Ordinary Grace (26 page)

he next day, Sunday, Nathan Drum preached in all three of the churches in his charge and he preached well. My mother led the choir and Jake and I sat in the back pew as we always had.

It felt as if life might again assume a normal course but for two things: Nothing would ever be the same without Ariel, and the authorities still hadn’t apprehended Warren Redstone, the man I was sure had killed my sister. I was beginning to think they never would and I was trying to understand how I felt about that. I was afraid I would carry forever my guilt at letting Redstone get away and I knew I would have to find a way to live with it. But my anger over Ariel’s death seemed to have passed. Though I still felt her loss deeply, sadness was no longer a part of every moment for me and I thought I understood why: Her death hadn’t left me completely alone. There were still so many people whom I loved and cared about deeply: Jake and my mother and father and my grandfather and Liz and Gus. And so I’d begun to think about the question of forgiveness which had become a real consideration in my life, not just part of Sunday rhetoric. If they ever caught Warren Redstone, how would I respond? There was the question of law, certainly, but there was a question of deeper concern and it went straight to the heart of what I’d been taught by my father all my life.

After the final service on Sunday afternoon Liz and my grandfather came for dinner and Gus joined us. We still had food left from everything that had been given by the community during the days of our uncertainty and the days of our early grief. We ate and then Gus went off on his motorcycle and my grandparents went home and my mother and father sat in the porch swing and talked while Jake and I tossed a baseball in the front yard. Although they spoke quietly I caught the gist of their conversation. It was about the Brandts.

Emil alone among that family had come to Ariel’s funeral. He’d been brought by one of his colleagues at the college in town and he sat in the back of the church and at the grave site he stood well away from the others gathered there.

My mother told my father she’d seen him but couldn’t bring herself that day to talk to him. She felt bad about it. And she felt terrible about Karl and her heart went out to Julia and Axel and she wanted to tell them but was afraid they would refuse to see her.

As they drifted back and forth in the swing she asked, Do you think if I spoke to Emil, he could arrange it? I need to apologize to him anyway.

I owe him an apology as well, my father said. I haven’t been much of a friend lately.
Could we go today, Nathan? Oh, I’d love to get this weight off my chest.
Jake must have been listening too because he said from the lawn, I want to see Lise.
I kept quiet but there was no way I’d let myself be left behind.
All right, my father said rising from the swing. I’ll call.
Half an hour later we piled out of the Packard at the front gate of the restored farmhouse. Emil stood on the porch holding to one of the posts, tracking our procession with his sightless eyes in that way that made me think he could actually see us coming up the flagstone walk.
Emil, my mother said taking him warmly in her arms.
Brandt held her, then stepped back and extended his hand which my father grasped with both of his own.
I’ve been afraid this would never happen again, Brandt said. It’s been almost unbearable. Come, sit. I’ve asked Lise to fix lemonade and a plate of cookies. They should be here any minute.
There were four wicker chairs around the wicker table. The adults occupied three and I leaned against the porch rail. Jake said, I’m going to look at the garden, and he took off and disappeared around the side of the house.
Emil, my mother said, I’m so sorry for what’s happened between us and what’s happened with Karl. It’s horrible. It’s all so tragic.
The tragedy continues, Brandt said. Julia has lost her mind. I mean really lost it. Axel says she’s threatening to kill herself. She’s heavily sedated most of the time.
My father said, Axel must be in hell. Is there any way I could talk with him?
And I with Julia? my mother asked.
Brandt shook his head. I don’t think that would be a good idea. It’s complicated. He reached out with both hands and although he could not see he immediately found my mother’s hand and took it. How are you, Ruth? Really.
It was such a simple question on the surface but nothing these days was simple and the delicacy with which he held my mother’s hand made me recall my own hollowed-egg image of her.
But she was no longer fragile that way and she said, It hurts terribly, Emil. Maybe it always will. But I’ve survived and I believe I’ll be all right.
The screen door opened abruptly and Lise stepped onto the porch holding a plate of sugar cookies and giving us an evil eye. She was dressed in dungarees and a dark blue blouse and red canvas slip-ons. She put the cookies on the wicker table and quickly went back inside.
Lise doesn’t seem happy to see us, my father remarked.
Brandt said, She’s been in seventh heaven for a while. Had me all to herself. For Lise to be happy, all that’s necessary is this little sanctuary and someone in it who needs her. In a way, it’s enviable. When you arrived she was about to work in the garden, which she dearly loves. Now she’ll just sulk.
Jake reappeared and mounted the steps just as Lise came out with a pitcher of lemonade and ice cubes. When she saw my brother her attitude changed. She hastily put the pitcher on the table, went back inside, and returned almost immediately with a tray of glasses which she set next to the pitcher. She made signs to Jake that I didn’t understand but to which Jake nodded and said, Sure.
I’m going to help Lise, he said, and they both left the porch and headed toward the shed where she kept her yard and gardening tools.
When they’d gone, my father asked, Will you finish your memoir, Emil?
Brandt was quiet a long while. Without Ariel I don’t think I can go on, he finally said.
You could get someone else to transcribe, my father suggested.
Brandt shook his head. I don’t want someone else doing for me what Ariel did. I don’t think anyone could.
I’d been so deep in my own experience and emotions that I hadn’t considered the effect of Ariel’s loss on those outside my family but I saw now that Emil Brandt who’d mentored my sister and encouraged her talent and championed her work and who, after Ariel’s disappearance, had given my mother so unselfishly of his time, this man had suffered great loss as well. His face was turned in profile and I realized that if you didn’t know about the scars on the other side you would think him in every way normal, maybe even handsome for an older man.
And then an extraordinary possibility occurred to me, a possibility paralyzing in its magnitude.
Brandt and my parents went on talking but I no longer heard them. I stood up and in a kind of daze drifted down the porch steps. My father said something and I mumbled in return that I would be right back. I walked through the yard, passed the garden where Jake and Lise were at work, and went to the fence gate that opened onto the path leading down the back slope to the cottonwoods and the railroad tracks and the river. I closed my eyes mimicking blindness and fumbled with the gate latch. I pushed the gate open and started down. I went slowly, my eyelids clamped shut, feeling my way carefully. It wasn’t difficult at all to sense the difference between the thick undergrowth that edged the path and the worn thread of the path itself. I cleared the cottonwoods and came to the raised bed of the railroad tracks where I was sorely tempted to open my eyes but did not. I mounted the roadbed and felt the crushed rock and stumbled over the first rail but caught myself and kept going. On the other side I descended and felt through the soles of my tennis shoes the place where hard ground gave way to the sand along the river. And finally I stepped into water up to my calf and opened my eyes and looked down into the murky flow. I drew my leg back and glanced upriver and saw that I was standing only a few hundred yards from the stretch of sand at Sibley Park where bonfires were sometimes lit and where Ariel had last been seen. I stared back at the path I’d blindly walked, at the thread that was visible if only you knew where to look, and I understood with icy clarity how Ariel had come to be in the river.

What are you doing down here?
Thinking, I said.
Will you come back up?
Tell everyone I’ll walk home. I’ll walk along the river. Are you okay?
Just tell them, Jake.
All right. Don’t bite my head off.
He started away and then came back. What is it, Frank? Go up and tell them, and if you want to talk, come back down. He returned in a few minutes, huffing so I knew he’d run the whole

It was late afternoon and we sat in shadows cast by the tall cottonwoods near the tracks. The river swept before us fifty yards wide and beyond that was the other bank and the lowland of the floodplain where a cornfield formed a green wall and beyond that a mile or so distant rose the hills that had once channeled the great surge of the river Warren.

He killed her, I said.
Who?
Mr. Brandt. He killed Ariel.
What?
All this time I’ve been blaming Warren Redstone and not looking

at what was right in front of me.
What are you talking about?
Mr. Brandt killed her. He killed her and brought her down here

and threw her into the river.
Are you crazy? He’s blind.
I closed my eyes, Jake, and pretended I was blind. I came down

here without a problem. If I could do it, he could do it, too. But why would he hurt Ariel?
Because she was pregnant and the baby was his.
No. He’s too old. And his face is all scarred up. I mean, if I didn’t

That’s the point. You know him well, and it doesn’t bother you. I think it didn’t bother Ariel either. She was in love with him.
That, well, that’s just stupid.
Think about it. She talked forever about wanting to go to Juilliard, and then suddenly she didn’t. She wanted to stay here. Why? Because Mr. Brandt is here.
Maybe it was because of Karl.
Karl was leaving for college, I said. He told us so. When I asked him if he loved Ariel and was going to marry her he said no. Now I understand it was because he didn’t love her that way. Who else was Ariel seeing? If it was another boy, wouldn’t we know? The only other guy she’s been close to is Mr. Brandt. Think about it, Jake. She was over here all the time.
But wouldn’t Lise know?
I remembered the afternoon when I’d stood in the doorway of her bedroom watching her iron naked and she hadn’t been aware of me at all and I said to Jake, She’s deaf. And I think Ariel sometimes sneaked over at night when Lise was asleep.
But why would he kill her, Frank? Was he mad at her or something? It doesn’t make sense.
I picked up a rock and threw it at the river and said, Adults do a lot of things that don’t make sense.
Why haven’t Mom and Dad thought about it? I mean, if you’re so sure, why aren’t they?
I don’t know. Maybe they like him too much to even let that thought in.
Jake drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them and stared at the river. So what do we do?
We tell Gus, I said.

We had a hard time finding him. It was Sunday afternoon and almost everything was closed. We checked Rosie’s parking lot and didn’t see the Indian Chief there. We wandered around town awhile and didn’t talk much because what we were thinking drove out all desire for conversation between us. Once the idea of what Mr. Brandt had done to Ariel came to me I couldn’t stop playing the scene over and over in my head. I kept seeing him heave her onto his shoulder like a rolled-up rug and stumble his way down the path and discard her in the river. I grew angrier and angrier and my insides knotted and I thought about just going up to Emil Brandt and throwing my accusation in his face. And I imagined the police—Doyle—grabbing him roughly and slapping on handcuffs and shoving him into the cruiser and taking him away.

I hope he didn’t do it, Jake said out of nowhere.
We were walking down Tyler Street toward home. It was nearing suppertime and I didn’t want our parents worrying about us so we were walking quickly but I was also propelled by sheer anger.
I said, He did it and I hope he goes to hell for it.
Jake didn’t say anything so I pressed him. Don’t you?
Not really.
I stopped and turned to him, seething. He killed Ariel, Jake. He killed our sister, and if the police don’t kill him, I will.
Jake turned from my anger and kept walking.
Well? I said to his back.
I don’t want any more killing, Frank. I’m tired of feeling mad. And I’m tired of feeling sad. And I’m happy that Mom’s back home and I just want things to be okay again.
They won’t be okay, not until Mr. Brandt’s in jail and on his way to the electric chair.
All right, Jake said and kept walking.
I hung back because I didn’t want to be with him anymore. I wanted to be alone with all the wretchedness of my mood. So we continued in that way with Jake leading and me grumbling behind until we reached home.
Mother had food on the table, leftover ham for sandwiches and macaroni-pea salad and watermelon slices and potato chips and while we ate I heard the sound of Gus’s motorcycle and I got up and saw him park in the church lot.
I’m finished eating, I said.
But you’ve barely touched your food, Mother said.
Jake glanced toward the window. I’m finished too.
My father eyed us both. You two have been awfully quiet. What are you up to?
Nothing, I said.
Mother smiled on us and said, Go outside and have a good time. And if you happen to see Gus, tell him that if he’s hungry he’s welcome to come over and help himself to whatever we have.
We went to the church basement and heard the shower running in the little bathroom and when the water stopped I called out, Gus?
Just a minute, he hollered back.
He came out a couple of minutes later with his hair wet and a white towel wrapped around his waist. He grinned and said, What’s up, guys?
We were looking for you, I said.
Took a motorcycle ride. Something about the wind in my face that gives me a sense of freedom. Guess I’m still trying to get rid of the feel of that damn jail cell penning me in. He looked at us both carefully. This is serious, isn’t it?
While he stood there naked except for the towel I told him what I thought. He listened and at the end said, Jesus. He idly rubbed his bare chest and said again, Jesus. Then he said, Have you told your father?
No.
I think you should.
Does that mean you think I might be right?
I hope not, Frank, but it’s worth considering.
I asked, Could you be with us when we tell him?
Sure. Just let me get dressed.
We waited upstairs in the sanctuary. Jake sat in the front pew with his hands folded in his lap in the same way he sat when he listened to my father preach. I paced in front of the altar rail with my guts all twisted. The sun was low in the sky and the stained-glass window in the western wall at the back of the chancel was alive with the fire of a dozen colors.
Frank?
What?
What if we didn’t tell Dad?
Why would we do that?
Does it really matter who killed Ariel?
Of course it matters. It matters a lot. What’s wrong with you?
I’m just thinking.
What?
Miracles happen, Frank. But they’re not the kinds of miracles I thought they’d be. Not like, you know, Lazarus. Mom’s happy again, or almost, and that’s kind of a miracle. And yesterday I didn’t stutter, and you want to know something? I think I never will.
Terrific, I’m happy for you.
Which was true, although the happiness was greatly overshadowed by the terrible enmity I felt toward Emil Brandt.
I just think maybe we should let things go, maybe put everything in God’s hands is what I’m saying, and hope for some kind of regular miracle.
I stopped pacing and looked at Jake’s face.There was something so guileless about it and—I don’t know another word except beautiful. I sat down beside my brother.
What was it like? I asked him. Your miracle?
He thought a moment. It wasn’t something that came over me, like I saw a light or heard a voice or anything. I just . . .
What?
I just wasn’t afraid anymore. I mean, maybe nobody else would even think of it like a miracle, but for me it felt that way. And that’s what I’m saying, Frank. If we put everything in God’s hands, maybe we don’t any of us have to be afraid anymore.
I thought you didn’t believe in God.
I thought so, too. I guess I was wrong.
Gus walked into the sanctuary. Okay, he said. I think it’s best if we have this discussion here, keep your mother out of it for the moment. Who wants to fetch your dad?
I knew Jake wouldn’t go so I turned and left the church. The sun was just beginning to set and above the hills the clouds were already ablaze with an angry orange glow. I walked into the house and the first thing I heard was my mother playing the piano, the Moonlight Sonata. She hadn’t played since Ariel disappeared and I realized how empty the house had been without music. And there was my father on the sofa reading the newspaper as he often did on Sunday evenings when the business of the day was finally finished for him. I almost stopped and turned back because as much as I wanted Ariel’s killer known I wanted more for life to be normal again. But once the question of Emil Brandt’s guilt had come to me it was a consideration too awful to hold on to alone and so I went to where my father sat and said, Gus wants to see you.
What about?
It’s important. He’s at the church.
Where’s Jake?
He’s there, too.
My father gave me a puzzled look and folded his paper and set it down. Ruth, he said, I’m going to speak with Gus. I’ll be gone a bit. Frank and Jake are with me.
She continued playing and without looking up from her keyboard said, Stay out of trouble.
As we walked to the church my father put his arm around my shoulder. It’s going to be a beautiful sunset, Frank.
I didn’t answer because I didn’t give a crap about the sunset and in another minute we were standing with Gus and Jake.
Gus said, Do you want to tell him, Frank, or do you want me to? I told my father everything.
When I finished Gus said, He makes sense, Captain. My father leaned against the altar rail, deep in thought. I need to talk to Emil, he finally said.
I want to be there, I blurted.
Frank, I don’t think—
I want to be there. I have a right to be there.
My father shook his head slowly. This won’t be the kind of discussion that a thirteen-year-old needs to be a part of.
Captain, beg your pardon, but I think Frank has a point. He’s been involved in this mess all along. It was him who pointed you toward Brandt. Seems to me he has a right to be there, if that’s what he wants. I know I’m an outsider, but I thought you might want another point of view.
My father considered then he looked at my brother. What about you, Jake? You feel a burning need to be there?
I don’t care, Jake said.
Then I’d rather you didn’t come. You either, Gus. I don’t want Emil to feel ganged up on.
I was amazed. My father didn’t sound angry at all. He seemed far too calm.
I said, He did it, Dad.
Frank, it never pays to convict someone in advance of knowing all the facts.
But he did it. I know he did it.
No. What you’re thinking makes a certain sense, but it doesn’t take into account the kind of man Emil Brandt is. I have never sensed from him the depth of violence what you’re talking about would require. So I’m believing that we know only part of the story right now. If Emil is truthful with us, we may know it all and understand.
Through the chancel’s stained-glass window the setting sun shot fire and the altar and the cross blazed and the chancel rail and the pews and the floor all around my father burned and I couldn’t understand how amid all that flame he could stand so calm. His reasonableness was something that in the past I’d admired greatly but I found it maddening now. Me, I just wanted to get Emil Brandt strung up.
If you go with me, Frank, you have to be quiet and let me do the talking. Do you promise?
Yes, sir.
I mean it. I promise.
All right. Gus, why don’t you and Jake go keep Ruth company. She’s in a mood to play, and I know how she appreciates an audience.
Gus said, If she asks where you’ve gone?
Tell her anything you like, he said, except the truth.