When Smiles Fade (5 page)

Furious with her, Pepper demanded she clean the mess immediately. Gracie tried to step in and clean up for her sister, but their father pushed her out of the doorway and warned her not to intervene. Pepper stepped inside the bathroom, grabbed Emma by the hair, and pushed her face toward the pile of warm, smelly vomit.

“If you don’t clean it up, you dirty little scumbag,” he snarled, “I’ll make you
lick
this floor clean!”

Emma’s hands slid in the vomit as she tried to back away. Losing the battle against her father’s brute strength, her arms slipped out from under her. Her face slammed down onto the tile and into the pile of puke. She knew from the searing pain that shot up her nose that it was broken; the pain from the fracture was more intense now than her nausea. Blood streamed from her nose and into her mouth, its sour taste mingling with that of vomit and threatening to make her throw up again. In a panic, she lunged at a towel from the rack and began to wipe up the puke with it.

“Alright, Daddy,” she whimpered. “I’ll take care of this mess. I’m really sorry for being such a pig and throwing up on the floor. I swear it won’t happen again. I’m just going to clean up the bathroom. Then I’ll go downstairs and make you dinner. I swear, Daddy? Is that okay?” she crooned, trying to make her voice sound as sweet as possible in an attempt to get her father to back off.

Satisfied at having established that Emma understood his lack of tolerance for her illness, he turned to leave the bathroom. “Hurry up!” he snapped on his way out. “I’m hungry. You’ve played this sick card long enough!”

Once he was gone, Gracie quickly stepped into the bathroom to help her sister. “Emma, are you okay?” she whispered. “I think your nose is broken. I think you need to go to the hospital.”

Emma shook her head. “No, Gracie, I’m fine,” she told her. “I need to clean up here so I can go cook dinner. I don’t want him getting more upset than he is already.”

While Pepper had been brutalizing Emma, Valerie sat in her bedroom, polishing her toenails and brushing her long, silky hair. She was selfishly grateful for not being the target of his rage. Besides, she thought to herself, if Emma would just do what he wanted Pepper wouldn’t have to beat her so often.

For Emma’s thirteenth birthday, Mrs. Tisdale threw a small party for her after school. She invited Gracie, of course, along with her three sons, who were there more for the cake their mother had baked than for Emma. Nonetheless, they sang “Happy Birthday” and enjoyed big slices of the homemade chocolate cake that Mrs. Tisdale had lovingly decorated with chocolate icing and served with generous portions of vanilla ice cream. The girls were ecstatic; cake and ice cream wasn’t something they often had the pleasure of enjoying.

While Emma was happy that Mrs. Tisdale had thrown a party for her, she was just as disheartened that no one in her own family had thought of celebrating her birthday at home. Neither of her parents acknowledged her birthday in the morning before the girls left for school. Emma’s birthday was always an annual reminder of how Pepper’s dreams had been stolen from him and his life reduced to nothing.

At four thirty the two girls left Mrs. Tisdale’s house so that Emma would have enough time to get dinner ready for her parents. She knew how intensely her father hated her birthdays and the foul mood he would be in anyway. She did not want to provoke him further by not being right on schedule.

When Pepper got home from work an hour later, Emma had dinner ready for him to eat. Walking into the kitchen, he growled, “What the
fuck
is that nasty smell? What the
hell
did you make for dinner?”

A defeated Emma replied, “I made spaghetti with Ragu sauce. Your favorite, Daddy.”

“Who the
hell
said that’s my favorite?” he roared. “It smells like shit in here! Now you’re trying to serve me shit? It’s bad enough that I have to work all day so that this family of gluttons can eat. When I come home, I want to eat something that
I
like.”

It was becoming increasingly clear which way the evening would turn. Emma started to back away from him.

“But you always liked this meal before,” she protested timidly. “I thought it was your favorite.”

Without warning, Pepper stepped forward and struck her with the back of his hand. Emma staggered back from the impact of the blow. Her father turned to snatch up the pot of burning hot pasta from the stove, swung back around, and flung its contents at her.

“Now clean up this fucking mess and make me something decent to eat, you ungrateful little slob!” he snapped.

Gracie, who had been watching them from the doorway, rushed into the kitchen to help her sister, who was now covered in pasta and sauce. As she leaned over her, Pepper hauled her up by the back of her shirt and shoved her away roughly.

“You think you’re any better?” he snarled at his younger daughter. “What the fuck do you
do
around here to earn your keep?”

Shaking off everything that had just happened to her, Emma sprang to her feet. She was determined to save her kid sister from the agony and humiliation she’d grown to accept as a part of her own life. Protecting Gracie was the only thing she had left that made her feel like a human being.

“Gracie, go upstairs and get washed up,” she told her. “I’m going to cook something else for dinner. Go now!”

Annoyed that his older daughter had dared interfere in his mistreatment of her sister, Pepper grabbed Emma under the arm and began pulling her up the stairs to her bedroom.

“I’m sick and tired of you thinking that you can say and do whatever you want, you little whore!” he yelled. “It’s high time I taught you a good lesson!” He continued to scream at her until he had worked himself into a tizzy, like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. Then his animalistic urge took over. “Get undressed
now
!” he screamed, standing there, legs apart, watching her like a hawk.

By now Emma was familiar with the “rules.” They were the same every time her father took her up to her bedroom to hand out “punishment.” She took off all her clothes, just as he had demanded, and stood naked in front of him. Now that she was older, she was more conscious of her budding breasts and the small patch of pubic hair that had appeared over the last few months.

In the meantime, Pepper had removed his belt. As Emma looked on, he went to the bathroom and placed the leather under the open faucet until it was soaking wet. Waiting for him to come back into the bedroom, she was consumed with dread. She knew exactly what he was going to do to her and prayed for her own death before he came back into the room.

When Pepper returned, he ordered Emma to lie face down on the bed. Then he lifted his belt high into the air and brought it down with force across her bare back. The pain was unbearable as he whipped her mercilessly with the belt, the wet leather tearing through her young, tender flesh. The louder the groans that escaped through her gritted teeth, the more frenzied the nature of the lickings she got. The more her father beat her, the more his rage appeared to intensify. Nearly half an hour had passed when, exhausted from the effort of whipping her relentlessly, Pepper left the room.

This was a ritual that Emma had grown accustomed to. But this time, he had beaten her so long and hard, it had taken its toll, robbing her even of the tiny shred of humanity she had clung to so far.

Emma’s back and legs were bloodied and raw as she lay on her bed crying. Then she heard him scream at her to go downstairs and cook dinner. When she put her clothes back on, the fabric clung to her wet wounds. With each movement she made, it seemed as if layers of skin were being torn from her body. Barely able to walk now, she hobbled past her mother, who stood at the top of the stairs, a mute witness, as usual, to the atrocities being perpetrated under her very nose.

Emma stopped for a brief moment and looked at Valerie with burning eyes. “If you were a real mother,” she whispered, “you would at least try to stop him, but you don’t. I hate you almost as much as I hate him, but you probably disgust me more.”

Valerie stood there, irritated by her daughter’s harsh words. Her eyes followed the girl limping down the stairs to cook the family dinner. She prayed that Emma wouldn’t give Pepper any shit. Once again, her fear mounted of Pepper being sent to prison for killing his daughter. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her husband.

After Pepper had filled his belly and the dishes had been cleaned that night, Gracie followed her older sister up to the bathroom. She helped Emma get into the tub and gently washed the fresh wounds on her back. Gracie had never seen her sister subjected to such brutality before. As she helped Emma into bed, she said, “I love you, Em. Someday we’re going to leave this stupid house and never come back. We won’t ever have to see either of them again.”

Gracie’s words played in Emma’s mind as she tried to fall asleep. There was nothing she wanted more than to never see her parents again. She didn’t know exactly how or when, but she believed that one day they would break loose of the shackles that held them to their parents.

The next day, Mrs. Tisdale saw Emma hobbling up the street after stepping off the school bus. Gracie was by her side. The girls walked in silence until they reached her.

“Child, why are you limpin’ like that?” the old lady asked. “What’s wrong whit cha?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mrs. Tisdale,” Emma lied. “I fell down the steps last night and hurt myself. I’ll be fine.”

Mrs. Tisdale placed her large hands on her hefty round hips. “Don’t you give me none of that crap!” she huffed indignantly. “Get yourself in my house
right
now! We need to have a little chat. Come on, Gracie! You comin’ too.”

The girls followed her inside and Mrs. Tisdale guided Emma to a chair.

“Now, let me take a look at those injuries of yours,” she commanded. “I want to make sure everything is all right.”

Emma tried to squirm her way out of the situation, but realized it would do no good. Resigned, she gave in and raised her shirt so the old woman could see what her father had done to her.

Mrs. Tisdale’s breath caught in her throat. “What the fuck?” she said out loud, not meaning to. As she studied the zigzag of thick slashes, with blood and pus still seeping from her blistered skin, she couldn’t help blurting out, “Sweet Jesus! What the hell did that man do to you?”

Emma began to cry. Her chest heaved with great sobs and then with a feeling of relief that someone other than Gracie had confirmed what a cruel father Pepper was to her.

Mrs. Tisdale turned her attention to Gracie. “What happened to her, child?” she asked. “You’re telling me right now!”

In a voice strained with the fear that she had done something wrong, Gracie replied, “My father beat her because she made spaghetti for dinner. But Mrs. Tisdale, the last time Emma made spaghetti for dinner, he said it was his favorite meal. She didn’t try to piss him off. It was her birthday and she was trying to keep him from getting mad,” she finished, gasping through her sobs.

Mrs. Tisdale took Gracie in her arms. “It’s all right, baby,” she soothed. “We’re gonna get Emma taken care of here. Need to be sure there ain’t no infection in those cuts. Come on, now. You can help me.”

Mrs. Tisdale had Emma lie down on her sofa as she gently bathed the wounds with soap and water. Then she went to the kitchen and came back holding a jar of honey.

Emma was startled. “Wha-what are you going to do with that?” she asked apprehensively.

“Don’t cha worry none, child. See, this here is honey, and it’s gonna do lots of good things for ya. It’s gonna take away some of dat pain you have and take down that there swelling. It’s like putting a seal over the top of your exposed flesh; it’ll catch all the dirt and fibers from your shirt and keep those deep wounds moist while they heal. We’ll need to put this on every day until that raw skin gets better. Okay, baby?”

Emma nodded. She trusted Mrs. Tisdale and believed she knew what she was doing. And she was grateful to have such a kind and caring person in her life. Maybe she wasn’t so damned after all, Emma thought. She did have Mrs. Tisdale and Gracie in her life, didn’t she? She just wanted to stay there forever, with both of them as her only family. And she longed for the day she would never have to see her parents again.

That night, after the girls were asleep, Mrs. Tisdale strode across the street and softly tapped on the Murphys’ front door. Valerie was surprised to see her elderly neighbor standing outside when she opened the door. Mrs. Tisdale deliberately looked at Valerie from head to toe, as her expression turned to a slow simmer, finally locking eyes with her. Valerie found herself squirming under the old woman’s judgmental gaze. At that precise moment, Pepper stepped up behind his wife.

“Yeah, what do ya need?” he asked gruffly.

“What I need is for you to keep your goddamn hands off that child of yours!” the old woman growled with all the ferociousness of a lioness protecting her cub. “She don’t know I’m here and if I find out that you laid one finger on her because I came over here, you’ll have to deal with my sons. You listen real good now. I want you to stop what you’re doing to that poor child or I’ll call the cops.”

Pepper snorted, “Shut the fuck up, you old bat!
No
one
tells me what to do with my own kids. Mind your own fucking business! I ain’t afraid of you and those bastard children of yours. Get the hell off my porch before
I
call the cops! And stay the hell away from my kids!”