September Wind (12 page)

No, this can’t happen again! You have to stop him! Stop him!
She wrenched her arms free and pushed him with all of her might.

“You bitch!” He took a fistful of hair and threw her onto the floor.

              She lay in a daze, screaming inside, knowing that she had no one to save her but herself.

             
“
That’ll teach you for trying to avoid me. Now get up!” His boot caught her in the right shin.

             
She had managed to keep clear of him for months now, and she would fight to the end before she let him have her again. Pulling herself off the floor, she took her time, brushing straw from her skirt and blouse, deciding exactly how she was going to stop him.

             
She took a couple of long breaths. “I-I was going to tell you something,” she said, swallowing back every name she could think of to call him, “if… if you wouldn’t get so angry and let me get a word in.”

             
He sized her up. “Go on then. Tell me.” Crossing his arms, he leaned against a pole. Even in the dim light, she could see the spark in his eyes.

             
She took a long deep breath. “Maybe I’ve been avoiding you,” she said, “but... but the reason is that I… I’ve been so busy.”

             
He was impatient, yet selfish enough to think there was actually some truth in what she said. “So, you gonna forgive me for stopping you from running off, aye?”

             
She nodded, hating the sickening things she was about to say.

             
Even as she opened her mouth, she realized that she would have to dig deeper for strength, into the pit if she had to.

             
“
I-I’m sorry for trying to sneak off,” she began. She couldn’t look at him.

Look at him! Look at him! Make it believable! You have to dig deeper. Remember what he did to you? You were so young, so innocent. REMEMBER!

Her hands shook, and she pulled them to her side so he wouldn’t notice. Blood rushed through her veins as she took herself back to the first time he had forced himself on her, back to the pain and devastation, the hopeless misery. She stood only a few steps away from where it happened, and it didn’t take long for her to recall every wretched moment.

             
All at once, she looked straight into his eyes. “I know you didn’t realize this, but… Well, I’ve been thinking about way back when, when we…”

His eyes lit up even more now, which was what she wanted. She reached for the top button on her blouse. “R-remember way back, when we played the game... the
surprise
?” She pushed the button through the hole and slid her fingers up the collar. “Remember... when you turned around and, I… I got rid of these.” She flicked her collar. “And then... you know... the
surprise
?”

“You sure were shy back then, weren’t you?” he said, sounding pleased by the memory.

              She wanted to kill him for those words. Only, she had to control her anger even though the memory of what he’d done to that thirteen-year-old girl was there burning like the flames of hell itself.

             
The game was her idea, a means of control over what would happen anyway. It meant less time with his slimy body rubbing against her, less demeaning without his hands ripping at her blouse, or his wormy fingers slithering beneath her skirt. The surprise part, which varied depending on his moods, was his idea.

             
As time passed, she was no longer his new conquest and things changed. Though lately, he’d been asking for a repeat of the
surprise
. She understood what he wanted.

“So, you’ve been thinking about it too, huh?”

              She forced her eyes up. “Mm, Mh, I have.”

             
“
I knew it. Me too.”

             
“
Well?” she said, wanting to get on with it. She motioned with a finger, and he whipped around and began to unfasten his belt.

             
She had only taken a few steps back toward the ladder when he whirled around. She saw the suspicion in his eyes and gave him the most daring smile she could muster, and then she moved her hand to the next button.

             
“
I knew it. I just knew it,” he said, spinning around to face the wall again.

             
He resumed with his barbaric-like unbuckling, while she edged back toward the ladder, checking now and then to make sure he was still facing the wall, back and forth, until suddenly there at her feet lay the pitchfork.               Without thinking, she squatted in a flash and plucked it into her fist.

             
His belt buckle hit the floor. She bolted upright, and the handle of the pitchfork hit the railing like a crack of thunder.

             
Claude swung around. “I’m gonna kill you, bitch!”

             
She charged, intending to scare him off. Then all at once, he jolted, his eyes wild as he tripped on his pants and slammed into the tines of the pitchfork. She watched in horror as he sank to the floor.

             
The dust settled around him and everything was quiet. She stood, gaping, waiting for him to move.

             
“
Claude? Claude?” When there was nothing, she edged forward, her breaths short and gasping, closer and closer. And then she saw it, blood oozing from his chest, soaking through his dingy white shirt, dripping onto the straw-covered floor. She stumbled back, expecting to run. But she had to know if he was still alive.

             
She regained her balance and stepped closer again, closer until she stood at his side. Holding her breath, she lifted her gaze to his face, up over his cheekbone, slowly moving upward until… until his cold eyes stared into hers.               A blood-curdling scream plunged into the eerie silence as she turned away, crushing her hands over her mouth to stifle her treacherous cry of anguish.

             
She began to pace then, wringing her hands and struggling to keep her wits. “What have I done? Oh, my God, what have I done?” Back and forth she went, engulfed by this horrible nightmare. When she was ready to fall to the floor in a heap of tears and regret, something came over her.

             
Her tears stopped, and all at once, her horror turned to anger. Now, just when things were supposed to get better, she knew they never would, because of
him
.

She looked over at Claude, lying there dead because of his selfish sins. “You bastard! You foolish bas…” Her words caught in a sob, and she turned and ran for the ladder. Midway there she stopped, realizing she couldn’t just leave him like that. She looked back at the handle of the pitchfork sticking into the air like a symbol of evil that he was, thinking of how this wretched mess of a human had been ruining her life for years.

              Only now, the upper hand was hers. She stormed across to where he lay and stood over him, ready to yank out the fork, until she realized it might cause more blood and it would seep between the cracks of the floor. She bent, placing her hands on his shoulder and back, and then pushed. He didn’t budge, so she put a foot against his side and gave a powerful shove. When he rolled onto his side, she gave one more shove, just enough to keep him from rolling back, and then covered the whole mess with straw.               When she finished, she couldn’t get downstairs fast enough.

             
She stopped at a tank of water near the bottom of the steps and flipped pieces of straw and seeds to the side. Splashing her face, she dried with her skirt, and then raced for the exit.

             
Outside, daybreak lay like satin across the yard and over the prairies, almost tauntingly beautiful. Her heart ached at the realization that the morning that should have been one of her most exciting was lost forever.

             
She reached for her bag and began to gather up her things. When she picked up her necklace box, she looked at the barn and thought of the precious jewelry in Claude’s pocket. The thought was almost too much. Still, she couldn’t force herself to go back up.

             
She brushed off the velvet cover, placed it into her bag, and then walked to the pickup, dropping the bag into the grocery bin. Then she sank to the footboard and wept.

She wondered if anyone would believe what he did to her. She didn’t think so. Who would believe such a thing? She was sure her grandfather would be first in line to condemn her, blame her just like Claude said he would.

              Brushing away tears with the bottom of her skirts, she leaned back against the truck, and looked up through the fleece of clouds scattered across the sky. She wanted to believe her grandmother had been right, wanted to believe there was a God who would take this horrible thing from her. The preachers on the radio were confident that He existed, that there was a Heaven. She’d believed for years her grandmother was there, and hoped her parents and her aunt were too. Yet, now in this predicament, she wondered, if God was real, where had He been for the last hour? For that matter, where had he been for the last five years?

             
Yet even in her doubt, she closed her eyes.
Please God, if you are real, help me out of this.Honest,I didn’t mean to... to kill him.
She was still repenting when the dogs showed up, licking her face. The cats stopped for a look from their play next to the barn. At least she could count on them not to hold anything against her. Whether this was some kind of a sign or not, she knew she had to either confess, or pull herself
together real quick.

She looked across the yard toward the fields and the lonely miles of fenced-in pastures, wondering if she should start running. Maybe she could take Star the horse, head for the Canadian border, and out of the country. The urge disappeared quickly though, because she knew that her only hope was to stick with her original plan. She would be with Steven when he left for Watseka in a few hours. She had no other choice.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Like any normal day, Emily walked into the house with a pail of milk and a basket of eggs, and then opened the shades. She switched the radio station to music, put on an apron, stoked up the fire in the wood stove, and then began the task of fixing breakfast for three men she didn’t want to see. She sliced bread for toast, broke and scrambled fifteen eggs, and then set them aside while the pan heated.

             
She jumped at every sound, nicked herself peeling a potato and when she dumped the batch into a pan, grease splattered across her fingers. Her hands trembled as she pulled strips of bacon from the wrap and placed them into the iron frying pan. Every few minutes or so, she would stop and take a deep breath.

             
She arranged plates, glasses and silverware on the table, filled glasses with homemade tomato juice, put on salt and pepper, and a jar of honey. On the way back to the cupboards, without planning to, she found herself staring out the window at the barn.

             
“
Where’ve you been, girl?” The gruff voice came from behind. She jumped, almost tripping over her feet as she hurried to the stove.

             
Grandfather stood in the kitchen doorway, drying his hands with a towel. The straps of his overalls hung at his waist, and his belly jiggled with each movement.

             
“
I was out walking,” she croaked. She picked up the bowl of eggs, poured them into the hot pan, and then started placing the bread slices in the oven.

             
“
You finish patching my shirts yet?”

             
“
They’re in the hall closet.”

             
He seemed satisfied for the time, and shuffled off to find a shirt.

             
Timothy walked in a few minutes later and headed to the fireplace where he dropped to the hearth. Emily dished up the food and took the plates to the table, thinking that for once she didn’t mind his morning ritual when he grunted like an injured animal as he pulled on his work shoes, or the way he let his shoelaces drag on the floor on his way to the table. She could never understand why he nearly always waited until after breakfast to tie his shoes.

             
When Steven walked in, he went straight for the stove as usual and poured a cup of coffee. He took a lengthy slurp that ended in a contented, “Aah.” Each morning, she got satisfaction hearing that display of pleasure from him.              

             
Well, except for the morning she forgot to make a fresh pot. That morning there were no pleasantries, just a cuff across the back of the head after he spit the cold coffee onto the floor and ordered her to clean it up. Steven wasn’t normally the one for physical harm. She could only recall one other time he’d struck her, and that was during his despair after he lost his only real girlfriend. He’d been so on edge for weeks she should have known better than to leave a pile of laundry on the floor for him to trip over.

“
What time you heading to town, Steven?” Grandfather asked as he walked back into the kitchen. He turned the radio off and took a seat.

             
“
Late morning, right after Timothy and I load the hay.”

             
Emily poured coffee and sat in the chair closest to the stove. She kept her eyes on her plate, slicing her toast into strips and the strips into small pieces. When she looked up, Steven’s eyes were on her. His frown made her wonder if there were telltale marks on her face from the smack Claude gave her. She pulled a clump of hair over her left cheek.

             
Only Steven had other things on his mind. “I’ll be going into town alone today,” he told her.

             
She reached for her coffee, attempting to cover a gasp. He didn’t seem to notice her despair and, unlike him, or any of the rest of them, he went on to explain. “There’s someone I plan on stopping in to see, and that’d leave you on your own for some time.”

             
“
I don’t mind waiting in the pickup, honest! I… I can... I can bring a book.”

             
“
You heard ’em. He’s going alone,” Grandfather growled. He reached for the last of the bacon and shoved the empty plate toward Emily. “There’s lots to do around here anyway.”

             
Her mind was in a daze as she went to pull more bacon out of the oven. When she placed the plate on the table, Steven handed her his coffee cup before she had a chance to sit. “Here. And grab some jelly from the fridge while you’re at it.”

             
She filled his cup, still agonizing over a way to change his mind. When she went for the jelly, a thought hit her. She brought Steven his coffee and set down the jar of jelly.

             
“
I need canning supplies,” she said, pulling her chair to the table. “I’m completely out of lids. And this is the time of year for sales.” She thought her announcement would go over well, but they obviously didn’t see the urgency. She took a bite of toast, looking around for some kind of response. “Once I ran out of lids and couldn’t can for weeks.” Still, there wasn’t as much as a grumble, just the sounds of the men devouring their food, and the incessant tick… tick… tick of the clock above the refrigerator.

             
Finally, Grandfather bellowed through the silence, “Sale or not, you don’t need her along just to pick up a few lids,” he said to Steven.

             
“
But, I have to go,” Emily blurted as her fork clattered to her plate. Suddenly all eyes were on her. She picked up the fork and they turned away, except for Grandfather.

             
The old man had a point to make. “There’s no sense in running off to town when you don’t need to.” He nodded to Steven. “You can just as well pick ’em up yourself.”

             
“
Well, just wait a minute, Pops. Since she does all the gardening and canning, I’d just as soon she take care of that end of it. I don’t know the first thing about buying that kind of stuff anyway.”

             
The old man gave it a minute, then snapped, “Oh, do what you want. But I still don’t think she needs to go.”

Steven let his father’s statement sink in before he made a final decision. “There’s things to be done first,” he told Emily, confirming she could go.

              She was tempted to jump up and give him a hug.

Although, he was more concerned about details and turned to his younger brother. “By the way, how’s the gasoline holding up?”

              Timothy licked the edge of the honey jar and plopped the container back onto the table. “Don’t need any,” he said with his early morning bark. “Auh, maybe a little oil… four cases’ll do.”

             
Grandfather frowned at her. “Where’s Claude anyway? You see ’em when you were out?”

             
“
No!” she said too quickly.

             
“
I heard ’em drive in the yard like a crazy fool about three this morning,” Timothy said. “Out all night. Tomcatting, I’ll bet.”

             
“
Auh, you know him.” Grandfather nearly cracked a smile. “He just likes ta have a little fun, that’s all.”

             
The smell of bacon grease, along with the mention of Claude’s name was too much for her. She jumped from her seat, and as she gathered up empty plates, she noticed blood spots on the inner part of her sleeve. There were also telltale marks left by Claude’s grubby hands. She looked up and caught Steven’s eyes on her again.

             
“
That dang barbwire,” she said, turning quickly from the table. She went to deposit the dishes in the sink, dropped her apron on a chair, and rushed upstairs.

             
In the privacy of her bedroom, she looked in the mirror. Tears welled as she smoothed a finger over her left cheek. Thankfully, Claude’s hand had only left it a little pink and slightly swollen. “You can’t fall apart now,” she warned herself.

             
She moved to the window for a better look at her clothes. Blood had not only seeped through her left sleeve, but there were tiny spots splattered down the front of her blouse, and her skirt too. It was amazing no one noticed sooner. She went to the closet door, took off her blouse, and tossed it aside. As she unzipped her skirt and let it slide to the floor, the acorn fell out of a pocket and rolled across the room. She watched it hit the wall, and then kicked her bloody clothes into the closet. Later she would take them out to the burn barrel.

             
There was a bruise on her arm. Although with the bleeding virtually stopped, all she needed was a piece of fabric cut into strips to use as wrap. Once she had taken care of that, she slipped on a long-sleeved blouse thick enough to hide the bulge, then tied it at her waist. She pulled on a calf-length skirt, zipped it up, and then went to the wall and picked up the acorn. Such a small thing it was, but she had so little to hang onto. She tucked it in her pocket and headed downstairs.

             
Steven was the only one in the kitchen. She felt awkward facing him again. He picked up a thermos bottle and was about to leave when his eyes dropped to her sleeve.

             
She pulled her arm back. “So you think we’ll be leaving before noon?” she asked before he had a chance to say anything.

             
He ambled across the room and put a hand on the doorknob.

             
“
That’s my plan. Soon as we get back with the hay.” He looked out through one of the long narrow windows and settled on the barn. “Guess I should rouse Claude so he can help feed the animals.”

             
“
I’ll do it! I’ll feed ’em!”

             
He paused, thoughtful, still gazing at the barn. “Oh, I don’t know… There’s no reason he can’t do it. You’ve got plenty to do before we head into town.”

             
“
Not that much.” She glanced at the mess around her. “I’ll get it all done before we leave, easily.”

             
“
Weeell, you’d better make sure you do.”

             
The minute he left for the field, she began to cram dishes into the oven, and when that was full, she put the rest under the sink. She set the garbage next to the door just as Grandfather came down the hallway and into the kitchen.

             
“
I’ve half a mind keeping you home, young lady,” he said on his way across the room. He slapped on the same cap he wore whether rain or shine, opened the door, and looked back, his suspicious gaze moving around the kitchen. “You still didn’t get those tomatoes picked.”

She leaned back against the cupboard, wiping an imaginary spill along the edge of the sink.

              “
I’ll pick the tomatoes before I leave for town, I promise. And I’ll can them all tomorrow. Even if it takes me all night,” she added, boldly.

             
“
Yeah? We’ll see.” He dug a toothpick out of a shirt pocket, stuck it in his mouth, walked out and slammed the door.

* * * *

A sense of doom filled the air as she headed for the barn that suddenly looked dingier than she remembered. The tiny peaks of dried earth that formed with the last rain crackled unusually loud beneath her feet. Even the muffled sounds of the animals seemed strange. She wondered when she had stopped noticing the aroma of leather straps and saddles, and of soiled hay and manure. The smell was there now as she approached the building and forced her hand around the latch. The hinges creaked and her stomach churned as she pulled the door open and stepped inside.

             
She stood just inside the entrance, thinking of turning back, when a gust of wind slammed the door behind her. Suddenly Claude’s presence permeated the air like a heavy weight. Every fiber of her being wanted to turn and run, but she had no choice.

             
Her legs felt like rubber as she crunched across the straw-covered floor. The chickens stirred and the pigs grunted with anticipation. And then the rush began as she hurried back and forth between the feed bin and troughs. Each time the old building settled, she held her breath and turned her eyes up to the loft.

Finally, it was her last round, and she hurried to the bin, scooping up a bucket of grain for the horse. She was about to haul it over when a whoosh, and then a loud boom shook the building. She froze as a pair of hands slipped around her throat. The pail hit the floor and she swung around to face Claude. Only there was no one there. She grabbed her stiff neck and raced for the back entrance. Sliding around a stack of baled hay, she stopped as the door swung open and
smacked
against the building.

“Oh, my God, it was just the wind.” She sighed, welcoming a burst of energy. Another gust shook the building as she closed and latched the door.