Rae Lynn touched her again, on the arm, and said, “Why’re you having to wash them so many times in a week? Are you okay? Are you not well?”
Cornelia raised her head. She stared toward the bedroom first, then turned to the window where the commissary building could be seen. She got up and went to the front of the house and stood half inside the doorway, half out, staring toward where Otis ought to be busy working. Experience had shown, like a summer storm, he might appear unexpectedly and bring thunderous yelling along with lightning flashes of temper. Rae Lynn observed how cautious she was, and understood. Living with Otis Riddle meant always being watchful for his storms.
Cornelia came back to the kitchen and said, “I’ll show you why I wash them sheets all the time, but we got to hurry. He’ll be here any minute looking something to eat.”
Rae Lynn followed as Cornelia led her to the main bedroom, where she pointed at the bed, her arm trembling, whether with weariness or anger, Rae Lynn wasn’t sure. The window was open, but an odor hung in the room like Cornelia hadn’t emptied the chamber pot.
“Look a there. This is why I’m always washing them sheets.”
The bed sat against a wall, hidden in the shadows. She could see the sheets were rumpled, but not much else.
Cornelia pulled her closer to the bed and said, “There. Right there.”
Rae Lynn could now see the large wet spot, yellowed at the edges where it was starting to dry.
“Oh. I’m sorry, Nellie. I imagine something could be done if you was to see a doctor.”
Cornelia put a hand over her mouth, smothering her amusement. “No, no, it ain’t me. It’s Otis. He’s the one wets the bed. First time it happened, he tried to say it was me who done it. I pointed out it was his drawers that was wet, not mine. That was the first time he hit me. Now, when it happens, he goes on a tirade, takes it out on me like it’s my fault. It’s getting to where I dread going to bed. I can’t sleep, waiting for it to happen, knowing how he’s gonna get the next day.”
Rae Lynn said, “Gosh, Nellie. No wonder you’re bone tired.”
The screen door gave a rusty screech, and Otis yelled, “Where you at?”
It was as if the air got sucked right out of the room. There they both were, and him already in the house and no way to get back to the kitchen without being seen. There’d be hell to pay, and the fear blooming on Cornelia’s face once again reminded Rae Lynn of the kind a man Otis Riddle was. She gripped Rae Lynn’s arms, her fingernails digging in.
She whispered, “Wait here, behind the door. Don’t make a sound. Let me fix him his dinner and while I’m doing that, see if you can’t sneak out somehow.”
Cornelia’s distress at being caught set Rae Lynn’s own stomach to churning. It was senseless to be so afraid of one’s own husband. Cornelia had certainly drawn the short straw marrying him.
They heard splashing at the kitchen sink, then Otis bellowed, “Cornelia! Where you at!”
Cornelia rushed from the room using a light singsong tone as she replied, “Right here, honey. I was just straightening the bedroom.”
“Where’s my dinner? Why ain’t it on the table? It’s twelve o’clock!”
“It’s coming. I got it all ready.”
Rae Lynn peeked and had to draw back quickly. He sat facing the bedroom door. There was no way she’d be able to sneak out without him seeing her. Without another thought, she stuck one leg through the open window and straddled the edge. Holding on to the raised window sash, she brought her other leg through and dropped to the ground. The garden was right there, and she picked a couple of ripe tomatoes. As she went in the back screen door she let it slam good and hard. Cornelia was at the stove, spooning black-eyed peas onto Otis’s plate, and she jumped.
Rae Lynn said, “Here you go,” as if she’d been asked to pick the tomatoes.
The terror in Cornelia’s eyes melted away to relief. “Oh, thank you. Nothing better’n fresh tomatoes with peas. Otis, honey, would you want some?”
Otis, none the wiser, waved his fork in a grand manner.
The women’s eyes met over his head, and Cornelia mouthed, Thank you.
Over the next couple of days things went on like they normally did in the Riddle household, with her and Cornelia working sunup to sundown at the commissary, keeping meals on the table, cleaning, and canning what they were getting out of the kitchen garden, their bit of funning forgotten under the harsh glare of Otis’s watchful eyes. Saturday afternoon they were in the kitchen, and despite the fact the day was sweltering, they were busy canning tomatoes and beans, while enjoying a rare moment of peace because Otis had gone to get supplies to restock the store. They’d talked this and that, but mostly, they worked in the quiet, side by side, until someone knocked on the front door.