“Go on, Miss Fannie. It’ll be okay. Just don’t say nothing,” Queenie said.
“What if he notices the bruises on my legs?” Fannie asked. “Why do you think I got him that whiskey? I hoped he’d get drunk and fall asleep in the library tonight.”
“Fannie?” Norwood called from the top of the stairs. “Where’s the pistol that’s usually in the drawer by the side of the bed?”
“What’d you do with it?” Fannie whispered.
“Got rid of it. Didn’t think he’d notice. That pistol ain’t been touched in years.”
Fannie pushed herself away from the table. Her hands were beginning to shake.
“Stay calm, Miss Fannie.”
When Fannie reached the bedroom, Norwood was standing by the side of the bed, rifling around in the drawer. The corner of the Oriental rug was askew, leaving a portion of the bloodstain visible. Fannie rushed forward and tried to kick the carpet back into place.
“I got rid of that old thing years ago,” she said. “It made me nervous sitting in the drawer, loaded like it was. Could have hurt somebody.”
Norwood gave her a peculiar look. “Every time I leave for a stint up the river, I check to see if that pistol is there. It was in the drawer when I left on Monday,” he said. “Fannie, what’s going on?”
She became flustered when she noticed the bloodstain was still visible. She burst into tears.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “What is it, honey? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
She didn’t know what to do. He pulled her over to the bed. He put his arm around her shoulder. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t take her eyes off the bloodstain on the floor. She felt panic welling up inside her.
“Fannie?” he said, pointing at the floor. “What is that?”
She began to shake uncontrollably. She tried to get up and run from the room, but he caught her. He put his arm around her waist, then pulled the edge of the rug back.
“It looks like blood. Did you hurt yourself?”
She tried to push him away, but he was holding her so tightly she thought she might pass out.
“Fannie,” he said in a stern voice, “tell me what happened.”
Queenie appeared in the doorway. “Weren’t her fault, Mr. Norwood. Muddy come around when I weren’t here. Miss Fannie used the gun on him. He gone for good. Don’t need to worry yourself about him no more.”
He held Fannie by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Did he take advantage of you, Fannie?”
Her head wobbled. When she didn’t answer, he tightened his grip on her shoulders.
“Answer me, baby. Did he rape you?” He shook her and began to weep.
Fannie couldn’t look at him.
He glanced over at Queenie, looking for an answer.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Norwood,” was all Queenie could say.
He pushed Fannie down onto the bed and ran out of the room.
Queenie bounded down the stairs after him. “Mr. Norwood, Mr. Norwood! Don’t go!” she pleaded.
The whole house shook from the force of the front door slamming. Fannie could hear him backing the car out of the driveway. The bottom edge of the bumper hit the street and scraped as he put the car in gear and took off down the street, the tires screeching against the asphalt.
Fannie waited all the next day for him, and the next. On the fourth day, there was a knock at the door.
Queenie came up to her room. “Miss Fannie, I’m sorry to disturb you, but they is a Coast Guard officer at the front door with your friend Kennedy. They say they need to talk to you.”
Fannie wiped a tear from her eye with a handkerchief. “Ask them what they want,” she said through a sniffle.
“The Coast Guard man, he say he needs to talk to you . . . in person.” Queenie came over to the bed to help her up.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, the man asked Fannie to come into the front parlor and have a seat on the couch. He sat down next to her as Kennedy stood close by. Fannie noticed Kennedy was avoiding her eyes.
“Mrs. Bell, your husband, Norwood, has gone missing.”
“I’m aware of that,” Fannie said. “He left a couple of days ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“No, ma’am, what I’m trying to tell you is that one of the crew on the Pelican II said Mr. Norwood spent the last couple of days on the tug. The crew said he seemed upset, had been drinking. Captain Bell was a steady fella, from what I understand.”
“I can vouch for that,” Kennedy chimed in.
“What I’m trying to say, ma’am, is that it would take a lot to upset him. I’m told by his crew that he wasn’t a big drinker, but they said he’d been drinking for days on end, ever since he got on the boat. Any idea what it was about?”
Fannie toyed with the handkerchief in her hands. “Why no, I have no idea.”