What She Left for Me

by Tracie Peterson

  That night after she and her father again shared this new strange intimacy, Eleanor drifted to sleep, thinking of her mother. Her father said Melody would come home the next day. Eleanor wondered how she would face her mother now—what with this new secret to keep from her. Eleanor didn’t want to make her mother feel bad, yet she was already feeling awkward about seeing her again.

  Twenty-six

  Eleanor needn’t have worried. Her mother was so depressed and disinterested upon her arrival home that she barely paid attention to any of her children. Eleanor wanted very much to embrace her mother and tell her how much she loved her—how sorry she was for the stress she’d caused—but her mother would never allow her to get close.

  Melody went to her bedroom, closed the door, and left Eleanor and the boys to their own devices. This went on for weeks, and during that time Eleanor hardened her heart more and more against her mother. She felt a sort of fearfulness in caring too much. Eleanor watched her father become more and more distraught as he tried to coax his wife back into life. He never approached Eleanor sexually during this time. In fact, at times he, too, seemed to ignore her existence. It left Eleanor feeling displaced.

  Fighting her emotions and the need to feel close to someone, Eleanor finally went to see her father at the trailer. It was the end of the day and there were no patients.

  “Dad?” she called out, wondering if he was there after all.

  “Yeah?” He came out from the back room. He looked haggard, drained of the vibrant life she’d always known in him.

  “Are you okay? I mean, you seem so different. I feel like . . . well . . . like everything has changed. Like I’ve lost something.”

  He eyed her curiously. “What do you mean, Ellie?”

  “Well, you and I used to talk a lot and we used to be together a lot. Then after mom nearly died . . . well . . . you know . . . we had our special time together.” Eleanor didn’t know whether to bring it up or not. She felt strange about everything, fearing that somehow what had taken place with her father had forever changed all the other good things they’d had.

  “Oh, Ellie,” he said, shaking his head. “If you think I’m mad at you, I’m not. I’ve just been worried about your mom. I’ve been torn up inside at how unhappy she is. I don’t know how to help her.”

  Eleanor went to her father and wrapped her arms around him. She wanted so much to comfort him. She wished she had the ability to make him forget his pain.

  Before she knew it, things were once again taking a strange turn. Her father locked the door to the trailer and led her into one of the back rooms. This became their routine over the next several weeks. Her father had decided to train her to help him in his medical practice. He said Ellie had a gift for healing, and her mother was too disinterested to care. So every day Ellie went to the trailer. Sometimes her father taught her about medicine, and sometimes he just advanced their intimate relationship.

  The encounters seemed to empower Eleanor in a way she didn’t understand. Her father would often talk to her about his problems—about the way her mother was ignoring him. She began to rekindle her anger toward her mother. After all, her father had saved Melody’s life. She could at least have the decency to be grateful.

  The more her father talked about his own sorrow and frustration, the more Eleanor felt herself take over the role of his wife. They discussed people in the commune and their problems. Her father would show her how to assist him in routine duties around the office, and before she knew it, Eleanor found herself working nearly full time in the little trailer. These were some of the happiest times she knew. She helped deliver babies and treat sick people, and she learned all sorts of things she had never known. Her father told her she had a real mind for medicine and that she’d make a great doctor. This pleased Eleanor to no end. She felt grown up—important. She felt loved.

  It was at home that Eleanor found the nightmare worsening. Her mother was angry all the time. She screamed nonstop at the boys and accused Eleanor of never doing anything to make herself useful.

  “Mom, I washed all the dishes,” Eleanor declared. “What else do you want?”

  “Don’t sass me,” her mother said, weaving slightly as she crossed the room. She was wearing nothing more than an oversized T-shirt, her once beautiful blond hair matted and filthy. “I want you to clean this place up.”

  Eleanor looked around the room. It wasn’t that dirty. She’d worked on it earlier. “What do you want me to do, Mom? It’s already clean.”

  Her mother smacked her hard across the face, then looked at Eleanor in shock and began to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She sank to the floor and began to sob in earnest. “I need a fix.”

  Eleanor didn’t know what to do. She despised her mother’s weakness and her state of confusion. She wished that her father would take her away from it all. She wondered if she might even be able to suggest this to him sometime when they were alone.

  “I need a drink,” her mother said, struggling back to her feet. “Get me some vodka.”

  “We don’t have any, Mom. Remember? Dad took all of the alcohol out of the house so that you could get better.”

  Her mother looked at her oddly. “You don’t know how to make me better. I need a drink and a fix, and I’m going to go find both.”

  Mindless of her state of undress, Melody went to the front door but then paused as if to gather her wits. “Where are your brothers?”

  “Outside. It’s the middle of the day and they’re playing,” Eleanor said in disgust.

  Her mother nodded. “Good. You make sure they’re safe—that they don’t get hurt.” With that she left.

  “How am I supposed to do that?” Eleanor questioned, knowing her mom would never hear the words.

  It wasn’t long before her father came through the front door, dragging her mother behind him.

  “You can’t be out there drinking yourself into oblivion,” he said angrily as he tossed her to the couch. “Sometimes I think you’d rather die than be sober.”

  “Well, maybe I would. This life is nothing but pain,” her mother countered.

  They fought like this all the time now, and Eleanor wanted no part of it. She left the house, slipping out the back door, praying all the while that no one would call to her and force her to stay. She couldn’t stand watching them fight. They were heartless and ugly toward each other. They called each other names and said the most hideous things.

  “Why can’t it all stop?” Eleanor said, seeking solace in her favorite hiding spot in a heavy grove of trees. An old abandoned lean-to made it possible to completely disappear inside. Eleanor had never told anyone about the place—not even Sapphira.

  She crawled into the corner, where she’d stashed an old blanket and a few other things, and fell asleep. Her last conscious thoughts were of how wonderful it might be to run away to the city—just her and her dad. He could be the doctor and she could be his nurse. They would be happy there—she just knew it.

  * * *

  To Eleanor’s surprise, things seemed to get a bit better. Amazingly enough, her parents stopped fighting as much. It was like a tentative peace had settled back over their lives. Her mother, for whatever reason, came to breakfast one morning fully dressed, her hair combed. She wasn’t what Eleanor would call happy, but she wasn’t miserable and teary either.

  For nearly a month Eleanor watched her mother take on more of her old personality. She was more lighthearted and capable. She started paying more attention to the boys and began working in the garden again.

  Eleanor relaxed a bit in this new phase. She hoped it meant her mother had the drugs out of her system and was finally able to live her life again. But Eleanor still had fears deep inside. Fears that this was temporary. Fears that everything would fall apart and she’d be crushed as it all tumbled down around her.

  “Mary’s having her baby,” her father announced as he came into the house toward evening. “You need to come help me.”

  Eleanor was
certain he was talking to her; after all, she’d already helped in two deliveries and her father had been training her for weeks. But it was her mother who got up and responded. “Sure. Sounds groovy. I love it when babies are born.”

  As the couple left, Eleanor’s strong feeling of resentment took her by surprise. She’s taking my place. I was the nurse. She fumed about this all evening—even after her brothers fell asleep in various places all over the house. In her annoyance, she’d forgotten to send them to bed, but she didn’t care. Raising children was her mother’s job—not hers.

  Nothing could console Eleanor as the hours passed. Didn’t her father love her anymore? Didn’t he know how much she wanted to be with him—helping him? Why had he let her mother go with him? She determined she would talk to him about it tomorrow at the clinic. He needed to know how she felt.

  Eleanor dozed off, only to be awakened some time later by her father. At first she thought it was a dream as he lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed. She felt strange—trying hard to reconcile the moment. Was she asleep?

  She came fully awake as he began to undress her—to kiss her. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s staying with Mary tonight. The baby was born a little while ago. A girl.”

  “Cool.”

  He said nothing more about it, but Eleanor’s mind wandered as her father found his comfort with her. He does still love me, she thought. She didn’t understand her feelings and the confusion, however. What was going to happen to them? She supposed as long as her father still loved her, there would be a way to make things right. Eleanor tried to comfort herself in this.

  Her mother’s shrieks of indignation shattered Eleanor’s illusions of comfort.

  “What do you think you’re doing? You animal! You pervert!”

  Eleanor’s father jumped up out of the bed. “Melody, you need to calm down.”

  “I won’t calm down, you child molester.” She threw the nearest object at him.

  Eleanor scooted to the far side of the bed. She was naked and suddenly felt more aware of it than she’d ever been before. She grabbed for her clothes and yanked them on in something akin to fear. What was going on?

  “I should call the fuzz. You know, you’re the sickest man I’ve ever known.”

  Her mother continued to rant and rave, but Eleanor couldn’t understand what was wrong. Why was she so upset? Her father had said she might worry that he loved Eleanor more than her, but this seemed to be something completely different.

  “Melody, you don’t understand.”

  “I understand plenty. I understand that fathers aren’t supposed to have sex with their daughters. I understand that you’re the worst kind of monster there is. How could you do this to her? To us?”

  Eleanor stared at the couple in dumbfounded silence. She looked to her mother and then to her father. His face said it all. He had lied. He had betrayed her. What he’d done wasn’t right.

  How could he have done that to her? He said it was a good thing, a right thing. He’d made her feel special—wanted.

  “You said it was all right,” Eleanor murmured.

  “Of course he said it was all right,” her mother countered. “That’s so he could have his way—do his thing. Well, you’re sick, Allan. Sick!”

  Eleanor looked at her father, desperate for answers. Was her mother right? Was this why they couldn’t tell her about it—or anyone else? It was all so clear now. Eleanor felt so stupid. But he’d said it was all right, that this was how people learned, this was how they showed love for each other.

  “Ellie, I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Don’t!” she said, holding up her hands. “Don’t say anything more. I hate you. I hate you both! I wish you were dead!”

  She ran from the room, stumbling through the house and into the crisp night air. Why had he lied to her? Confusion overwhelmed her—blinded her. Eleanor struggled to find her way to her hiding place in the dark.

  “I’m going to leave here forever,” she told herself.

  She hid herself away, terrified of the night and being alone, but more terrified of the truth she’d just learned. Her mother’s face had been so full of rage and hate. Her father, on the other hand, had held a look of regret that absolutely consumed Eleanor.

  Why? Why had he done this to her? She loved him and wanted him to be pleased with her—to love her back. Now she had nothing. Nothing.

  * * *

  Eleanor awoke to an eerie silence in the morning. She couldn’t remember at first where she was, and then it all came back to her. The ugliness of it all. She tried not to think about what had happened as she gathered her things. She wanted to slip back into the house and get the rest of her stuff, and then she planned to run as far away from this place as was humanly possible.

  She slipped through the woods and headed around the other dilapidated buildings, trying hard to remain quiet. She heard sounds coming from somewhere past her house, and Eleanor felt certain it would help to keep her movements unseen. She hurried toward her house, sneaking in the back door as silent as a mouse. She’d nearly made it to her room when someone took hold of her.

  “Are you Eleanor?”

  It was a police officer. The man was huge, with glaring brown eyes. She wanted to say no, but she feared what might happen if she lied to this bear of a man.

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, Sarge! We found her!”

  He pulled Eleanor along with him, causing her to drop the few things she held. Another uniformed officer appeared. “You’re going to have to come with us.”

  “Why? Where’s my mom and dad?” She looked around the house and realized her family wasn’t there. “Where are my brothers?”

  The man called Sarge knelt down. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t know how to tell you this. Something bad has happened. Your mom is dead. She called us to tell us about some trouble here with your dad.” He looked at her knowingly, and Eleanor wanted to die. “Apparently your mom shot up and—”

  “Where’s my dad?” Her voice trembled, and she couldn’t hide her fear. Somehow she’d always known that her mother would overdose one time too many.

  “We don’t know. We were hoping you could tell us.”

  She shook her head. “I ran away last night. I don’t know.” The truth spilled from her against her will.

  “It’s all right. We’re going to take care of you and your brothers now. No one will ever hurt you again.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she cried. “I’ll never believe anybody again.” Her father had once told her there were worse things than death. At least he was right on that count. Death would have been much simpler in Eleanor’s estimation. Maybe her mother had the right idea after all.

  ****

  Eleanor didn’t realize she was crying until she pushed the memories aside and opened her eyes. She was sitting on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Getting up quickly, she hurried to her room. How long had she been there? Had anyone seen her? Surely not, or they would have tried to help her. But there was no help for her.

  Eleanor had tried so hard not to remember that awful time in her life. Her father’s betrayal had nearly consumed her. Having been raised in the commune, Eleanor had seen no reason to think her father’s attentions were out of line. Worse still—and the source of the guilt that she’d been forced to live with—she’d enjoyed the things he’d done to her.

  She buried her face in her hands. Jana wants to know about the past, but how could I ever explain this? How could I ever hope for her to understand that I not only was molested, but I actually sought it out—I enjoyed myself? What kind of horrible perverted person am I?

  Eleanor had lived with this guilt all of her adult life. Of course, she hated the man now—hated him for his lies and manipulation. Hated him even more for the false sense of love he’d given her. But when she was fourteen, she’d thought she was special. Then she’d awakened to find herself a hideous abomination—a perversion of all that was good and holy.

>   Twenty-seven

  “I have an appointment this morning,” Eleanor announced as she joined Taffy and Jana at breakfast. She didn’t bother to eat but took a cup and poured herself some coffee.

  “I’m also heading out,” Taffy said. “Stanley and I are going to have devotions, then go for our five-mile walk. After that, we’ll probably have lunch at the café in town, so don’t plan on seeing me until later.”

  Jana felt rather deserted but said nothing. She’d been feeling more moody as the pregnancy lengthened. As Thanksgiving approached, Jana knew the time before her baby’s arrival was growing short. But I still haven’t worked through everything, she thought. I’m not ready to have this baby . . . to be a mother.

  She didn’t know what to do with the fears that had crept in over the last few weeks. She’d busied herself with the nursery, but even that hadn’t helped. Instead, it only emphasized how time was slipping away from her.

  “Do you need me to pick up anything?” Eleanor asked.

  Taffy shook her head. “No, but next week we need to head into Missoula. I want to pick up some things for Thanksgiving, and I don’t want to wait until the last minute. Besides, Jana is supposed to make a visit to the hospital and check out everything prior to the baby’s birth. I think it might be nice if we planned an overnight trip and really enjoyed ourselves.”

  Jana forced a smile. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

  “Well, good,” Taffy declared, getting to her feet. “It’s settled, then. Eleanor, you figure out what days would suit us best.”

  “All right.” Her mother put her cup aside. “I need to get going. I’m running behind.”

  Jana watched the house empty, almost feeling like her mom and great-aunt were rats deserting a sinking ship. She wondered if her mood had caused them to flee. Everyone seemed to be consumed by her own busyness lately.

  “What am I going to do with myself?” she questioned, gathering her breakfast dishes.