Dead Affections      

(Author's note: Don't clutch your pearls. It's just fiction.)

Peoria Baptiste was born fair of face.

She was, however, also born with the soul of an ancient Hun. Born “Aida Heidengeist” to Ulrich Heidengeist and his Frisian wife Traudl Fugate, Aida married Captain Harsha “Hank” Baptiste when she was just sixteen years old in a small quasi-religious ceremony across the Missouri line. Captain Baptiste, nearly twenty years her senior, was rumored to have been married once before to an Indian woman who’d died in childbirth over in Paola Township. And while she would never have used a vulgar word to say that she didn’t give a “shit” about her husband’s dead wife or child, indeed, she could not have cared less. Yes, Aida “Peoria” Baptiste was a heartless woman. She, after all, had eloped with the Captain. In her mind, she would have been a fool not to have done so — even if she’d had to play the coquette to attract the Captain’s affections. Peoria had always been “Hellbent” on climbing any of the “necessary” social ladders of Southeastern Kansas. She saw early on that a marriage to Captain Baptiste would give her the ticket to do just that. Her marriage to “Hank” provided the one necessary element in her life’s plan: freedom. It was the one thing she loved even more than herself, especially that bastard child of freedom, otherwise known as control.

The Heidengeist family she’d come from was large and had established themselves in Eastern Kansas by the early 1920s. A few decades earlier, several branches of the family had emigrated from the Königreich Bayern region of Germany and come to New York before making their way west. The circumstances for the families’ departure from Germany are unclear. Rumor had it that a financial scandal occurred between some of the region’s lesser nobility and family members who had refused to hold to the Christian faith. Those involved were said to have worshiped “the old woodland gods” while practicing animal sacrifice and unorthodox sexual practices amongst themselves. Because of this, the reputation of the Heidengeist family fell into disrepute. To show their good faith, many in the Heidengeist family began adhering to stricter Christian principles, with some converting to the Dunkard faith. Sadly, the scandal had damaged the family’s name. By the early 1900s, the Heidengeist family was slowly forced out of Germany, with most fleeing for the usual dreams of religious freedom and a better life in America. While not all Heidengeists became Dunkards, fundamentally, all shared a Protestant fervor sated only by hard work and strict religious practices. If any among them still worshiped “the woodland gods,” they, like their pagan faith, were left behind in the old country and largely soon forgotten. Once in America, any Heidengeists like Aida’s grandparents could reset. They sold what little they’d brought from Königreich Bayern and, moving west, began to carve out a new life in Bleeding Kansas. This migration had been all well and good for Aida “Peoria.” She’d inherited her tribe’s work ethic and strict Christian mannerisms. However, for Peoria, these were just tools and a means to an end. She had no use for any of the “old gods” when the new “one god” suited her purposes just fine. She played the part well as “fervent” in her faith but considered “faith” just accouterment to what she wanted most in life: the freedom to control.

She practiced the simple and strict life of her fellow Dunkards but loathed the poverty it fostered and what others of her faith seemed to prefer to swelter in. Aida watched the local people in and around town early on and heard talk of the finer things in St. Joseph and Kansas City. A hunger inside her grew, and Aida began to understand she wanted more than what her simple life allowed. She detested the pecuniary way of the Dunkard men and how they ruled over their women with their parsimonious habits. They were never allowed nice things. Aida watched other girls go about town, often chaperoned in handsome automobiles by good-looking young men from the neighboring county. Some girls went about their business in the company of hired colored or Indian servants while she labored after the younger children with burdens of laundry and dry goods. She watched the other local girls, pretty girls like her, chastise their wash women or housemaids for lagging behind or accidentally dropping a package. She watched one day as a man from Joplin berated his Mexican stableboy and nearly twisted his ear off his head. How luscious it was. She warmed at the thought of having servants. The idea of exacting her will, and even cruelty over another human being, became her secret fantasy and even a pleasure. Aida first noticed Captain Harsha Baptiste when he flew in on his airplane on demonstrations and training missions for the Army Air Corps. “Hank” Baptiste had had a notable career as an aviator during the Great War, and his arrival always caused a great to-do throughout the county. Farmers stopped grain production, and children left the schoolhouse to run to the field to hail his plane’s arrival. The townspeople, especially young women, rode out in their wagons to celebrate him with their scarves, flags, and favors to attract his attention. Even if the Captain was older than other eligible bachelors, the town’s young women did not find Hank Baptiste an unattractive man. He was, after all, a war hero and sported the looks of a B-rate matinee idol. It certainly helped that the Baptistes were one of the oldest families in the area and that the captain was even reputed to descend from the noble savages who had lived there for centuries. To Aida, however, what was more important than any of this was that Captain Harsha “Hank” Baptiste was wealthy. For the soon-to-be former Miss Aida Heidengeist, having wealth meant supplying her growing need for control. As she watched him land his plane in that dusty field that day, she resolved to be his wife one day. The easy part was ensuring she was there as his plane landed in the field. It was also easy enough for her to cast rumors about town if any other girls showed an interest in him. These rumors painted a dire picture of a womanizer and of someone who had “perhaps” been treated in Europe during the war for his “personal diseases.” “Why, Jenny, can’t you just see that silver color in the whites of his eyes?” she would say. “I imagine he took in mercury for a cure. You know, ‘it’ never really goes away.” The mention of medicinal mercury always sent the other girls running. The thwarting of the Captain’s interest in any of the other girls followed. It was so easy to destroy one’s reputation with a casual statement alluding to slovenly habits, bed bugs, or giving woeful references to “birthing disabilities” within any of their families. A casual comment to the Captain about any girl’s brother’s lousy gambling habits, father’s finances, or a “terrible stench” within the mother’s home was usually enough to control the Captain’s interests in any other direction than hers. In the end, Aida Heidengeist attracted the Captain’s attention in the usual way, and he dubbed her “my fair Peoria,” a moniker that she immediately both liked and adopted. It was also how she’d played loosely with her strict Christian values that caused him to bed her one afternoon in an outbuilding there at the local airfield. She’d been barely sixteen, but she knew well enough what she was doing. “I intend to be his wife,” she’d heard herself say. So, in a typical way, she arranged that she should be late for her time of the month, which caused a scandal and a stir among the “better folks” of the township. Her pregnancy gave Captain Baptiste no reputable choice other than to elope across the Missouri border to a Justice of the Peace, where they married. What the hard-hearted and newly minted “Peoria” Baptiste did not realize about the Captain was that while he professed that he would care and provide for her, his wealthy life and the vanity that surrounded his B-rate matinee idol looks meant that Hank was indeed the womanizer that the townspeople had always said he was. He never would genuinely love her. Captain Harsha “Hank” Baptiste had only ever loved one woman, an Indian woman who had died years ago up in Paola Township. Frankly, the newly minted Mrs. “Peoria” Baptiste didn’t love him either. And, as they say, she certainly didn’t give a shit.

II. “Peoria” Baptiste settled into marriage and family life like a snake’s mouth settling in over a field mouse. She quickly ascertained that her new husband’s living quarters were too modest for “their station.” She insisted they reside in a larger family home inherited by the Captain’s deceased and childless uncle. Peoria was, after all, enceinte, and certainly Hank Baptiste needed to consider his unborn child above all else. The uncle in question was his father’s elder brother and, besides Hank, the last heir of the Baptistes. The uncle’s will left a sizable estate with a large house known as Piankishaw Farms to his widow. The will contained a provision that Hank would inherit it someday upon the widowed aunt’s demise. Peoria decided that there was no sense in waiting for the inevitable. She reasoned that the old lady had no right to what would be hers anyway. For Peoria, waiting around for things or people to “expire” made little sense. Does a snake necessarily wait to eat the mouse before it is dead? After the uncle’s passing, the aunt’s health began to decline. “What good does it do to have her living in that big old house, Hank?” Peoria had said.

Convincing the uncle’s widow to travel south for health reasons was easy for Peoria. However, when the widow moaned a few short weeks later and telephoned that she wanted to return home, it was too late. Peoria had already hired Nelson “Sonny” Rickards, a local attorney, to obtain a conservatorship over the old woman. The attorney filed papers forcing Mrs. Baptiste to give up the house and all of Piankishaw Farms in favor of Hank’s (and Peoria’s) interests. “The poor dear needs our support, Hank. There’s simply no way she can manage her affairs any longer.” It didn’t matter all that much anyway. The old woman passed away from a heart attack at a cut-rate “board and care” outside Tucson a month later. It was odd that it happened the same day she received a final notice that her niece-in-law (along with Hank in name only) was now entirely in control of the Baptiste estate. These legal antics transpired while Hank was at Fort Rucker with the Army Air Corps. Or, at least, that was part of what he was doing in Dixie. Captain Harsha “Hank” Baptiste had little interest in Piankishaw Farms or who lived in what house. Hank Baptiste simply wanted to fly. As far as Peoria went, he’d done as he was supposed to; he’d married the young granddaughter of German immigrants after learning that she was carrying his child. Beyond this, Hank had little interest in Peoria. He found her oddly severe and that even when she appeared light-hearted, it always felt more like she was making a calculated move. Hank Baptiste quickly saw that his new wife always had an agenda. Peoria looked at life three moves in advance, and like any champion predator, she usually “made do” to get what she wanted. Hank had not objected to the conservatorship over his aunt or Piankishaw Farms. He reasoned that it was likely to happen anyway, though out of respect for his uncle, he assumed they would have cared for his aging aunt, who would have stayed living with them in the house. However, Peoria had no desire to care for a soon-to-be-dead mouse — especially one she had already quickly planned to eat. Captain Harsha “Hank” Baptiste spent most of his time training new pilots. Rumors of war took him to points around the country, and he enjoyed the attention that his position and B-rate matinee idol face brought. It should be noted that Hank Baptiste didn’t go out looking to be unfaithful. As it was, lonely women and unfaithful wives just seemed to find Hank. His ego enjoyed the attention of women he would never see again, and he had the pocketbook to afford his growing habit of bedding different women in different cities or wherever his flying career took him.

He didn’t notice that his habits had grown so dark or that his time with Peoria had raised his own sort of beast inside himself. To Hank, Peoria was doing just fine managing Piankishaw Farms. Further, she never seemed to notice what he did and, on some level, even encouraged it. She’d smile sweetly at Hank when he’d tell her he would be gone another week or so. What did she care about what he did? In truth, she did not, and soon neither did he. Occasionally, and on rare returns home, he would make an obligatory trip to the accountant for taxes or ride out with the land manager to look at the crops. But the truth was that Hank Baptiste had always been a fly-boy in more ways than one. He had no interest in any of it, least of all Peoria. Hank Baptiste had been in love once. The rumors about the Indian woman in Paola Township were true — but he had never been married. They’d just been young, and life had been so perfect. He hadn’t even learned how to fly an airplane yet. Back then, his father’s associates had recommended that Hank know more about the different farms in the area. Hank, who had no interest in the family’s businesses, was sent to work at the Halloran Farms up north towards Paola. The Hallorans were Irish Catholics with large land tracts and strong ties supporting the church and the work of the Ursuline Sisters at a local convent. The Hallorans were good and hardworking people. His time spent there with the Hallorans was some of the best in his life. The Indian girl he’d fallen in love with was an orphan. Her parents were killed when one of the Missouri Pacific trains accidentally wrecked with one of the Wisconsin Central’s outside Garnett. The Kansas Children’s Home had stepped in and sent the young Indian girl up to be fostered by the convent in Paola. The Ursuline nuns there grew fond of her and kept her on to work for them.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Before long, he was spending more time with her than doing any actual farming for the Hallorans. The Hallorans and the Ursuline sisters were unhappy with this burgeoning romance and did what they could to prevent it. And yes, she’d gotten pregnant, but as far as any marriage for the two of them went, his father had expressly forbidden it. His father told him he was simply too young and wouldn’t support him if he tried to marry “some squaw.” “Let the nuns take care of your bastard, Hank. How can you even be sure it’s yours?” He’d begged, but his father wouldn’t relent. In the end, he resolved to stay with her anyway, but she died giving birth to their stillborn son at the Halloran’s farm outside Paola town. The Ursuline nuns had done their best to try to stop the bleeding, but the blood kept coming. Ultimately, he had to leave Paola and return to his family. Her death was many years ago, but Hank still returned to their simple graves on the Ursuline’s land east of the convent. Outside of when he was in the sky, it was the only place he ever felt truly at peace. Hank felt joyful when Peoria announced she was carrying his child, even if he’d been reluctant to marry her. Old feelings from his time at the Halloran’s rushed back. For a moment, he felt some sense of rebirth. What did the age difference matter? He could start over, begin again, and be a good father to this new child. Peoria certainly exemplified everything he was taught to want in a wife. She was petite, pretty, and astute. She wasn’t bashful or afraid to battle with farm managers or tax accountants. Hell, Peoria Baptiste was good for Piankishaw Farms. She was a member of all the appropriate local societies, joining the Women’s Auxiliary of the GAR and even the Missouri Daughters of the Confederacy. Hank had yet to learn how Peoria reconciled being a member of these conflicting groups. That was Peoria, though, he thought. Let the mice feel that the snake is their friend. Still, she was cold, and he wasn’t unpleased that his instincts and job helped him avoid her and the farms. He would have even described her as cruel if he didn’t know better. She’d berate a farm hand or a bank teller with a bitter tirade over the slightest transgression and do so with a well-lathered bravado and a sense of moral superiority. What’s worse, she seemed to enjoy it. How had he not seen this in the winsome girl on the airfield before? Peoria did not object to Hank’s absence; she had a large house and free access to funds for her above-average means. He found himself staying further away from Peoria even when he was in town. He hated it there. As her time grew near for the birth of their first child, he did not come home, spending the weeks before on the other side of the world in the Azores or on Guam or wherever flight training might take him. He wasn’t at home when their son was born. I did try, he thought. But the message that his wife was in labor and that he was about to be a new father arrived via a military courier while he sat on a bar stool at an officer’s club in Chicago. He had tried to get back, but in the end, a bar stool and a buxom redhead had taken both his time and attention, causing him to miss his flight. The snake at home had already managed to devour what remained of his dignity. Peoria Baptiste gave birth to a healthy baby boy on the first of April that year. She had screamed at the indignities of labor yet secretly delighted at the opportunity to experience both pain and the chance to inflict it on the others around her in the process. With Captain Baptiste out of town, she chose the name of Gerhardt Ulrich Baptiste for her son. It was a name that implied a “hard and noble ruler,” and Peoria called him “Gerd” for short. Peoria was so tired after childbirth, but her new son attacked her breast immediately ravenous. All she wanted to do now was for her and the baby to sleep for a month. Yes, a baby boy was perfect, she thought. It was precisely what the doctor ordered. There’d be no mice in her house anymore. “Gerd” Baptiste grew quickly. A robust baby, he was large for his age. Hank came home a few days later to meet his new son, but the baby squalled when Hank held him. Peoria had to grudgingly take the baby and keep Gerd herself to get him to calm down. It was disconcerting for Hank. He’d thought he and his new son would have a more natural bond, even an affinity for one another. Such was not the case. Gerd stared up at Hank with the cold look of a reptile. Gerd was his mother’s son in all manners and aspects, even though she had little interest in attending to the new baby’s needs. “I will not be your shepherd, Gerd,” she’d thought one day while watching the hired girl change his pants. “I am not your mother dog.” I have no interest in being there for you. I have brought you into this world to see if you are strong enough to command it and to further our lines. What those “lines” were, she couldn’t say exactly. In her mind, she saw field mice running from a hawk. She saw a snake go underground and heard the cries of a pig slaughtered. Anyone else might have questioned these thoughts. For Peoria, they just put her at ease. It was who she was. Gerhardt Ulrich “Gerd” Baptiste was followed by sons Rutger, Ernst Ellsworth, and Kaiser. For all her serpentine moves, Peoria lived in fear that something would happen to any of her sons and that she would somehow be left childless. “A mother needs the right sons,” she would say. What followed later with their son Rutger did little to settle her fears. In the meantime, Peoria quelled Captain Baptiste’s reluctance about fathering more children, often seducing him with the idea of granting him more freedom after the birth of each child. Peoria knew Hank had no desire to be there with her. And while she had little regard for her children, she knew they kept her well anchored to the Baptiste estate. Captain Baptiste’s uneasiness with his eldest son Gerd was overshadowed by the birth of their second son Rutger, a boy the Captain immediately (and to Peoria’s immediate displeasure) began calling “Rusty” at an early age. Rusty was his father’s delight and an anathema to his mother. From the day he was born, “Rusty” rejected any of whatever his mother’s attentions might have been. “Rusty” Baptiste was a quiet boy who didn’t seem to achieve the usual developmental tasks of other children his age. Hank would say to Peoria, “He’s fine, ‘P,’ he’ll catch on at his own pace.” But Peoria was not satisfied with Hank’s answer. Peoria shuffled Rutger off, taking him to Kansas City and Tulsa specialists. The problem was that even by age three, it was evident that Rusty Baptiste was non-verbal. The professional diagnosis was that Rutger suffered from something the experts were calling autism. They tried to assure Peoria that the boy was most definitely not retarded — only that he saw and communicated with the world differently. They advised her that Rusty would likely never speak or communicate through “normal intonations” but that Rusty could go on to live a more or less ordinary life. An enraged Peoria had screamed at the medical people in Springfield, “What good is he then? Why should I have to keep him?” In Peoria’s mind, Rutger was somehow a crime against nature. She immediately sought institutional placement for Rutger. “I will not have people staring at us, Hank. They all but said he was retarded.” Hank fought her fiercely over this. Although quiet, Rusty was a good child; he had a sweet disposition and did well learning how to navigate the world on his own terms. Hank told Peoria he’d be home more often and take over raising Rusty. However, Peoria just laughed at this. In the end, and as usual, Peoria won the argument. So, on a sunny day in the summer of Rusty’s fourth year, he was taken by the doctors sent from the Jasper County Home. Peoria watched with Gerd from a third-floor balustrade while Hank hugged Rusty tightly and told his little son that he was just going for a visit to a “new school,” that it was “just for a few short days,” and that he’d be home real soon. Rusty had thrown his arms around Hank’s neck, nearly breaking both hearts. The next day, Hank took the train back to Kansas City. Rutger “Rusty” Baptiste never came home. He stopped eating after the fourth day at the Jasper County Home. They telephoned Peoria to advise her that the boy would soon need a stomach tube if he did not eat. Peoria, of course, refused any intervention. She also never telephoned Hank to tell him what the doctors had advised. Three weeks later, Rusty passed away in the arms of Clyde Barker, a young orderly and new employee at the Jasper County Home. Clyde Barker went home that night to tell his momma how sad it was. Clyde told his momma he hoped he’d marry a woman who cared more about kids than Peoria Baptiste did. The official cause of death for Rutger “Rusty” Baptiste was listed as “insufficiency.” Hank screamed for days at the loss. Peoria bought Gerd a new Bible and told the other boys not to speak of it. There was no room for the memory of any dead mice in Peoria’s house. The household grew with the births of Ernst and lastly Kaiser, even in Rutger’s absence. Captain Baptiste’s visits to the farm grew less frequent as Peoria’s power and influence over the handling of farm and estate business became more prominent. The Piankishaw Farms brand was growing.

Peoria bought cattle and hog futures that paid well, along with rental properties in Tulsa and even as far away as Omaha. The brand was turning up everywhere, from the Piggly-Wiggly to Winn-Dixie; it was finding its way to store shelves on various foods. Peoria was damn good at running the business and seeing to it that there was a sense of uncompromising growth at every turn. She also took the time to rise within the local religious community, funding several evangelical preachers in the area. She managed to distance herself from her Heidengeist roots and what remained of her local family in favor of a “religion that could do something financially” for her. However, as far as the house’s affairs or what went on with her other sons, Peoria didn’t have a clue. While Peoria had hired lots of help, she needed help keeping them. Her anger and cruel temper usually caused them to quit after only a week or so. She had contacted her Heidengeist relatives for help with the boys, but they not so politely turned away from her, saying they wanted nothing to do with the verhexen. So Peoria telephoned Attorney “Sonny” Rickards over in Chanute and asked him to arrange a “permanent and reliable” housekeeper. She advised that the woman would be paid well but must be discreet and tolerant of “rebellious boys” and “times of difficulty” in her employment. Peoria said she did not care where the woman came from but preferred someone with “little to no family or friends” and would even consider a somewhat “ignoble background” in the right applicant. “I prefer someone who is not so educated that she could easily offend myself or the boys,” she had said. “A sunny disposition is surely not to be preferred.” Then, one day, a knock came at the door of the large house out at Piankishaw Farms. Gerd opened the door and called for his mother. “Mother, there’s some blue-eyed colored woman at the door asking for you,” he yelled, his eyes glinting in the direct Kansas sun. “Says her name’s Dessie. She’s got a little nigger baby with her. She says the kid’s name is Eloise. Says she’s here for the job.” Ernst Ellsworth “Ellie” Baptiste, much like Rutger, was different. Born underweight, Ernst was a colicky baby who spent several weeks in the maternity hospital before ever coming home and then only to a hired nursemaid. Peoria wasn’t interested in the boy, and Hank, having grown distant after Rusty’s death, didn’t have time. Ernst Ellsworth “Ellie” Baptiste grew up essentially alone under the shadow of his older brother Gerd, a nascent bully. Early on, he seemed to understand that he differed from most boys his age. To Peoria’s distaste, Ernst often played in her shoes and tried on her undergarments and dressing gowns. Once, as a small child, he’d refused to give up his teddy bear to go and play outside after being scolded for smearing it with lipstick. “Teddy says he’s pretty, too,” the boy had said. Gerd taunted him as effete, which exacerbated the problem and hostility in the household, but as “Ellie” grew, his feminine disposition became more apparent. For a while, Peoria refused to allow Ernst to leave the house. As Ernst’s personality became more fully developed, he was even discouraged from attending Bible classes as he mostly just giggled, yawned, or attempted to sing inappropriately during them. Ernst drew unnecessary attention to himself and, worse, to Peoria. Then, one day, at only ten years old and out of the blue, he’d shown up at the town stock sale wearing pink eye shadow, a fake mole over his lip, and one of his mother’s better hats. The farm hands had laughed about it for days. “Ellie” didn’t mind. Even as alone as Ernst was, the negative attention was more than he received at home. “I like it when I’m beautiful,” he’d thought. What to do about Ernst became a big topic of discussion between Peoria and Hank. “I will not be seen with a faggot for a son, Hank. You need to do something about him,” she often prattled on. Hank might have tried to intervene and considered bringing Ernst up to stay with him in Kansas City, but Hank didn’t have the psychological tools to deal with Ernst’s developing persona. In the end, Hank never got the chance to do anything about Ernst. Shortly after their last argument over Ernst, Hank’s plane crashed in Korea. A week or so later, and after burying her husband, the hosed woman Dessie brought Peoria a note received via courier from the Kansas Children’s Home regarding a baby, Hank, and a woman named Dolores “Del Ray” Barnett. It was all a lot to deal with, even for strong-minded Peoria. She didn’t have time to deal with Ernst’s issues. Peoria didn’t know that Ernst was more like her than she realized. A few years after his father’s death, Ernst had become increasingly sullen and even cruel to small animals. Dessie had even caught him staring at Eloise with an odd curiosity while the girl slept near her in the kitchen. Ernst began reading the Bible privately and checking out books on Eastern mysticism and reincarnation from the library. Ernst’s, or rather “Ellie’s” as she preferred to be called now, depression seemed to be getting worse, and as his makeup grew thicker, his disposition became more erratic and delicate. Peoria had to hire a tutor when he refused to attend school.

It was all just as well to keep Ernst out of sight for Peoria. “Ernst is an embarrassment to us all,” she told Gerd. Then, one day, sitting powdered, well-coiffed, and alone in his third-floor tower room, Ernst arranged his favorite porcelain dolls and music boxes. He placed his copies of *Madame Bovary* and the *Bhagavad Gita* on the nightstand before dusting off and hugging old “Teddy.” Then going to his closet, he took a stretch of rope he’d stolen from the farmhands who’d forced his penis into Ernst’s mouth, all the while telling him to be his good little fairy. Stepping up on a chair, he wrapped the rope in a noose around his neck. Ernst Ellsworth “Ellie” Baptiste had had enough of life. He stepped off the chair and hanged himself. He would have been fifteen years old the following week. Dessie, the colored woman, discovered his body when she went to put away his laundry. His mother, Peoria, pulled back her lips, grimacing and nearly dancing with glee at the news as any snake charmed out of the basket. Feeling the wind in her face, she stepped onto the balcony. She called for her son Gerd to come and pray with her. Down in the root cellar, her last son Kaiser lit a match. It was going to be a beautiful day, after all.