I had dithered long enough. I climbed the stairs to the upper bedrooms.
The entire upstairs had been remodeled. The four newly painted bedrooms now all opened onto the landing, and there was a full bath with divided areas: a double sink area, a dedicated shower and tub area, and a water closet, all according to the church standards, but ultramodern and sleek. Everything was white. And here again everything was lined up perfectly and everything gleamed. “Oh, Esther,” I whispered.
My sister had been keeping a room here, for when she sat with Mud, on those rare evenings and weekends when I had a case that kept me away from home. I paid her a few dollars an hour, and while she was here, she had use of an empty room for her oversized quilting frame, a bedroom to call her own, and all the food she wanted to cook. It had worked out great on paper. Not so great in reality, as Esther had been more of a permanent guest for the last month.
And now Mud said that Esther was essentially living here?
I stood outside her room and debated knocking. I decided not to, because if she was asleep, I was not waking her. That made me a coward, but I could live with being a coward.
Carefully, I turned the knob and opened her door. Esther was lying on the old iron bed’s mattress, on top of the quilt she had made. She lay on her side, her arms around her huge belly, her dress tucked discreetly around her knees, asleep. Her blond hair was braided but not bunned up; the tail was curled across the pillow she had pulled down from the top and green leaves and vines trailed across the white case from her hairline. Her fingertips were growing leaves as well, curling from her nail beds.
Esther’s leaves were different from mine, which were very dark green with reddish petioles and veins. Esther’s were like spring maple leaves, pale and beautiful. With the baby hormones, they grew fast, faster than mine ever did.
At the side of the bed were three suitcases and four oversized plastic tubs of quilting supplies and cloth. As if she had moved in over the last two days.
Esther’s eyes fluttered open and she met my gaze. She had been crying, eyes red, tear-sand in the corners. We stared at each other for a while before she shoved up with her arms and let her feet fall down, until she was sitting on the bed. Her bellyprotruded like a huge Hubbard squash and she stuffed a pillow between her back and the iron bedstead for support. She rubbed her back the way Stella Mae’s sister had when she complained about needing lumbar support.
“You’un have something to say?” she demanded.
“No.” I had learned the value of silence at PsyLED.
Her reddened eyes narrowed. “’Cause a you’un, I’ll never find a new husband.”
The accusation cut. It wasn’t true, but it hurt all the same. I wanted to yell, throw things. But... that was what my sister wanted. She wanted to gain control through anger and emotion and a big fight. One I would have to apologize for afterward because she would be upset and crying and it would feel as if it was my fault. Esther manipulation.
I didn’t do what she wanted. “Why do you need a husband?” I asked calmly.
Esther’s face twisted into pure horror. She clamped her mouth shut.
“Women don’t need men to take care of us,” I said. “We’re fine on our own. We can protect our own land, put out our own fires, provide for ourselves.Needinga man to be fulfilled makes him your god, not your partner.”
Her lips turned in and she bit them closed. Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
I was speaking heresy according to the church. I knew how hard all this was on her. I understood. But her condition and her life were not my fault. I hadn’t made Esther grow leaves. I hadn’t made her what she was. Genetics had. I steeled myself against pity. “Why did Jed ask for the divorce? He knew you were growing leaves. He helped you hide them from the church up until now. What made him want out?”
Esther wiped her face with the back of one hand, the motion reminding me of Catriona, in the jail. “He’s been talking to Jackie Jackson’s old faction. They’re making him believe lies. They say it ain’t his baby. They say I laid with a demon in the woods.”
I wanted to laugh, but she was deadly serious. And there was the Green Knight, who was sentient or near enough to count. And who knew what a sentient tree might do with a willing tree-woman. Then I remembered thepunishmentgiven toEsther by Jackie Jackson. The thought chilled me. Terrified me, if I was honest.
“Did you have sex with a tree-man?” I asked, my voice steady, calm.
“No. Ain’t no such thing as a tree-man.”
Softly, gentle as a falling feather, knowing I was trespassing into deeply personal territory, I asked, “What about Jackie Jackson? Is there any chance he’s the father?”
“No. Not him. I had me a menses after he...” She stopped, her eyes turned away. She shuddered and then continued, “... After hepunishedme.” Punishment in church vernacular meant rape. “I know for sure and certain who the daddy is. I know the very day Jedidiah and me got me pregnant.” She looked down at her belly and rubbed it with the fingers of one hand, as if her stretched skin was itching and painful. Her eyes followed her leafy hand. Softer, she said, “I remember every single moment. The very minute. It was magical and wonderful.” Her face hardened. “And yet he stood up in devotions this morning and divorced me in front of the entire church, claiming I was unfaithful to him.”
“Do you want to be married to him?”
Esther raised her eyes to me, and I could see thoughts running around in the back of hers, chasing each other, half-confused, half-determined. Her voice firmed. “I love him. I want him to love me. If’n he don’t, well, I reckon I’d rather be alone than be an unloved wife in a house full of loved wives.” She held my gaze as if the answer to her next question was the most important thing she had ever asked. “How... how did you’un do it?”
“Get away from the church?”
She nodded.
“One day at a time. Just like you will, if that’s what you decide. You’ve been having trouble with Jed for a while. You’ve been here off and on for a month, grieving your loss of humanity and being afraid of being alone and uneducated with a child and no home. But unlike me, you’re not alone. You can get education. You have people who will show you how to live independently. You don’t feel strong, but you are, and so the main thing you have to do is stop grieving and stop letting him hurt you.
“You have to start making decisions and follow through.You’re cleaning the house like a madwoman, but you’re being lazy about everything else.”
