kids to the living room,” John said.
John picked up Bessie and Tilla picked up Eunice. “Let’s go,” John said looking down at Theo as they headed to the living room.
“Stay right here, away from any windows,” John said to Tilla. “I’m going to see what I can find out.”
John put on gray woolen pants and a heavy shirt and black brogans. He retrieved his Winchester rifle from the closet and opened a dresser drawer where he grabbed a box of rifle cartridges. He spied the kerosene lantern by the door and ignited it with Lucifer matches.
He walked tentatively out of the back door; he was scared, but had a young family to protect. He walked around the perimeter of the house, noticing nothing except roving raccoons and stridulating insects. The moonlight lit the sky. Suddenly, he saw a shadowy figure in the distance near large elm trees. He held up the lantern to aid his vision. The figure didn’t move. He then saw another shadowy figure.
As one figure was turned sideways, John saw an extended belly; he thought perhaps he was looking at a pregnant woman but dismissed that notion. The body structure of the figure seemed too big to be a woman. The shadowy figures turned and faced John, who couldn’t see any facial features but felt the sting of their eyes. Suddenly, John shook as if he were under the influence of a galvanic shock. He figured they saw him because they had to see the kerosene lantern that shone like a beacon guiding a ship to shore. But John didn’t care. They had to know that he was going to protect his family and his property at any cost. He raised his rifle and pointed it at the shadowy figures; they didn’t move.
The two shadowy figures walked away as though they wanted to tell John that they had delivered their message. As John returned to his house, he thought about whether he had actually seen a pregnant woman, for if he did, she was a rather large woman. He didn’t know for sure but thought that it was White’s spill-over belly.
John boarded the window at sunrise, needing to stay busy. He had to buy time, so he could mull over what he’d tell Tilla.
Tilla had set her jaw and was quiet as she made breakfast. She wanted John to say something first. She wondered what John meant when he said he didn’t know what happened when he looked at her as she stood in the doorway sobbing. Her mind would not let it go. She then convinced herself that she sensed something was wrong last night, when John came home late, missing Christmas Eve with the children. She even sensed something was wrong when John was in bed with her. His touch just didn’t seem right to her. There was something about his visage; a story encased inside his eyes, but one she couldn’t quite discern.
The children had already eaten breakfast. Only one plate was on the cherry-wood kitchen table. John walked into the kitchen, looked down at his plate of grits, biscuits, and ham. Tilla watched him sit down; he pretended not to see her tall frame. He buried his head in his food, his face just a few inches from his plate. He ate two biscuits before feeling Tilla’s penetrating glare, which forced him to look up. He could take the silence no more.
He looked at her and thought about asking her to pour him some coffee. But he had to say something about what he knew. She was hurting too much. She was a part of the team, and he knew she felt left out, like the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing. Tilla was the right hand that stayed home to run the house, to feed John and the children, to clothe, clean, bathe, and nurture the children, and on it went. She had become the biddable wife: whatever John asked of her, she did with rare complaint.
“I think I know what happened last night,” John said, breaking the deafening silence. The large rock on the floor near Eunice’s bed entered his mind, and a vein in his temple twitched. He breathed deeply and readied himself to spill what he knew.
Tilla stood resting on the counter looking at John, refusing to offer him any refuge. He had to just say it. “Last night, I saw two people near the elm trees near our back yard. I think one of them may be the devil that through the rock through the window.”
The forlorn look remained on her face. Even her long curly lashes couldn’t conceal the pain in her eyes.
“Tilla,” he said softly, “sit down.” She sat reluctantly. He grabbed her right hand and caressed it. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He told her about White.