by Dara Girard
"You'll always have it."
"This is a chance for a new beginning for both of us."
"I don't plan to move here."
"At least you're staying for a while, that will make a difference."
Frederick shrugged, not wanting to dampen his friend's enthusiasm. "So you're really going to move into that place?" he said glancing at the house behind them.
Jeffrey grinned. "I know it's the size of an outhouse compared to your place, but I like it." He turned his attention back to the town. "I know it's not London, New York or Vancouver but this is home to me. And I bet you'll learn to like it here."
"Then you'd lose."
Jeffrey laughed. "No, I won't. Just you wait. You'll change your mind."
"Why?"
"Because Hamsford is like no other place on earth."
* * *
Janet couldn't leave. She wouldn't let her. Mrs. Barnett stared at her daughter unsure of who she was anymore. Janet wasn't as beautiful as her sister, Beverly, but she had an arresting face. Dark brows and high cheekbones and eyes that hinted at the Arawak Indian heritage she'd gotten from her father. Mrs. Barnett sighed. She didn't understand her daughter's need to be away from family. But Janet had always been different from the rest. Even as a child there had been a willful streak that frightened her. She'd seen that same streak in Ramani, too.
What was so special about this independence people always talked about? She didn't agree with children staying out all hours of the night at age sixteen just because they had a driver's license. Or with parents kicking a child out at eighteen or twenty with no stability of home. She'd never been alone in her life. Solitude wasn't even an option, not that she ever sought it. She had stayed in the same room with her older sister until she was married. Family meant everything to her and she felt rich in it. Why couldn't her daughter see how lucky she was?
Janet felt her mother's shrewd gaze and tried not to shudder. She felt like a bird forced back into a cage. It had been a year since the scandal. She hadn't returned to the dorm or school, she had stayed home and helped around the house and the community. But it was time to leave. She couldn't stand another year of her father's booming voice, her mother's whiny replies, and her sisters' arguments. Then there were the constant visitors. At times she felt as though she lived in a hotel with a revolving door. The moment one person left another would enter. There was Uncle Treton, a lecherous old man with grabby hands who'd stayed for three months. Cousin Merleen, who wept for no apparent reason, and Aunty Mindy, a vain woman who did only two things: spend hours preening herself in the bathroom, and taking the largest portions at mealtime, all the while, stating that she "Hoped she was not a burden to the family."
But the Barnetts were generous people and beyond family obligations, they also opened their home to visiting church brethren. More often than not, more than one person came and when families visited, people filled their living room, at times spilling into their modest-sized kitchen, until she could imagine hearing the walls expand. Everyone would gather and talk, all at once, carrying on three or four conversations simultaneously.
She couldn't stand another year with the lack of privacy—one could not eat alone or close her bedroom door. Her parents didn't understand her need for solitude. The Barnetts were a family that did everything together. They ate together, prayed together, and holidayed together. There was no such thing as doing something alone.
Years ago her younger sister, Francine, woke up in an empty house and she'd thought the Rapture had come and she'd been left behind. She'd wept uncontrollably for days. Janet would have jumped for joy.
Her father waved the paper. "I'm going to tell Brother Williams about this."
Janet reached for the paper then snatched her hand back. "No, please don't," she said with a note of panic. She didn't want her friend Valerie to get into trouble. "All the blame is mine."
Her father tapped the paper. "So you want to get Beverly involved in this stupid scheme of yours?"
To him it was a scheme, to her an escape plan. "I thought if we were together—."
"You'd take care of her as you did Ramani?"
A searing pain ripped through her. "That wasn't my fault."
"No, but it happened anyway."
Janet blinked back tears determined not to cry. "I've been out of school for a year. I've now resumed my studies and—."
"You can finish them from home."
A slow seething anger began to rise within her and Janet fought to suppress it. She knew that a daughter should love her father and forgive him any faults. But what Janet feared most wasn't the wavering of her faith; it was that the small burning kernel of hatred that, at times, took her unawares, would grow and settle. If she didn't leave her father's house soon she feared it would take hold her of her completely and seize her body and soul. But she knew she was fighting a battle she could not win.
She had failed. That's what they wanted to remind her. That's what they'd never let her forget. But she needed a second chance.
Janet knew it when several weeks ago her father had refused to allow her to accept a trophy for winning first prize in an art show.
"What is that?" he'd said when she'd shown him the large prize.
"I won," she said holding up the trophy with both hands so everyone could see. She then cradled it close. "I'm going to put in on my desk."
"No you won't."
She paused. "What?"
"Do you think you're better than your sisters?" He pointed at the trophy as though it was something evil. "That is a symbol of pride and I don't want it in my house. You can throw it away or give it away. I don't care, but I don't want it in my house. You don't have much to be proud of now, do you?"
That's when she'd looked at her father and for the first time hatred festered like an acid wound, Ramani's tragedy still lingering.
Mrs. Barnett spoke up. "Oh Winston don't be so harsh. Let her—."
He shot his wife a look, stunned that she'd contradict him. "I said no."
Janet donated her beloved trophy to a charity and that same day she wrote to her best friend, Valerie, asking her how to convince her older sister Beverly to move out with her. She knew the risk. Her parents blamed her for Ramani's behavior, but she still had to get out and she knew Beverly would make a perfect roommate. She hoped that if they moved out together and did not live in the dorm, her parents wouldn't worry as much. The letter her father now had was Valerie's reply.
"It was just an idea. I thought you would be pleased if we stayed together."
"Pleased?" His voice cracked with surprise. "Pleased to lose two jewels in my crown instead of one?"
"If you don't trust me with Beverly, I could live on my own and—"
"Absolutely not."
"You'll get murdered," her mother said.
Janet sighed. "I won't get murdered."
"And you'll be lonely. A woman shouldn't live alone. It's unnatural." By now tears glistened in her eyes but still didn't fall.
In Hamsford, for the females who were members of their church, a woman eighteen and older was only one of two things: married or unmarried. And those who were unmarried tried to change their status as soon as possible. Her mother leapt to her feet and retrieved the newspaper from the couch. She opened it then shoved an article in Janet's face. "This woman was raped in her own bedroom."
Janet shook her head. "I won't get raped or murdered. God watches over unmarried women as much as the married ones."
Her father frowned. "He watches over his unmarried women by keeping them in their father's house." He clasped his hands together and lowered his head in regret. "I blame your school for this. What is wrong with our home? Do I ask anything from you? Do I ask for any money from you? I pay the mortgage and electricity. Do you think the water runs itself?"
"Daddy, I am grateful for all that you've done, but—"
He held up his hand. "No, there's no discussion. You will stay in this house until you are married."
Janet threw up her hands exasperated. "Who am I to marry?"
"In God's time the right man will come. You are still young."
And suffocating. Even if she looked at the local male population as a means of escape, her choices were few. Her small town did not boast a variety of eligible men. And to be considered eligible a man had to past the J.C.E Test: Jamaican (by birth or heritage), in the Church, and Employed. Most viable possibilities had left Hamsford to attend universities in other states and married women there—to the shame of their parents who strongly believed there were only two types of women: those in the church and those in the world.
Everyone knew a woman in the church was better than a woman in the world. The privileged few of their particular church (there were other churches, but they didn't count) were quick to discuss the 'fallen angel' who claimed the world as his playground. Not that Janet looked forward to marriage. The thought of moving from obeying her father's rules to those of her husband held little joy.
Janet leaned forward hoping to make her parents see reason. "I've always been a good girl. I've done well in my studies and I try to do all that is right. Can't you trust me?"
"This is not about trust. You are meant to stay home."
"But—"
Her father sliced his hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. "This conversation is over." He turned away ready to end the discussion. "Never talk 'bout it again."
Janet jumped to her feet frustration making her voice tremble. "Daddy, if you'd only listen!"
He slowly turned around. "You dare raise your voice to mi?"
"No," she said, her voice faltering when she realized her error. "I just—"
"Do I not have ears? I heard you and now you will listen to me. I said you will stay home and that's final." He waved his fist to the ceiling and the rafters shook as his voice continued to rise, causing the tears in her mother's eyes to fall. Soon the late winter sun that shone bright through the blinds felt like it had been swallowed up by thunderclouds. "Do you want everyone to think that my home is a place my daughters flee?" He placed a hand on his chest as though his heart would fall out. "That my home is so distasteful that they would prefer to put their lives at risk than stay? Is that what you want?" His voice fell to a whisper. "Is that how you want to honor me? How you want to honor our family name?"
Janet lowered her gaze. "No."
"Then it's finished. You'll stay home."
She sank back into her seat, the weight of defeat making her legs numb.
"Janet?"
She made a motion that could be misinterpreted as a nod. It satisfied Mr. Barnett who smiled at his wife in triumph.
"Good." He tore up the letter as though ridding its evil contents from existence. "You tell your friend not to send any more letters like this or you won't receive them at all." He threw the remnants in the wastebasket then cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. His thick fingers felt rough against her skin, although he tried to be gentle. "I know you are a good girl and I want you to continue to be." He patted her on the shoulder then left the room.
Janet glared at the wastebasket feeling as though her dreams were as useless and scattered as the letter.
Mrs. Barnett took the seat next to Janet. She was a petite woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper will, which she kept well concealed behind a quiet demeanor. She took Janet's hands and squeezed them. "We want the best for you and we know what that is. You want us to trust you, but you must trust us first."
Her mother's lack of understanding only made Janet's frustration grow. "I won't do anything to shame you or Daddy. I'm smart and—"
"Evil doesn't care about how smart you are. We know the dangers of this world. Please, I know that you are learning strange things at the university, but do not be tempted by the world's lies, they always sound sweet and delicious as a succulent fruit. But the moment you consume it you begin to die because the fruit is poisonous. Just like the one hanging from a certain tree we know."
"But Dee-dee—" Janet began using the endearing term they called their mother to separate her from the other mother figures they'd had in their lives.
Her mother didn't allow her to continue. "You are like a moth drawn to a flame, but you will get your wings singed when you get too close."
Janet knew she was smarter than a moth, but thought it best not to argue.
Mrs. Barnett took her silence as a sign that she'd reached her and patted Janet's hand, her mind quickly turning to other important issues. "Now let me see what we'll have for dinner tonight."
Janet waited to hear her mother's footsteps disappear down the hall before she raced over to the wastebasket to retrieve her letter. With some tape she could repair it. Not only had Valerie given her ideas, but she'd also described her spring holiday detailing all the sights and sounds Janet was eager to one day experience herself.
"Mi haffi empty dat," a flat voice said above her.
Janet jumped back startled and looked up at Mrs. Lind, a second cousin from Jamaica currently living with them, who helped with household duties. Her face was as flat as her tone with beady dark eyes and a mouth that looked as though it had been cut into her face with a crooked knife. She moved like a shadow, with skin just as dark, and wore dresses that hung on her skinny frame as loosely as wet sheets draped on a clothesline.
"It's barely full," Janet said.
Mrs. Lind's expression and tone didn't change. "I was told fi empty it."
"I'll do it later."
"Now."
Janet balled her hands into fists. She couldn't even go through the wastebasket privately. She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to upturn the contents of the wastebasket over Mrs. Lind's head, and stood. "Fine." Resigned she dropped what parts of the letter she'd been able to gather and stormed out. In the corridor she heard footsteps scurry up the stairs like large rats leaving a kitchen feast and knew what to do next.
Chapter 5
Janet was a problem. Mr. Barnett closed his study door, pleased with the privacy it gave him. Unlike his wife he understood the benefits of solitude. He'd slept three to a bed growing up and as a young man had lived with various relatives who'd allowed him little time to himself.
He walked around the study, restless. He had to get his daughter to understand how right he was. He knew the ways of the world and she didn't. He knew that men did two things with beautiful things—possessed or destroyed them. He had to protect his possessions. He'd once had a man want his younger daughter Trudy when she was twelve. The man had been attracted to her dark skin and light eyes and had offered him a price. Mr. Barnett had refused him, but had started to see how men looked at his daughters with lust in their eyes. But he brushed his worry aside, the man was an African anyway and he'd never surrender one of his daughters to them.
Mr. Barnett finally sat. The crisis was over. Janet would stay home and he'd make sure she knew why.
* * *
Janet found her younger sisters, Maxine and Trudy, in their bedroom pretending to read. She stood in the doorway and watched Maxine read her algebra book upside down and Trudy the dictionary. "Who was in my room?" she asked.
They looked up. "What?"
She folded her arms. "You can play innocent with Dee-dee and Daddy, but not with me."
Maxine shook her head, looking younger than her fifteen years, her hair twisted in ringlets around her face. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Me neither," Trudy added. Although a year older than Maxine she tended to follow her sister's lead.
Janet nodded. "I see." She turned.
"Was he really angry?" Maxine asked.
Janet stopped. "About what?"
A guilty pause filled the air. When Janet turned, Maxine looked ashamed. "I couldn't help it," she admitted. "When I saw that letter on your desk I told Trudy. I didn't expect Daddy to hear us." She tossed her book aside and leaned forward eager for details. "What's he going to do?"
"Nothing."
"He'll think of something,
" Francine said eagerly joining them. As the middle child Francine felt adept at accurately reading the habits and behaviors of everyone in the family. She pushed up her glasses and clasped her book of verse tight to her chest. Had she a keen mind her plain features could have been over looked, but her pedantic manner only emphasized them.
"Yes," Trudy said. "He'll probably have the pastor come up with a sermon with you as the example."
Maxine grabbed a book and stood on her bed. She lowered her voice in an attempt to imitate the pastor's deep baritone. "I heard a story that will make you know that the Evil One can tempt even the most righteous among us."
Janet frowned. "Quiet, Daddy might hear you."
Maxine continued unconcerned. "I heard that some of you young ladies have taken a sip from the waters of sin. But though those waters taste sweet there will be a bitter sting!"
Trudy lifted her hand as she'd seen the church sisters do. "Amen."
Janet snatched the book from Maxine. "That's enough."
Maxine fell down laughing. "I bet that's how it'll be."
Trudy began to stand. "Let me try."
Janet flashed a malicious grin. "If you want to be an actress perhaps I should tell Daddy about your ambition."
The two girls quickly sobered. To Mr. Barnett being an actress was a step down from prostitution (since prostitution at least had the distinction of being one of the oldest professions).
"Stay out of my room," Janet warned them then walked down the hall.
Francine followed. "There's really no point you know. A tree must grow where it is planted until God uproots it."
Janet rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Francine."
Francine shrugged and headed downstairs.
Janet entered her room, flopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling where she'd posted a picture of Edvard Munch's The Scream to remind her that she wasn't alone. Her high school diploma gathered dust under her bed and she knew her college degree would meet the same fate if she continued to live under her father's roof and she didn't want that to happen. She wanted to put it in a frame and hang it on the wall. Was she too proud? Was that really her flaw? She heard a light tap on her door and wanted to grumble 'Go away' until she heard her sister Beverly's gentle voice ask, "Can I come in?" as she peered her head inside.
