No. We was in the bathroom.
Were they in the room when he began talking to you?
Yes.
But they weren’t in the bathroom when he whipped you?
No.
Where were they then?
In the front room.
What were they doing?
I don’t know. Mama was crying. She wanted him to stop.
But he wouldn’t stop? He wouldn’t listen to her?
No.
Where was your father? Did he try to do anything?
He was hollering.
Hollering?
Yes. In the other room.
I see. And you and your brother were with him in the bathroom at the same time?
No.
He took you in there separately?
Joy Rae looked at her brother. He took him first, she said. Then me.
Rose stared at the girl and her little brother, then shook her head and turned away and looked out into the hallway, imagining how that must have felt, being taken toward the back of the house and hearing the other one screaming behind the closed bathroom door, being afraid of what was to come, and the man’s face all the time getting redder and redder. She wrote in her notebook again. Then she looked up. Do you have anything else you might want to say to us?
No.
Nothing at all?
No.
All right then. I thank you for saying that much, honey. You’re a brave girl.
Rose closed her notebook and stood up.
But you won’t tell him, will you? Joy Rae said.
You mean your mother’s uncle?
Yes.
The sheriff’s office will certainly want to talk to him. He’s in serious trouble. I can promise you that.
But you won’t tell him what we said?
Try not to worry. You’ll be safe now. From now on, you’ll be protected.
ROSE TYLER AND THE YOUNG DEPUTY DROVE IN SEPARATE cars to the east side of Holt to the Wallaces’ trailer on Detroit Street. The weeds surrounding the trailer were all dry now and dusty, dead for winter, and everything looked dirty and ragged. Still, the sun was shining. They went up to the door together and knocked and waited. After a while Luther opened it and stood in the doorway shielding his eyes. He was wearing sweatpants and a tee-shirt, but no shoes. Can we come in? Rose said. Luther looked at her. We need to talk privately.
Well. Yeah. Come on in, he said. We’re in a terrible fix here. Dear, he called back into the house. We got company.
Rose and the deputy followed him inside. There was the sweetish-stale smell of sweat and cigarette smoke and of something spoiling.
Betty lay stretched out on the couch, sunken into the cushions and covered by an old green blanket that she kept wrapped about herself. I ain’t feeling very good, she said.
Is your stomach still hurting? Rose said.
It hurts me all the time. I can’t never get rested.
We’ll have to make you another appointment with the doctor. But I wonder, is your uncle here?
No. He ain’t here right now.
He’s over to the tavern, Luther said. He goes over there most days. Don’t he, honey.
He’s over there every day.
We need to talk to him, Rose said. When will he be back, do you think?
You can’t tell. Sometimes he don’t come back till nighttime.
I think I’ll just go find him, the deputy said. We’ll talk later, he said to Rose, then let himself out.
After he was gone Rose sat down on the couch beside Betty and patted her arm and took out her notebook. Luther went into the kitchen for a glass of water and came back and lowered himself into his cushioned chair.
Do you know why the officer and I came here today? Rose said. Do you know why I need to talk to you?
My kids, Betty said. Isn’t it.
That’s right. You know what happened, don’t you.
I know, Betty said. Her face fell and she looked very sad. But we never meant him to do nothing like that, Rose. We never wanted that, ever.
He wouldn’t even listen to us, Luther said.
But you can’t let him mistreat your children, Rose said. You must have seen what he’d done to them. It was very bad. Didn’t you see it?
I seen it afterwards. I tried to put some hand ointment on them. I thought maybe that might help.
But you know he can’t stay here if he does anything like that. Don’t you see? You have to make him leave.
Rose, he’s my uncle. He’s my mother’s baby brother.
I understand that. But he still can’t stay here. It doesn’t matter who he is. You know better.
I was trying to make him stop, Luther said. But he says he’s going to break my back for me. He’s going to take that kitchen table and throw it on me just as soons I turn my head.
Oh, I don’t think he’s going to do that. How could he?
That’s what he says. And you know what I says?
What?
I says I can find me a knife too.
Now you better be careful about that. That would only make matters worse.
What else you want me to do?
Not that. You let us take care of this.
But Rose, Betty said, I love my kids.
I know you do, Rose said. She turned toward Betty and took her hand. I believe that, Rose said. But you’ve got to do better. If you don’t, they’ll have to be taken away.
Oh no, Betty cried. Oh God. Oh God. The blanket fell away from her shoulders and she jerked her hand free and began to snatch at her hair. They already taken my Donna away, she cried, and then she started to wail. They can’t take no more.
Betty, Rose said. She pulled at her arms. Betty, stop that and listen to me. Calm down now. We are not taking your kids away. It shouldn’t ever come to anything like that. I’m just trying to get you to see how serious this is. You have to do things differently. You have to change what you’ve been doing.
Betty wiped at her face. Her eyes were wet and miserable. Whatever you say, Rose, I’ll do it. Just don’t take my kids away from me. Please, don’t do that.
What about you, Luther? Are you willing to make some changes too?
Oh yes, ma’am, he said. I’m going to change right now.
Yes. Well, we’ll see about that. In any case you can start taking some parenting classes at night at Social Services. I’ll arrange for it. And I’ll come by here at least once a month to see how you’re doing. I won’t tell you when I’m coming, I’ll just show up. This will be in addition to your coming to my office to collect your food stamps. But the first thing, the most important thing, is that you have to agree not to let him stay here anymore. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?
Yes ma’am.
Do you promise?
Yes, Betty said. I promise.
I just hope he don’t break my back, Luther said. Quick’s he hears what we been talking about here today.
WHEN THE SHERIFF’S DEPUTY WALKED INTO THE LONG dim stale room at the Holt Tavern on the corner of Main Street and Third, Hoyt Raines was at the back shooting pool for quarters with an old man, and he had already begun drinking for the day. A glass of draft beer stood on the little table near the pool table, with an empty shot glass beside it and a cigarette smoking in a tin ashtray. Hoyt was bent over the table when the deputy walked in.
Raines?
Yeah.
I need to talk to you.
Go ahead and talk. I can’t stop you.
Let’s go outside.
What for? What’s this about?
Come out with me, the deputy said. I’ll tell you at the station.
Hoyt looked at him. He bent over the cue stick, lined up his shot, and knocked the seven in and said to nobody: Hoo boy. Hot dog. He stood and rounded the table and took a sip of his beer and drew on his cigarette.
Let’s go, Raines, said the deputy.
You ain’t told me what for yet.
I said I’d tell you when we get there.