by Diane Guest
Jake Shepherd's face was so close to her own that the stench of his breath brought tears to her eyes. "I ain't movin' from this spot until that little puke-face comes back here. And then, I'm takin' him."
"I'm afraid you don't understand, Mr. Shepherd," said Susannah. "Because you see, if you try anything…" God forgive me, she thought, "because if you try to take Matthew away, I'll shoot you dead. Make no mistake. I'll shoot you dead."
Jake was as furious as he had ever been in his life. Every instinct screamed out to him to beat this bitch, to smash her face in, to squeeze her head until he had crushed her skull, to kick her until there wasn't a bone left whole in her body. But again, the tiny piece of common sense still left in his brain mastered his instinct, told him he'd be in for big trouble, bigger than he could handle, if he touched her. So he backed away. Without another word he turned and left, consumed with blind rage and unaccustomed frustration.
John Meade had come out of Edwin's room just in time to hear her last words. "What in the name of all that's holy have you gotten yourself into now?" John asked. "Sweet hell, Susannah, aren't things bad enough around here without that?" He pointed to the retreating figure, moving so fast that he was almost out of sight now.
Susannah leaned against the door frame and exhaled. "He's more horrible than I had imagined," she said. "I'm not going to let him take Matthew away. Not ever."
"You may have no choice, Susannah. Matthew is his son. The law is on his side—"
"Damn the law, and I mean that, too. What kind of a law is it that allows a beast like that to abuse a ten-year-old child?" She was so angry it brought tears to her eyes, which she brushed away with a disgusted sweep of her hand. "That little boy is not going to be hurt again, John. I don't care what I have to do, but I will protect him."
"Jake Shepherd may not come himself, Susannah. He may send the sheriff. Then what will you do, shoot the sheriff?"
Susannah walked down the hall, and John couldn't help but smile at the stiff line of her back. "I don't know what I'll do," she said over her shoulder. "I may have to take Matthew away. I don't know yet." She stopped and turned back to John. "Maybe it won't be worth it to him. Maybe he won't cause any problems. After all, he doesn't give a damn about the child."
"Don't fool yourself, Susannah. It'll be worth it. Jake Shepherd doesn't take kindly to people who interfere with him. Or with his kin."
"I know I'm letting myself in for trouble, John. I could never sleep another night wondering what that pig was doing to Matthew if I let him go back. As long as I have breath to fight, I'm not giving Matthew up. Not ever."
John knew there was nothing more to be said. He changed the subject. "Edwin asked me the most peculiar thing when I was in there," he said.
"What?"
"He asked me how many people were over in the church praying for forgiveness. He had wanted to go over, but you wouldn't let him." He paused. "He told me that you tied him into bed last night. Asked me to loosen the ropes."
Susannah's eyes flew open wide and then she began to laugh. She grabbed John's hand, and a phrase popped into her mind from a book she had just read the children. " 'In THAT direction,' " she said, pointing in the direction Jake Shepherd had just gone," 'lives a Hatter; and in THAT direction,' she gestured toward Edwin's room, 'lives a March Hare. Visit either you like, they're both mad'."
They laughed together, but Susannah found herself wishing that she, like Alice in the book, might awaken from this curious dream and find herself back home again.
It wasn't until the saloon door refused to open that Jake Shepherd remembered it was Sunday. Christ. His temples were still pounding, a combination of last night's carousing and the stinking scene over at the bitch's house.
He felt a crushing urge to take her face in his hands and squeeze her brains out and watch her beg for mercy. He took pleasure in watching things suffer.
Jake Shepherd was cruel because he was still the primordial beast prowling in the darkness just beyond the fires of civilization. When he was enraged, he became a wild animal with no conception of the value of life, attacking without reason, never turning back, never feeling regret for any of his actions.
As he thought about Susannah Snell, the abysmal savage in him triumphed over that small portion of his mind that represented civilized man, and, lowering his head between his shoulders, he started for home.
Bertha lay on the narrow bed. Her water had broken and she knew from the pains she had been experiencing for the past few hours that her time was coming. She accepted it in the same way she accepted any bodily function, with no emotional reaction.
So involved was she in forcing all of her abdominal muscles to expel the fetus that she never heard her husband come in until the bulk of her was lifted from the bed and thrown violently against the wall.
"What the hell do you mean lyin' around here in broad daylight, you lazy slut."
Bertha sagged breathless against the wall. "The baby is coming," she said. She offered it not as an excuse, but merely as a point of information.
"Who the hell gives a damn, I'd like to know? Probably isn't even my brat, you whorin' old bitch." He sat down at the table. "Get me a beer."
She did as he asked, every instinct telling her to get out, to save herself, but she couldn't. Even as a whipped dog slinks back to lie at the feet of his tormentor, Bertha turned and sat back on the edge of the bed. The pains were close together now, more intense, the periods of rest between each contraction only a few breaths long. She dared not close her eyes, even though she was tired to the bone, but sat and watched him, tense, terrified.
"What're you staring at, old lady?" He had finished the beer almost in one gulp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he lumbered to his feet and got himself another. "Goddamned son-of-a-bitch of a brat of yours has gone and done it now," he snarled. " 'Matthew's working for us, now,' " he said in a whining imitation of Susannah Snell. The words were slow to penetrate her cloud of pain.
"Where is he?" she asked dully.
"How the hell do I know, you fat-ass? All I know is that that bitch says he ain't never comin' back here." He opened his mouth to laugh, but the sound that came out was barely human. "That's what she thinks, the fancy bitch."
Bertha experienced such a sharp pain that she let out a moan, low in her throat.
Jake walked over to where she sat and smashed her across the side of the head, knocking her back on the bed. "She don't know who she's dealing with when she threatens Jake Shepherd." His eyes were lit now with a murderous, irrational glow. He grabbed a fistful of Bertha's hair and pulled her off the bed with such a force that he nearly ripped her scalp from her head. He held her upright, his hand tangled in her hair, and drove his fist squarely into her face, smashing her nose into formless pulp.
She collapsed like a rag doll, but did not fall. Instead, she hung, puppetlike, the blood running down her face and off the end of her chin, suspended by the hair he still gripped in an iron fist. "That Snell bitch. She'll pay," he panted, and flung his wife to the floor. As she fell, heavily, full on her stomach, a new agony ripped through her and the shriek that she had kept a prisoner in her throat ripped out of her and exploded into the air. It was as if the house itself had screamed. She couldn't stop but now her screams were wordless, for she had no mouth, no lips left to form them. She tried to roll away, but her strength was gone.
"Shut up, goddamn you. You want the whole town to hear?" In his fury he began to kick her, in the ribs, in the face, one insane blow after another with all the force he could muster.
Long after she had ceased to feel anything, Jake Shepherd continued to kick her, and long after she had sunk into the pain-free depths of unconsciousness, the muscles of her body continued to work to expel the lifeless form that once had been a human infant.
It was one of the neighbors who came to get John Meade. Sarah Griggs and her husband had heard the screams, but hadn't gone to investigate until long after Sarah had seen Jake Shepherd leave the
house. Even then, Peter Griggs had told her to mind her own business. It was common knowledge that Jake Shepherd beat his wife and son, but, after all, it wasn't anyone else's concern.
But Sarah had been alarmed. She didn't like the Shepherds, but she was a Christian woman, and Bertha might be badly hurt. It wouldn't be the first time.
What John found in the shack stunned him. There was blood everywhere. But it wasn't the blood that brought the bile into his throat. It was the glistening wet thing that once had been Bertha's face. It no longer bore resemblance to anything human. Her features had been mangled, and her hair, matted and sticky, stuck out at grotesque angles.
John pulled a blanket up over her and was filled with a curious sense of relief that she would never again have to face such bestiality.
Pete Griggs was standing in the doorway, his eyes averted, his face chalky pale. "Better get the undertaker, Pete," John said. "There's nothing I can do here. I'll go down to the jail and see what can be done about catching up with Jake Shepherd."
"You figure he's still hanging around here?"
"He may not know that he killed her. Probably thinks he just taught her another good lesson."
"I sure would like to see him behind bars," Pete said. "He's a mean one. Mean clean through."
John took a last look around at what had been home to Matthew Shepherd. Thank God for you, Susannah, he thought. If it weren't for you, that boy might be lying here alongside his mother. His eye fell on a copy of Perils of a Destitute Boy. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. "Let's go," he said. "I need some fresh air."
John walked over to the Snell house and around to the backyard. The boys were back from their fishing trip and John was surprised to see that they had a new horse, and one whose fine breeding could not go unnoticed. I wonder where Susannah came up with that one, he said to himself. Certainly Edwin didn't buy it for them. Not the way he treasures a dollar. I hope it's not more trouble.
"Stay close to the house," he called to the boys, taking note that the clearing between the Snell house and the edge of the forest was more than a mile wide. If Jake was hiding in the woods, he'd have to do some fancy running to cross the distance unseen. Maybe with the fires burning the way they are, he'll be afraid to stay out there for long, he thought. All the same, I'll feel much better when he's locked up.
Everyone was in the kitchen except Susannah. "Where'd the horse come from?" he asked.
They all looked from one to the other. Then Abby said, "It's a long story, John. You'd better ask Susannah."
I knew it, John thought. More trouble. "Where is she?"
"She's in with Father," Hester said.
John walked over to the table where Mame was poking holes in the crusts of a dozen or more apple pies. "I baked these today," she said, "even though it's Sunday. It's so much cooler man it has been; I took it as a sign from God."
John hadn't even noticed the change in the weather. He took a deep breath. "It is cooler. There's even a bit of a breeze. But it doesn't seem to have cleared the smoke any."
"The only thing that will do that is rain," Abby said, "but you can get used to anything, if it lasts long enough." She crossed to the window and brushed her hand across the sill. "I've even gotten used to this everlasting soot. I don't think any of us will know how to behave once it does rain."
John nodded in agreement. Abby was right. They were all adjusting to the smoke and the soot and the fires. He wondered if maybe they shouldn't be so accepting. Just then the boys came in. He was surprised to feel a loosening of the muscles at the back of his neck now that they were safe inside. Hell, he thought, if I'm this nervous about Jake Shepherd, Susannah is going to go to pieces. "I think I'll look in on Edwin," he said, and left the kitchen.
Just as he was reaching for the doorknob, Susannah came out of Edwin's room. Her face was pale, but she managed a smile. "John, what brings you back here twice in one day?"
"I have to talk to you." He took her arm and led her into the keeping room that had been abandoned in favor of the summer kitchen. "But first, how is he?"
"You're the one who will have to answer that." She sat down on the edge of a chair, her spine stiff, her hands hidden beneath her skirts. "Can you imagine, John, that my hands are freezing? In this weather?"
"I was just informed that it's considerably cooler today, or hadn't you noticed either? A real October day."
"October. Where did the summer go?" She smiled. "Do you know that unless you say that on the first day of October every year, you'll have bad luck until the snow falls? Although, to tell the truth, I don't see how mine could get much worse." All of a sudden she remembered that John had said he had to talk to her about something. "Are you here to tell me that I'm about to have another go-round with Jake Shepherd?" "Could be. Bertha Shepherd is dead."
She felt a squeezing, as if something was trying to push her shoulders together. "Dead?" she said. "But how?"
"Jake killed her," John said. "He beat her to death sometime after he left here this morning."
Dear God, she prayed, give me strength. She felt as though she was in quicksand; all safe ground had vanished and she was being sucked down despite her efforts to resist. I won't panic, she said to herself. I won't.
John wanted to hold her hands but she was sitting on them. "Well, at least Jake Shepherd won't be coming here to get Matthew," he said.
"Is he in jail?"
"No. But he's no fool. He's not going to risk putting his neck in a noose over a child he never cared about." He said it, but neither of them believed it.
Susannah took a breath. "I guess I'd better have a talk with Matthew. He's going to have to stick pretty close to me for the next few days. Until they catch his father."
"Are you going to send him up to Morgan House?"
"No. I can't see that he would be affected by anything Edwin might do or say. After all, Edwin is not his father." She smiled. "Besides, we can run a lot faster than Edwin can." Brave talk, she thought. I wish I knew it was true. She shrugged. "In any event, it doesn't really matter what I think is best. I can't ask the Morgans to keep track of Matthew. I'm asking too much of them already."
John wondered if he would be so calm if he were faced with Susannah's problems.
The clock on the mantle struck five. It was a cheap, clanking sound. "One of Edwin's bargains," Susannah said. "Melodious, isn't it?"
"Are you going to be all right if I leave you now?" John asked.
"Yes. Of course I am." She smiled, a sweet smile, but it didn't erase the lines of strain around her eyes.
After John left, Susannah sat for a long while wondering what she should tell Matthew. She knew he had been witness to his father's acts of savagery. Nevertheless he was still a child, and more than anything she wanted to spare him as much of this nightmare as she could. "Oh, Matthew," she said to the empty room. "Where is the justice for the monstrous things that have been done to you?"
Matthew had not seen his mother since Friday, nor did he seem to miss her. Susannah knew that Bertha Shepherd had been neither protector nor mother to Matthew, that she had stood aside and had allowed her husband to perform acts upon the boy that would have curdled the blood of anyone with a trace of sensitivity, She could not pass judgment on the woman, for she knew that fear could turn day into darkest night; she also knew that Matthew did not depend upon his mother for anything, that she had been mother to him in name only.
She felt the need to take a walk outside and was halfway to the door when it suddenly struck her that maybe Jake Shepherd was out there waiting for her. Nonsense, she reassured herself. There's nothing to be nervous about.
She went into the kitchen, shoulders back, and headed toward the door. She reached for the latch and then, at the last instant, called over her shoulder, "Abby, will you come out for a walk with me?" The words were hardly out of her mouth when she called them back. "Never mind. This is something I have to do myself."
She went out into the yard where the shadows were long a
nd fading and a soft breeze rippled through the tall grass. Abby was left in the kitchen, hands on her hips, wondering what had come over her cousin.
The breeze that touched the grass at Susannah's feet had already traveled ten miles from the south. It had whispered through the tops of the trees on its way, calling to the fires that dozed on the surface of the forest floor and beneath. It was a gentle breeze, but it did its work well. It wafted down through the branches and breathed life into the flames that had been waiting so patiently.
The fires gained strength as the wind hurried them along. They moved swiftly through the dry underbrush, keeping close to the ground, not consuming the green foliage high above in the trees. Oh, no. They didn't want to do that. They merely wanted to dry it out so that later all it would take would be a spark to ignite it. But not yet. The time was not right. The wind was not strong enough.
They burned through the surface litter along the way, sending their glowing embers high up into the evening sky on the back of the breeze that moved in gentle waves toward Penobscot Landing.
Even as she opened the door to the boys' room where she had set up an extra bed for Matthew, she was still uncertain. The glow of the lantern she held in her hand fell across his bed. "Matthew? Are you awake?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Aaron? Ethan?" No answer. She turned back to Matthew. "Come into my room, Matt. I want to talk to you for just a few minutes." She tried to keep her voice light.
The dry, awful taste of fear came into Mart's mouth as he got up and obediently padded after her down the hall. She was going to send Boy away. He knew it had been too good to be true. And as quickly as the thought had come, it was replaced by one far worse—so awful, in fact, that he began to sweat. She was going to send him home. He had seen his father come up to the house that morning, but he hadn't asked about it, hoping desperately that if he said nothing no one else would.
