Little Mercies Read online

  “I don’t know. That doesn’t make sense to me. The Deidra I remember would never have said those kinds of things. She was gentle. Stupid for staying with such an awful man. But not mean. Did you see James’s face when she was going off on Jenny? It was like he was seeing her for the first time. I think it even scared him.” I shake my head. “Something wasn’t right there, but Ruth will get it all straightened out, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, it will be good to have everything settled for Jenny. She’s been through so much. I wish...” My mother pauses as if what she’s about to say is too crazy to say out loud, but I know what she’s thinking. She wishes that Jenny could stay with her forever, but she’s a seventy-year-old widow and Jenny’s a ten-year-old with a lifetime’s worth of baggage and somehow they have found each other.

  “I do, too,” I finish for her. “I wish that, too.” I stand and stretch my arms above my head. “I have to go to my pretrial conference at the law enforcement center and then go see my attorney. On my way back I’ll pick up Lucas and Leah. Ruth is planning on stopping by this evening to talk with Jenny.” I give my mother a long hug. “You guys going to be okay?” I ask.

  She nods. “Once Jenny gets up, we are going to do something fun. Bake cookies I think.”

  I smile. Growing up, whenever I was sad or lonely, my mother would get me into the kitchen and we would bake together. The baking was always for someone else. A sick neighbor, new parents, to welcome a new family to the neighborhood. We’d always eat a few, of course, and then go deliver the goodies. It was my mom’s way of saying, Yes, you’re feeling bad right now, but look at the world around you. There are others we need to think about. “Save me a few,” I say as I move to the front door.

  I am hesitant to enter the police station, but Joe is there to greet me and leads me in the back way so I can avoid any press that may be lingering. Joe takes me through the area where yesterday I was photographed and fingerprinted. I check my watch—I hope I’m not too late. I was supposed to have my pretrial conference done within twenty-fours of my initial hearing.

  Behind me I hear a commotion and three police officers are leading a woman into the station. She is wearing shorts and a t-shirt that are splattered with what can only be blood. Her head is down and she is shaking so violently that two of the officers have to hold her up, practically carrying her into the lobby. She lifts her head and flecks of blood dot her face and neck like freckles. It’s Deidra Olmstead.

  We see each other at nearly the same time and it takes her a moment to place me and then she is desperately trying to move toward me. “Is Jenny okay?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, trying hard to focus on Deidra’s green eyes, Jenny’s eyes, and not the blood. Her hair is stiff with it and a sickly, metallic smell rises from her skin. “Jenny’s fine.”

  The officers begin pulling her away, but she continues to speak to me. “You were right.” With twitching lips she smiles sadly at me. “He killed Madalyn. I think I knew it all along.” She shakes her head back and forth as if trying to shake the image from her head. “He told me that she wasn’t listening and he hit her. Hard. When he saw what he had done he got scared. Madalyn tried to run away from him, but he chased her into the bedroom.” A faraway look comes to Deidra’s eyes. “She must have known and she tried to run. He said he grabbed at her and she fell, knocking her head on the windowsill. She wouldn’t get up, so he picked her up and pushed her into the window screen until it gave away and she fell out the window. He laughed when he told me and said that no one would ever believe me. And he was right. Who would believe me? So I...” She looks down at her bloodstained hands as if mesmerized.

  “You really shouldn’t say anything,” I tell her. “Not until you get a lawyer.”

  She gives an angry little laugh. “We almost got away. Jenny and me. But he found us and he found the picture of what he did to her. He was going to kill her, and me, too. I know he was. He thought we were going to go to the police with that picture.” Deidra is shaking so hard that her teeth are clanking together.

  “I think she’s in shock,” I say to the officers. “I think she needs a doctor.”

  “I had to do it,” she murmurs, trying to wipe the blood from hands on her shirt.

  “Don’t talk,” I beg her. “Don’t say another word.”

  “Tell Jenny I had to say those terrible things. Tell her I had to get her away from him. Please,” she begs.

  “I’ll tell her. I promise.” Someone appears with a blanket and wraps it around Deidra’s shoulders and guides her through the same door that I was led through just the day before. Dizzily I stagger to a chair. I can’t believe what Deidra has done. I put my head between my knees and try to steady my breathing. My phone buzzes and I want to ignore it. I can’t take any more bad news, but it could be Adam with information about Avery. “Hello,” I say, my head still down near my knees.

  “Ellen, it’s Ted. You need to come to my office right now.”

  “Ted, I’m at the police station right now. Deidra Olmstead just killed her husband. Can’t we do this tomorrow?”

  He is silent for a moment. “We can’t worry about that now. You need to come over to my office as soon as you can,” he says briskly, and hangs up.

  Panic fills my chest. What could be happening? Was I too late for my pretrial conference? Could I be arrested for missing it? I’m terrified that he is going to tell me that for some reason my bail had been revoked and I am heading back to jail. I really tried to be so careful, making sure to stay far away from the PICU so that no one could accuse me of violating the protective order. But maybe the security guard from the hospital reported me. Each night, before Avery goes to sleep, Adam calls me and places the phone next to Avery’s ear so I can say prayers with her or read her a story or sing her a song. I’m so afraid that she is forgetting me. Forgetting what I sound like, what I look like, what I smell like. Worst of all, I’m scared that Avery thinks that I have abandoned her, don’t love her anymore.

  Once Joe and I arrive at Ted’s office, we are led into a large conference. I am shocked to see Prieto and Caren Regis sitting at the large, mahogany, boat-shaped table and it is all I can do to keep from running right out of the room. And to my surprise, so is Adam. I look at him questioningly and he shrugs his shoulders.

  “Everyone already knows one another,” Ted says, pulling out a chair for me next to Adam, “so let’s get started right away.”

  “Richard, it’s clear that you are determined to follow through with bringing this case to trial,” Ted says, looking squarely at Prieto.

  “You are correct and I’m not willing to offer Ellen a deal. However, if she pleads guilty, I will ask the judge to take into account her willingness to cooperate,” Prieto says.

  “That’s very generous of you, Richard,” Ted says, and smiles. “But not necessary. Ellen will not be pleading guilty and I’m hoping that after you hear what we have to say today, you will reconsider your decision to go forward with the charges.”

  Prieto simply looks at his watch. I feel Adam stiffen next me and, beneath the table, I reach for his hand. Ted slides a thick file folder across the table and in front of Prieto. “What’s this?” he asks.

  “Fifty-three good reasons as to why you should drop the charges against Ellen,” Ted explains.

  Prieto opens the file folder, flips through the pages slowly at first and then quickly. With pursed lips he looks up at Ted. I want to grab the folder, want to see what Prieto is looking at, but I wait, my heart thumping.

  “These are just fifty-three affidavits from Ellen’s colleagues and families that she has worked with over the years. All describing how she has made life-changing impacts on the lives of her clients.” Prieto looks skeptical. “These were gathered in just the last three days, Richard. We are confident that hundreds of others will be willing to step forward to speak on Ellen’s behalf.”
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  “Drug addicts and child abusers.” Prieto gives a dismissive flip of his hand.

  “Troubled people, who have successfully made significant changes in their lives with Ellen’s help,” Ted says with feeling. “In there you’ll find rehabilitated addicts who now work to help get others off drugs and alcohol, neglectful mothers who took parenting classes and are now homeroom moms at their children’s schools. There are signed documents from children that Ellen saved from horrific home lives who are now grown, attending college, who are doctors, or teachers, or social workers.”

  Prieto closes the folder. “Anything else?” he asks, clearly not impressed.

  Caren Regis clears her throat. “The Peosta County Department of Human Services has finished their investigation of Ellen. The complete report is here.” She hands Prieto the folder. “You’ll see that the caseworker has determined that the neglect in this instance was confirmed...” Beside me, Adam begins to protest, but I shake my head, imploring him not to say anything because I know there is a second part to what Caren has to say. The one word that will make all the difference in the world to our family’s future.

  “Unfounded,” Caren says, and I nearly collapse in relief. “Their investigation determined that Ellen is no danger to her daughter, Avery, or her other children. The charge of child abuse is unfounded.”

  “What does that mean?” Adam asks, looking at those arranged around the table. “What’s happening?”

  “It means,” Joe says, speaking for the first time since we arrived, “that this was a terrible, unfortunate accident that could have happened to any one of us.”

  Prieto is quiet for a long moment. I know he is running through the different scenarios in his head, trying to figure out how he can come out on the other side of this as the hero. “I’ll be in touch.” He stands, picks up the folder and leaves without another word.

  “What just happened?” Adam asks.

  “Prieto is going to drop the charges. It might take him a few days, but he’ll drop them. We’ll send him a new affidavit every few days just as a reminder,” Ted says as he stands and we all follow suit.

  “All those affidavits. Who?” I ask in bewilderment.

  “Jade Tharp for one,” Joe says. “She couldn’t stand to see what was happening to you, so she came forward, wanting to help. She said you changed her life. That she couldn’t stand by after she gave Avery CPR and see her kept away from you any longer. Manda Hoskins, too. She said that you saved her life and the lives of her children the day you came to her house. She felt horrible that you could lose Avery when all you were trying to do was to save her girls. It avalanched from there. It will be professional suicide for Prieto to keep on pursuing this.”

  It hits me then. The overwhelming support from my clients, the “unfounded” ruling by the Peosta Department of Human Services, only one thing matters. “Avery. I can go see Avery,” I whisper.

  “Yes, you can.” Caren smiles. “The protective order has been lifted. You can see Avery whenever and wherever you’d like to.”

  “Thank you,” I breathe, hugging Ted, Joe, Caren and Adam. Each one in turn. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 40

  Jenny waited on the step of the front porch, Dolly sitting at her side. The Monday-morning sun was still hot, but the shade from the big tree shielded her face from the rays. Earlier Maudene had French-braided her hair and Jenny couldn’t stop nervously fingering the roped plait. Yesterday Maudene had taken her to the mall to buy some new clothes for the trip back to Benton and her new foster home. Jenny had never bought clothes at a mall before and kept trying to tell Maudene that she would pay her back, but Maudene just waved her hand and told her not to worry about it. Now, four pairs of shorts, five t-shirts, a light jacket, underwear, socks and a set of pajamas were folded neatly in the brand-new suitcase at her side.

  Ruth, the social worker, said she would be there right at nine and it was nearing nine-fifteen. With each passing minute Jenny’s anxiety rose. It took about eight hours to drive to Benton and Jenny figured with bathroom breaks they would arrive around six o’clock that evening. Jenny wondered what her new foster family would be like. Ruth had said that they sounded like a very nice couple who had two teenage daughters of their own living with them. Ruth said that they were looking forward to meeting Jenny. Jenny wished she felt the same way.

  Last night, Maudene had made a goodbye dinner for Jenny. Ellen, Leah and Lucas came, too. Jenny really didn’t understand it all, but knew that the trouble Ellen was in magically seemed to have gone away. Jenny wished the same thing would happen for her, that her father would get out of jail, stop drinking and get a job so they could live together again.

  Maudene told her that she would make anything that Jenny would like to eat. She had carefully flipped through Maudene’s cookbooks until she came across a stained page with the corner folded down. It was the recipe for homemade chicken potpie. “How about this?” Jenny asked. “This looks good.”

  A smile emerged on Maudene’s face. “That was my husband’s favorite,” she said quietly. For a minute Jenny was worried that this might upset Maudene, but Maudene began to pull ingredients from the cupboards and chattered happily about how Wes had loved her chicken potpie.

  It was a happy dinner, Jenny thought. Everyone was much more relaxed, there was laughter. Jenny tried to enjoy herself, but the worry about what was to become of her ate away at her stomach. After they had eaten the potpie and the strawberry shortcake with fresh whipped cream that Jenny requested for dessert, Ellen turned serious. “Jenny, can we talk for a little bit? I have something to tell you about your mother.”

  Jenny scowled. She didn’t want to hear anything about her mother. She was a terrible, awful person who said terrible, awful things to her. “I don’t care,” Jenny said with a scowl. “I hate her.”

  “Come on,” Ellen said, pushing her chair away from the dining room table. “Let’s go sit out on the porch. It’s cooled off some.” Jenny followed Ellen out to the porch. The sun was low in the sky and a delicate breeze wound itself through the trees. Together they sat on the porch swing, Jenny’s feet lightly skimming the floor as they swayed. “I don’t think that your mom said those things because she didn’t want you. I think she said them because she loves you.”

  Jenny planted her feet on the floor, causing them to stop midswing. “That doesn’t make sense,” Jenny said angrily.

  “I know, I know. But think about it. Your mom was going to run away with you. She had her suitcase packed and you were buying tickets to Georgia when James found you.” When Jenny didn’t comment, Ellen continued. “Your mom wanted me to tell you she didn’t mean the things she said to you. She was just trying to protect you from James.”

  “You talked to my mom?” Jenny asked with confusion.

  Ellen sighed. “I did.” Ellen paused, gathering her thoughts. “I knew your mom for a while, Jenny. She and James had a little girl named Madalyn.”

  Jenny thought about this. “I have a sister?”

  “Madalyn died a few years ago, Jenny.” Ellen took a deep breath. “Your mother believes, and I do, too, that James hurt Madalyn so badly that she died. Your mother was afraid that James was going to hurt you and said those things to get you out of the car, away from James.”

  Jenny thought about this. “If he’s so bad why isn’t he in jail?”

  Ellen shook her head. “Things don’t always work out the way they should. But the important thing is that your mother does love you and wants the best for you.”

  Jenny had tried to tamp down the hope that filled her chest. “Can I see her?”

  “No, Jenny, you can’t,” Ellen said gently.

  Jenny sat for a long time on the porch trying to digest what Ellen had told her. In one day she found her mother, lost her mother, learned that she had a sister and learned that she had lost a sister
. It was too much. Now she was once again sitting on the porch waiting for Ruth to come and take her to live with a family she had never met before.

  A car appeared and pulled up to the curb in front of Maudene’s house. Ruth emerged and gave Jenny a cheerful wave. Jenny stood and slid her hand across Dolly’s velvety head for reassurance. A second car pulled up and parked directly behind Ruth’s car. Jenny peered through the lacy leaves of the oak tree trying to see who it was. The figure that stepped from the second car was that of a woman with hair pulled up into a high ponytail. “Connie!” Jenny exclaimed, rushing down the steps, throwing herself into her arms. “You came!”

  “Of course I did, silly,” Connie murmured. “Of course I did.”

  Chapter 41

  Around one in the morning Adam falls asleep in the reclining chair in the corner of Avery’s hospital room. I find an extra blanket in the small closet and tuck it around him. I cannot sleep. Don’t want to fall asleep. I take my place in the chair next to Avery and watch her. The hospital room is not completely dark. The light from monitors casts a ghostly aura around Avery’s crib. She doesn’t appear to be suffering, but every once in a while a pained expression spasms across her face and a low-pitched whimper escapes her lips. I wonder where it hurts. In her nearly parboiled organs or maybe it’s her chest where Jade pressed down in quick, firm chest compressions. Maybe it’s the pinch of the IV needle. Or maybe she is recalling the straitjacket of her car seat, the suffocating temperature of the van rising rapidly, her unanswered cries for me. Maybe that’s what pains her.

  A slice of bright light appears and then is gone as the night nurse slides deftly into the room. She turns on a small light over a counter and sees me sitting vigil. “Hi,” she whispers. “Remember me? I’m Meredith, Avery’s nurse tonight.”

  “I do remember you,” I say. “Thank you for taking such good care of Avery.” Meredith seems too young to be a pediatric intensive care nurse, but she moves purposefully and efficiently. I watch as she works, washing her hands, slipping on gloves, quietly lowering Avery’s crib, taking her temperature, scrutinizing her IV site, checking the monitors, changing Avery’s diaper, tossing out the gloves, washing her hands again and finally turning her attention to me. “She’s resting comfortably,” she assures me. “And she’s passing urine. This is what we want—it shows us that her kidneys are functioning. If all goes well tonight we’ll move her to a regular pediatric floor.”