The Code of the Hills

by Nancy Allen

  Elsie shuddered, an involuntary twitch. “What do you want from me?”

  Naomi reached into her smock and pulled out a piece of paper folded into a small square. “I want you to give this to my sis.”

  Elsie’s brow wrinkled. “Do I know her?”

  “Goodness sakes no, you wouldn’t. But she’s in that place where women run away to, to get away from their husbands.”

  “Oh, okay,” Elsie said, as understanding dawned. “Your sister is at the Battered Women’s Center.”

  Nodding, Naomi said, “She told me she’d be running off for sure, the next time he wore her out. He’s awful mean; it’s just how he is. You saw him at the courthouse, he called you nasty names.”

  Elsie knew exactly who Naomi referred to. She held out her hand and the girl pressed the paper into her palm. “You’ll take it? You promise?”

  “I’ll do it. Anything you want me to tell her?”

  Rising, Naomi flushed the toilet. The water in the tank made a furious sound.

  “Tell her it don’t matter to me what she did. Tell her I love her anyway.” She scooted in front of Elsie and peeked out. “Me first,” she whispered. “You wait a minute.”

  The door clicked shut and Elsie waited, turning off the faucets and watching the water circle down the drain.

  Returning to the kitchen, she made a beeline for Ashlock and clutched his arm. Giving him a look he could not mistake, she sent him a mental message: Let’s blow this firetrap. With a nod to the preacher, Ashlock took her by the elbow and they made their way out.

  In the sanctuary of Ashlock’s car Elsie moaned with relief. “Oh my God, that was a killer.”

  Ashlock smiled. “Was it worth it?”

  “Yes, absolutely. You were right. But now I have to go to the Battered Women’s Center of the Ozarks. Take me over to Bree’s; my car is there.”

  “Why are you heading to the BWO?”

  “I have to deliver a message from one of our Pentecostal pals.”

  “So that’s where you went off to. I saw that girl whispering at you.”

  “She’s scared as a rabbit. We had to hide in the bathroom so Big Daddy wouldn’t hear.” Rooting in her purse for her car keys, she found the note and put it in her wallet. “I felt sorry for her. She was nice. Pretty little thing.”

  Ash turned onto Bree’s street. “I thought so until she smiled. That girl could eat corn through a picket fence.”

  In spite of herself, Elsie laughed. “You’re terrible.”

  His mouth twitched. “You look beat. How about I take that note for you? You go home, get some rest.”

  “Thanks, Ash, but I said I’d do it. It shouldn’t take long, I’m just dropping it off.” As she opened the car door, a battered blue pickup whizzed by, startling her. “What the hell?” she said.

  Ashlock was frowning. “He’s going way too fast for a residential street.”

  “Crazy son of a bitch could’ve run me down. Well, I’m heading, thanks. See you at the courthouse, okay?”

  But Ashlock didn’t respond. He was squinting, looking through the windshield as the blue pickup turned a corner and vanished from sight.

  Chapter Thirty-­Four

  ELSIE PULLED HER Ford Escort up to a red brick hotel in the old section of town not far from the Taneys’ apartment house on High Street. The hotel sat near the railroad tracks, on a commercial block that fell from use when the town moved south in the 1970s.

  As she sat in her car, she examined the hotel, certain she had the right place, though the building bore no name. The location of the Battered Women’s Center of the Ozarks was not a secret in a community the size of Barton, Missouri.

  She grabbed her purse and headed inside. The place looked deserted. She walked up to the front desk and took in her surroundings while waiting for someone to appear. The lobby bore signs of former grandeur. The floor was covered in octagonal tile in geometric designs, and the room was paneled in dark walnut trim, with a grand staircase leading to the second floor. Time and neglect had left their mark, however; water-­stained plaster and faded wallpaper stood in jarring contrast to the building’s original features, like a grand old lady in a tattered dress.

  A woman with long gray hair plaited into a braid appeared from a back room and took her place at the front desk. She asked, “What can I do for you?” eyeing her with sympathy, as if she assumed Elsie was in need of refuge.

  Standing up very straight, Elsie spoke in a businesslike manner. “I’m here to deliver a message.” Pulling the note from her wallet, she placed it on the counter where the gray-­haired woman could examine it.

  “That’s for Ruth. She’s here, all right.” The woman scrutinized her, wondering whether she posed a threat. “She don’t want to see nobody.”

  “I don’t want to disturb her,” Elsie said, raising a hand to dispel the suggestion. “Her sister gave me this note and asked me to deliver it. And said to say that she loves her.”

  “I’ll see she gets it.” She locked Elsie in a steely gaze. “Anything else I can do? To help you?”

  “Nope,” Elsie said resolutely, “that’s it.” A stack of flyers lay on the desk. To break eye contact, she turned her attention to them. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a list of things we could use around here. Some groups give us donations, so we put down the things we need the most.”

  Elsie scanned the list: shampoo, soap, toothpaste and brushes, gently used clothing.

  “I’ll hang onto this,” she said brightly. “When I have the chance, I’ll pick some things up and bring them out here to you.”

  The woman nodded, her face knowing. “You do that.”

  Elsie ducked out of the building in a hurry. She wanted to go home and make an ice pack. Her mouth hurt.

  But she was only a stone’s throw from the Taneys’. It was high time to sit Charlene down for a talk. Standing on the sidewalk, she struggled with the decision. Looking up, she saw that the sky threatened rain. She was sick to death of foul weather. And she was worn-­out, and her bed was calling to her like a siren.

  But she needed to seize the opportunity to get Charlene alone, if she could. I’ll just drive by, she decided. They may not even be home.

  When she reached High Street, rain was pelting the windshield. Shivering in the driver’s seat, she took a moment to gird herself for battle. Roy was probably inside, and she’d have to fight her way through him to get to Charlene.

  But she was determined to talk to her, outside of Roy and Donita’s presence. With the trial approaching, there were too many unsettled issues with Charlene for her to proceed with confidence.

  She was still framing an excuse for her surprise visit when a figure appeared on foot at the end of the block. Elsie sat up straight, peering through the windshield at the girl, her dark head ducked against the rain, fists thrust into the pockets of a thin jacket: Charlene. Elsie shivered, with a combination of relief and trepidation.

  Starting the engine, she crept down the street until she and Charlene were almost abreast.

  “Hey, girl,” Elsie called in a cheery tone, resting her elbow in the open window. “What you doing?”

  Charlene flicked a bare glance at her and kept walking.

  “Charlene, it’s Elsie. Hold on a minute; I want to talk to you.”

  Charlene walked on for several paces before stopping. It was easy to see that she was not pleased to run into her. Slowly, she crossed the street and walked up to the car. “What you doing around here?”

  “Hanging. Waiting for you.”

  Charlene leaned in the driver’s window and stared into Elsie’s face with curiosity. “Who slapped the shit out of you?”

  Elsie opened her mouth to lie, then snapped it shut. Studying Charlene’s black eye, she said, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  Charlene backed away fro
m the car. “Didn’t you hear? Walked into a door. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  Elsie gave her a glum smile. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.” With a jerk of her head, she asked, “Want to get in?”

  “What for?”

  “I’m going to Sonic. You hungry? Thirsty?”

  The rain ran down Charlene’s face in rivulets as she eyed Elsie with a wary look.

  “Come on,” Elsie said. “You’re getting wet.”

  After a second of silent consideration, Charlene shrugged and walked to the passenger side. As she slid into the seat, Elsie said, “Buckle up.”

  Charlene ignored her, looking toward the old white house. “Why didn’t you go inside? How come you’re waiting out here?”

  “I just need to see you. So we can talk.”

  Charlene’s eyes were hooded. “So talk.”

  “Let’s get to Sonic first. I need a big drink.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I should go inside. I got to see Tiffany.”

  “We can get something for you to bring back to Tiffany. You know what she likes. Kristy, too.”

  “I don’t care nothing about bringing Kristy stuff. She can take care of herself.”

  Elsie headed for the Sonic Drive-­In. The car was silent; now that she had Charlene at her side, she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Pulling into the parking slot, she let Charlene study the menu items on the display board for a minute before asking, “What do you want? I’m buying.”

  “What you getting?”

  Elsie rolled down the car window and pushed the red speaker button. “Diet cherry limeade. My favorite.”

  “I like Coke.”

  “Okay.” Feeling nervous, she pushed the button a second time. “You want diet?”

  “What for?”

  With a glance at the girl’s bony frame, Elsie didn’t answer. Lord yes—­what for indeed?

  When the curb waitress brought the drinks to the car, Charlene gaped at the size of the cups. Elsie made a face. “I know, it’s embarrassing. I drink this stuff by the gallon. Looks like they’re bringing it in a bucket, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t mind,” Charlene said in a warmer tone, jamming the straw into the lid.

  “You want to play the radio? Pick a station.”

  “I don’t know none. You pick.”

  Elsie turned to a country station, noting with satisfaction that Charlene’s face had lost its hostile aspect.

  Charlene said, “That’s Brad Paisley. Mama likes him. She thinks he’s good looking.”

  “What about you? Who’s your favorite?”

  “I don’t know nothing about it.” But after a moment she said, “I like Toby Keith.”

  Elsie unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face Charlene. “Because he’s good looking?”

  “Because he’s tough. He ain’t afraid of nobody. Don’t put up with nobody’s shit.”

  Elsie digested the statement. “That’s how I’d describe you.”

  Charlene’s head jerked up in surprise. “Huh?”

  “What you said about Toby Keith, it’s how you seem to me. Lord knows you’re tough.”

  Charlene looked pleased by the comparison, though she ducked her head to hide it. She sucked on her straw.

  “So,” Elsie said, treading carefully, “there’s something I’ve been needing to talk with you about.”

  The guarded look dropped down like a curtain. “What?”

  “About the deal in middle school. When the boys were after you in the bathroom.”

  “I done told you already.”

  “Yeah, back at the courthouse? You wouldn’t talk about it. Didn’t you say ‘maybe later, maybe never’?”

  Charlene rubbed her nose but didn’t speak. Turning to face Elsie, she shot her a challenging glare.

  Elsie sighed. “Oh, hon. Don’t you know I’m on your side? This isn’t morbid curiosity. I want to be able to protect you in court.”

  Chewing the straw, Charlene appeared to think it over. She said, “Nobody protects anybody. You got to take care of yourself.”

  Elsie laughed. “That sure sounds like Toby Keith. But he’d write a song about it.”

  Charlene looked out the window, rubbing condensation off the glass. “I want tater tots,” she said.

  “Okay. Ketchup and salt?” Elsie asked, rolling her window down.

  “Yeah,” Charlene said. After Elsie placed the order, Charlene spoke abruptly, words tumbling out.

  “I shouldn’t of believed nothing he said. Nothing. He went on like he liked me, but I should’ve knowed better. A man will do anything to get in your britches. Mama always told me.”

  “So who was the boy? Carlos?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled, an ironic twist of her mouth. “He played basketball, so he was a big deal, big somebody. And God, he was so hot.”

  Groaning, Elsie nodded. “What is it about the handsome ones? Why do strong women turn to mush when they come along?”

  She saw that Charlene was studying her swollen lip. Elsie was glad when the waitress arrived with the tater tots and she could turn away to pay. She handed them to Charlene.

  Popping a tot, Carlene chewed as she spoke. “That’s the goddamned truth. When he said to meet him in the bathroom, I was so dumb. I was happy to do it, like it was going to be fun, breaking the rules, just him and me.”

  “And then?”

  “I was hiding in a stall, waiting. And them other boys come in with him, and he bragged that he could make me show my tits or do anything. Anything he said.”

  “I bet that broke your heart.”

  “Pissed me off. I told him, ‘Go fuck yourself,’ and tried to light out of there. But there were three of them. They held me on the toilet while they felt me up.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. How’d the teacher find out?”

  “I was shouting my fool head off.”

  “So the teacher heard you and came to the rescue?”

  “Ha.” Charlene’s eyes hardened and she bent to suck on her straw.

  “Didn’t he help you? What did he see?”

  Charlene looked out the window. “I don’t know what all he seen. But he seen a girl in the boy’s room where she ain’t supposed to be. That’s what he said, anyhow, when he took me to the principal’s office.”

  “But you set him straight.”

  “I tried. But I said one thing and them boys lied.”

  Righ­teous anger rose in Elsie’s chest. “That’s so unfair.” She banged the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. “The teachers and the principal are supposed to protect you. I can’t believe they didn’t support you.”

  “Yeah? Well, it don’t surprise me none. You got to look out for yourself. Can’t wait around for someone to fix it. Do what you got to do.” Shifting in the seat, she pulled something from the pocket of her jacket. It was a square of blue denim fabric, with two small holes cut through it. Smoothing the remnant on her knee, Charlene asked, “Are we getting something for Tiff? I need to get back.”

  “Sure.” Elsie leaned out the window and pushed the button a final time. When she turned to face Charlene again, the girl was shaking her head.

  “I can’t believe you got slapped around. Wouldn’t have figured.”

  Elsie opened her mouth to respond, then clamped it shut. She couldn’t lie to Charlene about Noah. But she was not about to tell her the truth.

  ON SUNDAY NIGHT Elsie spent the evening poring over the case of State v. Taney. By midnight, as she sat with the file at her kitchen table, pressing a dripping ice bag against her mouth, she was sick of thinking about it. But she couldn’t call it quits yet; she had to dig through the remaining box of Taney’s belongings. She had agreed to give the defense access to the materials Monday morning, and she couldn’t go to sleep until she was aware of the contents. W
ith a groan, she sat back on the padded vinyl seat of her kitchen chair, rolling her head on her neck, listening to the little cracking noises it made. “I’m popping and crackling like an old lady,” she said, speaking aloud to keep herself awake.

  Elsie got up to pour a refill from her Mr. Coffee and then sat cross-­legged on the floor to examine the contents of the box. She sipped the coffee with the corner of her mouth as she cautiously flipped up the cardboard flaps. Peering inside, she confronted more of his unwashed clothes. Though she hated to touch the garments, she was loath to discard them without a thorough examination. So she rummaged through the grab bag of Taney’s worldly goods, reaching into pockets, opening bags, and reading paper scraps.

  A man’s canvas jacket was wadded near the bottom of the box. As she lifted it out, the grit on it dirtied her hands. It gave her an uneasy feeling; a red flag came up in her mind, but she couldn’t put a finger on it.

  Elsie shook the jacket out. As she patted the fabric, she felt something flat in the front pocket: a package, maybe. She reached in and pulled out an envelope: plain white, letter-­sized. Her heart fluttered and a shiver ran down her back. Someone is walking on my grave, she thought.

  With care, she opened the envelope and looked at the contents. It held a short stack of Polaroids; just three. Holding them by the edges to avoid making a print, she looked at the top photograph. It was a picture of Charlene. Unsmiling. Naked.

  “Oh, shit,” she whispered. “Jesus.” With the gentlest care, she looked at the second. It was a back view of the girl’s body. Her horror growing, she examined the third: a picture of Charlene lifting her shirt, exposing her breasts.

  She almost dropped the pictures, her hands were shaking so violently. While it was hard to hear the child relate her abuse on the stand, stumbling onto pictorial evidence of her victimization was devastating. Elsie closed her eyes, absorbing the enormity of Charlene’s suffering. She meticulously transferred the photos and the white envelope that had held them to a plastic bag and placed it back into the cardboard box. She folded the canvas jacket into a clean trash bag and placed it inside as well.

  She stared at the box without seeing it. The pornographic photos of Charlene were burned into her mind’s eye. Though she thought she was all cried out, her tears began to flow again. The graphic evidence of Charlene’s exploitation made her heartsick.