“He did know, Sib.” Deborah is forlorn. “But it was too late. After he married us, he watched Jonathan slam my head into a wall after church one Sunday when we were alone in the church office.”
Sibley’s eyes widen in alarm.
“He was terrified Jonathan would find out you didn’t belong to him. The reason he was so upset when he found out I was pregnant was he knew it would be an automatic death sentence. In his mind, he thought he was saving my life—father to daughter. As twisted as it sounds”—Deborah gazes stiffly at her—“I understand now. That’s why he took me to the clinic. It was never out of anger against Edward like I thought. My mother told me the truth after my father died, and it breaks my heart, especially since I hated him up until the day he died.”
Sibley chomps hard on her nail, her eyes never leaving Deborah’s.
“He took me to the farthest clinic so none of the neighbors would find out. He was drunk as a skunk when he came to pick me up, which was out of character. His words were all garbled, just like yours are now. Your grandpa only drank communion wine.” Deborah shudders at the terrible memory. “I had to drive us back home. Speaking of life-changing events,” Deborah asks, “do you remember the night of the Halloween party?”
“How could I forget?” Sibley gnaws on her nail. “I saw you with Fletch’s dad that evening. I was outside when you two came strolling up the walk together, holding hands.”
Deborah swallows. “We weren’t exactly holding hands. I mean, we were, but . . .”
Exasperated, Sibley exhales. “When are you ever going to tell me the truth?”
“I told you I went to him for help,” Deborah murmurs. “He was trying to help me leave.”
“Were you going to leave just Jonathan or both of us?”
“Why would I leave you?” Deborah huffs. “Only Jonathan.”
“Why was it so hard?” Sibley slurs her words. “Is it because you weren’t capable of holding down a job?”
“How can you say that?” Deborah retorts. “I wanted to work outside the home. Jonathan forbade it. He wouldn’t let me have a vehicle. He wanted me completely dependent on him so I couldn’t leave.”
Sibley goes eerily silent.
“Since the Fletchers were neighbors, I drunkenly confided in Robert Fletcher one night when Jonathan and Cindy were out of earshot that I wanted to leave Jonathan. When he confronted me about it later on, I denied it at first, but eventually, I told him I had to. And before you ask why I didn’t ask Cindy for help”—Deborah puts up a hand, confident what Sibley’s next question will be—“Cindy, for all her strengths, was not known for her ability to keep a secret. You know how hard it is to keep one in this town. Cindy was a sweet lady, but she talked a lot and enjoyed gossip. She would have whispered it to someone at church, who would’ve told someone else, and before you know it, Jonathan would’ve found out. It was important as few people as possible knew.”
Deborah sucks in a ragged breath. “One time, I tried to leave Jonathan when you were six or seven, and I confided in my best friend. Jonathan went to her house, threatened her with a bat, and, needless to say, she never spoke to me again.”
“Isolating the victim,” Sibley murmurs. “I’m all too familiar with every personality type and disorder, being a divorce attorney.”
“Exactly. You know it’s not as simple as leaving an abusive spouse. I didn’t want you to become a pawn between him and me. Or worse. So Robert tried to help put a plan in place so I could leave Jonathan and squirrel away money for this purpose. I didn’t dare meet Robert at his job or their house because no one could know.”
“But at the Halloween—” Sibley starts to speak, and Deborah cuts her off.
“Yes, the night of the Halloween party, Robert and I agreed to meet near the shed. When we met, it was a fast encounter. I gave him some money I’d been saving, and we talked about where I could move. He was trying to find a rental that could house us and was working on getting me a job.”
“Do you remember seeing Kristin at all on your walk?”
“No. We were never at the silo, but it’s obvious she spotted us at some point. She lied and added sordid details like some bored teenager.” Deborah adds, “The Guthries have an old one-room structure they use to store firewood. That’s where Robert and I talked for a few minutes.”
Sibley stammers, “What about what I saw?”
“What you saw was probably a gesture of friendship. I was probably leaning on him or standing close to him so I could whisper.”
“So you expect me to believe it was all gossip,” Sibley says pointedly. “Your affairs. The assumption you pushed Jonathan out of the loft. And the blame you got for Cindy’s death. Not to mention: Why should I believe you now, after all the lies?”
“Because I have no reason to lie. Both Jonathan and Cindy are in the ground.”
“They’ve been dead all these years, and you’ve never bothered to set the record straight,” Sibley retorts in an icy tone.
“I didn’t have any affairs,” Deborah says bluntly. “But I was trying to make decisions that would have the least impact on other people. I thought I was saving everyone from my hurt.”
“A lady at the bar, Miranda something or other, said . . .” Sibley waves a hand. “Oh, never mind. I’m sick of all these innuendos.”
Haughtily, Deborah holds her head high. “Said what?”
“That Kristin wrote you a letter. She didn’t know what it said, so she was little help except to mention it.”
Standing slowly, Deborah reaches underneath the sideboard and thumbs through her keepsake box to bring out a metal tin. “In case what I said isn’t enough to convince you, Kristin did write me an apology letter.”
She hands
