The room went deathly silent. Betty felt the knot in her stomach pull tight as she watched her friend battle something she couldn’t even imagine.
“You stop that now,” Winnie insisted, going back to work on the pork for the beans. “You do what your daddy tells you to until you’re old enough to do something different. You’re a boy. When you’re a man you can do different if you still want to.”
“How can you say that? Knowing what they are all about, how can you tell me to be with them instead of you?” Simpson demanded with a bite of anger.
“I don’t make the rules, Simpson. I don’t tell people who to be, or what to do with their kids. You’re both welcome here a couple more weeks until I start teaching at school. That’s what we all agreed to. I’m sorry it’s not fair.” Winnie forcefully began beating the pork down with a mallet to tenderize it and possibly get out the pain she felt about the world these kids were living in.
“We should get going, Betty,” Simpson said, wiping a sniffle away from his nose. “It’s getting late. I’ll walk you to the edge of your road.”
“It’ll work out,” Nate promised, patting Simpson on the shoulder as he headed out the door. “Keep your head up, boy. You’ll figure it out.”
Even to Betty, who wasn’t faced with the same kind of hardship, Nate’s words felt hollow.
The walk home with Simpson was silent, mostly because she couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would make him feel better. There was no answer.
“Good luck tonight,” Betty said as he waved her off at the edge of the woods by her house. “Sorry, that sounded dumb.”
“It did,” he agreed. “But thanks. I might have an idea to get out of this stuff anyway. My younger brother told me about a job at a farm here. Maybe I can just stay busy enough to be forgotten about. Even with that, we need to find a place we can still hang out after school. They can make us do whatever they want during the day and even at night, but we need to have a place where we can be the bosses in between. We need a place where we make the rules.”
Betty wanted to make him feel better. He was like a brother to her and, as an only child, it made her unsure if a hug was the right thing. Then she remembered Winnie’s words ringing in her ear. Sometimes a hug is the only way to squeeze someone’s worry away.
She leaned in and wrapped her arms around his waist. He flinched, and she could feel him holding his breath as she squeezed him. “You’re real brave, Simpson,” she gushed into his shoulder.
“Thanks,” he muttered, raising his arms and patting her back awkwardly. They both seemed to jump back at the same time, eyes darting away. Before Winnie, hugs had never been a part of either of their lives. It was not something that came naturally. It was taught, and they were finally learning the power of caring about someone more than themselves. What an impossibly hard lesson it was.
Chapter Eleven
“This place is creepy,” Alma said, holding the lantern in her shaking hand as they made their way through the cobweb-covered old shed.
“This place is perfect,” Simpson countered with wide excited eyes. “He’ll never come this far out onto his property, and you can tell no one has been in this place in years. It’s sturdy; we can keep it warm though the winter even.”
“I’m with Alma. This place is pretty scary. It gives me the heebie-jeebies. What are we even going to do out here?” Betty leaned in close to Alma and slipped her arm around her.
“Whatever we want. We can play cards, read comic books, and I’ll even play stupid jacks with you guys if you want. No matter what else is going on out there, we can be here. We just need to clean it up.” Simpson started clearing out the center of the small shed. “Look, there’s even a bench and a table,” he announced as though he’d just found gold at the end of a rainbow.
“It’s falling apart,” Alma countered with a twisted face.
“I’ll fix it. I’ll make it all perfect in here. You’ll see, and when you do, I’ll make you eat crow. You’ll love it.” Simpson looked around the room as though he could envision it finished. “Just give me some time, and I’ll change your minds.”
* * * *
To his credit, Betty was shocked to see how the place transformed from a creepy horror movie setting to a clubhouse. Over the course of a week Simpson repaired the table and bench. He cleaned and swept the place. It was impossible to count how many trips he’d made from town out here to get it all done.
“So was I right or what?” Simpson gloated as he spun around the room. “I’m gonna run back to my house real quick and grab the cards. I forgot them. You guys stay put.” Simpson jogged out toward the woods and left Betty and Alma to look around some more.
“He did do pretty good,” Alma admitted as she sat down on the bench and tapped her fingers on the now level table.
“Can you believe we went from him chasing you with a bat to this? It makes me think that anything can happen. Maybe all this stuff will work out.” Betty slid onto the bench next to Alma and tapped a similar beat.
“I’m glad he’s our friend,” Alma admitted, “even if we can’t all go around together out there. I like him.” She glanced up to the ceiling and bit at her lip as though she’d regretted her words.
“Wait, you like him, like him?” Betty asked, spinning around quickly to face her embarrassed friend.
“I didn’t say that,” Alma shouted back.
“You didn’t say that, but your face did. He’s practically three years older than you.” Betty grabbed Alma’s arm to try to force her to tell her more.
“Forget it,” Alma said shrugging her off. “Don’t you dare say anything to him. Don’t you dare.”
“Promise,” Betty said, crossing her finger over her heart. “I knew already though. I could tell by the way you make goggley eyes at him. You stick up for him all the time too.”
A thud sent the tiny half-hinged door flying open, and Betty nearly tumbled backward off the bench.
“Ain’t this cozy,” Nicky, Simpson’s older brother, said with his hands balled into fists.
“Nicky,” Betty shouted covering her heart with her hand. “You scared me half to death.” He was an ugly and bigger version of Simpson. He had the same dark hair and big brown eyes, but his face was covered in acne scars and his teeth were too big for his mouth. One of his eyes always drifted off the wrong way, and it made Betty unsure of where he was looking sometimes. For the most part she steered clear of him whenever she could. Obviously today she couldn’t.
“Oh I’m sure you and your little tar-baby friend weren’t expecting no company. But now that I’m here, I think I’ll join the party.” Nicky waggled his brows and smiled a devilish grin.
“We aren’t bothering anybody. Just go on.” Betty tried to sound confident but the rattle in her voice gave her away. It was nothing compared to the tremble she felt coming from Alma’s body pressed against her.
“I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you two. You really don’t get it, do you? The world is changing. Sympathizers like you are getting your due. Edenville isn’t gonna go down like all those other pussy towns. We’re gonna fight. And the fight starts here.” Nicky moved a step closer and Betty automatically turned her body to block Alma.
“She’s a kid, let her go home. Take your fight up with me,” Betty demanded, but Alma squeezed her hand tightly under the table as if she wouldn’t leave her friend behind. There wasn’t even a full year between the two of them, but Betty had come to feel like her older sister.
“When I tell you to run, you do,” Betty whispered to a terrified Alma, whose eyes had widened to the point of nearly popping out of her head.
“Nicky,” Simpson said, looking confused as he stepped back into the shed. They all froze for a moment as Nicky tried to work out what his brother would be doing here, and Simpson did the same.
“I told you, where there’s one there’s always another right behind,” Betty hissed, making knowing eyes at Simpson while Nicky looked away. “Now we’
ve got two here to deal with.”
“What are you doing out here, Nicky?” Simpson asked again, swallowing hard.
“What are you doing?” Nicky demanded, looking thoroughly suspicious.
“I saw your tracks heading this way, and I followed you. I figured maybe you were up to something, and I wanted in,” Simpson improvised, regaining control of his coursing fear. “You hanging out with these girls?” Simpson asked, and Betty nearly grinned at the way he’d turned the tables on his brother.
“Hell no. I was following a bunch of tracks too and came up on this place. This tar-baby and this moron are hiding out here, trying to be friends. But I was just about to break up the party. Now you can help.”
“That’s Reynolds’s daughter. You know you can’t lay a hand on her. He’s nearly head of the damn Klan. He’s even higher than Daddy. We’ll tell him we found her out here and let him deal with her. He’ll be happy we reported it,” Simpson said flatly as though he were thoroughly unimpressed with the whole situation. But Betty had begun to know his mannerisms enough to see the clench in his jaw, a telltale sign he was nervous.
“Fine, but the other one, there’s no reason we shouldn’t beat the snot out of her. We can drag her ass back to town and leave her in front of the school as a message to those teachers starting tomorrow. That’ll keep them out for sure.” Nicky edged closer to Betty and Alma, who were now cowering in fear. Betty looked to Simpson, knowing if he intervened now he’d be paying with his life. If Nicky didn’t beat him to death, surely his father would.
“I don’t know if we should be doing anything without the Klan knowing about it first. They don’t want any heat blowing back on them unless it’s something they sanctioned. You heard about all that stuff in Mississippi.” Simpson took another few steps forward so he could be at his brother’s side.
“Bullshit, if you’d have showed up last night you’d have heard them say it was time to stop this by any means necessary. Burn crosses, toss bricks through windows, make threats, and show force. Maybe Daddy is right about you; maybe you don’t have the stomach for it. Maybe you’re with them.” Nicky turned his attention toward his brother who glared back angrily at him.
“You don’t know shit about me,” Simpson boomed, shoving Nicky back. Betty felt her heart thud with fear and then realized this must be part of his plan. Simpson would take a licking from his brother and give Betty time to help Alma get away. When Nicky took the bait and grabbed the collar of Simpson’s shirt, slamming him against the wall, it cleared the path to the door.
“Run,” Betty said, letting go of Alma’s hand. She grabbed a piece of wood, leaning against the wall. Standing, she raised it over her head and whacked Nicky in the arm. It made a thwacking noise Betty wasn’t prepared for, sounding much worse than she thought it would. “Run,” she commanded Alma again, and she finally started moving.
When Nicky realized what was happening he spun, trying to decide if he should chase after Alma or disarm Betty. That wasn’t a choice she could allow him to make. She swung again, but he grabbed the wood from her hand, snatching it away. As he looked at the door and made a move to follow Alma, Betty fell to the ground and clutched his leg. He dragged her along for a couple of steps and then raised the wood to strike her.
Glancing up through panicked eyes Betty braced herself for the blow coming her way. But before the contact could be made, Simpson grabbed his brother’s arm. “Her daddy will kill you,” he reminded his brother.
“Hold her down,” he demanded, and Simpson froze at the cold heartless tone of his brother’s voice.
“What are you gonna do to her?” he asked, staring down at Betty’s dirty clothes and trembling shoulders.
“It won’t be nothing compared to what Daddy does to you if I go home and tell him you let a tar-baby get away and then pussied out when it came to making this one pay for hitting me. He’ll lynch you himself.” Nicky’s eyes bore holes through Simpson, and Betty took the opportunity to nod slightly at Simpson. She knew Nicky wouldn’t kill her. This was not a life for a life. There was no point in Simpson blowing his cover to save her from getting knocked around a bit, while Simpson would likely get killed if he were exposed.
He leaned down and pried Betty’s arm off Nicky and yanked her backward. “What are you gonna do to her?” he asked again, trying to get a read on his brother’s maniacal face.
Nicky reached down to his hip and flipped open a pocketknife. The two-inch blade shone in the light that flowed in the cracked walls of the shed. Now Betty worried that she was wrong. Maybe her life wasn’t safe just because of her father’s position in the Klan.
“Nicky,” Simpson whispered as he stared at the blade of the knife. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“I’m not gonna kill her. I’m just gonna make her sorry for hitting me,” Nicky grunted. “Hold her down like you mean it.”
Betty stopped fighting against Simpson’s grip and held her breath. She had no control over whatever would be done to her. It wouldn’t be fair to expect Simpson to stand up for her now. Though her heart cried out for a chance, she let her face go flat.
Nicky ran the small blade across her cheek and the cold steel made Betty close her eyes, not wanting to see her own blood if it were about to spill. But instead of slicing at her skin Nicky took her long braid on the left side of her head and yanked it tight. With significant effort he sawed the blade back and forth until her hair came free and sat in his hand.
She didn’t cry. She wanted to, but she couldn’t put that burden on Simpson. Nicky slammed her head to the other side and did the same to her second braid.
“You think no one liked you before, wait till they see you now. Wait till they hear what you were doing out here. I wouldn’t even bother coming back to town if I were you. Your daddy ain’t even gonna want you now.” He tossed the braids in Betty’s lap and gestured with his head for Simpson to follow him.
Feeling Simpson’s arms let her go was the loneliest moment of her young life, and there had been plenty other moments to contend with, so that was saying something. Betty sat motionless until everything was silent. When she was sure Nicky and Simpson were gone, her shaking hands lifted to the sides of her head where her braids used to be. The only thing left were the two tiny elastics that sat snug to her head and a few spikey strands of hair that hadn’t cut off clean. She pulled the elastics free and ran her hands across her scalp, realizing her long frizzy brown locks were completely gone. She was grateful there was no mirror here because seeing herself in this moment might break her completely.
The sadness and fear were so powerful tears wouldn’t come. Instead, just rapid hyperventilating breaths and hiccups escaped her mouth. She’d never been a vain person. Her looks weren’t spectacular nor did she obsess about them, but the idea of being nearly bald, being branded in a way everyone could see, made her shudder with embarrassment. She’d felt like a freak for a long time and been treated like one, but now she looked the part, too. It was more than she could bear.
All of that was crushing her, and she hadn’t even let herself worry about what her father would do once he found out the truth. She tossed her braids to the ground and reached for one of the blankets Simpson had brought for them. Curling up on the dirt floor, she lay her cheek against the ground and let it soak in the tears that finally began.
Nicky was right. There was no point in her going home. She might as well stay right where she was and pray that maybe a tornado would scoop her up and take her away. Anywhere she landed would be better than this town.
Chapter Twelve
The noises of the night had started to unhinge Betty as she tightened the blanket around her. Every few minutes she had to convince herself staying out in this shed alone was better than going home. But it was the creaking door that made her most certain she should have left by now.
“Betty,” she heard Simpson whisper, and she felt like she’d gone from being the last person on the planet to the luckiest; she finally had a sav
ior.
“I’m here,” she replied quietly as she peeked her head out from the blanket and squinted at the bright stream coming from his flashlight.
“I thought you’d still be here. It’s not a good idea to stay out here all night by yourself.” Simpson edged in closer but didn’t meet Betty’s eyes. The usual snippy edge to his voice was gone. He sounded very much like a little boy right now.
“They know I’m here, don’t they? Your brother would have gone to my house and told them what happened and who I was with. So if they really wanted me home, they’d have come for me.” Betty had realized this a couple hours ago and decided it would be the test of her parents love for her. Surely if they’d known she’d been attacked and left alone in the woods, they’d come for her.
“They know,” Simpson said, clearly trying to apologize for them. “Your daddy is mad as hell. He’s not coming out here. I waited until my folks were sleeping before I snuck out. I can walk you home. I bet your house is quiet by now. You know what Winnie always says: everything looks better in the morning.”
“I’m not going back there. Not ever. Not like this.” Betty choked on her words as she reached up and touched her mangled hair.
“I’m so sorry,” Simpson croaked, dropping his head down and clutching his hands together. “It’s my fault. I was a coward. I should have stopped him. I held you down, but what I should have done is turned that knife on him. I’m scum.”
“He’s scum,” Betty shot back as she sat up quickly. “Winnie’s right. We can’t be soldiers in this; we’re kids. It’s not up to us what the world wants. We just have to deal with it. I’m not mad at you for what you didn’t do. I’d be pissed as hell if you had tried to help me. Who knows what they’d be doing to you right this minute if you had. Winnie’s been right about everything. We can’t mix. She’s got her own war to fight once she starts teaching, and I’m gonna stay clear of it. All of it. If I can’t see them anymore then so be it.”
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