A Question of Mercy (31 page)

They returned to the judge's chambers, and when they came back Judge Horn dismissed the witness, and declared the trial ended. The courtroom bustled as people left, and Sam walked beside Jess toward the car, his arm around her waist; her father and Calder followed behind them. Clementine sat alone on the courthouse steps, and Jess peeled away from Sam to sit with her. They leaned forward, both of them, as though observing something down in a hole. The trio of men waited at a distance. When they stood up, Clementine walked in a different direction but Edward called out to her.

“We're going home now,” he said. “Clementine, if you want to come by the house for supper, you'll be welcome.” A slight wind brushed them as they walked and autumn leaves fluttered down like so many butterflies.

— 41 —

J
ess decided not to return to Mt. Chesnee School until January, so she spent fall semester at her old high school with her old friends. She never mentioned Sam Rafferty, so no one else did either; but he had written to her twice, both letters avoiding anything personal. He sounded deeply sad about who he was now. She answered him, writing to him as an old friend.

Clementine had moved back into the house, but at Thanksgiving said she did not want to prepare a big dinner, so they ate with the MacDougals next door. Nothing could make that first holiday right, but Clementine promised Christmas would be special.

In mid-December Jess went back to Lula, Alabama, for Will and Miss Tut's wedding. She stayed five days in her old room. The house was decorated lavishly, the way it had been for the July celebration, minus the fans. Ray and Shooter wanted to be around Jess every minute, and kept introducing her to their father. Rosemary had cut her hair and, though she seemed less concerned with her appearance, she looked prettier. Her need for planning, however, continued to thrive, and, in addition to all the Christmas decorations, pedestals were covered with white cloths topped with bowls of flowers. Swags of lilies draped the hallway. The house smelled like a funeral parlor.

Chairs were set up in the large front room, and, as Miss Tut walked down the aisle, the professor played the piano. Miss Tut wore a lavender dress, and had a wreath of purple flowers in her hair. Will wore his only dark suit. They said their vows before the Presbyterian minister, and Jess cried when they kissed.

Frank sat beside Jess on one side and Zella Davis sat on the other. Frank did not seem as interested in Jess as he had been a few months ago, but he was polite. The boys were ring bearers. They carried rings on small pillows and looked miserable doing it. Ray's ring fell off the pillow twice before he got to the altar. Each time it fell, Shooter mumbled under his breath.

Jess returned home from Lula refreshed and a little hopeful. Christmas day was quiet without Adam, but the house smelled of Clementine's cooking. That, itself, made the day bearable. But it would be New Year's Eve before Jess and Clementine sat alone together. They had not been comfortable around each other, but their lives had found a regular rhythm. Adam's absence still felt palpable, and though they could have a reasonable conversation, Edward was always nearby.

Tonight, even on New Year's Eve, Edward had gone to check out a problem at the downtown store. He promised to be home soon and to bring some noisemakers for celebrating.

“Will you be at home tonight, Jess, or are you going out?” Clementine smiled at Jess, but her smile looked sad. She moved to the couch and patted the cushion next to her, inviting Jess to sit down.

“I'm staying home.” Jess wondered what Clementine wanted to say. Her hands trembled and she tried to hold them still.

“I'm glad you'll be here with us.” Clementine paused. “I hoped Sam might be here for Christmas.” This was her way of asking a question. “He liked my cooking as much as Adam did.”

Jess thought of Sam, his sweet breath in her hair, his hand combing her body, those soft nights and mornings in his arms when she moved toward the sleepy smell of his face. “He won't be back,” she said simply. A shudder moved through her like a rolling egg.

Clementine leaned to touch her. “Oh Jess, this is so lonesome. For all of us. I just want you to know I care about you, and last summer when I accused you, I was so full of anger.” Her face had the look of apology, but her voice took on the rhythm of a wheel wobbling, ready to come off. “I was beside myself.”

“I want to say something …” Jess began. This was her chance to say it all.

“You don't need to say anything.” The tenderness of Clementine's words washed over her.

“But I
want
to tell you …” She did. She did want to. She had to tell her.

“No.” Clementine sounded firm. “No.” She continued, “You know, my life with Adam was hard for so many years, then we came here, and you made him happy, Jess. I saw that. Living in this house made him happy.” Light from the table lamp sprayed the room, hitting above and below the shade, but not doing anything to illuminate what was around them. “Listen,” Clementine was saying something important. “We all made mistakes. Adam was the only one who didn't make any mistakes.”

“I keep thinking I see him in the house or yard,” Jess said, turning toward the window. It was dark.

“I know. I know.” The two women suddenly leaned to hold each other—to embrace all that could not be said. They looked shy, like children at peace after an argument.

Jess sat, still in the loop of Clementine's words:
I know, I know
. The tension gripping her neck and shoulders softened. She felt almost forgiven, though forgiveness had not been mentioned. She knew that the memory of Adam, his bright face, would pour through her dreams for years, like rain to rinse her in old grief.

— 42 —

H
ap still wandered the house trying to find Adam. He looked in every room and made small whining noises; but whenever Jess remembered Adam, two images came to mind: his unkempt body as it had been found that day on the riverbank, and Adam alive, laughing too loud or walking somewhere with Hap.

Before going back to Mt. Chesnee School for winter semester, she went to the river. She had not been back there since that April day. She wore the necklace Adam had made for her in Cadwell. She had not worn it in a long time and the metal felt cold against her skin.

“Want me to come with you?” Edward asked.

“Not this time.” She walked alone through the woods to the place where Adam had entered the water. Today was January 3rd, and she could not imagine how the New Year would unfold. This winter day, though, was not cold, but nearly sixty-five degrees—much like April. A few jonquils had already begun to rise up out of the ground. Jess stood on the bank and threw in sticks, watching them float, go under, rise up, and move quickly into the river's current.

On the day she brought Adam here, he had walked into the water, getting his shoes wet, saying his goodbye to the river. When he came out, they sat on the riverbank. Adam looked sad.

“When you think about going away, Adam, what do you think about?” Jess asked him.

“Being dead,” he said pragmatically.

“And what is that to you?”

“Layin' down still and quiet-like. Can't talk. Can't run anymore.”

“Like being asleep?” she asked.

“Yeah. Like a dream.”

“A dream is good,” she told him.

“A good dream is good.”

“Can dying be a good dream, Adam?” She didn't know what he would say.

“It can be a good thing.”

Jess had been sitting very still, but when she heard his answer she stood and began to pace the river's edge. “I don't know.” She said to no one.

“I go to Cadwell on Wednesday,” Adam said. Then he asked, “When's Wednesday?”

“Tomorrow.”

Adam looked hard at the river, listening. Sometimes he thought the river talked to him in riffles and murmurs. He thought he knew the language of rivers. Sometimes he talked about the arm, or the mouth, or the foot of a river, believing it was a real person.

“I could go in the river and let it take me all the way to the ocean.”

“But maybe you don't want to,” Jess said.

Adam walked toward the river. “I tell them not to hurt my head.” He held his head in both hands as though it were hurting at that moment. “They do it anyway.”

Jess came close and put her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Adam.” She urged him into the edge of the water that lapped his soles. Water reached his pant legs.

“Adam.”

He stopped suddenly.

Her voice grew shaky. “You want to go floating down the river? Like a dream?” She saw no other way. Tears already streamed down her face.

Adam took off his jacket and threw it on the ground. Jess took off her sweater and laid it beside his jacket; then he began to unbutton his shirt.

“Leave your shirt on,” said Jess. “Even your shoes.”

Adam laughed.

“… and you can float away. It's as simple as that. You'll go all the way to the ocean. You'll swallow water like a fish.” She looked at him, the beginning of a smile on her face, but no light shone in her eyes.

Adam nodded, and he kept nodding. He didn't smile.

“You're pretty smart, aren't you?” Jess said. “You're smarter than anybody knows.”

“And I don't ever go to Cadwell,” he said.

“Not ever.”

“And you come
with
me?” he asked.

“No.”

He looked at her a long moment, his eyes knowing something for sure. “Will you stay here while I float?”

“Yes.”

“Don't go away until I'm gone.” He understood.

“Yes. I'll stay until you're gone.” Her tears could not stop.

“Don't you cry,” he told her.

“I won't.” She stepped toward him and held Adam tight for a long moment. “Well, maybe a little,” she said. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he ducked his head into her hair. She kissed him.

“When you come see the ocean sometime, you see me too,” he told her. He moved away from her, her hand slipping like a feather off his shoulder, not quite falling.

“I'll see you there, Adam. I'll see you everywhere.” She reached for him again but he had gone into the water. He was up to his waist.

“Adam?”

Adam nodded again and again, and went deeper. His long body brave and alone, as always. “I won't
ever
go to Cadwell. I go all the way to the ocean, like dying.” He went into the water. He yelled to Jess that it was cold. She saw his arms trying to swim.

“Are you floating?” she called.

“I'm going fast,” he said. “Jess?”

“I'm here, Adam!” She had a moment of panic. She screamed to him. “Adam, come back.”

“I'm here,” he called. The rim of quiet water was breaking against the bank. Jess waded in up to her waist where she could see only his head bobbing in the middle of the river, until he was gone.

It was as simple as that.

— 43 —

J
ess stood on the bank to see the river curve, then curve again, going toward the foot of a mountain not far away. She would take this image with her back to school. Think of it in class, or walking on campus. Speckled light on the currents looked giddy. She could smell the beginning of rain, and saw a wide cloth of showers moving toward her. A drop fell on her arm, then another and another. Jess no longer felt young. She might never feel young again.

High over the mountain, lightning winged at random without sound. Rain poured down and washed her, and, for one moment, an image of Adam in the river came back. Jess did not want to let it go—seeing his head just above water. Her eyes searched for him. If she stared intently at the river current, maybe the dead could rise up, maybe the past and present could move along together. Rain had soaked her clothes. She was trembling.

Then, she heard a sound, something more than the dripping of trees. Water fell from her hair, her tears indistinguishable from raindrops. She turned and saw Hap, his tail wagging, running toward her from the edge of the woods. Then she saw Adam, as clearly as if he were really there, she saw his tall body beneath the trees, his face a map of what they still had together.

He would laugh at the water dripping from her hair. He would say, “You're gonna get wet. You better go home now.”

The hard downpour turned to a soft, mizzling rain, and Jess imagined that the rim of night stars, not yet visible, were falling. She squinted, trying to see Adam once more—his head or arms, anything that could loosen the dark strings of her mind. But there was nothing, except for Hap, who stood quietly at her side. They both faced the river.

Adam, I'll keep your hubcaps burning in sunlight on the garage, and leave muffins on the table for Hap to steal. Adam, I will cling to the spirit that sings or talks until your head gets things right, and see you in every moon that rises over the river. I'll grow old for you, and let nothing of you go
.

Jess turned to go back home with Hap, when suddenly the sun broke through a low shelf of clouds and made the trees bright with drops. The river roaring by felt like thunder beneath her heart. Then something on the opposite bank broke off, swirling down into a deep socket of water, before rising up. She watched, until it dropped out of sight. Along the water's edge, little pieces of white foam lingered like memory.