Finding Noel (10 page)

AUGUST 17, 1978

Every other month Irene Hummel had her hair done by Sadie, a cousin of hers who lived an hour south in the small town of Nephi. Macy looked forward to those days, as she was always dropped off at her Aunt Stephanie's. Macy liked it there. Aunt Stephanie lived in the country. She had a secret garden and a large gray cat named Tabitha. Aunt Stephanie made her honey and butter sandwiches and Campbell's tomato soup with lots of saltine crackers. She kept Twinkies in the freezer, and in the afternoon they'd take one out and eat it with the filling still cold. She was the only one who still called her Macy. Macy McGracy.

Things had been getting steadily worse at the Hummel house for Macy. One Saturday afternoon, Mr. Hummel packed his bags and left for good. Not long after, Mrs. Hummel started hitting Macy on nearly a daily basis. That morning, as Macy sat quietly in the back seat of the car on the way to Aunt Stephanie's, a thought crossed her mind. Maybe if she told Aunt Stephanie about Mrs. Hummel, she'd invite her to live with her. It seemed reasonable. Aunt Stephanie always
told her how much she liked having her around. Still, it took Macy all day to get the courage to tell her. Her Aunt was sitting in the parlor tying a quilt when Macy sauntered into the room. She looked up and smiled.

“What are you up to, dearie?”

“Nothing.”

She continued working on the quilt. Suddenly Macy blurted out, “Mrs. Hummel hits me.”

Aunt Stephanie turned and looked at her. “What's that, sweetie?”

“Mrs. Hummel hits me.”

“Oh, your mom would never hit you. She probably spanks you sometimes.”

“She hits me every day. Sometimes in my face.”

Aunt Stephanie stopped tying and looked at her. “Is that so?”

Macy nodded, “Uh-huh.”

For a moment she seemed unsure of what to say. “Well then I'll just have to talk to her.”

Macy's blood went cold. “Please don't tell her.”

“If she's hitting you, someone's got to talk to her. We can't have that kind of nonsense going on. Now run along while I call.”

Macy walked from the room, nearly paralyzed with fear. She desperately regretted telling her aunt.

Three hours later Mrs. Hummel arrived to pick her up.

“Nightie night, Macy McGracy,” Aunt Stephanie said as she walked from the house. “Come back soon.”

“Good night,” Macy said.

Macy climbed into the car as somber as a condemned man climbing the gallows. She was afraid to look at Mrs. Hummel, but Mrs. Hummel acted like nothing was wrong.
Maybe Aunt Stephanie forgot to call
, Macy hoped. It was dark when they pulled into their driveway. Macy walked into the house, followed by Mrs. Hummel.

As soon as the front door shut, a hand caught Macy across the back of her head. “So I hit you?” she said.

Macy knew better than to answer. She backed up against a wall and stared at her mother in fear.

“I spank you for being naughty. It's your fault. It's your fault for being such an awful girl. We never should have brought you into this family. It's been nothing but trouble since you came here.” She slapped a hand across the top of Macy's head. “Dick left because of you. Because of all the trouble you cause.”

Macy held still, careful to do nothing that might add fuel to the woman's ferocity.

“I
hit
you, you brat? You don't know what hitting is.
This
is hitting.” She smacked Macy across the side of the face and Macy fell back against the wall. A thin trickle of blood fell down her nose to her chin. “And this. And this…”

Macy did her best to protect herself from the barrage of blows, but they were too fast, and too random. The beating went on for another five minutes until Mrs. Hummel had exhausted herself and stood over her, panting, her eyes wild and cruel. Macy slumped down on the floor, covering herself the
best she could and afraid to look Mrs. Hummel in the eyes. She whimpered softly, “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, you're sorry now.” Mrs. Hummel's
coup de grâce
was a kick to Macy's side, but it wasn't hard. She hadn't much strength left.

“You stupid brat. If you ever tell anyone else that I hit you, they'll tell me just like Stephanie did. Then I'll really show you what hitting is.”

Macy sniffed. “I won't say anything.”

“I say you won't! And the dishes better be done when I get up in the morning.”

She swaggered off down the corridor. After her bedroom door slammed shut, Macy went to the bathroom and got some toilet paper and held it to her nose until the bleeding stopped. Then she went to the kitchen and began to wash the dishes.

Macy didn't go back to school for a week, not until her black eye and bruises had faded. Mrs. Hummel told the school that Macy had the flu. The next time Macy saw her aunt, she looked different to her. She was no longer Twinkies and honey sandwiches. She was now part of Mrs. Hummel and just like the rest of her world—a wobbly rope bridge over a raging river.

Her aunt was doing the dishes when she casually asked if Irene ever hit her anymore.

“No, ma'am,” Macy said quickly. A proud smile crossed her aunt's face.

“See, isn't it good to just get these things out in the open? People are good at heart. It's all about communication.”

Macy never again told anyone else what Mrs. Hummel did to her.

C. S. Lewis said it best, “I like bats more than bureaucrats.”

MARK SMART'S DIARY

On the way home from work, I stopped at a 7-Eleven to use the pay phone and called Macy. Before I could say anything she blurted out, “They separated us on purpose.”

“Who did?”

“The state.”

“That's what they told you?”

“No, they couldn't tell me anything. But in my state file there was a psychological profile on me. Some social worker wrote that I was my sister's primary caregiver, and he thought if we stayed together it
might
hurt her chances of bonding in a traditional family setting. He therefore, and I quote, ‘strongly recommends that the sisters be separated and sent to different homes.'

“Can you believe that? They separated us because I loved her and was taking care of her!”

“That's real genius,” I said sarcastically. “So did you find out where she lives?”

“No. But I got my father's address. He should know where she lives.”

“I'd think so,” I said.

“I'm going to drive out to his house.”

She said this casually, as if seeing her father was something she did on a regular basis.

“How long has it been since you saw your father?”

“Fourteen years.”

“How do you feel about seeing him?” I asked.

“I'm a little nervous.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Would you?”

“Of course. When do you want to go?”

“I was thinking first thing tomorrow. Maybe around nine.”

“I'll pick you up.”

“Great. Oh, and Jo will be there. You two can finally meet. Let me give you my address.”

I scribbled it down. “I'll see you tomorrow,” I said.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow my world changes.”

I believe that whatever good or evil we do in this life eventually comes back to us. But in the case of rampant evil, it brings its friends.

MARK SMART'S DIARY