by Delia Latham
All year, Norah had longed to be amongst the crowd of high school students who gathered at Richie’s Time-Out Hangout. This would be her first chance to join her classmates. Her heart pounded her ribcage like a jackhammer. Even the simple act of drawing a breath required unusual effort. She shook an imaginary finger in her own face. This is ridiculous. No one gets this excited over a simple visit to the soda shop.
The short time with her friends flew by. A knot grew tighter in her stomach with every tick of the big clock over the exit. All too soon, she’d be forced to shed the natural role of a carefree teen and return to that of housekeeper, cook, and pretend mother to her energetic nephews.
With five minutes remaining before Norah’s dreaded departure, Cheryl Richie stopped at their table.
“You kids havin’ a good time?” The woman’s smile shone from the inside out.
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sure are.”
Norah bit at her lip but said nothing.
Then Cheryl spoke the words that would change her life forever. “I don’t suppose anyone here wants an after-school and weekend job?”
A couple of girls tittered. Boys jostled each other’s shoulders. Clearly, no one was interested in working.
“I do.”
Norah almost bit off her tongue. Had she said that out loud?
Cheryl grinned. “Yes! I need help desperately. Honey, why don’t you come in the office and talk to me for a minute?”
When she headed home at a near-run fifteen minutes later, Norah had a job waiting tables and operating the soda fountain when necessary at the Hangout—and a fight ahead of her, without a doubt. But Cheryl’s offer had shone a beacon of hope into her dark world. This job would be a lifeline—maybe even her only way to stay sane under her current circumstances.
Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin as she opened the gate at her brother’s house. She had every intention of winning what was sure to be a battle royal. Her entire future might depend on waiting tables at Richie’s.
~ Chapter 5 ~
Ruidoso
R
OUSING HERSELF, NORAH JUMPED UP and dashed to the bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face. She then moved around her small home, dusting the few pieces of furniture and setting out-of-place items to rights. Maybe the activity would get her mind off less happy times.
After an hour filled with “make-work” tasks, she fell into bed, exhausted.
God, please don’t let those days follow me into my dreams.
They didn’t, because she didn’t sleep. She closed her eyes but lay awake as another slideshow of memories came calling.
Echo City
Six weeks after starting the job at Richie’s, Norah stood before a justice of the peace and said “I do” to a man she barely knew.
Chandler Dunn walked into the Hangout shortly after noon on her second day of work. She noticed him—a nice-looking man maybe five or six years her senior, with a teasing twinkle in his eyes and a pleasing manner that charmed every unattached female within a city block. Norah even caught a woman or two who was very much attached giving the guy an inappropriate visual once-over.
But Chandler seemed to see only Norah. He claimed the same table every day—always in her section, and during her shift. Within a day or two, he’d talked her into sitting with him during breaks…and then lunch hours. Soon she was sneaking out to meet him after she tucked the boys in at night. They’d walk through the neighborhood streets, holding hands. He showed her the utmost respect, with only a sweet kiss now and then, or an arm around her waist. For the first time since she lost her father, Norah felt special. Treasured.
One night, they strolled to the park and stretched out on a blanket she had brought along for their clandestine meeting. They stared up at the stars—not touching, not talking, just comfortable together.
After a while, Chandler turned toward her and propped himself up on one elbow.
“Marry me, Norah. I’m crazy about you.”
Startled, she caught her breath. An unexpected burst of giggles followed. When she could speak, she shook her head. “Always the funny guy, aren’t you?”
He didn’t smile. “I’m not kiddin’, baby. Marry me. I got a little shack outside of town. It ain’t much, but it’s mine. I want you there with me. Let your brother’s wife find another workhorse.”
Norah’s fit of laughter died away. The guy was serious…dead serious.
She shook her head. “I’m too young. I have to finish school.”
“Then finish school.” He shrugged. “Does getting married mean you can’t do that?”
“You’d…let me finish?”
“’Course I would.” He laughed and chucked a finger under her chin. “How else you gonna get smart enough to make us a decent livin’?”
Norah managed a weak smile. Must he be a clown in the middle of a proposal? Oh, well, Chandler was who he was, and she liked him a lot. She couldn’t in all honesty say she loved him, but she would…eventually. Why, the man made her feel like royalty—a princess, to be coddled and catered to. How could she not fall in love?
His comment about Quinn hit home. Getting married would free her from the life of servitude she currently endured. In truth, it might be the only thing that could get her out of her brother’s house. As long as she lived under Quinn’s roof, her sister-in-law would use her as unpaid slave labor.
She’d miss the boys. Despite everything, she genuinely loved the little guys. But they were not her children, and—
“Say yes, baby.” Chandler pulled her close, bent his head and kissed the soft spot at the base of her neck. When he did that, she almost couldn’t draw breath. “Please say yes.”
She waited until he looked up, so she could lose herself in his copper-brown gaze. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you, Chandler.”
Ruidoso
Enough!
Norah silently screamed the word into the night. She was in love now, without a doubt, and the last thing she wanted was to rehash past mistakes. The legal system had erased Chandler from her history. Most of the time, she did the same. Was it the reoccurrence of romance in her life that dredged up old memories and made her too restless to sleep?
She dropped to her knees beside her bed. “God, I don’t want to go down that road again, even in my mind. I was wrong to abuse the sanctity of marriage by marrying a man I didn’t love. I was wrong to use him as an escape. I’m so sorry! Your Word says when we repent, You not only forgive us, You forget our sins and cast them into the sea. Oh, how I wish I too could forget my past. I know I can’t, and I know You have reasons for making that impossible, but please give me strength, God. You’ve forgiven me, and I think I have forgiven Chandler, but have I? Help me, Father, to forgive him as You forgave me.”
With a sigh, she slipped between the sheets and closed her eyes, hoping, praying for rest that did not come.
Echo City
She pleaded until James signed papers that granted her permission to marry as a minor and released her from his guardianship. He’d never mentioned it, but he had to be aware of how Quinn treated his little sister, and how desperate Norah was to be free of his wife’s tyranny.
After he signed his name, he laid down the pen and hugged her long and hard. When he stepped away, he didn’t speak for a time. A muscle worked in his jaw, and he blinked again and again. When he could, he nodded and worked up a weak smile. “You deserve to be happy, little sis.”
Turning to his new brother-in-law, he fixed Chandler under a stern, all-jokes-aside stare. “Make her happy, man. Do that, and you and me won’t ever have a problem. Hurt her, and you won’t like me much.”
Chandler held out a hand for the older man to shake. “Count on it, dude. I know a good thing when I see it, and your sister…she’s a real good thing.”
The simple, no-frills ceremony was over within five minutes, with James and a teary-eyed Carol Toms standing as witnesses. Norah becam
e Mrs. Chandler Dunn, and her new husband took her home to his “little shack outside of town,” where something unexpected took place.
Norah couldn’t surrender to a physical relationship. For a full week, she struggled with the issue.
Nestling in Chandler’s arms as they lay on the lawn, stargazing, made her happy. She loved holding hands while they snuggled on the couch watching a movie. Even when they lay in bed, kissing, murmuring sweet words in the darkness, things were fine…until passion rose, and Chandler’s need became obvious. That’s when things fell apart.
“I can’t! Chandler! Chandler, please…stop.” The words burst from her as if catapulted by pure terror. But her reluctance to consummate their union stemmed from something deeper than the natural fright most young women experienced upon a first physical relationship.
She didn’t want one. Not with him. Would she ever want that kind of intimacy, with anyone? Chandler was far from repulsive. Many women would be happy to take him off her hands. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to carry her enjoyment of his nearness all the way to physical completion.
Despite his obvious frustration, her young husband didn’t react with overt anger. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re so innocent, and this is a big step. No need to rush into it.” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “We’ve got a whole lifetime for that.”
Eight days after they were married, she returned to work, as did Chandler. “As much as I’d love for both of us to stay at home together all day, every day…you have a job, and I’d better go see if I still do too.” He dropped her off at work, gave her a quick kiss, and he was gone.
A job? Of course, she had assumed he had one. Most men did, didn’t they? Yet he’d never said where, or even if, he was employed—and he’d spent so much time at the diner while courting her. What kind of employer would allow a man that much time off?
He didn’t pick her up that night, nor did he call. A city bus got her only partway home, since Chandler’s house was outside the city limits by about a half mile. She hurried through that distance as fast as her tired body allowed, frightened by every hoot owl in the trees, and each rustle of small critters in the brush alongside the road.
Chandler wasn’t home. He didn’t show up until the wee hours of the next morning, so drunk he could barely walk. Norah helped him to bed, removed his shoes and socks and pulled the quilt over his shoulders. When he was settled, snoring loud enough to rattle the rafters, she closed the bedroom door and stretched out on the living-room sofa. Between the lumps in the ugly piece of furniture, and the worms of doubt and fear that wriggled through her brain, sleep was elusive.
Her errant husband nudged her awake the next morning, full of hugs and apologies. He sat at the kitchen table while she made coffee.
“I lost my job, baby, and I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I gotta think about more than just me. I’ve got you to take care of now.”
“So—since you have so much responsibility and all—you went drinking instead of looking for another job. Yeah, that was smart.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. Raised by a father who wholeheartedly disapproved of drunkenness, Norah reacted exactly as he would have—with impatience and a total lack of understanding.
Coppery eyes narrowed to slits, and something hard and cold turned them a deep, muddy brown. “What did you say?”
She set a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. “You heard me.”
He grabbed her arm in a tight, painful grip. Norah bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Don’t sass me, girl. I don’t like sassy women with big, smart-aleck mouths.”
She jerked free and walked out of the room. Her heart seemed determined to break through her ribcage, and her eyes stung, but she refused to let Chandler see her cry.
“Get back in here!” he roared. “Don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you.”
Norah ignored him. She stalked into the bedroom and locked the door, although he could probably break through the flimsy latch with one good kick. Then she sat on the side of the bed, breathing in short, frightened gasps.
What now?
She’d never been around men who drank, and certainly none who became threatening and violent. Her dad always treated women with respect, and he’d taught his sons to do the same. Chandler’s behavior terrified her.
To her intense relief, he stayed in the kitchen. In the tiny house, placing his location was not difficult. He stomped from coffeepot to table and back again. She cringed when he yelled out a loud, ugly curse. Something shattered with a crash that rattled the house. Norah’s hands flew to her mouth. Had he thrown something against the wall?
Still, he made no move to force his way into the bedroom…thank God. She didn’t want to look at him, much less let him touch her—even less now than before. Where was the gentle, laughing man who’d so easily wooed her into his world, and away from her friends, and family?
At last, exhaustion forced her to lie down, but her heightened senses tuned in to every tiny sound beyond the bedroom door. Despite the tension in her heart and soul, the previous night’s lack of sleep eventually made itself felt. Her eyelids refused to stay open and she drifted off to sleep.
A soft tapping awakened her. She sat up in bed, confused and disoriented.
“Norah? Baby, let me in. I’m sorry I got so mad. I promise it won’t happen again.”
She had no other option but to open the door. Maybe he really was sorry. Losing his job probably caused the entire, awful scene.
A glance at the clock increased her agitation. “Oh, no! I’m late for work.”
“Not to worry, sweetheart. I called in for you. Cheryl thinks you’re sick, and probably won’t be in tomorrow either.”
“You called my job and lied?”
He frowned. “Where’s the gratitude?”
She didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she dropped back against her pillow, turned her back and covered her head with the pillow.
Chandler’s promise proved short-lived. He left that night and returned home staggering drunk. And again the next evening. Where did he get money for booze? He hadn’t found a job. As far as Norah knew, he wasn’t even looking. Maybe he’d never been employed in the first place.
She returned to work. Even prior to getting married, she’d hoarded a little money away and told no one. After the wedding, she still kept her savings to herself. Why had she felt the need for secrecy? Maybe Mama really was watching over her. Somehow, she’d known not to tell her new husband that she possessed a single cent.
The pattern continued for another two weeks, with Chandler growing more and more physically abusive every time he returned home, totally soused. He started with simple meanness—twisting her arms behind her back, gripping them so tightly they bruised. Then came the night he lifted her off the floor and slammed her hard against the bedroom wall. She slid to the floor, unconscious. Sometime later she awakened, cold and shivering, to find him snoring on their bed. In a move that was starting to happen all too often, she crept into the other room and slept on the lumpy sofa.
The next evening, he returned home with fury already dark in his eyes. Norah took one look at him and backed away. A single thought screamed through her brain.
Get to the bedroom and lock the door…
He seemed to read her mind. With an evil leer, he bounded across the room, catching her by the shoulder before she could escape. How could a man so inebriated move with that kind of speed and agility?
“Where do you think you’re going, baby? I just got home. You’re my wife. Where’s my hug and kiss and…” He glanced around the bare, depressing room, sniffed like an animal seeking prey. “Where’s my hot dinner? And coffee—I want coffee.”
“Dinner is in the refrigerator. It got cold while I waited for you to come home. If you want it, heat it up.” She jerked her arm in a useless attempt to free herself. He tightened his grip until she bit her lip. No way would she give him the satisfaction of a whimper.
; “That’s not the way it works, little girl. You’ll heat it up for me. Now.” He pushed her toward the kitchen, maintaining a bruising hold on her arm. “And put on some coffee too.”
Norah opened her mouth to argue, but the unhinged expression deep in his gaze changed her mind. Something wild and eager lay there, as if he wanted her to cross him so he’d have a reason to ‘teach her a lesson’—one she had no doubt would be painful on her end. She did as he asked. For the moment, acquiescence seemed the safest recourse.
At the table, Chandler muttered insults while she warmed his meat and potatoes. He snarled when she slid the heaping plate onto the table. With glittering gaze fixed on her face, he swept his arm across the surface. The dish flew across the room and shattered against the wall. Glass and food fell in splats and tinkles onto the floor she’d scrubbed spotless mere hours ago.
“Chandler!” Norah whirled to face him, stunned. “Why did you—”
“Shut up. Clean that mess, woman.”
“I will not. You can clean your own mess.” She stormed from the room but didn’t get far.
He was on her before she heard him coming. Shocked, she yelped when he grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her back into the kitchen. He spoke through gritted teeth, his handsome face twisted into an ugly mask of fury. “I said… Clean. It. Up. Woman.”
Norah opened her mouth to argue, but again, something in the icy copper of his gaze told her to remain silent. She set to work. Chandler watched, emitting occasional bursts of loud, insane laughter. When she finished, rinsed out the dishcloth and hung it on a hook beneath the sink, he whistled and applauded.
