Stargazer
by Karen D. Morton
Copyright 1989 by Karen D. Morton. All rights reserved.

Chapter 7
1987

     "Who was the old man?"  Holding a white bag, Judith slid
into the car beside me.
     "He...  Wanted me to contribute to his cause," I lied.  How
could I possibly explain something I didn't understand?  On our way
back to her house, I tried to think about the things Nicholas had
said.  I came up with only more questions.  I hoped that he was right
about John's returning to me.  At least I no longer questioned my
sanity.
     The next few days dragged on with unbearable loneliness.  I
had no daydreams to retreat into.  I also had no company.  The trio
at Judith's house all but ignored me.  Teri was either at work or the
artists' barn.  Judith worked overtime, so she usually went straight to
bed.  Although Paul worked fewer hours, sewing occupied him at
home.
     By Tuesday, I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to have
somewhere to escape to.  In spite of Nicholas' reassurance, it was
clear John would never return for me. I couldn't even take comfort
remembering him. The harder I tried to remember, the more my
head hurt. Painful spasms seized my finger. How could a ring fight
my memories? But fight it did, and I had not choice but to deal with
it.
     "Please," I begged.  "Let me remember!"
     My dreams returned that night.

1895
     For several days after my visit to the Conveyance, I agonized
over whether or not to leave.  John meant more to me than anyone
else -- save my family.  I didn't want to desert them.  Even if Mother
didn't think of me as an ideal daughter, I was still the only one she
had left.  Who would help Eliza take care of Linda?  Leaving would
probably mean saying goodbye to them forever.  On the other hand,
I would never see John again if I stayed.  No other man would ever
understand me as well as he.  I would have to live alone for the rest
of my days.
     My hair brush snagged on a tangle.  Compared to the
Conveyance, my surroundings were dismal at best.  Knoxville's
noisy factories and street cars hurt my ears.  Chimneys belched foul,
black smokes that coated everything.  I tired of walking around piles
of horse manure and puddles of urine every time I crossed a street. 
I would never have a room where I could lie naked without
embarrassing someone or catching a cold.  How could I travel to the
stars by train or carriage?
     But these thoughts were secondary. I pulled my corset's
laces too tight, and I had to redo them. Tonight, I had to go out. 
Before I could even hope to go with John, I had to deal with
Frederick.  Paw had once said, "It's best to finish what you start."  I
had waited four years too long.  I put only a handkerchief back
inside my emptied purse.  On the railroad, my father had carried a
Derringer, which Mother had locked in their dresser.  By going
through Paw's things, I had found the key.  I slipped the gun into my
purse before I went downstairs.
     During supper, Eddie chatted with Mr. Cromley about the
races.  Eliza served us her early crop of tomatoes.  I ate them and
the peas without tasting either.  Eddie downed bacon sandwiches
made with freshly baked biscuits.  Eliza brought coffee and an apple
stack cake to the table.  Eddie and Mr. Cromley started talking
about engineers building the new Gay Street bridge.  I didn't feel like
listening, so I excused myself.
     "Where are you heading tonight, Sister?"  Eddie helped me
put on my jacket.
     "Nowhere special."  I picked up my purse.
     "Mind if I come along?"  He waited a moment for my
answer, then he added, "You're goin' to see John tonight, aren't
you?"
     "Where I go is my own business."
     "Are you going to marry this one?"  Eddie held the door
open for me.
     "I haven't decided yet.  Good evening."
     I forced myself not to look back at the house as I walked
downhill to Cumberland Avenue.  Appropriately, the early evening
air was thick and stagnant.  A smoky haze put halos around the
street lamps.  Most people were still eating their suppers indoors.  I
was grateful I didn't have to answer the usual evening pleasantries
called from my neighbors' porches.  They sometimes asked
embarrassing questions.
     When I reached Cumberland Avenue, I stopped to dab my
face. It wouldn't do to look either tired or afraid. Perhaps I could
catch Frederick off guard and do my dirty deed quickly. I climbed
the stairs to the second floor of his apartment house like a
condemned man climbing steps to the gallows.  My reasons for
coming here were even more wrong than they had been that night
four years ago.  The Good Book taught that I should let God take
vengeance on my torturer, yet Frederick didn't suffer any for injuries
he inflicted upon me.  Tonight, he would know fear and guilt.  By
my doing.
     "Just a minute!"  Frederick Quarrels stuck his lean, angular
face out the door.  "Why, Carolyn!  What are you doing here?"
     "May I come in?"  I practically choked on my words.  His
apartment was in disarray:  A table lay on its side and clothes were
strewn over the couch and chairs.  Had he debauched another poor
girl?
     "Won't you sit down?"  He bent over to pick up the table.
     "I didn't come here to be sociable with you!"  I pointed
Paw's Derringer at him.
     Frederick grabbed my arm, which made me tighten the grip
on the gun.  "Carolyn, put that down. I'm not --"  A small explosion
cut his words off.  Something warm oozed onto my hands and my
abdomen, and the steamy smell of defecation filled the room. 
Holding his stomach, he collapsed at my feet.  My hands and the gun
were covered with his blood.  I suppressed a scream as I backed
away from him.
     "I only wanted to scare you!  Oh, God, what will I do now?"
     "Carolyn," he whispered.  "Listen to me..."  Blood poured on
the carpet from his abdomen. The door stopped me from backing
farther away. I should run, but Frederick's eyes held mine. "We must
leave --"
     Someone knocked on his door behind me. I almost screamed
as I jumped away.
     "Sister?" called Eddie's voice.  "Open the door!"
     "Go away!"
     "The hell I will!  Dear Jesus!"  Eddie shut the door behind
him.
     I knelt beside Frederick.  "Call the police.  I can't leave him
to die!"
     "Have you gone mad?  They'll hang you for this!  What were
you doing here?"
     "He -- he raped me.  I wanted to see him punished, to be as
scared as I was. My gun went off, and -- he --"
     "I can see what happened!" Eddie dunked a towel in the
porcelain face bowl.  "Wipe that blood off yourself.  We've got to
get out of here."
     "What about Frederick?"
     Eddie knelt beside us.  "I can't let you shame our whole
family by bringing the police into this. If he hurt you, let him suffer
for it. If not, then that's between you and God. We won't talk about
this again."
     I slapped him with the wet towel. "You're just like every
other man here! You think I'm a whore."
     "Sister, what I do or don't think of you doesn't matter right
now. Let's go before someone hears us!"  He grabbed one of
Frederick's coats. "Fold this over your arm so no one will see that
blood. And give me Paw's gun!"
     On the street, someone blew a police whistle. Eddie guided
me through a growing crowd of onlookers. People inside the
apartment house yelled out their windows: "Gunshots!" "Murder!"
     As we walked up Sixth Avenue, excited boys ran from house
to house.  The Williams girls sped past us in their family's carriage. 
In their rush to get to the scene of the crime, they did not notice us. 
Neighborhood boys beat us home.  Mr. Cromley sat on the front
porch and talked to old Mr. Harris from next door.  Eddie shoved
me into the kitchen from the side porch.
     "Oh, Law!"  A plate smashed on the floor in front of Eliza's
feet.  "Be she hurt, Eddie?"
     "It ain't her blood."  He opened the stove to stoke its coals. 
"Burn the coat she's carrying and her dress, too.  Don't breathe a
word about this to anybody.  I'll be back later."  The screen door
slammed behind him.
     Eliza tossed more coal into the stove, then she stuffed in
Frederick's coat.  Numbly, I retreated to the side pantry to take off
my dress.  She brought my nightgown and the water pot.
     While she poured boiling water into the bath tub, she said,
"Girl, you done got yerself in trouble now, eh?"
     I felt nothing, not even remorse.  Eddie and Eliza treated me
better than I deserved.  They should have let the police take me
away to swing from the gallows.  The water I sat in was the
temperature of human blood.  Frederick's blood would wash from
my body, but never from my soul.  I was a murderess.  Sheets strung
on those drying racks could serve as my burial shroud.  His blood
was already up to my neck.  Another few inches, and it would fill my
lungs.  To silence my tears forever.
     "Wake up!"  Eliza grabbed me before my head could go
under.
     My cheek stung.  The pain was enough to let my tears come
out.  "It was an -- an accident.  I only wanted to scare Frederick
because he raped me..."
     Eliza poured malt whiskey into a cup.  "Drink this."
     Liquid burned my mouth and throat.  After helping me out of
the tub, she wrapped me in a sheet.  We sat together on the floor.
     "You no bad girl, Car'line," she said.  "You didn't mean no
harm.  But most folks won' see it that way.  That's why Eddie brung
you back here instead o' lettin' you tell the po-lice.  That's why you
can't ever tell nobody else about it.  One thing, chile.  How come
you had to go see Mistuh Quarrels tonight?"
     "John..."  I felt light headed, just as I had four years ago. 
"He wants me to travel with him.  As his wife."
     "Yo' mamma be happy to hear that."
     "I can't go with him now, Eliza.  Not like this.  I'll never see
him again since he's leaving tomorrow --"
     "Tomorrow!"  Her dark face wrinkled into a frown.  "You
was gonna go and elope with this man?"
     "He -- he can't stay here any longer."
     "They always say that.  He take you off, git what he want,
then leave you someplace.  That what Mistuh Brown done to me. 
You better off lettin' him go."
     "John is different.  He knows what Frederick did, and he
doesn't blame me for it like other folks would."
     "Girl, that whiskey done gone completely to yo' head.  A
smooth talkin' man make you believe anythin'."
     "'Liza?"  Linda opened the pantry door.
     "And what'choo doin' outta bed, Little Girl?"  Eliza picked
her up.  "Come on."
     I was grateful to be left alone.  I knew Eliza meant well, but
the last thing I needed right now was a lecture on morality.  Or
common sense.  She would only repeat what I had been saying to
myself.  I shrugged into my nightgown.  The whiskey made me
sleepy, so I went upstairs to bed. Dreams tortured me through the
night.  Frederick laughed as he debauched me.  After he finished, I
pointed my finger at his stomach and shot him.  He fell down.  I
reached out to stop his bleeding.  A river of blood flooded over me. 
I was drowning --
     I sat up.  My shadowed canopy hovered over me, like death
waiting to take its next victim.  Phosphorous hands on my alarm
clock said the time was 3:45.  Long shadows stretched across the
floor from the dimly lit window.
     Outside, street lamps softly glowed on Laurel Avenue. 
Pretty soon, electric lights would take the lamp man's job here, too. 
Some people said that new-fangled contraption, the automobile,
would replace horses and buggies.  I wondered how this kind of
"progress" would shape the world of the twentieth century.
     My robe offered me little warmth.  I knew the only way I'd
ever be able to face myself would be to face the police.  After I
dressed, I softly closed the front door.  Not even a street car would
be stirring at four in the morning.  My walk to jail on Hill Avenue
would be my trail of repentance.  Around me, night brightened to
pre-dawn greyness.  On Clinch Avenue, the lamp man tipped his hat
to me. I suppose he wondered what I was doing on the street at
such an hour, but I was thankful he didn't ask.
     When I reached the corner of Clinch and 2nd, I nearly
tripped over the Porterfield boy's bicycle.  I dug into my purse for
coins to buy one of his newspapers.  If anyone knew the details
about last night, it would be the Daily Journal.  I sat on the bench at
a street car stop to read.
     On page 6, I found the headline:  "PECULIAR
HAPPENING/Frederick Quarrels Found Hung in His
Apartment./Mysterious Bloodstains Confound Police."
     Frederick hung?  No, that couldn't be right.
     The story read:  "Last night at nine o'clock, police answering
a complaint of hearing gunshots found Mr. Frederick Quarrels hung
in the bedroom of his apartment on Cumberland Avenue, in what
appears to be a suicide.
     "The police found a pool of blood on the floor of his sitting
room.  A towel also had blood on it.  Mr. Quarrels' body had no cuts
on it.  Police believe that the blood belongs to the victim of the
gunshot.  Tenants of the apartment house and the police searched
the entire area without finding the victim.
     "The police are looking for anyone who might know about
either the hanging or the shooting."
     My newspaper fell onto the sidewalk.  If I hadn't shot
Frederick, then who did I shoot?  Last night, Frederick's voice had
been surprisingly soft and calm.
     Like John's.
     "I haven't forgotten about Mr. Quarrels," he had said. 
Looking like someone else was probably not beyond the capabilities
of a man from another world.  John had tried to tell me last night. 
And I didn't listen.  I covered my face with my hands to weep for his
passing.
     No.  That wouldn't accomplish anything.  I had only one way
of knowing whether or not I had killed him.  When the morning's
first street car stopped by, I got on.  I changed cars on Gay Street,
then I rode until Cumberland Avenue merged into Main Street. 
From there, I walked to MacCammon Street and the ferry.
     The first one of the morning was just getting ready to cross. 
A gentleman was kind enough to holler "Wait!" for me.  I thanked
him when I got on board.
     On the South Knoxville side of the Tennessee River, John
waited to board the ferry.  He was in the pink of health -- Could I
have guessed wrong?  I couldn't face him and explain what I had
done.  I turned to get back on the ferry.
     "Don't go, Carolyn!"  John took my arm.
     I let him walk me to Old Sevierville Road before I said
anything.  "Have you seen this morning's newspaper?"
     "I didn't have to.  I was there."
     "How can you stand to talk to me?"
     "It was an accident."  He walked into the clearing.
     I stopped.  "You walk awfully well for a man who has been
shot in the gut."
     "The Conveyance has an efficient medical unit."  He stood in
front of me.  "I'll answer your questions.  But not out here."
     "I can't go with you, John.  I'm unworthy."
     "I love you."  He took my hands.  "Because you are 'worthy.' 
Come with me."
     I shook my head.  "I don't deserve --"
     "Oh, will you please stop that?  It's time for you to let go of
your self pity.  Instead of blaming yourself, you ought to be
demanding to know what I was doing there!"  He bent down until
his face nearly touched mine.  "Why did Frederick hang himself? 
Because he reacted too strongly to meeting 'the Devil.'  Why did I
have my translator project his face?  So I could go in and out of his
apartment unnoticed.  Why didn't I tell you?  Because you didn't
give me a chance."
     "Goodbye, John."  I turned to leave.
     "No!"  He grabbed my arm.  "I won't let you leave until
you've slapped me in the face for putting you through such misery."
     "Let me go!  Why did you have to come into my life?"  My
fist struck his chest.  "Every time I think I have everything under
control, you stir things up!  I'll never live all this down!"  I hit him
once for every bit of pain he had made me remember.  For the first
time in my life, I didn't want to stop the anger boiling inside me.  My
last blow struck his chin.  Startled, he stumbled backwards and
tripped on a tree root.  His sprawling on the ground reminded me of
a buffoon I had once seen on stage.  His crooked grin made me
laugh.
     I sat on the ground next to him.  We hugged and laughed
until my sides hurt.  He leaned against a tree and I lay against him. 
His shoulder seemed to have been made for my head.  Just as we
seemed destined to be together.  Letting him go now would be the
biggest mistake of my life.
     "I love you, John."  I sat up.  "A sensible woman would send
you on your way.  But sometimes I don't have any sense at all."
     He helped me stand.  "If you want to come with me, it has to
be today.  My time here has ended. I'm afraid we won't have time for
a marriage ceremony."
     "My family would never understand my going."  I squeezed
his hand.  "Eliza thinks I'm crazy, Eddie thinks I'm a murderess, and
Mother...  Let's just go.  Now.  Before I change my mind."

1987
     "Stargazing again?"  Paul stood over me.
     "Just remembering."  My cheeks burned with
embarrassment.
     "Try this on."  He dropped a green velvet coat into my lap. 
"What were you thinking about?"
     "Someone who said he loved me."  I slipped on the coat.
     He tugged it in various places.  "The waist is a little too
snug.  I can take out these pleats here to compensate.  Is this guy
the same one Judith said you lost at Miller's?"
     "Perhaps."  I regretted burdening Paul.  Didn't he have
enough trouble without worrying about my problems?  "Never
mind."
     "You know, if Judith and I have anything in common, it's a
dislike for being strung along.  Out with it, darlin'."  He marked on
the coat with tailor's chalk.
     "What would you say if a person who claimed to love you
killed someone who had once hurt you?"
     "In what way?  Damn.  That doesn't hang right.  Hold still." 
He tugged on the hem.
     "The 'victim' did something horribly violent to you."
     "You mean like this?"  He pulled me close and bent down till
his lips nearly touched mine.
     "Yes."  Not so long ago, I would have trembled in fear of a
man who held me like this; instead, I smiled.  "I thought you didn't
do things like that."
     "Very funny."  Paul released me.  "As to your question, I'd
say the dude who raped you got what he deserved.  But I'd wonder
about your lover.  He may have a few screws loose upstairs.  Look,
would you tell me the story behind this conversation?"
     "Maybe some other time.  Judith will be terribly upset if you
don't have that costume finished by Friday."
     "Yes, the Queen hath spoken."  Paul scooped up the ringing
telephone.  "Hello?"  He grinned at me.  "Really, Teri? Sure, we can
come down to the artists' barn....  Just me and Carolyn...  Okay. 
Grab your jacket, Girl, Teri says there's something she wants you to
see."
     We arrived at the artists' barn thirty minutes later.  Except
for Kingston Pike and a nearby "convenience" store, this area held
nothing except for farm houses and cow fields.  Knoxville hadn't
gobbled up all of its surrounding countryside after all.  The artists'
barn had been painted with multi-colored murals.  Inside, the scent
of freshly cut lumber and drying paint filled my nostrils.  Artists built
backdrops, worked on sculptures, and played guitars.  They had
changed little of the barn's original structure.
     "Up here!"  Teri called to us from the hayloft.  On this level,
which we accessed by an unpainted staircase, a group worked on the
steps to a primitive dance.  A woman called out to Paul, who waved
back.  He muttered something about needing to dance again.
     Paintings to be displayed in the Mall's art show were stacked
along one wall.  A plumper and nude Judith wore a silver,
translucent ball gown.  The painting was crude, yet Teri had
captured Judith's spirit on canvas.
     "The Williams paintings are over here," Teri said.  "Most of
them are prints, but they sent us two originals from the 'Boarding
House' series."  She pulled me over to another area.  On the first
canvas, an old Negro woman stood in the middle of a blue kitchen.
In spite of her age, I recognized dearest Eliza.  The painting was
signed "L. Williams."
     "That was one of Mrs. Williams most famous paintings,"
Teri explained.  "It's called 'Eliza's Kitchen.'"
     What now seemed like an eternity ago, Judith had tried to
tell me that little Linda had become a famous painter.
     "That's nice, but what's it got to do with Carolyn?"  Paul
scratched his head.
     "Over here."  Teri led us to another painting.  This picture
showed a telescope, not quite like Paw's, sitting on a blanket.  A
masculine shadow loomed in the background.  Beside the telescope
sat a young woman wearing a long dress and writing in a book.
     That woman was me.