Molly: House on Fire

by R. E. Bradshaw

  Molly was on the first entry of record for Sarah Harris, age seventeen, made June 6, 1972. Her mother had been admitted after being brought to the hospital at six-thirty in the morning, by a young man named Joe Webb. He found her unconscious on the side of the road. Her body showed signs of being dumped out of a moving car or thrown from something high. She was suffering from several head wounds and bruising on nearly every part of her body. She was unresponsive on arrival, but breathing. Toxicology revealed alcohol, heroin, and Methaqualone in her system. The next notation caused Molly to sit up, shocking Leslie awake in the process. The doctor suspected her mother had been drugged and raped repeatedly. She was barely alive. There were no more records, after her admission to the hospital. Molly scrolled through the files twice, checking for more, but it was not there. On her third pass through, Leslie put her hand over Molly’s, telling her it was time to stop.

  Leslie stood up and crossed the room to Tammy. She whispered something to her and returned to stand in front of the couch, extending her hand for Molly to take. Molly was numb. She followed Leslie blindly, up the stairs to her room. Leslie sat Molly down on the edge of the bed and returned to the door to lock it. She sat down beside Molly and simply held her hand, not speaking, waiting. Leslie had obviously read the last entry, too.

  Molly’s mind was going a thousand miles an hour. She finally said, “I was born on March 13, 1973. Do the math.”

  “Molly, that doesn’t mean —”

  Molly cut her off. “Yes, it does. I am the product of a sexual assault. I don’t look like Evan Branch or anyone else in that family. She fooled Evan Branch into marrying her and signing that birth certificate. I’m no more his kid than you are.”

  “Who are you angry with, Molly, your mother for lying to you, or the man that did that to her?”

  Molly sprang off the bed and the truth came out. “She let me think I killed my father, not just the man that was beating her, but my father. Do you have any idea how that felt, how it feels? It didn’t matter that I hated him. I was still his kid and that was my father.”

  Leslie tried to reason with her. “How do you know you’re not his kid? From the sadistic way he treated your mother, he very well could have been the one that raped her and left her for dead.”

  “Why would he marry her? Why would he claim me? Why are there no records after she was admitted? None of this makes sense, Leslie. Something is very wrong here.”

  Leslie stood and walked the few steps to where Molly was pacing the floor. She placed her hands on Molly’s shoulders to stop her.

  “Molly, you’re exhausted. You need to sleep. Give your brain time to process this.”

  Molly felt her world spinning out of control. “Who the hell am I, Leslie?”

  Leslie tucked a finger under Molly’s chin, focusing her. “You know who you are. Does DNA change anything, at this point?”

  Molly pulled away and walked to the bay window. She pulled the drapes to the side and stared into the night. Leslie moved to stand behind her, sliding her arms around Molly’s waist, holding her while she spoke in a voice just above a whisper.

  “Molly, before you damn yourself because of how you might have been conceived, think about this. Rainey and Katie’s children will never know their sperm donor. Katie told me the contract was set up that way. The donor may have influenced them physically, but he will not be an integral part of who and what those children become. It really doesn’t matter who your biological father is. You said it yourself. Donald Kincaid is your father. He had more influence on you than Evan Branch or some man you never knew.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me? She knew how much I hated him. It would have been better not to know who my father was, than thinking it was that monster.”

  “You know that isn’t true. A child with no father would have been a target, much worse than the one you were. It was the seventies, a much different culture. Besides, she couldn’t dump that on you, that you might have been fathered by her rapist.”

  Molly responded like an angry child. “She dumped everything else on me.” Long sequestered rage caused Molly to spin and face Leslie. Molly lost her charming, cultured southern accent along with her control. “I had to pull needles out of her arm, Leslie. I remember doing it before I ever started school. How fucked up is that? I had to stand by and watch him do as he pleased with her. He was either screwing her or kicking the shit out of her. She never fought back, either way. She never tried to get us out of there. She never did a damn thing until the day I killed his ass, and then she made me lie about it, hide it, carry that burden alone for all those years — be ashamed of it.”

  Molly broke. It was a long time coming, and when it came, it took her ability to function with it. Gasping sobs racked her body, like the ones Carol held her through when she found out her mother was dead, the kind she had never let herself have again. She barely registered being led to the bed, where Leslie removed her shoes and pants, and tucked her under the covers. Molly felt Leslie lie down behind her, spooning into her, holding her through the sobs. The last thing Molly would remember before falling asleep was Leslie’s soft whisper.

  “You’re not alone anymore, Molly.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Molly awoke alone. The sun was high up in the sky. She had not slept past nine in the morning for as long as she could remember, and that was late for her. She could see the indention of Leslie’s head on the pillow next to hers. It was not a dream. Leslie had really been there. Molly stumbled out of bed, her arms and legs heavy, her head still foggy from the deep sleep. She was a light sleeper, incongruent with the coma like state she fell into with Leslie holding her. Molly checked the time on her phone, eleven-twenty-six. She and Leslie came upstairs around five in the morning. Molly had been asleep about six hours, Leslie less than that. It was going to be a long day.

  She was heading for the shower, when the bedroom door opened. Leslie was holding two cups of coffee, trying to be quiet, in case Molly was still asleep. She looked like she had been up a while, wearing jeans and a UNC tee shirt, and glasses again. She smiled when she saw Molly.

  “Hey, I was coming to wake you. Tammy is almost ready to serve lunch.”

  Molly was suddenly conscious of standing there in just a shirt and underwear. She was sure her hair was smashed into awkward valleys and peaks. She also had to use the restroom.

  “Excuse me just a second,” Molly said, slipping into the bathroom, and closing the door.

  She was correct about her hair. It was everywhere. Her eyes were puffy and bruised from crying. Molly thought she looked a lot more like the mother she remembered in this condition. Leslie read Molly’s retreat correctly.

  She called through the door. “I’m going to leave your coffee on the desk. Take your time. I’ll be downstairs, okay?”

  Molly bared her soul to the woman just hours ago, but could not bring herself to be seen like this. She answered, “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” She hesitated, and then added, “As ridiculous as this sounds, I’m not quite ready for you to see me with bed hair.”

  Leslie’s laughter came through the door. “That’s not bed hair, honey. That’s ‘I slept like the dead hair,’ but it’s cute. See you in a bit.”

  Molly climbed in the shower, letting the hot water beat down on her sore muscles. Tension held for so long and then released left her drained of energy, feeling weak, but relieved. Molly could not believe she had lost complete control of her emotions, and worse, allowed someone to see it. She had given in to the pain, the cries of a lost child, and finally let her go. Leslie stayed through it all, just holding her. Molly had fallen so heavily asleep it puzzled her. So, that was what safe felt like. She was on guard, even in her sleep, her entire life. What an amazing feeling it was, allowing someone else to stand watch. It was a complete foreign concept to Molly.

  She left any remnants of her breakdown in the shower, dressed in a blue, long-sleeved Duke Law tee shirt and jeans, grabbed the
coffee cup, and went in search of the woman that saw her through the purge. Molly found Leslie sitting at the dining room table, intently reading from Randy’s computer screen. She could hear Randy and Tammy in the kitchen. Leslie looked up when she heard Molly on the stairs. She smiled broadly and Molly reciprocated with a smile of her own. She crossed to Leslie, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

  “Good morning,” Molly said, adding quietly, “Thank you.”

  “Good afternoon,” Leslie said, patting the chair seat beside her. “And you’re welcome.”

  Molly pointed at the glasses. “You look different every time I see you.”

  “Keeps you guessing.” Leslie grinned, adding, “I wear contacts, and I fell asleep with them in. My eyes were just not having it this morning.”

  “I like them. They make you look studious. That’s sexy.” Molly winked, sitting down beside her. She was letting Leslie know she had recovered from last night’s trauma, and then she moved on. “How long have you been up?”

  “I left you asleep about nine. I had to go make arrangements for Joe’s cremation. We’re holding off on his memorial for a bit. He left instructions not to have one, until Joey could be there. I also went to the jail. I had just come back when I brought you the coffee. Do you want a refill?”

  “No, I’m good. How is Joey today?”

  Leslie darkened. “I wish they would let him have a watch or at least put a clock outside his cell. It’s really cruel to deny him that.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  That gave Leslie hope and her smile returned. “Thank you.”

  Molly focused on the computer. “Now, what were you reading so seriously?”

  “You left the pad where you wrote Joe’s backup address and password on the coffee table. I logged on and started going through his files. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I appreciate your initiative. What did you find?”

  “It’s mostly stuff about Joey and Asperger’s, but there was one folder labeled Sarah. It’s full of notes, and records, and something very interesting.”

  Molly leaned in closer to look at the screen. “Show me.”

  Leslie pointed at the document. “At first I thought this was just medicated rambling. There are several untitled pages, where he started a train of thought and then wandered into a memory before abruptly stopping. This one starts out like that, but then he skipped a few lines and started this list.”

  Molly looked where Leslie was pointing the arrow. Joe had begun to type names. Molly read them.

  32 — Marshall Whitehead, Magistrate, ’70 Chevrolet Malibu, Blue

  25 — Jeb Stewart, 1st year prosecutor, ’72 Plymouth Barracuda, Black

  23 — Wayne Bass, 1st year back from Nam, cop, ’70 Dodge Challenger, Green

  20 — Evan Branch, Drugs, ’71 F250 4x4, sparkle green

  59 — Walter Evan Branch, Jr. (Old Man), ’61 Int’l Harvester truck, red

  16 — Jarvis Branch, ’72 Mustang Mach I, gold and black

  49 — Drusilla Branch, ’69 Lincoln Continental, maroon

  Molly sat up. She was investigating these same names. “What do the numbers mean?”

  Leslie had a pencil and a pad beside her. She held the pad up to show Molly. “I’m pretty sure it’s their ages. I looked up the judge and the prosecutor online. These numbers correspond with their ages in 1972.”

  Molly understood. “The year my mother was attacked.”

  “Yes. You said we were looking for power. Of the ones still alive, those are three of the most powerful men in the county, plus Jarvis.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see you’ve joined the land of the living,” Randy said, bearing a platter of sandwiches, followed by Tammy carrying a steaming soup tureen.

  Molly smiled at him. She was smiling at everyone today. “I guess I needed a nap.”

  She stood up to help with setting the table and serving lunch. It was just the four of them. Tammy informed her that Brad was down at the lumberyard, buying supplies to repair the porch. When they were all seated, soup served, Randy began to tell Molly what he discovered in his search.

  “I checked on Stewart’s property holdings. No way a State employee makes that kind of cash. Tammy was able to help me with his family background. He comes from old money that was pretty much sliced and diced before he received his cut, which wasn’t much. It’s amazing, Molly. You can actually read the wills online.”

  Tammy interrupted, “Well, only if someone uploaded the information. Luckily, old Jeb has a cousin that’s fascinated by their family history. She posted everything, skeletons and all.”

  “What skeletons?” Molly asked, before taking another spoonful of Tammy’s delicious vegetable soup.

  Tammy waved her hand in the air, as if what she was saying was normal. “All the usual stuff, concubines, slave children, land disputes. It’s in every family if you dig far enough. One thing did stick out.”

  Randy flashed his hands, like a child wanting to be called on. “Ooh, ooh, yes, that was interesting.”

  Molly held half of a sandwich, poised to take a bite, but asked instead, “What?”

  Randy held out his hand, gesturing for Tammy to answer Molly.

  “I was searching marriage records. I found a John G. Whitehead married to Eliza Stewart, in June of 1863. The witnesses were Giles Banhalla and Eli Branch. This is the first Whitehead of the judge’s family line recorded in the county. I don’t know where he came from, but the Bass, Stewart, and Whitehead families have been marrying each other for years. They’re all kin, somehow.”

  Molly slowly lowered the sandwich back to her plate. “What happened to Giles?”

  Tammy was proud of herself. She held up one finger and reached for a pad on the end of the table, reading from it. “Giles was barely in Dobbs County. He purchased land from Eli Branch in November of 1862, witnessed a wedding in June of 1863, and then he died. His will was probated in November of 1863. He left the land to his son, William, and everything else to his wife. She held an auction. The proceeds were sent to an address in Raleigh. The land changed hands in December of 1863, becoming the property of John G. Whitehead, the same guy from the wedding.”

  Leslie sat opened mouth, along with Molly.

  Randy patted Tammy on the back, saying, “You are a wonderful detective.”

  “Yes, you are,” Leslie commented. “That’s amazing.”

  Molly congratulated Tammy. “You did very well. You’ve managed to tie all of our suspects’ families together and to the gold legend. For that, I’d like to offer to cook dinner.”

  Randy looked as surprised as Tammy. Leslie looked suspicious. Molly laughed at them.

  “I promise you will not starve.”

  “Oh, I have to YouTube this,” Randy said. “There are women that would pay good money to see you in an apron.”

  “I won’t be wearing an apron, but I do have a special delivery coming this afternoon. Tammy, will you be here?”

  “Yes, I’m going to help Brad with the porch when he gets back.”

  Molly explained her plans to everyone. “I’m waiting for Robbie to call. I’m supposed to meet Mr. Stovall at her mother’s. Randy, I’m going to take you with me. There’s something I have to do and I need your truck.” She turned to Leslie. “Would you mind coming, too? We need to do a bit of off-roading and I’m not familiar with the area.”

  Leslie squeezed Molly’s thigh, under the tablecloth. “Four wheelin’, be still my heart. You sure know how to show a country girl a good time.”

  Molly winked. “Play your cards right, and I’ll make him let you drive.”

  #

  Robbie called just as the lunch dishes were loaded into the kitchen. Randy and Molly, with Leslie in the middle, rumbled along a two-lane blacktop in the giant black truck, heading into the countryside. Leslie knew where Olive Harris lived, so she directed Randy through the turns. The trees crowded the little road and then gave way to fields being readied for spring planting. Molly could
smell the dirt, the pine trees, the swampy bogs, things she lost touch with living in the city. The memories playing in her mind were good ones. Days in the woods, playing on the river, out with Nona in the garden, these were pleasant glimpses of her childhood. They were easier to call up today. She suspected it was finally saying it aloud, how she felt all those years. It did not weigh so heavy on her anymore.

  Molly watched out the window as the fields passed. She felt Leslie take her hand and turned to smile at her. Randy noticed and could not resist.

  “You two are just adorable. I swear your eyes are twinkling.”

  Molly would not normally let Randy get away without a sharp retort, but today normal had shifted for Molly. She grinned at him mischievously, and raised her arm to tuck Leslie in close to her side.

  Randy threw his head back and laughed, saying. “Just remember I called this one.”

  Leslie sat up, quickly. “Whoa! Slow down.”

  Molly’s head snapped around to look at Leslie with alarm. Leslie saw the look. “No, not you. Slow down, Randy. Turn right at that mailbox up there.” She looked back at Molly, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “You’re doing just fine.”