Sunday morning, I was still feeling guilty over what I’d done. Sometimes I talk when I should remain silent.
Rosa, Leah, Lyndell, and the four grands had arrived from Roanoke late Friday afternoon. The normal seven-hour drive had taken nearly ten hours, given Rosa’s urinary incontinence and young Jackson’s inner ear/motion sickness issues.
Yesterday, Leah and Lyndell had driven to the Birmingham airport to pick up their spouses, Dale and Olivia, and allow the females to indulge themselves at the Riverchase Galleria, one of the country’s largest malls.
Fortunately, this had provided a long overdue opportunity to spend time with my four grandchildren: Lyndell’s two boys, Jackson and Jasper, 7 and 6, and Leah’s two daughters, Ava and Amelia, 5 and 3. The five of us spent most of the day walking, talking, fishing, playing with the goats, and wrestling in the hay-filled barn loft. The weather had been warm but sunless, the fast-moving clouds foreboding the incoming rain.
The minute my children and their spouses arrived, I’d excused myself to my bedroom to call Rosa. I had been eager to talk with her ever since Lillian and I discovered Jane’s mystery wall. Proper respect probably required me to wait until after Rob’s funeral before confronting Rosa. But my attorney mind kept asking what respect she’d shown me all these years.
After arriving Friday night, Rosa had insisted on staying at her and Rob’s apartment at Bridgewood Gardens, the assisted living facility the couple had made their home for the past eight years. Unfortunately, Rosa had visitors and could not talk. Thankfully, she had insisted I come this morning.
I exited Woodham Drive into the Gardens’ parking lot at 6:50 AM. I’m not sure why Rosa insisted we meet so early. It probably had something to do with Rob’s 2:00 PM funeral at First Baptist Church of Christ.
There was no one manning the reception counter, but there was a sign on a glass wall requiring all visitors to sign in. The three-ring binder was open to the current page, revealing only one line available. I signed and scanned the other twenty-four names. The third one from the top was Ray Archer. He had been here Friday morning to see Ronald Archer. I assumed it was Ray’s father, but I did not know.
Per Leah’s directions, I walked to the end of a wide hallway and turned right into one much narrower. The cafeteria was on my left. After passing through two intersecting corridors, I turned right. According to a wall map, room 188 was straight ahead, at the dead end of Hallway G.
The door was cracked open three or four inches. I knocked, and Rosa immediately responded. “It’s open, come in.” I complied.
She was sitting in a small den on the far side of a rectangular room. I passed through a quasi-kitchen (a few cabinets, a sink, and a microwave) and ignored her non-verbal instruction to sit on a leather couch opposite her Lazy Boy chair. I eased to her, laid my hand on her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “How are you, Mom?” I had called her this since mine and Rachel’s wedding. Rosa had insisted. I retreated to the couch.
“Seen better days. How are you?” My mother-in-law had always been an elegant woman. She still is. Her graying hair looked like she’d just returned from the beauty shop. She wore a multi-colored silk housecoat. The deep rich red of her house shoes exuded refinement.
“Dreading this conversation.” I might as well be direct.
“Lee, before we jump into the abyss, please consider my love for Rachel, a mother’s love for her only daughter.” I kept listening, anticipating she knew why I was here. “And, just as important, I loved you. Still do.”
“Do you know why I’m here, what I want to talk about?”
“I think so. It’s long overdue and now that you’ve stumbled onto the truth, part of it, we need to air my dirty laundry.” I wanted to probe Rosa’s statement. How did she know I’d discovered the truth, or, as she said, ‘part of it?’
“Mom, I need you to be fully open with me. I need to know the truth.” As an afterthought, I added, “and no matter what it is, I will always love you, just like I will always love Rachel.”
“And I’ll always regret my decision to return to Alabama the summer of 1968. Rob had wanted to stay in China. Rachel and Randy were doing well in school, no indications or forewarning of trouble.” I was glad Rosa was starting at the beginning, even though I’d assumed the eighteen-month sabbatical was mutual with her husband.
My mother-in-law paused and closed the Bible that had been open on her lap. “What changed? I mean, what happened in Alabama?” I felt I knew but needed to hear it from Rosa.
“It was like a switch flipped. One inside Rachel’s head. I could blame it on her maturing puberty or approaching adolescence, but it also had to do with an evolving inquisitiveness about the world, including a rustling rebellion against Christianity, maybe authority.”
“The latter surprises me. Rachel never shared this phase with me.”
Rosa glanced at a digital clock on the table beside her chair. “Randy and Celia will be here between 8:30 and 9:00, but I want to answer all your questions. Since you’re the attorney, why don’t you guide our conversation.”
I smiled and nodded, thankful for Rosa’s apparent willingness to let the floodgates open. I figuratively stood erect and leaned forward into the deep darkness. “Why have the Archer’s, Ronald and Ray, been paying you and Rob all these years?” I’m not sure why I started here instead of with Rachel’s baby.
“Wow, you’ve looked behind the curtains.” Rosa paused again, lowered her footrest, stood, and walked to the back wall. She opened the blinds and stared into an overcast sky. Without turning, she said, “we would have done it without the money.”
“You and Rob?”
“Yes.”
“Done what?” I hoped she’d volunteer more details and transform her responses into an informative narrative.
“Keep our mouths shut.” I stayed silent, hoping Rosa would continue without prompting. Knocking and intrusion of a nurse’s aide delivering a half-dozen pills prolonged the wordless intermission. After we were again alone, Rosa continued. “Kyle’s accident and death came as a shock.”
At first, I thought I’d misheard. Accident? It didn’t take anything but a few seconds to realize Rosa believed a lie, probably a bag of lies. “Accident?” I almost said, ‘Ray murdered Kyle,’ but didn’t.
“Roland convinced me it was just as much Rachel’s fault as Ray’s, so Rob and I went along with the plan.”
“The plan? What plan?” I literally shook my head. Rosa turned in time to see my expression.
“Kyle had fallen and hit his head. He died almost instantly. The problem was that it had taken place during an altercation.”
“You mean a fight?” I didn’t stop for Rosa’s response. “Why not just tell the truth? Maybe it was simply Rachel at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Wouldn’t have worked. They, Ray and Rachel, had just learned what Kyle knew.”
“What was that?” Here comes the story of Rachel’s pregnancy.
“Somehow, Kyle discovered Ray had gotten an Albertville cheerleader pregnant. And, about that girl’s disappearance.” Rosa returned to her Lazy Boy but didn’t raise the footrest.
I might as well be proactive. “Did Kyle also know about Rachel’s pregnancy?”
Rosa didn’t verbally respond, but she did nod affirmatively.
“Tell me about the fight. Where Kyle fell.”
“He was trying to extort money from Ray and threatened to go public if he didn’t pay up. It happened at the creek, besides Kyle’s house.” From what I thought I knew, Rosa’s story was surreal.
“I’m sorry to say this, but there’s something obviously missing. Based on the fight, altercation as you call it, I don’t see a good reason for you and Rob to have stayed silent.” This time, I paused, considering my next thought. “Unless you needed the money, or, sorry to put it this way, were greedy and saw an easy way to line your pockets.”
“Lee, you know Rob and me better than to make that accusation. Please realize how difficult this is for me. I can’t stand speaking ill of my dearest Rachel.”
“Mom, remember, I need the truth.”
“Ronald made us believe it somehow involved Rachel. The disappearance of Sharon Teague.” The enunciation of the girl’s name triggered, at first, the sensation of ingesting a mouthful of spoiled milk, then a feeling of approaching nausea. Rosa knew some truthful facts.
“Did Rachel admit the same?” Rosa’s story seemed fanciful. “How had Ronald Archer been so persuasive?”
“She did but would never provide details. All she would say is, ‘Mom, Dad, I am responsible for Sharon’s death.’”
“Assuming all this was true, it seems more likely that Ronald would ask you and Rob to pay him. Did you not imagine that Ray was criminally at fault in Kyle’s death?” Rosa (and Rob) had either been naïve, or she was still concealing a mountain of relevant facts.
“To be blunt, and reveal our ignorance, we ignored everything but Rachel’s exposure. It wasn’t until later that we learned what Ray had done to Kyle.”
“And what was that?” I felt like a hamster on a treadmill.
“Ray had shot and killed Kyle. Intentionally.” I almost interrupted, but Rosa held out her hand. “To make matters worse, Rachel told us she had hidden the murder weapon.”
Another knock at the door provided an opportunity to frame my response. A tall and skinny young red-headed boy, maybe twenty, entered bearing Rosa’s breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal, a slice of unbuttered toast, an orange, a banana, a pint of milk, and a glass of what I assume was cranberry juice. Tad, per his name tag, set the tray on a TV stand and positioned it in front of Rosa. He left after wishing us both a nice day.
While Rosa ate, I talked, choosing my words carefully. I shared how Rachel had told me the reason she attempted suicide the first time was because of her abortion.
“She never had an abortion.” Rosa said without looking at me.
“I know that now, but before we talk about Elita Ann Kern…” This time, Rosa looked straight at me, her eyes distant. “Rachel wrote in her diary what happened the night of December 11, 1969.” I shared how she led me to believe she had hidden the murder weapon, a Smith & Wesson 38 caliber pistol, in an upstairs wall at the Hunt House. Rosa continued to eat as I summarized how I’d found a similar pistol, but it could not have been the murder weapon.
This is when everything changed. “Rachel moved it to the cabin. In Roanoke.” I thought of the ‘38 to friend’ note scribbled inside Rosa’s favorite book, The Cost of Discipleship.
My words failed. My mouth was like cotton. I stood and walked to the sink and ran a glass of water and drank half of it. On my way back to the couch, I finally spoke. “When did Rachel do that?”
“Before she killed herself.” At first, I thought Rosa was attempting some dark humor. “I mean during the six months before she hung herself.”
I had a dozen questions, including how Rachel could have pulled off this two-thousand-mile trip, and where she would have gotten the newer S&W she stuffed inside the Hunt House wall replacing the actual murder weapon. I silently laughed to myself, realizing I was citing facts I didn’t know were true. There was at least one thing I needed Rosa to answer. “How do you know the pistol in Roanoke is the murder weapon, the gun that Ray used to kill Kyle?” I was still making a couple of assumptions, but my awkward sentence generated a quick response.
“Rob. I always thought he would have made a better lawyer or detective than a missionary.”
“What did he do?” I was hoping Rosa would say Rob had someway engaged an expert who tied it via ballistics or fingerprints to Ray Archer. I was dreaming.
“He convinced Ronald Archer to verify it was his. The serial number matched.” It was a letdown. This was circumstantial.
Rosa took a bite of her banana and stared at me. “I see that look. Remember, Rob was sharp. He audio-taped a phone conversation with Ronald and Ray. The two finally admitted the pistol Rob was referring to had been used to shoot Kyle.”
“That doesn’t sound smart. Sorry, no disrespect to Rob. Why would he let Ray and his father know he had possession of the murder weapon?”
“Who said he did?” Obviously, I was confused. Rosa nodded and raised her eyebrows. “Rob lied. He made Ray and Ronald think he had a photograph of the pistol.”
I looked at my watch. It was after seven-thirty, and I had a ton more questions. “Where is the pistol now, the murder weapon?”
“Hand me that notebook.” Rosa pointed to a small desk beside her end table. “And a pencil.” I complied.
As instructed, I moved her breakfast tray to the kitchen while she sketched. When I returned, Rosa motioned me to stand beside and behind her while she drew and explained. “You know for sure it’s still there?” I had to ask.
“Unless it has been discovered and moved since late Thursday night when I checked.” Rosa circled an asterisk she had made along the basement’s rear wall. “There’s a crawl-through door here, but you can use a chair to reach inside behind the concrete wall. It’s protected by a zip-lock bag.”
After printing the cabin’s address in the lower right corner, Rosa removed the sheet and handed it to me. I returned to my spot on the couch. “I need to go to Roanoke. Is that okay with you?”
Rosa nodded affirmatively and reached to her left toward the floor. She fumbled in a large leather bag and tossed a set of keys my way. “Keep them. It will soon be yours and the kids.” I wondered if she was relaying the contents of Rob’s will, her intent to make a gift, or whether she was expecting her near-term death.
The land line phone on her end table rang as I slid the keys inside my jacket pocket. She let it ring several times. “Shouldn’t you answer that?”
“I’m sure it’s Stella Reed from 144. She calls about this time every Sunday morning. She can wait.” I offered encouragement through head and hand signals to answer, thinking another voice might give my mother-in-law a respite from our abyss-like discussion. After eight rings, she finally answered. “Hello.” A five second pause was followed by, “okay dear, love you.”
“I’m betting that was Randy.” I said, standing, acknowledging my desire to avoid my brother-in-law and his girlfriend in this setting. At the funeral home, small talk won’t be an issue.
“He’ll be here in fifteen or twenty minutes, just coming into Guntersville.”
That should be enough time to ask one more question. I stepped towards Rosa and knelt on one knee. “Mom, I need to be going, but I have one last question. Okay?” I took hold of her hands. Tears came to her eyes, and mine.
She again nodded up and down. “Rachel’s baby?”
I reciprocated the head movement.
“There was never a question. Rachel, or me and Rob only considered full term and adoption.”
“Did she promise Ray she would have an abortion?”
“Yes. No. Before we left for China, she told him she had the abortion.” Rosa looked to her right toward the open blinds. I imagined her thoughts transported her to another world, one half-a-century ago, probably to China and to the day baby Elita was born. Then she smiled. “Just to think Rob and I considered raising the precious little girl.”
That seemed reasonable, given the circumstances. “What stopped you?”
“Two things. The Mission Board and Rachel herself. Rob and I speculated about the Board’s reaction. Rob confided in a missionary friend, then retired, who had spent his last ten working years in Nashville as a compliance officer of some sort. His advice was to stay quiet and put the baby up for adoption. That, and Rachel’s plea on Elita’s behalf for her to have a normal life.”
“I guess I’ll never know why Rachel swore that her reason to attempt suicide was her abortion, one that she never had.” My last statement was confusing.
“My sweet daughter was beautiful inside and out, but she was also mysterious. You probably never realized she was a woman with many masks.”
I could have pursued that point several ways, but it was time to go. We released hands as I stood half erect and gave Rosa an awkward hug. “I’ll see you at the funeral.” She smiled and returned her gaze to the blinds, the gray sky, and likely, to a time and world long ended.
The Pencil Driven Life 