The Widows of Braxton County

by Jess McConkey

  Kate balanced the box with one arm while her hand flew to her face.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said dismissing Kate’s stricken expression. “We’ve all had it.”

  “You? I thought you were on the staff?”

  “I am now, but I wasn’t two years ago when I first came here. Thanks to Rose and Dr. Mike, I received the help I needed and ended it with my loser boyfriend. After my head got screwed on straight, they offered me a position and I took it.” She smiled over at Kate. “Coming here was the best thing I could’ve done.”

  “Wait a second—I thought Rose was just a volunteer.”

  “She does work as a volunteer, but she’s also the founder of Essie’s House and still serves on the board.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Umm-hmm. Her daughter, Annie, is on the board, too.”

  Kate looked up at the big house. “So Rose started this?”

  “Yup, with a bequest from her grandmother, Esther Winter Lloyd.” Rebecca tilted her head and watched Kate. “You don’t know who she was, do you?”

  “Ah, I know she was Rose’s grandmother,” Kate replied sheepishly as she entered the house.

  “The kids are going to love this,” Rebecca said, placing her box next to the others and eyeing all the toys. She faced Kate. “I take it Rose didn’t say much about Essie?”

  “Not really—she’s talked about what an amazing woman she was, and I assumed she was a wife and mother like the other women of her time.”

  Rebecca smiled broadly. “She was, but there’s more to her story than that. She was also one of the first women to practice law in the state, later serving as a judge. She was an early suffragette and a well-known author in her later years.”

  “Wow,” Kate exclaimed.

  Rebecca gave a knowing nod. “She knew the President and Mrs. Roosevelt, too. Eleanor even once quoted Essie in a speech.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “Darn right it is.” Rebecca made a slow turn. “This house is just one of her legacies. We have some of her books in the reading room if you’d like to take a look at them?”

  “I would. Thank you.”

  A woman’s laugh echoed from the kitchen.

  “Come on,” Rebecca said with a nod toward the back, “we’d better help with lunch.”

  After they’d finished eating and cleaning up, Kate excused herself and wandered off to the reading room. The women had been pleasant during lunch, but Kate noticed their unease at having a stranger in their midst. Leaving them alone with Rose would give them time to chat freely.

  The reading room was one of the largest in the house. The oak-paneled walls gleamed golden in the light spilling in from the high casement windows. Tall bookcases climbed toward the ceiling, their shelves packed with books and games.

  As Kate browsed those shelves, she found works by everyone from Nora Roberts to Jane Austen. One section was devoted to women’s history, and it was there she found Essie’s books. After removing one from the shelf, she flipped it open. The first page was an acknowledgment:

  To my mentor, Johan Bennett

  Another unfamiliar name, Kate thought as she browsed through the pages. Evidently, she needed to take a crash course on women’s literature of the early twentieth century.

  “I see you found one of Essie’s books,” Rose said, coming to stand beside her.

  “Why didn’t you mention that Essie was famous?”

  Rose chuckled. “I don’t think she was ever considered famous. More likely, the men of her era saw her as a pain in the backside. Something that, I might add, gave her no small pleasure.”

  “She was an attorney and a judge?”

  “Yes,” Rose replied, the pride shining in her eyes. “Compared to her, I’m an underachiever.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “May I?” she asked, holding out her hand. After taking the book from Kate, she thumbed to its back pages, then gave it back to Kate. “Here’s her picture.”

  The photograph was a side view showing a woman with a strong profile. Her hair was brushed back in waves away from her face and a pair of rimless glasses sat perched on her nose. Her lips were curved in a half-smile as if she had a secret no one else knew.

  “She looks determined.”

  “That she was,” Rose declared, “but it was her voice that captured everyone’s attention. Very soft, but at the same time strong. I never saw her in court, but my mother had. She said Essie was a marvelous orator and could make a jury hang on her every word.”

  “It must have been difficult for her.”

  “It was. After attending Iowa Wesleyan College, she studied law at the University of Iowa. Women back then had to fight to get an education.”

  “Why the law?”

  “She was always close to her father. In fact he lived with her and my grandfather during the last years of his life.” Rose looked thoughtful. “I suppose she received her strong sense of justice from him.”

  “Not Johan Bennett?”

  Rose smiled slyly and took the book from Kate, opening it to the acknowledgment. “Ah yes, her mentor. I’m afraid that’s a story—”

  “Let me guess,” Kate asked with an arch of her eyebrow. “ ‘A story for another day’?”

  “You catch on quick, my girl.”

  Chapter 22

  Kate panicked as she pulled in Rose’s driveway. Joe was waiting for her. Rose caught the expression on her face.

  “Easy,” she said in a soothing voice. “He’s not going to be foolish enough to cause trouble here. Listen to what he has to say, but don’t let him talk you into leaving with him.”

  Taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, she stopped and both women got out.

  Rose was the first to speak. “I don’t expect any problems here, Joe,” she said sternly.

  His attention focused on a spot by his foot. “There won’t be,” he said. “I just want to talk to Kate.”

  She walked up and stood right in front of him, her small elderly body dwarfed by his. She drilled him with a steely expression. “That’s good, because I’m going to be watching out that front window. I’ll have my cell phone in one hand and my shotgun in the other. If you so much as touch her, we’ll see which one I use first.”

  “I understand,” he mumbled as Rose breezed past him and disappeared into the house.

  Kate leaned against the front of the Jeep. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Someone saw you driving through Dutton with Rose.”

  “That ‘someone’ sure sees a lot,” she replied sarcastically.

  Joe jerked his head toward the house. “I didn’t know you two were friendly.”

  “It’s a recent friendship.”

  “She always did like sticking her nose in other people’s business,” he said with a frown. “And—”

  “Hold it right there. I won’t stand here and listen to you trash her. If that’s what you intend to do, this conversation is over.” Kate pushed away from the Jeep.

  “Wait,” he called, holding up a hand. “Not another word about Rose.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I want you to come home.”

  Kate snorted in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me—after last night? No way.”

  “But you’re my wife and home is where you belong,” he argued.

  “I am your wife, but I’m not a prisoner, a whipping post, a doormat, or your mother’s servant.” She ran out of breath and inhaled sharply, then continued. “I’m done with all of it.”

  “But Ma—”

  She sliced the air with her hand. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any more excuses about your mother. And,” she said, moving forward, “I won’t be touched in anger.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s what you said the last time. So what?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “This time you really mean it?”

  “I do . . . I do mean it,” he insisted. “Please come home.”

  He looked so humb
led that a portion of Kate’s resolve weakened, then she remembered the woman at Essie’s House. The one with the yellowing bruise on the side of her face. Next time she could look like that. Maybe it would be a busted lip or a broken bone.

  “I’m sorry, Joe, I can’t. Not until I’m sure that you have your temper under control.”

  “But how will you know if we aren’t living together?”

  She thought of an idea that should have occurred to her a long time ago.

  “I’ll continue to stay here, but we’ll go to counseling together.”

  “No,” he exclaimed, “I’m not spilling my private life to some shrink.”

  “Okay,” she said as she moved by him, “this discussion is over.”

  His hand shot out to grab her wrist, but stopped short of touching her.

  “Good,” she said, glancing down at his hand still extended toward her, “you remembered the shotgun.”

  “Kate. Please.”

  With a shake of her head, she kept moving and didn’t respond. Once inside the house, she shut the door with a sigh and collapsed against it, her knees shaking.

  From the window, she saw him pacing back and forth across the yard. Why wasn’t he leaving? Finally, he stopped and shoved his hands on his hips.

  “Okay,” he yelled at the house. “I’ll go. You set it up then let me know.” He whirled, jumped in his truck, and a minute later took off down the road.

  Rose stepped out of the living room, and true to her word, she had her cell phone and a shotgun.

  “You wouldn’t have shot him, would you?” Kate asked, her eyes focused on the gun.

  “If necessary,” Rose replied, opening the gun and taking out the shells, then held one up. “Rock salt—I’d have peppered his butt with it.” She grinned slightly. “It doesn’t kill, but it stings like hell.”

  A few weeks later, Kate sat in her Jeep, staring at the door to their therapist’s office. Joe had kept his word and was attending weekly sessions with Dr. Mike, the therapist from Essie’s House, but he’d always sidestepped the doctor’s questions. Would today be different?

  Her own life had fallen into an easy rhythm. Doc had come through for her and given her additional hours, but she had Tuesdays off. Those days she spent with Rose at Essie’s House. At Rose’s suggestion, she was using her knowledge about money to help the women there with budgeting, learning how to save, and getting out and staying out of debt. She was amazed at their determination to make a better life. It made Kate feel good to help these women learn how to secure a stable financial future for themselves and their families once they left Essie’s.

  The sudden ringing of her cell phone broke into her thoughts. She picked it up and saw Doris’s number flashing on the screen.

  “Hey,” she answered.

  “Hey yourself,” Doris said. “What are you doing?”

  A small sigh escaped Kate’s lips. “Waiting for Joe.”

  “At Dr. Mike’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sound discouraged.”

  “I am . . . in a way.”

  “But last week you said you thought the therapy was helping.”

  Kate ran a hand over the steering wheel as she framed her words. “It is working for me. Dr. Mike’s very good at forcing me to face things about myself and my life that I’d rather forget.” She shook her head. “His approach reminds me of root canal—painful but necessary.”

  Doris chuckled. “But that’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah. Until these sessions, I never realized how I’d let my grandmother’s opinions color my world. Somewhere deep inside, I felt abandoned, so I bought into every negative thing she said about me, my parents, my friends. I was so desperate for her approval that I let her words control me.”

  “And then along comes Trudy and you do the same thing.”

  “Exactly,” Kate exclaimed. “And I’m done living my life to please others. I’m done trying to fit in and make others like me.”

  “So why are you discouraged?”

  “I may be feeling better about myself, but I’m not about my marriage,” she replied softly. “Joe hasn’t once taken responsibility for any of his actions.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Her voice brightened. “But give it time. Joe’s old school and it’s hard for a man like him to talk about his emotions. I know he loves you.”

  “Unless things change . . .” Kate’s voice trailed away. “It’s not going to be enough.”

  The sound of a truck pulling into the parking lot caught her attention.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said quickly. “Joe’s here.”

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kate threw her cell phone in her purse, and with heavy steps joined Joe, waiting at the door to the office building.

  Kate sat silently and listened to Dr. Mike pepper Joe with questions.

  “What was the relationship between your parents?” Dr. Mike asked.

  “Normal,” Joe answered with a shrug. “Ma stayed home like she was supposed to do and Pa farmed.”

  “Who defined what your mother’s role would be?”

  “Pa.”

  “Was your mother allowed to make any decisions?”

  “Not really. Her job was to raise me and take care of the house.”

  “Your relationship with your father . . . did he take you fishing, to baseball games, or engage in any father-son activities?”

  “Nope. You have a cushy office job, Doctor. Strictly nine to five,” he answered with a superior grin. “My job is twenty-four/seven. We don’t have time for a lot of pointless pleasures.”

  “Did he attend your school functions such as your football games?”

  “Like I said, we didn’t have time for stuff like that,” Joe replied with a glimmer of resentment.

  “So no going to the movies, taking family vacations, anything like that?”

  “I went over to eastern Iowa once with Pa to buy a new bull.”

  “Did you have fun with your father on that trip?”

  Joe shrugged. “It was okay.”

  “Did your father ever show any affection?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did he ever hug you? Did he ever praise you?”

  “Pa didn’t believe in all that mushy stuff.” Joe shifted his weight on the couch. “He wanted me to grow up to be a man, not a wimp.”

  “You equate affection with weakness?”

  Joe’s face reddened. “Of course not, but there’s a time and a place for it.”

  “Did you see affection between your father and mother?”

  “I guess,” he replied, his hands clenching and unclenching.

  “Can you tell me of an instance where you witnessed your parents showing their love for one another?”

  “I was a kid. I didn’t pay attention to stuff like that.”

  “How did they resolve their differences?”

  Joe’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Arguments. Did your parents argue?”

  “Not that I recall,” Joe answered, staring at a spot over Dr. Mike’s shoulder.

  “I find that hard to believe. All couples have disagreements.”

  Sitting next to Joe, Kate felt the tension pouring off of him in waves.

  “What’s all this stuff about my parents? It doesn’t have anything to do with my marriage.”

  “Yes, it does. Our parents set an example that can carry over into our adult relationships. We often subconsciously choose to mimic that example. Or we deny what we’ve seen and choose something completely different.” Dr. Mike tapped a pen on his desk. “I’m trying to figure out which course you picked, Joe.”

  “That’s a bunch of bullshit,” Joe exclaimed.

  “What happened when your father became angry?”

  “Nothing,” Joe spit out.

  “I don’t believe you,” Dr. Mike replied in a steady voice.

  Kate jumped as Joe exploded and shot
to his feet. He began to pace the room.

  “You want to know what happened?” he yelled. “He beat the shit out of whoever was handy! There—satisfied?” He marched over to the window and looked out with his back to the room. “Ma got the worst of it. She was always trying to protect me and took the beatings that I earned.” He braced a hand against the wall. “Once, after I’d done something stupid, he came at me with his belt, but Ma got in his way.” His head dipped. “He whipped her so bad that it almost put her in the hospital.”

  After Joe’s outburst, the room echoed with silence, and Kate dared not break it.

  “What did you do?” Dr. Mike finally asked in a quiet voice.

  “I tried to help her . . . went at the old man kicking and hitting . . . but he brushed me away like I was no more than a fly. Hell, I was just a kid.” He took a ragged breath. “Then he beat Ma all the harder.” His shoulders began to shake. “I hated that bastard and was glad when he died. Now I’m becoming just like him.”

  Kate saw the scene in her mind—an angry man, a cowering woman, and a little boy trying to help his mother. Her heart ached and she made a move to go to her husband, but Dr. Mike waved her back.

  The minutes ticked by and the only sound in the room was Joe’s muffled sobs. Finally, Dr. Mike spoke.

  “It made you feel powerless, didn’t it?”

  Joe nodded.

  Dr. Mike waited for Joe to compose himself. When Joe had turned to face them, he continued. “We do have a choice, Joe. We can take responsibility for our feelings and for our actions, then change them. You don’t have to repeat the mistakes of the past. Do you understand?”

  Joe wiped his face and nodded again. He crossed the room and knelt before Kate.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, tears still shimmering in his eyes.

  This time she believed him.

  Chapter 23

  Kate sat on Rose’s front porch watching the storm clouds roll across the distant horizon, and the air was thick with moisture. They’d have rain by noon, she thought as she sipped her coffee. At one point during the day, she needed to go into the office and finish a few last-minute statements, but for now, she wanted to sit and enjoy the quiet.