Only When I Sleep

by E V Lind

  “Thank you so much for everything,” Beth said and gave Mary-Ann an impulsive hug. “I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s no bother. Now, about the café—I’m going to leave you my car to use. I’ll get Ryan to pick me up from here and take me back when we’re done. Unless you want to drive me back?”

  “Drive you...no! I can’t accept your car. Ryan said there was a bike in the shed. I’m sure I’ll be fine with that.”

  “The shed? The one that collapsed on Aggie and nearly killed her? No way you’re going anywhere near it,” Mary-Ann said in very definite tones.

  Beth felt a wave of anxiety hit her. “I can’t accept your car.”

  “Then we’ll come to a compromise. We’ll work something else out but trust me, the shed and anything in it are very definitely off limits.”

  *

  Ryan ducked his mother’s open hand as it aimed for the back of his head.

  “What on earth were you thinking?” she demanded, looking none too pleased with him.

  He was feeling none too pleased himself. A day stuck inside going over the farm’s books with Steve, his farm manager, had been enough to drive him crazy. He looked outside, at the hills in the distance that formed a part of the farm boundary, and wished for nothing more than the chance to get on horseback and disappear for a few hours. Hell, days would be even better. Maybe that would shake the growing urgency he felt to return to the MacDonald place and see if Beth was okay.

  “What do you mean what was I thinking?”

  “The bike in that tumbled down shed! Really, Ryan? I thought I raised you to be a gentleman and you’re telling our tenant that she can pick through a collapsed and dangerous building to find a bicycle to get to and from Riverbend?”

  He shrugged. Any chance of a bit of peace this afternoon had been shattered the moment his mom had pulled up outside the big house and he’d seen from the look in her eye that she had her dander up about something. He should have known it would relate to Beth.

  “It was her choice,” he growled in response.

  “Oh, puh-lease!” His mother rolled her eyes. “As if she’s capable of making her own choices right now. Poor thing is so battered and lost she can barely draw breath.”

  “I think she’s a bit stronger than that. Didn’t you set her to work washing dishes at the café?”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Physically she’s stronger than she looks, but emotionally...? No, she needs help. Anyway, I offered her the use of my car.”

  Ryan sat up a little straighter in his chair. “You what?”

  That car was his mom’s pride and joy and the last gift his father had given her before his father’s fatal heart attack two years ago.

  “You heard me,” Mary-Ann met his glare straight on.

  “And if she took it in her head to see how far it could go on a full tank of gas and never come back? What then?”

  “She’s not going to run away, Ryan. When will you get that through your thick skull?”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “She needs a place to hide. Somewhere safe.”

  “And you know that because...?”

  His mother just looked at him. She just knew. That was enough for her and from the look in her eyes it had better be enough for him.

  “Whatever,” he acceded and slouched down in his chair. His mother was only voicing the very same conclusion he’d come to himself and he didn’t like how that conclusion made him feel.

  “She refused it,” Mary-Ann stated bluntly.

  If Ryan was to be entirely honest with himself, he wasn’t surprised. Despite wanting to always believe the worst of his new tenant, his inner self recognized she posed no threat. He picked up a pen and began tapping it against the pad on his desk. Mary-Ann put up with it for about ten seconds before she snatched it from his fingers. He looked up.

  “Well?” Mary-Ann demanded.

  “Well, what?”

  “What are you going to do about it? She needs reliable transportation once she starts work next week.”

  “Maybe you should have thought about that before offering her the job and then parking her all the way out here.”

  This time his mother’s open hand did catch him on the back of the head. It was barely a cuff—a reminder that he owed her more respect than he was giving her right now.

  “Ow!” he protested, as she tugged his ear for good measure. “Child abuse!”

  “It doesn’t count when you’re an adult,” Mary-Ann countered matter-of-factly. “Besides, you know I love you.”

  “What do you want me to do,” he said in resignation. He knew when it was time to back down.

  “Can you give her a ride each day?”

  “No,” he said adamantly. “And even if I could, can you see her accepting one?”

  His mother shook her head and sighed heavily. “No, you’re right. What about my old car? Is it still in the shed?”

  He nodded. “But it needs new tires and some work to make it roadworthy, not to mention insurance. It hasn’t been driven in years.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  “I have a farm to run here,” he protested.

  “And we have a moral responsibility to take care of our tenant, too, don’t you think? Besides, she’s saving you a bundle by cleaning up that old house.”

  He snorted in derision. “She’s hardly saving me much if I have to get a car back up to scratch and make it available to her. You want me to pay for her gas as well while I’m at it?”

  “Why thank you, Ryan. So good of you to offer. I knew I raised you right.”

  The beatific smile on his mother’s face proved she had him exactly where she wanted him. And he couldn’t help but smile back. He loved her. Always had. Always would. Even though she drove him nuts.

  “I’ll get one of the boys to take care of it,” he said, getting up from his chair and enveloping his mom in a huge hug. “Okay?”

  “Yes, thanks, son.”

  Her voice was muffled against his chest but he could feel her approval easing into him and filling the cold, empty places inside. The places that, after the bomb went off, had made him wonder if he’d ever get to do this again. To simply hold his mother and show her by deed, if not by word, just how much she meant to him.

  “Right,” she said, pulling free of his embrace. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “Good of you,” he said with a teasing smile on his lips.

  “No need to be cheeky,” she said with a gentle pat on his cheek. “I can still take you down a peg or two when necessary. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  She turned to leave but stopped at the door. “Oh, and by the way. Nice job with the kitten.”

  To his chagrin he felt a flush of heat rise on his cheeks. “It was nothing,” he muttered.

  “No, Ryan. It was something. You did good. You have a heart beating there in that rock-hard chest of yours, after all.”

  And with that parting shot she was gone.

  Ryan swiveled on his feet and cursed out loud as pain shot through his leg. He stared solidly out the window and watched as his mom backed her cute, little hatchback up and then headed off down the drive.

  “It’s only a cat,” he said to the empty room. But he knew it was more than that, and for that same reason, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called one of his men. “Elliot, I need you to get mom’s old Toyota running again and put some new feet on it while you’re at it—yeah, new tires, not retreads. In the next coupla days, okay?”

  After hearing Elliot’s assurance that he’d get right on it, Ryan slid his phone back in his pocket and remained standing there, staring out the window. And wondering just why on earth Beth had come into his life and why, against all rational thought, he felt so compelled to protect her.

  *

  Dan let himself into the house. Another day wasted searching for that bitch. People didn’t just disappear into thin air. He knew that better than most. They
always left a trail. The trick was finding it.

  Slowly and deliberately, he closed the door behind him. Control. That was always of the utmost importance. Control in all things. To slam the door on his frustration would only show people that he was losing it. But Dan never lost it. Not like his father. Never like him. The man had been an undisciplined bully. But not Dan. No—not even when applying the discipline so desperately needed to keep people in line. Each blow was always perfectly timed, perfectly placed, perfectly controlled. His hands curled into fists and he closed his eyes, standing still for a moment as he rode the wave of rage that filled him. Savoring the ebb and flow of it. Letting it wash through every part of his mind, his body.

  A lesser man might punch a hole in the wall, but he was better than that. He was better than everyone and, when the time was right, the bitch would pay and pay dearly. He wouldn’t make the mistake of letting her survive this time. Some people couldn’t learn a lesson, no matter how many times it got pounded into them.

  A smile crept across his face. Yes. He’d find her. And he’d show her that her defiance was what made her weak, and then he’d crush the life out of her, breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat. Until she ceased to exist. A rush of desire punched through him, a demand that had to be assuaged. Now.

  Dan walked down the hallway and stopped at the door to the baby’s room. Sherry was feeding the brat. She popped the baby off her breast the moment she saw him in the doorway, her face settling into lines of acceptance the minute she recognized the expression on his.

  “Not in here,” she said softly.

  “Put her in the crib,” he demanded.

  “Dan, no. Not in here, not in front of—”

  His open palm struck her across the face. “I said, put...her ...in...the...crib.”

  She hastened to do as he’d told her. Dan rubbed the front of his pants, savored the throb of his arousal.

  “Drop your jeans and turn around with your back to me. Put your hands on the rails of the crib,” he ordered in a voice that he knew she wouldn’t dare refuse.

  Sherry did as she was told, but turned her head over her shoulder to implore him, “Please, Dan, not in here.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” he snapped, pulling her hips toward him and kicking her ankles further apart. He thrust a hand into her hair, and yanked her head up. “Tell her how good her daddy is. Go on! Tell her!”

  “Daddy’s good. Real good,” Sherry whimpered.

  “That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”

  He unzipped his pants and freed his cock and stroked himself watching his wife tremble as she waited for what came next. Without waiting another second, he drove into her anus—that way he’d be sure there’d be no more mistakes like the baby lying silent, eyes wide open, in the crib.

  Sherry screamed and he smiled, tightening his fingers in her hair, driving into her again and again—so hard the crib banged against the wall. He came in a moment of sheer exhilaration. Deaf to the moans of his wife who dropped to her hands and knees on the floor the second he pulled free of her body, or to the wails of his daughter as her world stopped shaking.

  Dan tucked his cock back in his pants and tugged his zipper closed. Without sparing Sherry another glance he left the room. Yeah. Control. That’s what it was all about.

  EIGHTEEN

  Riverbend, OR, November 1941

  Dear Diary,

  I was in the shed today making Mamma's lye soap when Jonathon came over. The shed doesn't smell bad like it did a few years back. I still don't like going in there, though. Something just doesn't feel right. Mamma keeps telling me not to be such a ninny. It's just a shed and I guess she must be right. What else could it be? It's been here as long as the house has, maybe even longer judging by the look of it.

  I hate making the soap out there. The light is poor and I always manage to splash lye on my hands and it burns my skin. In fact, I hate making it at all, but Mamma won't hold with it being made in the house and what Mamma says is what goes around here. Aggie danced around behind me singing her ridiculous ditty, "Add water to lye, and you may die!" She drives me crazy but it serves as a good reminder and I don't have it in my heart to scold her.

  Anyway, I digress. Back to Jonathon, who is undoubtedly my favorite person in the entire Universe. I love the way he looks and the way his gray eyes have flecks of silver in them. His eyes smile, long before his beautiful mouth does. But when his mouth joins in, oh my, it makes my heart go pitter-pat and makes my downstairs go all strange. Not a bad strange, but an aching that I have to ignore until I know everyone is asleep at night. Even then I feel like what I'm doing is wrong, dirty. If Mamma knew she'd probably cut off my hand. I don't even want to think about that.

  Jonathon came to tell me that Mamma had a fall up at the big house—she's hurt her ankle real bad, they think it's broken. Mrs. Jones sent Jonathon to get the doctor for her. On his way back, he called in to tell Aggie and me what had happened. Mrs. Jones insisted that Mamma rest up and heal at the big house.

  I should feel guilty for being relieved that Mamma won't be here with that critical look in her eye. Honestly, most times I think she hates us, even though I can't understand why. Anyway, I know Aggie and I will be fine on our own as long as I remember to lock the doors so Aggie can't go wandering.

  I find it hard to believe Mamma agreed to stay at the big house and that she didn't demand to be brought home—I know she doesn't trust me to use the good sense I was born with and wouldn’t willingly leave us here alone. She must be really hurt to be staying.

  Jonathon said we were welcome to come up to visit Mamma. I think we'll do that tomorrow. He happened to mention he'll be at the house at lunchtime. That's when we'll go.

  I cannot wait.

  NINETEEN

  Beth’s room smelled and felt a million times better than it had the night before. The kitten, it seemed, also approved and was busy circling around on the new bedcovers before curling into a ball at the foot of the bed. Beth smiled as she flicked off the bedside lamp and the room plunged into darkness. The dark didn’t bother her here. Sure, she couldn’t see anything past her nose but, by the same token, nothing could see her either, could it? Besides, with the doors locked, chairs under the handles and the windows well and truly secured she actually felt as though she could relax.

  It was a strange concept, she realized, certainly one that had become foreign to her over the past few years. She sounded out the idea in her mind and decided she liked it.

  Tomorrow she had plans to clean the bedroom across the hall from her own. It was smaller than this one and decorated all in pink. The room was in such sharp and total contrast to the rest of the house which was so minimalistic with its furnishings.

  When Beth had pointed out the difference to Mary-Ann, the older woman had only nodded and explained that the room had belonged to Aggie MacDonald right up until she’d been moved to the care facility. At least, with having been occupied until fairly recently, cleaning the room shouldn’t be a major job, Beth consoled herself. Judging by the layers of dust that were everywhere else, it had been easy to see that Aggie had pretty much only used her bedroom, the bathroom and the kitchen.

  Beth stretched a little in her bed. The iron bed ends rattled as she felt out the aches and pains that made themselves known. She was no stranger to pain but these were sensations she welcomed rather than dreaded. At least these twinges had been earned honestly while she’d worked physically hard rather than from…

  Beth curled up on her side, her feet bumping up against the still unnamed kitten. She didn’t want to go there. She didn’t want to remember Dan’s fists and feet raining down on her while she tried to protect the tiny life nestled deep inside.

  In the darkness she heard the kitten start to purr. The sound made her smile and feel a little less alone. She reached one arm out from under the covers and stroked the kitten’s sleek head.

  “Tomorrow, little one. Tomorrow you’ll have a name,” she promised.

&
nbsp; *

  Burning, stinging pain woke Beth the next morning. She opened her eyes and started to push the sheets away from her but even the sensation of the cotton against her hands was enough to make her draw in a sharp breath. She got up from the bed, dislodging the kitten at the same time. Sun streamed in through a crack in the drapes and in the light Beth could see her hands were red and raw.

  Cool water, she needed cool water to soothe the burning. Her breath caught in her throat as she shifted the chair from the door and turned the old metal key in the lock. Every movement was agony and, in contrast to the burning heat of her hands, her feet froze once she made it downstairs and onto the tiled floor of the bathroom. Her hands shook as she forced the plug into the basin and ran cold water and held her stinging hands under the cool flow. When the sink was nearly full, she turned the water off and stood there, her hands submerged in the frigid liquid.

  Bit by bit, the burning sensation began to ease and, to her surprise, her hands returned to a normal color. Cold shivers racked her frame by the time she pulled the plug and let the water drain away. She turned her hands this way and that, searching for signs of the damage that had been so evident before, but her skin looked normal. Cold, yes—freezing cold—but normal again.

  Beth gingerly dried her hands on her towel, confused by what had just happened. Had she dreamed it? What was going on? She’d lost so much already, surely, she wasn’t losing her mind in the bargain.

  The little, black cat began to wind around her legs, purring loudly again. Beth picked the animal up and held its warm, furry body close to her chest. The kitten butted her chin and batted a paw against her cheek. Just the mere fact there was another being with her, a warm, friendly body pressed up against hers, gave Beth a measure of comfort. She shivered again as the cold from the bathroom floor leeched up through her feet.

  “Can you wait five minutes for breakfast while I shower and get dressed?” Beth asked the kitten, carrying it up to the bedroom with her.