Between the Rage and Grace Page 6

  “Ima get some towels – just you lay real still now.”

  Maggie pulled her knees up toward her chest in attempt to get relief from the unrelenting spasm and noticed the bright red plate sized stain on her gown. “Oh no.” She cried, “No, no, no little baby.”

  “Up here Mrs. Turner.” Tallulah yelled.

  Maggie lay motionless staring up at the ceiling as the nurse maid removed the bloody towels from between her legs. “Looks like that’s all of it ma’am.” Tallulah told her. “Good lord have mercy look at all the blood. Tallulah were you able to stop it?” Mrs. Turner spoke frantically as she stood at the doorway and stared at the sharp contrast of red against the white bed sheets.

  “Tha bleedin is slowed to nearly nuthin but she aint with child no mo ma’am.”

  “Are you sure. Maybe we’d better call an ambulance and get her to the hospital.”

  “For the girl may be, but look here.” Tallulah said opening the towel for the grandmother to be, “Woulda been a boy by that looks of it.”

  “Dear god it is hideous!” Maggie’s mother screamed as the salty rivers ran from her daughter’s silent face.

  Chapter 12

  The End of Maggie Lafont

  Tallulah had phoned Ray and told him about the miscarriage and that his wife wasn’t taking it very well.

  “I buried it out by the garden. No sir but done broke her heart. She’s taken to the bed for sure right now `cause her Mama give her somthin ta make her sleep but we gonna git her better Mr. Ray.”

  “Is her mother there?” he asked.

  “Yessir.” She told him.

  “Then tell her I’ll see her in a few weeks. Thank you Tallulah, I’ll call again in a couple of days.” And he hung up.

  Mrs. Turner sat quietly beside her sleeping daughter filing at her manicured finger nails and tapping them on the mahogany table as she planned her next move. For whatever reason her son in law had lost interest in the marriage and that must be remedied. He had told Maggie that he was delayed in Washington on state business but Mrs. Turner knew the truth. Yes, she knew all about the mistress he kept in town near the old French Quarter. The pregnancy happening so soon, probably on their wedding night, had been an unexpected blessing but with that gone now she needed to establish another strategy, just until she could be certain Maggie was pregnant again – but how long would that take? And would her rebellious daughter be able to carry an heir to full term?

  “You don’t mind I go on home bein as you here do ya Mrs. Turner?” Tallulah asked tip toeing across the wooden floor.

  “No dear, you go on. Thank you for all your efforts.” Mrs. Turner replied.

  “Call if you need me ma’am.”

  Mrs. Turner nodded and motioned for Tallulah to go.

  Maggie groaned in her sleep as her mother took her hand and held it to her own chest.

  “Beat of my heart, fruit of my own womb- I am so sorry for your loss… It would have been a boy, a deformed boy but an heir and the assurance that we needed.”

  “He was my son mother.” Maggie whimpered groggily, “Your grandson- the hideous thing buried in a tissue box by the garden… and for a moment I loved him.” And once again Maggie cried herself to sleep.

  Within a short span of two weeks Maggie had made a full recovery. Mrs. Turner had stayed to accompany her to the gynecologist and was delighted by the report that her daughter could safely conceive in another two weeks. The doctor had said two months but Mrs. Turner was sure she knew more than the incompetent physician.

  “This is cause to celebrate.” Mrs. Turner said, “Let’s make a day of it. Are you up to it puddin’?”

  “I believe I am.” Maggie replied, “I’ve had a hankering for an oyster po-boy and…”

  “And what?” her mother asked

  “I’d like to walk over to Saint Louis cathedral and light a candle for James.”

  “Who on earth is James?”

  “James Rayburn Lafont- that was my sons name Mama.”

  “Oh Mag, it was little more than a lump of malformed tissue!” Mrs. Turner exclaimed with a hint of disgust.

  Maggie paused beneath the moss draped oak and stared at her mother in disbelief.

  “I realize no one other than me and God will ever acknowledge his existence Mother, but can you allow me this one kindness and for one measly moment see me as something other than an avenue to YOUR dreams?”

  “Of course sweetie.” She replied patting Maggie on the head as if placating a small child.

  Maggie felt a burden lift as she exited the church. Something about the mass of lighted candles comforted her. Whether it was the spirit of God or the knowing she wasn’t alone in her despair as seen by the flickering prayers – either way it made her feel better.

  “How about the Red Fish on Bourbon Street?” Mrs. Turner asked with pouted lips against a tube of taupe lipstick.

  “Yummy.” Maggie replied swinging her leather purse by the silver fetter.

  Mrs. Turner reached for Maggie’s free hand as they strolled like school girls giggling at the street vendors and artists and the occasional con scouting his next target.

  The Red Fish was crowded as usual but Mrs. Turner spied an open table in the back corner. “Excellent. There’s an empty table over there. I hate hiding in corners but we’ll take it.” She said waving to the hostess “Do you have your master card precious?”

  Maggie wasn’t listening.

  “Your card sweetie? It’s in your pocket book, right?”

  Mrs. Turner twisted in the direction of her daughters gaze.

  “Land o Goshen.” Her mother mumbled then regained her composure almost yelling,

  “They’re packed darlin’. What say we shop a little and come back later. It’ll be better for the appetite.”

  “You should have spotted them first!” Maggie exclaimed angrily. “Take me home mother!”

  The entire ride home from the city was cluttered with Mrs. Turner’s denials and followed by excuses for what they had just witnessed as Maggie stared out the window trying to ignore her.

  “I am not an idiot mother and neither are you! Are you honestly going to ignore what you just saw? Did you see the way he looked at me? Like it was me that had done something wrong. I can’t take it anymore…I want to come home.” Maggie’s voice was quivering. The image of her husband smiling at – catering to the trollop who’s bed he warmed while Maggie suffered alone through the carrying and then the loss of their child. The lying, pretending to be hours away on business when in truth he was moments away on pleasure.

  “Now don’t be rash Maggie.” Her mother persuaded, “These things happen. Men will be men.”

  “No mother! I have forgiven his vulgar conduct more than once.” Maggie blurted out,

  “He calls ME a whore on my wedding night, sodomized and humiliated me yet shows himself in public with his real whore? Leaves me alone to grieve our son? ...NO! It is over!” Maggie sighed through flared nostrils, slapping the tears from her face, “No more tears. No more… No more.”

  Mrs. Turner’s motherly instinct reared up briefly at the thought of her child being molested and cursed, called a whore until it occurred to her,

  “You told him you weren’t a virgin didn’t you?”

  “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Well it only explains everything!”

  “Why on God’s green earth did you tell him you foolish child?”

  “Because he ask me and you plainly said you didn’t expect me to lie.”

  “You young girls! Your cherry was lost to a tampon I’m sure-why didn’t you tell him that? Never mind it can’t be undone. Dammit Maggie!”

  “Well this marriage can be undone and I am coming home. I want you to help me get my things and I’ll ride back to Mississippi with you today.”

  “You are not coming home Maggie Mae.” Mrs. Turner shot back with a glare in her eyes, bringing the car to a sliding halt before the splendid pillars of the Lafont estate. “You WI
LL stay and see this through – by god you will! As soon as you are pregnant again-”

  “For Christ’s sake Mother have you no soul?” she asked searching her mother’s eyes for a hint of compassion. The only thing visible was greed.

  Don’t bother getting out.” Maggie yelled as she slammed the door of the pearl colored Cadillac and watched it fly down the oak lined path heading east.

  Mr. Ray foned and tol me to tak the res of the week off. Seems hez comin home early and I bets he is bringin you sumthin real nice. May be yall have a secun hunymoon. Cawl me ifn you need to my sweet Magy gurl. –T

  Maggie had to smile as she read the note from Tallulah. Though the spelling was atrocious the sentiment was more than touching. The smile didn’t last long as she opened the heavy pine doors and was greeted by a portrait of Senator Ray Lafont. She stomped up the stairs to the room filled with only sad memories and began packing.

  “I’ll take a room in a hotel till I can figure out what to do next.”

  She spoke aloud to herself as she yanked dresses from their hangers and emptied drawers, “I’ll camp down by the swamp but I will not stay a day longer in this pit of hell.”

  She had just secured the zipper on the Louis Viutton luggage when Ray walked in.

  “Where do you think you’re going? He asked

  “Away from here.” Maggie answered.

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “I suppose I’ll call a cab.”

  “How do you expect to pay for the cab?”

  “They’ll accept a credit card. Save your breath. It is over.” Maggie shot back, yanking the bag up and starting toward the door. In a rapid fluid motion Ray had locked the door and stood blocking her access.

  “I don’t want to fight with you Ray. You win, now please let me pass.”

  “You won’t reconsider?” he asked with a sick smirk.

  “No!” Maggie answered sharply.

  “I told you what to expect in the way of treatment. Didn’t I tell you Mag? You’re used goods. You’re diseased womb isn’t fit to even carry my seed, you proved that. But I’ll allow you to remain my wife under a few conditions-”

  “Are you insane? I no longer want to be your wife and the sooner I can put you behind me the better off I’ll be.”

  Ray could see her conviction and knew that it was futile to try and sway her.

  “You selfish tramp!” he spoke through gnarled lips, “Have you even thought what this might due to my reputation? My seat in the senate if- my chances at re-election?”

  “Really Ray?” Maggie was aghast, “Have you considered what your public displays of affection with that trollop might do? Everyone from Biloxi to Baton Rouge knows about your real whore. Hell everyone in Orleans parish knows her name and address. The address that YOU supply her with.”

  “You watch your mouth.” He told her.

  Maggie laughed a wicked laugh, “You don’t get to tell me what to do any more darlin’- go back and bully your trampy brunette on Dauphine Street. She still lives there doesn’t she?”

  Ray was simmering and Maggie watched with delight as his nostrils expanded and the pink capillaries of his face and eyes bulged.

  “Give me your check book and your cards.” He demanded.

  Before Maggie could extract the items from her purse he yanked it from her grasp and emptied it on the floor.

  Kicking the contents away from her he took two twenty dollar bills and shoved them into her cleavage. “That will get you a cab into town. I imagine you can suck enough dicks to pay for a meal once you get there. That’s all I can do for you.”

  You bastard.” She screamed for every evil he had ever done to her, “You ga-damn low life back woods son of a bitching bas-”

  Maggie couldn’t complete the raving comment. Ray’s hand was around her neck as her head struck the heavy door. “That kinda talk just might get you an old fashioned backwoods ass whopping southern belle.” He said as he bounced her head against the antique door facing.

  “Fuck you.” She managed to say just before the room went dark.

  Consciousness came and went as Maggie felt herself being dragged across the floor. She heard water running and gagged as the bar of ivory soap filled her mouth.

  “What did I tell you about that filthy mouth!” Ray growled as he twisted the bar, screwing it toward her throat. Maggie could feel the white perfumed lye shave against her teeth, stifling her ability to breathe and forced herself to relax and inhale slowly through her nose. She could see herself in the bathroom mirror as Ray lifted her to her feet by the hair of her head, just before he plunged her face into the marble sink beneath the running water turning her face up beneath the tap. I’m drowning. Dear God help me. She prayed. Ray withdrew the soap but held her face tightly in place to receive her cleansing. When she stopped struggling he lifted her up to face him.

  “Have you learned your lesson?” he asked.

  Maggie couldn’t yet speak as the pink bubbles foamed from her blood tinged lips and she coughed up bits of soap. The stinging in her lungs made it hard to catch her breath, much less speak.

  He held her there in front of the mirror with one hand full of hair and the other squeezing her jaw line.

  “Have you had enough?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “You owe me an apology. You know that?” He said staring down into her eyes and pressing his thumb harder into her neck. “Now do you want to say something?”

  Maggie nodded again and he slowly released her chin. “Go ahead.”

  Maggie cleared her throat and dabbed at the bubbles with her tongue that were still forming with each gasp, took a deep breath and declared “Fuck you.”

  The first lick of her skull against the smooth stone counter brought blood and she could see it spatter on the mirror as she reached and sunk her claws deep into his face.

  The first punch caused her head to spin, by the second or third one she had stopped fighting. Ray hadn’t noticed when he stopped punching and he bounced her head again and again against the hard surface. When her body fell motionless to the floor he kicked her for the hell of it and watched to see if she would move. She didn’t.

  When Maggie came to some hours later lying naked on the floor she found Ray was gone along with her luggage and all the contents in her purse. She inched her way through the bedroom and reached to open the door but found it locked from the outside. She called out for Tallulah before hazily remembering the note she’d found earlier. Blindly the battered woman ran her hands over and around the nightstand but found nothing so she crawled back to the bathroom and reached for the vintage telephone beside the claw tub. Feeling, counting the holes in the dial she managed 911 but there was no answer. She pressed and released the receiver several times before grasping the fact that there was no dial tone. Maggie felt hopeless knowing there was no one around for miles and now Ray had removed the phone cord, her only bit of hope. Managing to pull her self up to the linen closet she retrieved a face cloth, felt her way by memory to the sink and began washing the caked blood from her eyes. When she was able to see her reflection she decided it was not as bad as she had feared, though her face looked like a lumpy mass of clay surrounded by scarlet colored yarn there were no visible lacerations.

  She filled the tub with hot water and an entire box of fine artesian bath salts, slid down and washed the red stain from her hair. No tears. She reminded herself when she felt the desolation overtaking her.

  I can’t jump from the balcony, I’ll break my leg, she plotted, I could tie the sheets and let myself down. Yes. Maggie deliberated with optimism.

  She eased her pain riddled body from the bloody water and hobbled to the closet only to find it empty. “You fucking bastard!” she screamed. “I’ll get out of here or die trying.”

  But there was no one to hear her scream, not while her husband punched her and freely cracked her skull against the unforgiving surface, there was no one then and no one now. “Look at me – I don’t need any
clothes.” She said yanking the drapes from the glass door that led to freedom. She grabbed the handle and pulled but it refused to budge.

  Peering outside at just the right angle she could see the makeshift lock holding the door.

  “Really Ray? Really?” Maggie yelled and stomped in a rage grabbing the heavy Victorian lamp perched by the settee she sent it flying like a javelin out into the yard. “Woohoo!” she laughed as glass fell all around her. “Give me them damn sheets.”

  Maggie gave an invigorated heave to free the material from the mattress and when she did an airborne cell phone struck her in the thigh. “Thank you Jesus.” She howled and pressed the # 2 on speed dial. When Mrs. Turner picked up Maggie couldn’t utter the words.

  “Maggie?” her mother cautiously spoke into the phone. “Are you there sweetie?”

  Maggie slumped to the floor and blubbered through swollen lips, “Mama… can you come get me?”

  “No honey. I told you –you are gonna have to work it out.” She said firmly.

  “But Mama he beat me.” Maggie broke down when she heard the words coming from her own mouth.

  Mrs. Turner cleared the knot from her own throat and reiterated, “You’re going to have to see this through and that’s all there is to it.”

  “But Mama...” Maggie stopped. Her mother had hung up the phone.

  Maggie dropped her head between her knees and allowed herself to cry for a few minutes before blowing her nose into the palm of her hand and smearing snot on the Persian rug.

  She opened her phone and began to scroll through the numbers. Nearly to the end she paused and pressed the green send button.

  “Operator. May I help you?”

  “Yes.” Maggie stammered. “Put me through to Linda Latrull in ICU please.”

  “This is Linda.”

  “Linda… this is Maggie Lafont, I mean Maggie Turner… I’m in trouble, can you come get me?”