by Lisa Bingham
“Don’t know why you need that busybody here.” My father’s spoon aimed at me. “You had that one by yourself.”
My mother grew even paler. “Please, Jacob. That was different. We were on our way to the clinic in Drury at the time, don’t you recall?”
“You made a right mess in the back of the truck, that’s all I remember.”
I blinked uncomprehendingly.
“Please,” my mother whispered. “I’ll need help.”
He scowled, ripping a piece of bread with his teeth. “Just see to it you have everything done and a hot meal on the table once I get back.”
My mother’s eyes glittered with tears, but she nodded and pushed to her feet. The pain must have passed because she refilled my father’s glass and mopped up the mess on the floor while he demolished a piece of apple pie. Then he drained his cup and stood. Without another word, he jammed his hat onto his head, grabbed the cylindrical bucket containing his dinner, and stomped out the door, letting the spring slam it shut behind him.
He’d barely stepped through the front gate when my mother bent double and gasped. “Hurry! Get Miss Maisy.”
Miss Maisy was a widow lady who lived with her sister Ada just west of the company store. The closest real doctor was at the clinic in Drury, eight miles away, and Miss Maisy—who’d lived in Defiance since God was in short pants—had become the next best thing.
My heart was beating like a hummingbird’s as I careened through our gate, down the lane, and thundered up to Miss Maisy’s front door. I reached high to ring her bell, then waited, counting the seconds.
“One, two, three…”
When I reached thirty, I rang the bell again and pounded on the door. But there was no answer.
The garden!
I rushed around the side of the building, fruitlessly checking each row. My only real hope was the slate I found propped up next to her washboard. Miss Maisy used it to keep track of her orders. I erased the slate with my skirt and printed, “Pleas cum kwick. RueAnn.”
Not knowing what else I could do, I left the slate propped against the door and ran back home.
I was several yards away when I heard my mother screaming. The sound was so horrible, I skidded to a halt, clapping my hands over my ears, wondering what could be so terrifying about angels coming with a baby wrapped in a white eiderdown quilt. That’s what my father had said would happen.
The anguished cries came again, weaker this time. I moved forward, my feet seeming to be stuck in tar.
The moment I stepped across the threshold, all thought of angels and eiderdown quilts shattered. Ghoulish red stains ran down the length of the hall from my parents’ bedroom to the kitchen. The smeared trail gave testament to a struggle that I could only imagine.
Gorge rose in my throat and I gripped the wall, forcing one foot in front of the other, frowning at the strange mewling sounds that came from the kitchen.
Had a wild animal come into the house? Had my mother been mauled and left for dead?
As I rounded the corner, I could scarcely believe what lay before me. My mother was sprawled on the kitchen floor, her skirt wadded up around her waist, her hips and buttocks gleaming white beneath the bare kitchen bulb. Oddly, I found myself thinking that I’d never seen my mother naked before.
“RueAnn?” she whispered, her eyes half-closed.
She’d propped her shoulder against the lower cupboards, but it was the writhing mass between her legs that filled my chest with a horror. I was sure that I was staring at a monster from one of the fairytale books mama read each night. This was what an evil troll looked like, purple and covered in slime and blood, with squished up features and a gaping mouth.
Dear God, this thing was killing my mother! I could see blood seeping from between her legs, thick and inky and terrifying.
“Maisy…” my mother rasped. Her lips were turning an awful shade of blue.
“Sh-she wasn’t there. I-I left a note,” I added quickly when my mother closed her eyes and began to weep.
The thing on the floor moved again, its mewl becoming a wail. The noise roused my mother, because she opened her eyes. “H-help me.”
Her hand lifted, revealing a length of twine and a gleaming pair of shears. I involuntarily took a step back.
“P-please, RueAnn. Tie the…string…around the baby’s cord.”
I stared in revulsion at the mass on the floor, taking in the arms that beat ineffectually against my mother’s thighs. Repulsed, I saw the long twisting rope that came out of the baby’s stomach and disappeared in the bloody thatch between my mother’s legs.
“RueAnn…come…here!” My mother’s stern reprimand ended in a strangled cry. “Help…me!”
I reluctantly moved forward.
“Tie…the string…near…the baby’s…tummy.”
She couldn’t possibly want me to touch that… creature…
But it was clear she did. Just as it was clear that she was swiftly losing what little strength remained in her quivering body.
I was sure that my mother’s instructions were wrong, but I couldn’t disobey her. Sinking to my knees, I took the twine from her trembling fingers and wound it around the fleshy cord. It took two tries to make the necessary loop.
“Tighter,” my mother whispered. Dark circles seeped into the hollows beneath her eyes. “As…tight as you…can…”
I pulled on the string until my fingers ached, then made a knot.
“Now do it…again…a little…ways away…”
My mother held the scissors toward me, her hand shaking violently. “Cut…between…the…strings…”
I sobbed openly. “No, mama!”
She grabbed my wrist, her fingernails digging into my skin.
“Do…it!”
Her eyes filled with fire and remorse—as if she knew a part of my childhood had shattered completely.
“P-please…RueAnn…”
Weeping openly, I took the scissors. They were sticky with blood, but I managed to place the blades on either side of the ropy mass.
“M-mama?”
She’d grown terribly pale, her eyes flickering closed until her lashes lay like black spiders against her skin.
“Mama?”
She didn’t answer and I deliberated for several long seconds. If I did this horrible thing, I would surely kill the baby that writhed on the floor. The infant was looking more and more human as a pinkness seeped into her skin. I could see her tiny fingers and toes and the turned-up tilt of her nose. As if she knew I was watching, she cried in earnest, her shrieks rattling the windows.
I felt a tug of regret. She was to have been my baby sister. But I would have to kill her to save my mother.
“I’m…sorry,” I whispered. Then I refused to look at her again as I cut down on the lifeline connecting her to my mother.
The baby screamed even louder, her body shaking with the effort. Her distress was punctuated by my own desperate weeping. Then, just as I wondered what I was supposed to do next, I heard pounding at the door. The squeak of the screen. The clack of heels in the hall.
“Sweet heaven above!” Maisy Dixon cried when she stood in the doorway. “Ada, come quick!”
I stared up at her uncomprehendingly. Then, disgust roiled in my chest and I threw the scissors to the ground before clutching the wriggling shape that was my sister. If she were to die, she would die in my arms.
Maisy and her sister Ada rushed to my mother’s aid, dragging her limp body into the bedroom. I could hear them shouting for towels and clean sheets, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. Instead, I cradled my sister and cried, waiting for her body to grow cold and stiff. I had killed her as surely as if I’d plunged the scissors into her breast. For that I would burn in hell forever. But it would be worth it, I told myself hollowly. As long as my mother could be saved.
I began to rock back and forth, and soon my sister grew quiet in my arms. I stared down at her, paying little mind to the mess, seeing instead her sweet face and rose
bud mouth.
As I reached out to stroke her cheek, rage settled deep in my chest. I’d been told that my sister would be brought by an angel, but that had been a lie. There were no angels. Merely pain, blood and fear.
My father—the person charged with teaching me right from wrong—had lied. If that were the case, could any man be trusted?
RueAnn
Chapter Two
Maryland, U.S.A.
“So where exactly are we going?” RueAnn asked.
Charlie glanced at the map, then the highway signs announcing they were only a few miles from the shore. They’d been driving for nearly a half hour now.
“We’re headed to a place known as Sweet Briar to take a look at my aunt’s house.”
“Oh?”
“No need to worry. My aunt ‘passed on’ nearly a year ago. She left my mother most of her estate, including her house.”
“I see.”
“Although I’ve been in the States on business for nearly a year, it’s taken this long for legal matters with my aunt’s estate to be cleared up. So this is my only chance to assess the property and determine what to do with it. Since being recalled to England, I can’t put it off any longer.”
“Recalled?”
“With all the trouble brewing in Europe and Asia, the company I work with is closing up shop and I’ll soon be out of a job. As soon as I return to England, I’ll join the military. Probably the Expeditionary Forces.”
“But then you could be sent to war, couldn’t you?”
He shrugged with as much casualness as he could muster. “It’s unlikely that with my flat feet I’d be sent anywhere other than the basement archives.”
She blinked and he tried to interpret what he saw—pity, concern?
“Would you have to go where they tell you?”
He laughed, squeezing her hand. “I’ll go where I’m needed—even if it’s only to fetch a cup of tea for the officers.”
Rather than pulling away, he loosely wrapped his fingers around hers. His pulse thumped as he felt her hesitation, her indecision, then softly, almost imperceptibly, she relaxed.
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” Her fingers twined even tighter around Charlie’s.
“Promise.”
“Where is this house?”
“Near the shore, I’m told.”
Spotting a petrol station up ahead, he eased the car onto the shoulder. “I’ve got to get fuel. Why don’t we grab something to eat and a soft drink while we’re here? Then tonight, I’ll take you somewhere special.”
“I’d like that.”
They bumped into the gravel parking lot. While RueAnn went to fetch the key to powder her nose, Charlie told the attendant to fill the tank, then paid the proprietor a dime to use the phone. An operator quickly made the connection, and mindful of curious ears that could tap into the conversation, Charlie waited until the call had been answered.
“Yes?”
“Douglas!” Charlie offered with feigned exuberance.
“No, sorry. You have a wrong number.”
“Dreadfully sorry. I’d hoped to meet a friend for drinks come sundown, but I must have made a mistake in dialing.”
“Good luck in your search.”
The line clicked and Charlie replaced the receiver, his heart pounding.
“Would you like to make another call?” the rotund gentleman behind the counter asked.
“No. No, I’m fine. Thank you.” The message had been received. Come sundown, he would meet with Jean-Claude. Until then…
Grabbing two sodas from an ice chest, Charlie approached the counter. “I’ll take these and two of your boxed lunches.”
“Fried chicken or ham sandwiches?”
“One of each,” he said and gestured to the colas. “Could you open the bottles? We’ll drink them here.”
Charlie pushed the necessary coins forward, then gathered up their lunches and the two icy bottles of pop.
Walking out into the muggy heat, Charlie saw RueAnn waiting for him by the car. He motioned to a picnic table set beneath the trees a few yards away.
“Shall we eat here?”
After settling in the shade, he set down the boxes and opened the lids. Inside were sandwiches made on thick slices of dark bread, cold fried chicken, crisp dill pickles, apples, and a box of Cracker Jacks for each one of them.
As they ate, they talked of inconsequential things—like the placard on the front window that proclaimed that the proprietor offered additional services as mechanic, barber, and Justice of the Peace.
Charlie didn’t realize how hungry he’d been until, thoroughly sated by the good meal and even better company, he leaned back, watching indulgently as RueAnn dug into a Cracker Jack box retrieving a little paper wrapped parcel.
“What have you got?” she asked Charlie.
“Sorry?”
“Each box has a surprise.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh.” She held up the packet she’d found inside.
Charlie peered into his box, crowing when he found his own prize. “Aha!” Feeling much like a little boy, he ripped the package open with his teeth and shook out the miniature toy.
“What is it?” she asked, leaning over to get a better look at the round object in the middle of his palm.
“’Pears to be a compass.” He held his hand flat, twisting the compass to and fro. “Would you look at that? The silly thing works.” He nudged RueAnn with his elbow. “What have you got?”
Her unveiling was more leisurely. Bit by bit, she peeled back the paper to reveal a gaudy ring.
“Oh-ho! You’ve won the real prize, I think. Jewelry tops expeditionary equipment every time.”
“You think so?” She laughed, sliding the faux diamond onto her finger, hissing when it pinched. She adjusted the fit, then held her hand up, watching the light sparkle on the paste stone.
His tone became indulgent. “Perhaps these little tokens are meant to tell our futures. I’m off for the great unknown while you are destined for…”
He looked at her.
No, he looked at her lips.
“For what?” she whispered.
“Marriage?”
She shook her head.
“Wealth, then. You’ll make millions on the stage.”
RueAnn bit her lip. “No. I…I won’t be going back. Not anytime soon. Besides, I’m not a performer. I’m…”
He moved toward her without thinking, his lips touching hers, briefly, then lingering.
When she didn’t demur, he cupped her face in his palms, returning to kiss her again, more fervently, completely, before tearing away, knowing that to do more might cause her to bolt.
She stared up at him, eyes wide and leery—like those of a doe caught by a beam of light.
Knowing that he had to move carefully, he murmured, “We should go.”
She nodded, glancing away.
They returned their bottles to the proprietor and threw away the remains of their lunch. More slowly than necessary, he helped her slide into the car, his fingers skimming down the length of her arm before he shut the door.
He was not an inexperienced man. He’d lost his virginity at fifteen. He was used to women pursuing him—or winning them over with a minimum of fuss. So why did his blood pound out an irregular cadence as he rounded the hood and slid onto the seat beside her?
Keep your mind where it belongs, Charlie boy. This wasn’t a woman he could kiss and tumble.
“Charlie?”
Her voice was so soft, he almost didn’t hear it over the noise of the engine springing to life and the crunch of tires as he made his way back onto the road.
“Hmm?”
“Is it always like that when you kiss someone?”
In an instant, his well-thought-out restraint disappeared, replaced by a crashing sensual heat. And just as he had so many times that day, he found himself looking at her—really looking at her. As if his very life might depend on searing this moment
into his consciousness.
Glancing away from his driving, he reached to stroke her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes grew huge with want and she moved into the caress like a cat seeking warmth.
“No,” he whispered through a throat gone suddenly tight. “It isn’t always like this.”
“So this is something special.”
“Yes. This is something special. Very, very special.”
“I thought so.”
Charlie drew her closer, his arm wrapping around her shoulders until her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder. As she settled there with a sigh, her hand resting lightly on his chest, he knew that to his dying day, the scent of sea breezes and warm summer grass would bring with it a crystal clear image of this moment, this embrace, and a needy contentment unlike any that he’d ever experienced before.
Beside him, RueAnn melted into his warmth. For a moment, she closed her eyes, listening to the faint beat of his heart in his chest.
She was being a fool. She knew that. If there was anything that her father had drummed into his daughters, it was that they should beware the evils of the flesh and the cunning nature of man. No decent woman would be caught spending so much time alone with a male, let alone allowing one to kiss her. Add to that, the fact that Charlie had taken her far away from the city and now intended to take her to his aunt’s vacant house. A proper woman wouldn’t have put herself in such a position.
But as she slid her arm around Charlie’s waist, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more alive. More at peace. She felt safe with him. Something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. And even though she knew that her actions were foolhardy and reckless.
At this moment, she truly didn’t care.
• • •
London, England
Susan had never imagined that being pretty would require such effort. Under Sara’s ministrations, Susan’s hair had been washed and rinsed in rainwater, her skin scrubbed with sugar and lemon juice, slices of cucumbers placed over her eyes. Her nails were painted a brilliant scarlet and her legs were scoured with a pumice stone until they were smooth and shiny. Using a hot iron, Sara crimped her unruly tresses into exaggerated Marcel waves, then drew the rest of her hair into a severe chignon alleviated only by a single curl in the center of her forehead.
