“I said leave it!”
I turned and walked slowly toward my bedroom. I could feel my lip beginning to swell. As soon as I was inside, Celine grabbed the door handle.
“You open this door and I swear to God I’ll break your arm.” She slammed the door shut.
I folded myself onto my bed, dazed and aching. Many minutes later I heard Celine talking on the telephone three rooms away. I couldn’t make out the muffled words. Celine was speaking relatively calmly, though, definitely not to Truman.
Then I heard a key turn in the lock of my bedroom door. I hadn’t even known there was a key for that lock. Some minutes later, Celine was on the patio outside my window. I rose from my bed to peer out. Celine was standing there with my travel bag in one hand, her purse and car keys in the other. One of the vineyard employees, an older man named Horace, stood next to her.
“If she so much as opens that window an inch, you slam it shut,” Celine was telling the man. “I don’t care if you bring it down on her fingers. She has stolen from me.”
I watched as Celine handed the man money. It looked like a lot, surely enough to buy his participation. The man pulled up one of the patio chairs and set it within yards of my window and took a seat. Celine stared at me through the lacy curtain and then walked off, taking my travel bag with her, knowing that I wouldn’t go far without it.
From the window, I couldn’t see Celine getting into herve hicle, but I heard the engine turn over, heard the tires on the gravel, saw pricks of pale brown.
I returned to my bed, curled up on it, and tried to think where Celine was driving off to. What was she doing? Who was she telling? And how was I going to get away now? How in the world was I going to get away now? After a long while lying there in terror, my troubling thoughts exhausted me into sleep.
When I woke up, it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon. The house was still quiet. Horace was still seated outside my window, nodding off but not in deep sleep. I was thirsty. I went into my bathroom, turned on the cold-water tap, and drank from my cupped hand. The cool water soothed my swollen lip.
At four o’clock, Celine returned and Horace left.
Half an hour later, Celine opened the door, and I sat up on my bed.
Celine’s gaze was like steel, but her voice was calm. “Arrangements have been made for you.”
“Please, Mrs. Calvert. You don’t have to arrange anything. If you will just give me my bag, I—”
“You’ll go where I say.”
“Where... where am I going?”
Celine regarded me coolly. “Where you belong.”
“Please, Mrs. Calvert.” I felt new tears spill from my eyes, making the cut on my lip sting.
“Give me your shoes.”
“What?”
“Your shoes. Give me your shoes.”
“What? Why?” I sputtered.
“Why do you think? Mrs. Grissom will be coming for you the day after tomorrow. I intend to make sure you go with her and nowhere else. You’ll get your shoes back then. Now, give them to me.”
I sat back down on my bed, removed my shoes, and handed them to Celine.
“I don’t care what you do between now and then, but you will not leave this house or touch the telephone or answer the door. And I don’t want to see you. Do you understand? If I were you, I’d stay in here except to get something to eat. Because I don’t want to see you.”
Celine turned and left, closing the door behind her.
Minutes later, Alphonse arrived to make dinner. I heard him ask about me.
“She’s not feeling well,” Celine said.
15
JUNE 1939
