Escape Artist

she and Kathe were cutting and sewing patterns, I whispered, “Why is she here?”

“Her mother sent her over.”

“Did you hear about her father?”

“Of course.” Fannie was testy. “It’s all over town. Kathe told me about it, in fact. She says it’s ridiculous.”

“Of course, it is. But shouldn’t she be home with her family?”

“Caleb Stone sent her father home, so he’s sleeping now, she said.”

“But doesn’t she want…”

Fannie shrugged. “Imagine detaining Mr. Schmidt for murder! Have people in this town lost their minds?”

“Yes, they have.”

Fannie eyed me suspiciously and left to tend to supper. Over her shoulder, she told me, “We’re having goose with cranberry sauce.”

When my mother returned from My Store, she questioned me. “Why is Kathe here?”

“She had nowhere else to go, I guess.”

“What does that mean? Don’t be sarcastic, Ed. Poor Kathe. The poor dear. When a family is suffering, daughters need to stay close to home. Everyone knows that.”

Curious, I walked to the back sitting room, a small alcove where I liked to read my novels during the icy winter months, a drafty space that looked out on white-crusted stone walls. Now, Fannie’s dress patterns covered a pinewood table, and Kathe, her back to me, was bent over the narrow table, snipping away with scissors. I cleared my throat, but Kathe was slow to look up.

“Kathe, I’m sorry about your father.”

I lost any sympathy for her because the look on her shiny face was hardly what I expected, some softening, some weepiness, some helplessness. Some-vulnerability. No, Kathe looked mean and fierce, eyes hard as polished agates, lips pressed into a thin angry line. Scissors suspended in the air, she wagged their points at me and glowered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Kathe dropped her eyes.

“Kathe, are you mad at me?”

“My father ain’t guilty of nothing.” I corrected the grammar in my head.

“Well, I know that.”

“Then why were you and the others there today…crucifying him? You and those people…”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, like you didn’t chase down Jake in the park and make him talk about Frana.”

Well, true. “I’m a reporter. Frana Lempke-your friend-was murdered. I would think you’d want…”

“You want my father to be guilty…”

Outside, I noticed, it had started to rain, the heavy drops pinging and plopping against the window. For a second Kathe stared out into the rain; when she looked back at me, she appeared dazed.

“You’re making no sense, Kathe.”

She stabbed at the fabric with the scissors. Her shoulders hunched, tight. “Leave me alone.”

“So your father is back home?”

Kathe seethed, silent.

Intuitively I sensed that only one subject would get Kathe talking. “What does Jake Smuddie have to do with this?”

“What?”

“Have you spoken to Jake since…since the park?”

“No. He won’t talk to me. Guess whose fault that is.”

“Well, he’s hurting.”

“Maybe if you left him alone…”

“Did you know that he was still pursuing Frana?” It was a cruel line, said deliberately.

“I ain’t a fool. I had evidence.”

“Evidence?”

For a second the rain distracted her. Then she raised her chin and locked her eyes on me. “I knew he went there that night because Frana told me the next morning. The day she died, in fact. She tossed it in my face like a…a insult. She didn’t want him around because she was leaving Appleton with that man or something. But she knew how to hurt me. ‘Jake came to my window last night,’ she said. Just like that. Laughing. ‘He begged me!’ She laughed and said, ‘My uncle was gonna kill him.’ She thought the whole thing was real funny. You know, I couldn’t wait for her to get on that train with some old fool who’d use her and then abandon her on some New York street like a dirty rag or something. It ain’t right what she did to me.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Kathe snorted. “Like you care, Edna.”

“Of course, I do.”

“You took Jake’s side.”

“That’s nonsense.” A second passed. “Tell me, how did Jake react when he learned Frana was sneaking out to see some older man, if she actually did that.”

The rain picked up, streaking the windows, turning the room chilly. I glanced outside, and Kathe followed my gaze. “He ain’t sitting in the park now, you know.” Then she added, “Of course, he knew about the man. I made sure to tell him. Me. God, even Frana told him. I could see he didn’t like that.”

“But Jake was seeing you, Kathe.”

She bit her lip. “He used me. I was the other pretty girl, but not the favorite. Second best. I was the dress”- she pointed to a pattern of fabric spread on the table-“that you wear, maybe not to the ball, but to a hayride. That’s what I was. You don’t care if it’s wrinkled a little and…and…” She faltered.

“You still have feelings for Jake?” A blunt question.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t think he’s nice to me and I don’t think…”

“Kathe, certainly you don’t think he’d hurt Frana, do you?”

A long silence. “He’s a football player.”

“What does that mean?”

She spoke in tinny, nervous voice. “He’s strong, ain’t he?”

“Kathe, really.”

Kathe, hands on hips, spat the words out, deliberately. “And he went to Ryan High School, ain’t he? He ain’t no stranger to those hallways.” She thought about what she’d said, arching back her head, and suddenly seemed happy with her words.

“You’re accusing him of murder?”

“No, no, I ain’t saying that.” She dropped her shoulders, ducking her head.

A liar, I thought, a dissembler, a sloppy girl without moral boundaries. “Just what are you saying?”

“You’re attacking me, Edna. Like you always do. You get me all rattled.” She looked outside. “Now I have to walk home in the rain.”

“I’m merely…”

“You just won’t leave me alone.”

“I need to know…”

“No, you don’t. Maybe you think you do, but nobody ain’t made you God here.”

“Kathe…”

She slipped into German. “I should have stayed to home.” Zu hause. She tossed the scissors down, swiveled around, and snatched her jacket, cradling it against her chest. “Just tell Fannie I left.” I didn’t move so she had to walk around me, nearly dropping her jacket as she edged out of the room. She collided with Fannie, who was rushing in.

“You’re leaving?” Fannie took in her furious face.