Whispering, Idaho Read online

  “Terrific,” he said. He gave his dog one final pat and stood, following Alice into the tiny kitchen. He leaned against the stove next to her. “Carl’s daughter, huh? What’s that mean?” he asked quietly.

  Alice, afraid he might try to kiss her again, turned away from his heat, moving a few steps over to the sink where she filled a saucepan with water. She spoke overly loud, “Sunstar says she’s nuts. I mean, she pounds on the wall at the drop of a pin and yells for me to be quiet.” She waited for him to move so she could set the pan on the burner.

  Stephen stepped back. “Go ahead,” he said, “I’ll sit at the table. Who’s Sunstar?”

  “My apartment house manager. Says she’s been pounding on the walls for as long as he’s lived here. Says when she’s not pounding on the wall, she’s wandering along the river or hunkered over the bar down at the Town Tavern.”

  “Huh!” Stephen was gazing at the rain rolling in sheets down the window.

  Alice followed his thoughtful stare. The maple tree’s dinner-plate-size leaves drooped and fluttered. Streams of water ran off the roof.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He turned back to her. “What for?”

  “For acting weird. I’m edgy, okay? Got something on my mind.”

  “You’re fine. Your dad and you aren’t exactly look-alikes. What if Jim isn’t your father?”

  Alice filled two mugs with hot water, dropping a teabag into each. “Nobody looks like Dad in my family,” she said, setting the mugs on the table between them as she took a seat across from Stephen.

  “Your sister does. Sometimes records get sealed—court order. I can check the church logs.”

  “Miss Green wanders about town muttering to herself and you believe her? You’re batty too.”

  Stephen leaned back against the straight chair, crossed his arms over his chest. He glanced at his sleeping dog. “I saw what was happening. Let’s stop it.”

  Alice bit her lip.

  “Forget Miss Green. I’m worried about you.” He reached over and took her hands.

  Alice’s eyes filled with tears. Untangling her hands from his, she covered her face and lowered her head. The lump in her throat stopped her from shouting that Stephen could never love her because she was a whore just like her father said she was. She jumped at the sound of Stephen’s chair grating along the floor. His warm arms slipped around her quaking shoulders. In a burst of emotion she blurted out, “I’m not who you think I am!”

  “I know you. You’re Alice Sharp.”

  Alice sobbed. “You don’t understand! I might be pregnant.”

  “Who’s the father?”

  A sharp knock at the door made her jump again. She wiped her eyes quickly, starting to get up.

  “Wait,” Stephen said. “They’ll go.”

  Alice stayed put, heart pounding, the heat and weight of Stephen’s arms making her feel safe. She was good at stilling her breath and listening hard. Instead of hearing footsteps descending the stairs, the door cracked opened. She looked up. There stood her mother.

  “What’s going on here?” she snapped.

  Stephen dropped his arms, stepped back. Alice straightened up, holding her cross. She wished the color burning her neck would leave and that her tear-stained face were dry. Zeke gave a half-hearted bark. Alice’s mother stood waiting, her black suit accentuating her defiance, a crow scavenging road kill.

  “Well?”

  “I’m here helping Alice.”

  “You’re services aren’t needed, Pastor. I’m sorry my daughter has taken up so much of your time.”

  “I’ll see about the glass. Got a tape measure?”

  “You don’t fool me, mister. You may be a man-of-the-cloth, but you’re still a man.”

  “Mother, stop it. Stephen’s my guest.”

  “It’s okay,” Stephen said. “Still raining, Mrs. Sharp?”

  “It’s finished and so are you.”

  Stephen laughed. “See you in church. Come on, Zeke. Time to go home. Stop by tomorrow, Alice. Lilies can’t last in this heat.”

  “First thing in the morning,” Alice said, watching her mother’s mouth tighten up, her eyebrows pinch into a knot as Stephen and Zeke squeezed past.

  “He doesn’t bite, Mrs. Sharp.”

  The door clicked shut. Alice waited for her mother’s reprimand.

  “What’d I say about male guests?” she said, eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t have to take this from you. It’s my life now. You’d better go.”

  “You ran off before we were finished. I’m not going anywhere until this is cleared up.”

  “It’s clear to me. You didn’t lift a finger to stop him. And you have the gall to accuse me of bringing on the violence myself. You’re not a mother. You’re a weakling—a puppet. You make me sick!”

  Her mother lit a cigarette.

  Shaking, Alice screamed. “No smoking in my apartment!”

  Her mother dropped her lighter into her bag, blowing smoke out her nose. “Suspecting and knowing are two different things, Alice. What was I supposed to do? He’s my husband. I have to keep him happy.”

  “You’re supposed to protect your daughter. Why didn’t you?”

  “I did the best I could. Now, if you’ll let me, I’ll help you. We’ll go to the police together.”

  “Would that make you feel better?” Alice said, drilling her mother with a gaze as hot as smoldering embers.

  Her mother drew hard on the cigarette, countering her daughter’s stare without answering.

  “Sorry Mother, I don’t want you to feel better. I’ll report the rape myself, but first I have something to tell Stephen. I’m going after him.”

  Alice grabbed her sketchbook, forcing her way past her mother. “Close the door when you leave.”

  Alice slipped as she flew down the path to the beach, crashing onto her hands and knees. She picked herself up, brushed off the wet sandy and took off again. Her heart was racing, her breath coming in gasping gulps, sweat slipping down her sides. All hell was going to break loose once she told the police what her father had done to her. But what bothered her even more was what Stephen might think of her now.

  She put her hands to her mouth and yelled, “Stephen, Stephen!” When she stood perfectly still to listen, all she could hear was the rushing water and the wind in the bull pines.

  She wiped her sweaty forehead and took off again, racing east along the shore. At the bend of the river, she stopped, clutched her book to her chest and listened: whooshing, snapping, cawing and barking.

  Turning in circles, she searched the beach. “Zeke? Zeke, come on boy!”

  She cocked her head to the right—faint barking came from just beyond the willows. She hurried toward the sound.

  Zeke saw her before she saw him and came bounding out of the greenery toward her. Stephen stepped out from behind a clump of willows, waving. Alice’s heart flipped. Despite her fear of dogs, she ran to greet them.

  Stephen caught her in his arms; he hugged her tightly. Zeke danced about them, barking excitedly. “What are you doing here?”

  Alice panted, caught her breath. “I came to apologize. My mother—I can’t believe how rude she was to you,” she said, gulping for air. “And I didn’t get to finish telling you what happened.”

  “Slow down, Alice. There’s plenty of time.”

  Alice rubbed her hands over her sweaty face and continued. “It was Dad; he’s the one—if I’m pregnant that is. He did it.”

  Stephen looked at her, his eyes suddenly dark and distant like a storm brewing on the horizon. “He committed incest with you?”

  “I’m sorry, sorry,” she dropped her arms to her sides, almost losing her sketchbook in the process. She knew it would be this way; he hated her now. She sobbed uncontrollably.

  “You’re apologizing for being raped? Let’s get you out of the sun.” Stephen helped her down onto a rock in the shade of the dense willows whips. Squatting next to her, he dried her tears with the
edge of his T-shirt. “You’re going to be okay. Where’s your mother?”

  “I left her at my apartment,” Alice said, managing to speak through her tears. “She blamed me for bringing the whole thing on myself. I told her I’m going to the police without her.”

  He pushed her hair out of her face. “She knows you’re turning him in?”

  “She does now,” she said, swallowing her tears. “It would never have happened if she hadn’t gone to Joy Sunday.”

  “Sunday? That’s right. She wasn’t in church.” “No. She told us at breakfast that she was going to help my Grandma Rose,” Alice said, hiccupping. “I better go now, talk to the police while he’s still at work.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “It would be better not to be seen with me. He might try to pin the blame on you, even get you kicked out of town. He’s a rabid dog.”

  “I’ll take my chances. You ready?” Stephen reached out his hand to her.

  She took hold of his strong grip, letting him help her up. “Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “Worst part’s already happened, Alice. Things can only get better now.”

  Inside the jailhouse, the air cool air smelled like snubbed out cigarettes, urine and burnt coffee. It was the first time Alice had ever been inside the building. She blinked her eyes in the dim light, now seeing the black bars towering from floor to ceiling. The sound of canned laughter from a TV, echoed off cement walls, making her stomach toss like a pitching snag in heavy current. She felt the warmth of Stephen’s shoulder next to hers. She grabbed hold of his arm. “Hello,” she said, clutching her sketchbook to her chest like a shield.

  “Help ya?” Officer Wise said, dropping his black- booted feet off the desk. He stood up, his towering height blotting out the light from the high windows behind him.

  Alice crossed the cement floor, her flip-flops snapping, the sound echoing off the solid walls. “I want to report a crime.”

  “Forget to tell me something last night?”

  Alice nodded. “This is Pastor Smith.”

  “We’ve met,” he said, reaching out a hand. “This a church matter?”

  “No,” Alice said, remembering her father’s comments about Stephen.

  “Have a seat,” the policeman said, removing his hat, scratching his balding head. He tossed his hat on the desk, then picked up a pencil, pulled out a piece of paper, and scribbled something across the top.

  Alice sat down in the metal folding chair. Stephen was next to her, taking her hand and gently squeezing it.

  “Go ahead.”

  She opened her mouth like a crow—only a croak came out. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “My Dad did a bad thing.”

  “More bruises,” Norman Wise said, frowning, leaning forward across the desk.

  She picked at the cut healing on her index finger. “He, um…he—”

  The door banged open. Alice jumped, turning at the sound of pumps clacking across the cement.

  “Officer Wise,” her mother practically shouted. “This is a family matter. Please ask the Pastor to leave.”

  Stephen got up. Alice grabbed his hand, pulled him back down.

  “Mrs. Sharp,” Officer Wise nodded. “Guess we’re one big happy family now.”

  “I told you I’m doing this alone. You better go.”

  Alice’s mother opened her purse, as usual searching for a pack of cigarettes. “If this is private, then Pastor Smith should go.”

  Alice clutched her sketchbook to her stomach. “He’s staying, but you and your cigarette need to leave.”

  Her mother was smiling as she stuffed the pack back into her bag. “I don’t mind about the smoke, but I’m not budging”

  “Mother, please.”

  Officer Wise rolled his eyes. “Coffee anyone?”

  Alice didn’t answer as she watched her mother twisting her purse strap into a knot and watching her.

  Stephen stood up. “I’ll wait for you at the river.” He got up, crossing the cement to the door. A thin line of sunlight seared the gloom like lightning, then vanished.

  The officer set two stained mugs of steaming coffee before them. “Now, ladies,” he said, flicking off the TV. “I’m a busy man. If we can just get to the crux of the matter, I can get back to work.”

  “Dad raped me,” Alice blurted.

  Mrs. Sharp sucked in her breath and gave her purse strap one final twist, breaking it into two pieces.

  “Mom wasn’t home when it happened. She’d gone to see Grandma Rose up in Joy, Idaho.”

  “I should have listened. It’s my fault. You didn’t want me to go. Oh, my poor, poor baby.”

  Seeing her mother tear up threatened to break open Alice’s pain. She knew if she broke down now, her tears would wash them out the door and the river would change course once again. Alice grabbed hold of her cross, swallowing over the lump in her throat.

  “Alice?” Officer Wise said.

  Alice looked up.

  “Accusations this big need proof.”

  “We were alone,” Alice said, remembering the pot she’d smoked, the woozy feeling that made her want to sleep, her missed chance at escape.

  “Semen, blood, a medical exam, Miss Sharp. Do you have the sheet, an article of clothing?”

  Alice looked up, pushing her palms hard against the sketchbook resting in her lap until she felt the remaining tenderness of her injury pressing solidly against the metal folding chair. “He did it. I bit him when he covered my mouth. There’ll be teeth marks. You’ll see.”

  Alice felt her mother’s hand on hers. “Where are the sheets, your nightgown, and your underwear?”

  Alice thought of the river, the hollows beneath the roots where the fish circled, dark and still. “He was too strong to fight off,” she said, hearing the shrillness in her voice.

  “No one’s accusing you. Officer Wise only wants evidence to prove he hurt you.”

  Alice winced, pulling her hand away from her mother’s overly tight grip. She looked into her mascara-streaked face. When Alice spoke again, her voice was flat as slack water.

  “There’s blood on my slip. And probably his, you know, his man stuff. The slip is stuffed behind the white towels in the bathroom cupboard. I threw out my underwear. The sheet was in the hamper.”

  Wise’s voice lowered. “Will you submit to a medical exam, Miss Sharp?”

  Alice hated the idea of having some doctor poking at her almost as much as she hated what had happened to her. “I don’t want to, but I will if it will help prove he did it.”

  Officer Wise tapped his pen against the form he’d been filling out. The skin between his eyebrows pinched together, forming two deep furrows. “Thought our Jim Sharp was a decent man. Goes to show you, can’t tell a man by his business. Sorry this happened to you, Alice. I’ll take care of it.” He opened his desk and pulled out a plastic bag and handed it to Alice’s mother. “Bring the evidence directly to me. I’ll get on the horn with Doc Redman.”

  Alice stroked her fingers over the cool metal of the cross. She remembered the photo slipped between the pages of her sketchbook, the man in the middle with his dark eyes. “I was six the first time he touched me.”

  “What’s this? He raped you before?”

  “Touching and kissing. He made me promise not to tell.”

  The officer shook his head. “Son-of-a-bitch pedophile. Sorry, Vi. We’ll haul him in once the two of you leave.”

  “He gave me presents afterwards.” Alice turned to her mother. “That silk nightgown wasn’t for you. He wanted me to wear it the night you were gone. I threw it in the trash, but Christie found it. She had it on when Dad came home. He was so pissed I thought he was going to hit her. I was going to sneak out to the river, but I fell asleep,” Alice said, gagging back a sob. “I made a mistake. It was a mistake.”

  “Oh, honey. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It’s common for victims to blame themselves. You’ll just have to believe in yo
urself. Just one more question,” Officer Wise said. “You sexually active, Miss Sharp?”

  “I don’t see what difference that . . .”

  Officer Wise held up his hand. “I know this is difficult, Mrs. Sharp. The court will ask about her sexual history.”

  “I was a virgin before the rape. Ask Gena. She’ll tell you I’m a prude. It’s embarrassing. I’ve hardly even dated. Ben Glimmer and I had a soda once in awhile. We were like brother and sister and now he’s gone. I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Alice said, remembering Stephen waiting at the river. She didn’t need to go into that.

  “That’s right,” her mother said, looking more alert now. “She doesn’t date. Her father wouldn’t stand for it.”

  Officer Wise stood up. “And where will I find Mr. Sharp?”

  “At the hardware store, of course,” Alice’s mother said.

  “He’s at the Town Tavern, Mom, and you know it.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Alice hesitated at the bottom of the station steps, feeling her stomach jittering like it was full of sand fleas. She turned at the sound of her mother’s heels clacking on the cement and at the sight of her, grew furious all over again.

  Her mother nervously lit up. They waited together, not saying a word as the patrol car pulled out of the parking lot and turned down Main Street. The Dixie Land Band broke into song, the snare drum snapping, and Alice’s heart pounding along with the beat.

  In a few minutes her father would be cuffed and hauled from the Town Tavern into the urine smell of the jail. Jim Sharp Jailed On Rape Charges. It would be all over town in no time. With her emotions in turmoil, she left her mother standing on the curb and stepped into the street, making her way toward the July Fourth festivities.

  “Alice! Alice! We could get something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said, not looking back.

  She moved quickly into the mass of squealing children, laughing adults, horsing teens, the noise and confusion overwhelming in her state. The stifling air closed in around her, causing her ears to buzz, muffling the sounds of the celebration, dissolving chattering voices into an eerie underwater echo. As soon as she stopped by a sugar maple to gather herself once again, a small boy crashed into her, knocking her backwards against the tree. “Bobby, come back here,” his mother shouted, running up, grabbing him by the hand, jerking him. “When I say get over here, you’d better hop to it, you hear me?”