by Kelli Kimble
Bonds that Beckon
Daughters of Anubis
Book 1
Kelli Kimble
Copyright © 2020 by Kelli Kimble
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Victoria Cooper of Victoria CooperArt
Editing by Abigail Stefaniak of AbbeyEdits
Chapter 1
September 4, 1962
Salvation, West Virginia
Thwap, thwap, thwap.
Great. A flat tire. I clenched the handlebars as I skidded to an uneven stop. My parents were going to be angry if I was home late again. But what could I do? I had no choice but to push my bike home.
I dismounted. The school was only half a block back, but it was deserted. There wasn’t going to be any help from my classmates. Not that they would help me, anyway. The metal tire rim made an unpleasant grinding sound against the sidewalk as I pushed it towards home. I’d made it nearly to the next corner when a noisy Ford pickup came to the stop sign.
I couldn’t see the occupants, but the truck stayed idling as I came up alongside. The passenger window was down revealing only a driver, who leaned towards me, incredibly white teeth flashing in the dim interior.
“Excuse me, miss. Do you need assistance?” His voice was smooth, but his words were clipped and formal, as though he weren’t used to speaking English.
I set my bike stand. He was a stranger, but I’d lived here for less than a year so that wasn’t surprising.
“That’s very nice of you, but unless you have a spare bicycle tire or a patch,” I pointed at the offending bike, “I’ll just have to push it home.”
“It’s getting dark. Do you live nearby? In town?”
“Yes.”
One moment he was in the truck, his hand draped with casual ease over the steering wheel, and the next he was handing me my school bag and hoisting my bike into the bed of his truck.
“Oh,” I said.
“Allow me to escort you home,” he opened the passenger door and held it.
“Um,” I took a hesitant step forward.
“Come, come. It’s getting dark.” He smiled. The brightness of his teeth was emphasized against his bronze-toned skin. He definitely wasn’t from around here.
“Do you live nearby?” I asked.
“Yes. On the old Thompson farm. Do you know it?”
Even though it was September, the air was chilly without the sun to warm it. I hadn’t thought to bring a sweater and I shivered.
“Please. You are cold. I’ll deliver you safely home.” He hovered his hand near my shoulder, herding me towards the truck cab. I hesitated only a second more, then stepped into the truck. He closed the door, rounded to his side, and we were moving towards town.
“We have not properly met, but I believe I’ve seen you. Aren’t you a cheerleader?” he asked.
“Yes.” He was wearing overalls, and a faded cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, revealing a gold cuff bracelet on each wrist. He had a faded ball cap over dark hair that hung unfashionably long over his shirt collar. I tried to guess his age. 35? 50? It was impossible to tell. “My name is Iris Hond.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Iris. Please call me Anu.”
“Oh, no, sir. I’ll need to call you by your last name.”
He laughed. “Then call me Mr. Anu.”
“Did you move here recently, Mr. Anu?”
“Yes, in the spring. The Thompsons decided to retire. The farm is down that way.” He pointed up Sycamore street as we drove through the intersection.
“That’s about the time we moved here, too.”
“Ah, we have something in common.”
The truck approached the center of town. I pointed ahead to the Elm Street intersection. I didn’t live far down the street, and anyway, he’d already gone out of his way to help me. “You can drop me there, please.”
He nodded and pulled over. When the truck was stopped, he climbed out and had my bicycle on the ground before I could even get the door open.
“Miss Hond, I wonder if I could trouble you to ask some of your classmates a favor.”
He leaned the bicycle towards me, and I set my bag into the basket. “Of course,” I said. I didn’t mention that most of my classmates regarded me as an intruder and avoided me.
“I need some help, out on my farm. Do you know any boys who wouldn’t mind some hard work?”
I frowned. “Is it a paid position?”
“Oh, yes. 50 cents an hour to start. Does that seem fair?”
That caused my frown to deepen. That was a lot of money. Why did he need a boy? I chewed the inside of my cheek. How could I get my hands on this job?
“What if I couldn’t find a boy? Would a girl do?”
He touched his index finger to his temple. “I suppose a girl could do the work. I don’t know that a girl would want to.”
“And you live at the Thompson farm?” I was going to have to find out where that was.
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Early Saturday morning. Seven.”
“I’ll see if I can find someone. Thank you for the ride.”
“Of course.” He touched his hand to his forehead and bowed slightly. “Miss Hond.” He turned and got into the truck, waving as he moved away from the curb. I pointed the bicycle up Elm Street. At least I could see my destination from here.
I was thinking about how to convince my parents that an odd job at a farm owned by a foreigner they didn’t know would be a good idea when someone shouting my name interrupted.
“Hey, Iris.” I looked over my shoulder. A station wagon packed deep with boys had pulled up next to me. The windows were open, and a boy’s upper torso was hanging out of the front passenger side. “Iris, over here.”
“Yes?” I recognized him as a football player, though I couldn’t quite place his name.
He jerked his chin at my bike. “What’s in the basket?” Inside the car, a round of hooting and catcalls went around. He waved a hand to shush them.
“My school things,” I said.
“Can I help you carry your . . . ‘school things’ home?” It was a polite request, but he said ‘school things’ like they were something dirty.
“I only live right over there,” I said. “But thanks.” I resumed pushing my bicycle, putting my back to him.
The door creaked and slammed, and he jumped onto the sidewalk beside me. A new round of noise erupted from the car. I cut a glare at them over my shoulder, but they didn’t stop.
“That’s a bad bit of luck.”
“What’s a bad bit of luck?”
“The tire,” he said. “What happened?”
“It’s just flat.”
Without asking, he took hold of the handlebars. “I can get it.”
I dropped my hands. The boys in the car escalated to a sound like cats in heat. I bit my lip. “That really isn’t necessary. I can get it.”
“I don’t mind.”
“My father will mind. It’s not gentlemanly to bring a car full of screeching boys to a lady’
s home.”
He turned and said something I couldn’t make out towards the car. The driver leaned across to the passenger window, making a rude gesture before yelling, “gotta go, boys. Gary is on the prowl.” He punctuated his statement by howling as he slammed on the gas and the car whirled away, turning down a side street and out of sight.
Even in the dusky light, Gary’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry about that,” he said.
I didn’t accept his apology. I started walking and he matched my pace.
“This is a nice street. How do you like it here? You’re from Georgia, right?”
I frowned. I wanted him to leave me alone. “Yes, I’m from Georgia.”
He continued, his eyes on my school bag in the basket. “Were you a cheerleader there? In Georgia?”
“Yes.” We’d arrived at the walk to my front door. Daddy’s car wasn’t in the drive. I plucked my school bag from the basket. “You can just leave that there,” I said, pointing to the side yard as I turned up the sidewalk. It was too narrow for two people to walk abreast unless someone trod on my mother’s prized mums. I was counting on him being smart enough not to do that.
“But –”
“Thank you for pushing my bicycle. I’ll see you around school. Bye!” I dashed inside, shutting the heavy wooden door behind me. I put my back against it, holding it closed, and let out a sigh.
Mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Iris. What are you doing, closing the door? It’s hot as Hades in here. Open it.”
“No, please,” I said. I kept my foot in front of it as I leaned over and peeked out the sidelight window. Gary was still standing there, gawping up at our house while he held the handlebars of my bicycle. “I don’t want that boy to see me.”
She leaned over my shoulder and looked, too, not being careful with the curtain.
“He’s handsome. Why are you leaving him to stand there?”
“Being handsome doesn’t automatically make him a good person, mother.”
“I know that,” she said. “Who do you think taught you that? It’s just all I can tell about him from here.” She snapped the curtain back in place and returned to the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready as soon as your father gets home – and don’t think I didn’t notice you were late.”
“That boy made me late,” I said. Later than I would have been, anyway.
There was a rumble and the crackle of gravel as Daddy’s car pulled into the driveway. He got out and approached Gary, who was still staring at our house. Gary gave a broad smile, shook Daddy’s hand and gestured towards the bicycle.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Mother,” I went to the kitchen. “Please don’t let Daddy invite that boy for dinner. He’s out there talking to him. I don’t want to . . .”
Mother cut me off. “I won’t have that, Iris. If your father wants to invite the devil himself inside our home, then you’ll smile, offer hospitality, and make polite conversation. Like a proper young lady.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. As soon as she turned to tend her pan on the stove, I ran from the kitchen and upstairs to my room. I was halfway up the stairs when she realized I’d left the kitchen and started calling for me.
“I’m going to freshen up,” I yelled over the banister. Just as I closed my bedroom door, Daddy came in, still chatting in an amicable tone with Gary. Why was it he could talk to my father like a regular human being, but only had questions for me about my pom-poms?
I dropped my school bag on the floor and slouched onto my bed. It wouldn’t be long before Daddy called me downstairs to entertain Gary. My parents were desperate for me to make friends in our new town, and though I’d initially tried, I felt out of place here. It was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I wasn’t the same as them.
“Iris, come down and see who I found outside,” Daddy called up the steps.
I punched my pillow square in the middle. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll be right there.”
I didn’t bother to freshen myself. Downstairs, Daddy and Gary were waiting for me in the parlor.
“Oh, hello, Gary. I thought you’d gone home.” I flashed him a smile good enough to fool Daddy and sat in the chair even though Gary had left a spot beside him on the sofa.
“I met your father outside. Turns out he’s quite the football fan.”
“Did you know Gary is on the football team?” Daddy asked.
“Of course,” I said. “And he’s a valuable player.”
Gary beamed. I wanted to kick him in the shin. Daddy liked to watch football on television. I’d grown up at his knee, just as excited by it as he was. I knew all the rules, even the obscure ones, and the players’ names and statistics. Cheerleading is as close as I’ll ever get to the field.
“With a pretty girl like you cheering for us, how else would I play?”
Daddy laughed. “I’ll leave you two youngsters to catch up. Mother says dinner is almost ready. Gary is going to be dining with us.” He patted Gary on the shoulder as he left the room.
“You should be head cheerleader,” he said. “You’re the best one.”
I frowned. The other girls already resented that I’d replaced one of their friends on the squad. “Oh, you don’t have to say that,” I said. “I’m just excited to have the opportunity.”
“If you’re not the best,” he leaned forward, beckoning me towards him as if he wanted to tell me a secret. “Then you’re the prettiest.” He was staring at my lips.
I realized too late that he was moving in closer with the intent to steal a kiss. I turned my head. “I think my mother is calling,” I said, just as his lips landed with a squish on my cheek.
“Gary, what are you doing?” I admonished, standing and wiping his slobber off my face.
He leaned back into the sofa, looking up at me with his eyebrows knit together. I supposed he wasn’t used to girls who didn’t want to kiss him.
“Iris, time for dinner,” mother called.
“I . . . pardon me, please,” Gary said. He stood, but instead of going to the front door, he went straight to the dining room.
I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to leave easily.
“Iris,” Daddy said. “Your mother called you to the table.”
“Yes, sir.” I went to the table, placing my napkin in my lap and using all the proper manners I’d been taught. I participated in the conversation but only spoke when spoken to and never with anything more than a minimal response.
Mother was shooting daggers at me over the mashed potatoes, and Daddy nudged me under the table more than once. But I refused to be forced into anything more than basic niceties with this boy.
Gary finally got the hint, and when dinner was over, he politely declined Daddy’s offer to discuss the football teams’ defensive strategy.
“That’s very kind of you, sir. But I really need to study my playbook. Friday night’s game is going to be a big one.”
Daddy admired him, even in his deflection, clapping him on the shoulder. “A hard-working lad. That’s a good thing to come by, Iris.” He drifted with Gary towards the front door and invited him to stop over any time he liked. I was still in the dining room, clearing the table with gritted teeth.
A moment after the door clicked shut, Daddy was at my elbow.
“How will you ever make friends when you treat people like that?” he demanded.
“Daddy, he didn’t want to make friends. He wanted to kiss me.” My voice went up, and my hand swiped at my cheek where Gary’s lips had made contact. “He tried to, in the parlor. Just as soon as you were out of the room.”
“Iris,” mother admonished. “A lady doesn’t speak of such things.”
“Mother,” I said. “He tried to kiss me when I didn’t want him to.”
“All right, now, that’s enough. Both of you. Iris, I want you to really think about what happened this evening. If you want to make friends – and you claim that you do – then you’ve got to take the initiative t
o put yourself out there. It’s going to be uncomfortable. You might have to be kissed a few times or dance with someone or share a soda when you don’t want to. But these things can’t be helped. If you want people to like you, then you’ll just have to be . . .” He waved his hands around me in a vague, searching gesture. “More likable.”
“Clark,” Mother said.
Daddy dropped his hands to his side and his face relaxed. “Cinnamon Bun. We know you can be happy here. I know it isn’t Georgia, and everything here is unfamiliar. But this is where we are now.”
Ah, an opening.
“About Georgia,” I said, wrapping my arms around Daddy’s middle. “What if I went to college there? I’ll be graduating in the spring, and I’ve got to think about my future.”
“Absolutely not,” Daddy said. He stepped closer and looked down into my eyes. Daddy was taller than me but only by a few inches. At the moment, those few inches felt like a mile. He smiled, but his eyebrows hunched up. “Cupcake, I’m sorry, but I don’t have that kind of money. When you graduate, you’re going to have to look for work.”
“But I’ve never had a job before,” I said.
“I know.” He smoothed a hand over my hair. “You can live here as long as you want, and we’ll house and feed you. But you’re going to need pocket money at the very least. Only a job can get you that.”
“What if I could get a job now?” Mother hovered behind him with a disapproving expression. I quickly added, “To gain experience. Even an odd job would be good.”
“Oh.” He blinked three times, a gesture he made when he was considering something with consequences. “All right. I think that’s smart. A girl your age should learn some responsibility. I don’t see why you couldn’t get a job right now, if it doesn’t interfere with your schoolwork or cheerleading.”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course. Yes. I like this idea.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” I gripped him in a tight hug, then kissed his cheek. “You won’t regret it.”
Chapter 2
Saturday morning, I put on an old pair of dungarees and a shirt that I’d dug out of Mother’s rag-bag. I didn’t have boots, but I put on last year’s school loafers and went to the kitchen for breakfast.
