As night fell she began to drift in and out of a troubled sleep. She lost count of how many times she woke. Once she thought she heard a baby cry. Once she thought she heard the heavy thumping associated with a hundred pounds of dog walking across the floor planking. But most of the time she heard absolutely nothing, and the weight of the silence was crushing, compounded by the nearly total darkness in which she sat. It was like the whole world had died and there was nothing left for her to hear or see. She wasn’t frightened, though. There was nothing to be afraid of, since everything that had mattered to her had been taken away. What else did she have to lose? Her life meant nothing now. Jake was being taken back to prison for thirteen more years. That seemed like more than a lifetime to Purdy. She thought she was all cried out, feeling dead inside, but that night she did weep once more, when she recalled how Jake had looked and sounded at the cemetery, begging her to forgive him and to wait for him. To see the man she loved reduced to such a state had been gut wrenching. She regretted not telling him that she had already forgiven him. But waiting for him, for thirteen years? Thirteen years of emptiness and despair? That was something else again. She didn’t want to face the morrow, much less thirteen years, so how could she promise to wait?
The grayness of dawn began to leak in around the window shutters, and through the door that Hanley had left ajar when he departed. It provided just enough light for her to look around the room and ascertain that Buck had not returned, and she sighed and felt like crying again but she just didn’t have the tears. Hope soared when she heard a thumping on the porch and then the squeaking of hinges as the door swung open. But it wasn’t Buck. The figure of a man was silhouetted in the doorway. She was too emotionally numb to be afraid. “Mr. Hanley?” she asked softly.
“It’s me, George,” said Norris, as he stepped to the table that was the room’s centerpiece. There was a candle there, and he lit it with a match. He looked around for Buck, and was relieved not to see him. “Where’s that big yeller dog of yourn? Usually the bastard comes out to bark and growl at me.”
“Gone,” she said, her voice sounding hollow. “Run off.”
“Really. Well now, ain’t that a shame.” He didn’t even try to sound sincere as he turned and shut the door, then went back to the table to sit down. He was greatly relieved. The yellow dog had always been aggressive around him, and he figured the only reason he hadn’t been attacked was because Purdy had never fought him when he had made advances toward her. When he demanded that Buck be put outside and the door closed she had complied. His wife had fought him, at first, but a few beatings had brought her around, had made a good woman of her. He hadn’t had to beat Purdy yet, but he wouldn’t hesitate if he needed to.
“You expectin’ that lawyer to come a-callin’ then?” He felt a stab of jealousy when he thought about Temple Hanley and it made him angry. He didn’t believe any man would do all the things the lawyer had done without an ulterior motive. Considering how attractive Purdy was, there could be only one possible motive as far as Norris was concerned.
“Just to check on me. To make sure I’m all right.”
“Well, he don’t need to worry about that any longer. I’ll take care of you from here on.”
Purdy glanced at him apprehensively but said nothing. George Norris was a tall, stocky man, a strong man honed by a lifetime of farming, with black curly hair and small, piercing blue eyes in a weathered, square-jawed face. From the first day she had met him she hadn’t liked him. She had taken a homemade pie to the Norris farm to introduce herself shortly after marrying Jake and moving in, and she had been shocked by the way Norris treated his wife, like she was little more than a slave. She had liked him even less a year later, when his wife died in childbirth and Norris blamed her for the death of their baby, who died with its mother. Hugging herself tightly, she stared at the dead fire in the hearth, anxiety creeping through her. She could well imagine how horrible it would be to have to take that poor woman’s place.
“So you buried your boy yesterday. About time. And your no-account husband is on his way back to prison. Now your dog is gone too. I’m all you got left, I reckon.” He paused, watching her intently, wondering what her reaction would be, and he frowned when she didn’t react at all. This was the day he had been waiting two years to come. Finally, nothing stood between him and making a claim on this woman. It had been a long campaign. At first he had come over as a friend and neighbor, helping her till, plant, and sow, and asking for nothing in return. But he kept a mental ledger of what she owed him for every little thing he did. When Joshua Eddings fell ill he had kept his distance, checking by only occasionally, gauging how far the sickness was progressing, estimating how much longer it would take the boy to die.
His intent had been to leave Purdy be until her boy was gone but his lust had gotten the better of him. He had his way with her several times before Josh breathed his last. She had tried to fight him off the first time, but he had taught her a lesson, forcing himself on her after Buck was put outside. It didn’t bother him too much that her son lay in his bed in the same room as the four-poster where, in his mind, he staked his claim to this auburn-haired beauty. As far as he was concerned she owed him for his help. Without him she could not have grown enough crops to give the bank the annual payment owed on the loan that Jake had inherited. Purdy was better off with him than Jake anyway, he thought, since he considered himself to be a much better farmer. Now he intended to take her as his own, to join the two farms together. She would bear him sons to help him work the fields. He didn’t ask her what she wanted because it didn’t matter. She was a woman alone and her purpose in life was to please her man and to bear his children. That she was young and attractive, probably the prettiest woman in the county, was a bonus.
“You just been sittin’ there all night, then?” he asked. “It’s a shame about your boy but what’s done is done. Pull yourself together. It never does a damned bit of good feeling sorry for yourself. Stir up that fire and make me some coffee.”
Purdy got up slowly, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders to drape across the rocking chair. Norris admired her slender frame, evident beneath the plain gingham dress she wore as she sat on her heels to stir into life the embers of last night’s fire. She added another piece of wood then carried a wooden bucket outside to fetch some water from the well. Norris remained at the table. She didn’t look too enthused about doing for him but he didn’t demand enthusiasm. He wasn’t worried that she would run off. Where would she run to? Besides, he was confident that she already knew better than to cross him.
Back inside, Purdy poured some water in a kettle, which she hung on the iron crane in the fireplace. She hadn’t paid much attention to the stores that Temple Hanley had brought her these past—how many days had it been since Joshua died?—so it took her a moment to find the bag of Arbuckle’s pre-roasted coffee beans. As she began grinding the beans using a mortar and pestle, she glanced over her shoulder at Norris and then quickly away because he was staring at her, though not at her face. She found herself hoping that Lawyer Hanley would show up soon, and then dreaded that he might. There was no telling what Norris might do if another man showed up, especially one as attentive as Hanley.
“Just cause or good provocation,” said Norris. “Your husband being off in prison for—what is it, thirteen more years?—well, that’s one or the other. That’s all you need to get a divorce out here. Good thing we don’t live back east. You might be expected to go without a man for that long.” He grinned, admiring the flare of her hips as she stood with her back to him, the process of grinding the beans making her body move in a slight and rhythmic motion. “Out here, though, it’s about what’s necessary to survive, and the way I see it all you got to do is ask the judge for a divorce and you’ll get it.”
“But I don’t want a divorce,” she said softly, not looking around.
Norris shook his head as he got up and moved over to her. He saw her shoulders bunch as he drew near and sm
iled coldly. Planting his big meaty hands on the kitchen cabinet to either side of her, he leaned in close, looking over her shoulder. “It don’t really matter what you want, Purdy, now does it?” She stopped grinding the coffee and stood as still and silent as a statue. Being so close to her unleashed his lust and he grabbed her, his fingers closing like a vise around her arm, digging into her soft flesh, making her wince in pain. He dragged her into the small adjacent room where the beds were and threw her roughly onto the four-poster. She lay there, her heart racing, her stomach churning, and she covered her face with her hands as he hastily worked on his belt and the fastenings of his trousers. An instant later he had thrown her dress up and then his weight was pinning her down and she felt like throwing up but didn’t. Turning her face away from his hot gusting breath, she saw Joshua’s empty bed and closed her eyes and kept them closed while Norris had his way, and it hurt a little because he was rough. She didn’t fight him, she didn’t cry out, she didn’t do anything but lie there, keeping her eyes closed, feeling ashamed, empty, and lost. She had resisted the first time and he had punished her, tying her to the bed and using his belt on her until he drew blood. She didn’t resist after that.
When he was done he lay sprawled on top of her for a few minutes, minutes that seemed to her like hours. He finally rolled off her and off the bed too, getting his pants back up and belt buckled. “Tomorrow you’re coming home with me,” he said flatly. “Gather up anything you want to take and be ready by first light.” He looked around at her. “You hear me?” She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even pushed her dress back down, just lay there, eyes closed, and he growled, “When I ask you a question you answer me, woman!”
She opened her violet-blue eyes then and looked at him. “I don’t want to leave this house,” she said quietly. There was no defiance in her tone, and no grief; it was merely a statement, devoid of emotion.
Norris chuckled. “Didn’t we just talk about that, woman? Don’t matter what you want. Says it right there in the Good Book, doesn’t it. Eve was made to do for Adam. To make his life better, easier. More pleasant. You’ll be a good wife, and my sons will learn what kind of woman to get for their own when they grow up. You’re coming home with me tomorrow. And I’m going to burn this place to the ground just to make sure you get it through your thick skull that you belong to me now. You’re going to cook for me, work for me in the fields, and you’re going to bear me a passel of sons. That’s what you were made for and that’s what you’re going to do.” He grabbed her dress and pulled it down over her legs. “Don’t just lie there like a whore,” he snapped, and left the room.
Purdy heard his boots thumping on the floorboards and then on the porch, and it was so still she even heard the crunch of snow under his weight as he walked away. His farm was about half a mile along the river, and he had always made the journey on foot. She lay there awhile longer before rising and walking unsteadily into the main room. The kettle on the crane over the crackling hearth fire was putting out a lot of steam. She ignored it and stepped out onto the porch and saw Norris striding across the field in the direction of his place. Going back inside, she emerged a moment later with the shotgun, and sat down in the rocking chair, laying the gun across her lap. Norris was just then disappearing into the scrub oak thicket that separated his place from hers, so she scanned all the fields around, and the edges of the woods along the Little River, and sighed despondently because she didn’t see Buck. For a while she sat there, not thinking about anything, or seeing anything either, feeling numb, her mind empty. Eventually she realized her skin was crawling. She had Norris’s smell and his sweat on her, and his seed was inside her. She had felt the same way when he had covered her before, and she had drawn water from the well and washed herself on the porch. This time, though, she laid the shotgun down beside the rocking chair then stood and headed across the fields toward the river. She walked slowly, stumbling at times. The field beneath a foot of snow wasn’t easy to walk on when you couldn’t see the furrows.
Halfway to her destination she looked up and spotted a single buzzard circling in and out of errant gray wisps that whirled and dangled like lost ghosts beneath the thick layer of the cloud stretching from horizon to horizon. Reaching the tree-lined embankment, she looked up and down the Little River, which was about forty feet across here and running strong. The corners of her full pale lips moved in a melancholy smile as she remembered strolling along the bank with her husband, making love now and then beneath the stars on sultry spring evenings. She remembered too that special day when Joshua had caught his first fish. She settled down on the log she had often sat on when she came down to the river to cool herself in the shade on hot summer days and listen to the song of the river. She did that now, hugging herself against the bitter cold that cut right through her. In no time at all she was shivering violently.
Her mind went blank and she sat there for quite some time until she remembered why she had come. She unlaced her shoes and took them off. Then she rose and pulled the dress off over her head and draped it across the log, wrapping the new black-and-gray shawl around her shoulders again before turning and stepping into the shallows. The shock of the frigid water rushing over her feet made her gasp, but her feet numbed almost immediately and she took a few more small steps. When the water was halfway up her calves, she squatted down and gasped again as the frigid water rushed over her hips and thighs. The water was cold, painfully cold, but she felt cleansed where it touched her, and she wanted to be cleansed all over. All she could think about was the river, how breathtakingly cold the water was, because it made her numb, and she found the numbness comforting, so she stood up and walked in up to her waist, hugging herself tightly, teeth chattering, body twitching involuntarily. The she spread her arms out and lay back, letting the strong current pull her off her feet and carry her downstream.
Her pulse was a loud and rapid drumbeat in her ears and she was breathing high and fast, coughing and spewing up water now and then when the river pulled her under and she bobbed back up to the surface again. She was very dizzy and, oddly enough, felt hungry for the first time in weeks. She decided she really needed to find something to eat and tried to swim to shore, but she couldn’t feel her arms and legs anymore. She flopped and flailed and didn’t make much headway. As the current slowly spun her around and around, she caught an occasional glimpse downriver and saw that she was being swept swiftly closer to a bend where a large tree had fallen a few years before, extending halfway across the river. A few of the major limbs jutted down into the water. She couldn’t decide whether she needed to swim to the left to avoid the tree or to the right to get within reach of one of those limbs, and before she knew it she had reached the tree, and the river was carrying her at a much greater velocity as it narrowed at the bend. Her fingers grazed the smooth, slick surface of a limb but she couldn’t grip it, couldn’t seem to get her fingers to work properly, and in an instant she was past the tree.
Too fatigued to try to swim against the current and make the riverbank, she lay back and let the river carry her away. More and more water sloshed over her face. She tired of trying to spit it out her mouth and started swallowing. Then the shawl was swept over her face like a dark shroud, making it even harder to breathe when she bobbed to the surface. She kept her eyes closed. She was beginning to feel warm. The pounding of the pulse in her ears slowed. That was when she heard the barking, and it animated her. She raised her head and the current rolled her over and took her under and when she came back up she didn’t hear the barking anymore. She looked around to see Buck running full-stride along the bank abreast of her before leaping into the river. She was so happy and relieved to see him, and just wanted to wrap her arms around him and hug him tightly The dog swam strong and true toward her, and as she called out his name the river pulled her down. She came up spluttering and gasping and tried to swim again but couldn’t make her arms and legs do what she wanted them to do. Then Buck was within reach and she clutched at him and instantly the
dog began swimming back to shore. Purdy could feel him lunge and strain and even go under a few times and then she felt alarmed. They were both going to drown if she held on, and as soon as she realized this she let go of him. “Go home, Buck! Go home!” she cried as the river reclaimed her and began carrying her downstream again. Then she saw the rope, the one she had tied him to when Hanley had taken her and Joshua’s body to Cameron. About four feet of it was still attached to the loop around the dog’s massive neck and lay on the surface of the river like a tawny snake. She clutched it and instantly Buck, who had managed to get turned around and was heading for her, began swimming for shore again.
When Buck pulled her out of the river Purdy was limp and still. The yellow dog stood with head down and tongue lolling, his legs trembling from exertion. He had been pushed to the limit of his strength and beyond. He barked, but this elicited no response from her. He licked her face, and her head rolled limply to one side. Her eyes remained closed and she lay unmoving, sprawled on her back in the muck of mud and snow and small debris that marked a river’s edge. Buck whined and draped his hundred-pound frame across her. His weight forced water from her lungs and out through her mouth.
He lay his massive head on her shoulder—and waited.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When they came to the edge of the big clearing Bill Sayles took one look at the homestead out in the middle of the wide-open space and knew something was wrong. The door was open. There was no wood smoke rising from the chimney. This was not a good day for having no fire in the hearth and the door open. The corral gate was open, and the corral itself was empty. There was something else too, something he could not have put into words had his life depended on it. Call it instinct, intuition, a gut hunch. He felt a tingle at the base of his spine. In his years as a Ranger he had come upon many a place that had borne no overt sign that something was amiss, but upon closer look proved to be an ambush site, or the scene of a tragedy. He glanced behind him at Eddings, who was also gazing at the cabin and who, when he realized Sayles was looking at him, said, “Maybe they can spare some coffee. I’m frozen clean through.”
Christmas in the Lone Star State Page 13
