— Chapter 4 — Jobeth and Shawna tracked up the dirt road, exhausted from a long day’s travel. Sweaty and covered with dust, they stopped to rest, collapsing at the side of the powdery brown road. Breathing heavily, Jobeth wiped her grimy brow and glanced at Shawna. The wee child lay on her back with her eyes closed, her chest rising evenly up and down. A small hand rested on her sooty forehead. Color had quickly come to Shawna’s pale cheeks during the four weeks they had been on the run. Traveling had transformed the little girl into a healthy five year old. Jobeth sighed with contentment. She was not regretting her decision to take Shawna with her. From the moment she had decided that the little girl was to be her responsibility, the child had become dearer and dearer to her. In the month they had traveled together, Jobeth came to realize that she needed Shawna as much as Shawna needed her. Time wandering in the wilderness had faded the bruises that blackened Jobeth’s body; but the bruises that surrounded her heart were still painful and tender to the touch. If she had not been responsible for Shawna, she would have given up a long time ago. When she was too exhausted to walk any farther, Shawna would look at her with such hope and admiration that Jobeth would rather die than disillusion her young charge. So she trudged on, dragging both weary feet forward, always wondering where they would sleep that night. Since they had escaped from Father James and Mother Tomalina, the girls slept in barns and fields--any place that was warm and dry. Miraculously, the second week out on the road to freedom, Jobeth stopped soiling herself at night. Although she still had the nightmares of her parent’s death, they were not as frequent as they had been at the home of the Johnston’s. Jobeth lay down beside Shawna and looked up into the blue sky. There was not a cloud to be seen and it amazed her again how quickly the sunny day could turn dark and cold. The weather was changing; winter was just around the corner and they would need permanent shelter from the elements during the days when the earth would be covered with snow. Once she thought she had found a place to stay for the winter. It was their third week traveling and they had come across a small shack that seemed to be abandoned. There was a small wood stove that could keep them warm through the cold days and nights ahead. It had seemed perfect for their immediate needs. Jobeth happily roasted a rabbit that was caught earlier that morning in a snare she made. Shawna sat by her feet cleaning some wild onions and the remainder of their carrots. Jobeth was telling Shawna another story about her family, how her Pappy taught her how to make traps and how to live off the land Shawna listened wide-eyed, envious of Jobeth because she had known her parents, whereas Shawna had not. Jobeth seemed to have endless stories about her rugged frontier father and the woman he fell in love with. She was listening intently to Jobeth’s tales when the door of the shack crashed open—both girls jumped up with a start. “Hey yah brats. Git outta ma house!” bellowed a burly bearded man dressed from head to toe in furs. Both girls leapt to their feet and clung to each other. The rabbit, forgotten, fell into the fire. Spitting juicy fat, it began to burn. Shawna whimpered, hiding behind Jobeth’s skirt. Shaken by the sight of the first person she had seen since running away, Jobeth nearly lost her legs. Bile rose in her throat and she prayed she would not vomit. “I says, git!” the fur-clad man roared, barreling toward them. Startled into action, Jobeth grabbed Shawna and their bag of meager belongings and quickly swung them around the man and out the door. The man grunted and bent to remove the burning rabbit from the stove. He ripped off a side of meat from the tender carcass and popped the flesh into his mouth, smiling. He was hungry and the meat tasted good. Jobeth continued to run with Shawna clinging to her tightly. She ran until her lungs screamed out in pain and the weight of the small child’s arms around her neck began to feel like a noose slowing her down. Finally Jobeth stopped and placed the sobbing girl down. Unable to control the churning of her belly, Jobeth turned from Shawna and let go of the yellow acidic contents of her stomach. She continued to dry heave, her insides contracting painfully, and wondered again how they would go on. Drops of sweat beaded on Jobeth’s forehead, and she absently wiped them away with a shaking hand. The world wavered before her. Dropping painfully to her knees, she closed her eyes, willing the dizziness and nausea to go away. Hiccupping, Shawna crawled on all fours up beside Jobeth. “Was, he going to kill us?” “No, no one will ever hurt us again.” Jobeth struggled to whisper and began to vomit the foul-tasting bile again. Jobeth breathed deeply of the autumn air, clearing her mind briefly. It had been over a week since they encountered the fur-clad man. The problem of where they would stay for winter was still unanswered. “Come on, Shawna. We best be on our way. We need to find a place to sleep tonight,” Jobeth said. Shawna had fallen into a light sleep. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, yawning. Without a word of complaint, she stood up and dusted herself off. She sensed Jobeth was panicking, but did not say a word. Shawna had never been happier in her life. Jobeth showered love upon the lonely child, a love she had only experienced once before--with her sister, Donna. But even Donna’s love was shadowed by the coldness that enveloped the house of Mother Tomalina and Father James. To remember Donna was to remember how her sister died and the ugliness that shadowed their lives. So now she followed Jobeth, trusting and faithful. Now that she had experienced love and felt its healing power, Shawna could not live without it. They walked for what seemed like an hour when they saw a barn and a house up ahead. Most of the windows were broken and the place looked ready to fall down upon itself. “This looks like home for the night.” Jobeth sighed, exhausted. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep an eternity of sleep. She had never felt so tired in her life. Slowly, they dragged their battered bodies up the rotten stairs in front of the house. Brown grass sprang through a hole in one of the steps, enticing an unsuspecting foot to break through. Jobeth grabbed Shawna under her arm to prevent her from going through the decayed step. “It’s scary.” Shawna spoke softly as Jobeth opened the door. It let out a painful thin squeal. She hesitantly put a foot forward, taking Shawna with her. The floor groaned in protest. Walking through the bitterly cold house, stale air assaulted their nostrils. Huge dark walls loomed before them, dwarfing the two girls. “It’s not eerie, Shawna. Why, look at these rooms! This was probably once a beautiful, rich home,” Jobeth said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. The truth was if the old dwelling had once been beautiful, it was a very long time ago. Shawna gulped and held fast to Jobeth’s hand. “I guess you’re right.” The tiny voice said hoarsely, her eyes wide with only a hint of the haunted girl in them. “Of course I’m right.” Jobeth said, trying to convince herself as she walked forward. They crept all over the house looking into spider-webbed rooms with broken floors and corners filled with mouse droppings. Finally, Jobeth opened the door to a small room that was fairly clean compared to the rest of the house. There were five dirty straw mattresses littering the floor. “This is home for the night.” Jobeth said, crawling onto the largest one. Shawna mouth clamped tight, looked behind her shoulder at the darkness beyond and quickly jumped in beside Jobeth. They cuddled close together. The mattress was soft and comfortable compared to the sleeping arrangements to which they had grown accustomed. Exhausted, Jobeth closed her eyes and tried not to think about the soft down bed she once slept in, in another life. It was best to erase the memory of her mother tucking bright, clean quilts around her--quilts she helped make. “Sweet dreams, Jobeth,” her mother’s soft voice would say as she blew out the lamp. “And remember, God is always watching over you. He is always there to protect you.” Jobeth would nod drowsily, feeling happy and content. She had no reason to disbelieve her mama. Life was filled with happiness and love. And life had always been that way. She sniffed. A single tear squeezed out from her closed eye. Where is God now, Mama? Jobeth screamed in her head. Why isn’t He protecting me anymore? Angry voices woke Jobeth from a deep, dreamless sleep. She fought to awake from the darkness that had swallowed her. Shawna was already awake and clinging to Jobeth for dear life. Her fingers dug into Jobeth’s arm like tiny needles, forcing her to come back from the darkness of her mind. “It’s all right, Shawna,” Jobeth put her arm around the trembling little girl. She was shaky and disoriented herself. Looking up toward the noise to see what or whom they were about to face, she felt fear. It had been so long since Jobeth had been in contact with people other than Shawna. They had avoided contact, as much as possible, with other people they saw on the road, hiding in bushes until it was safe. People hurt people, and they could hurt her and Shawna. A heavy feeling pressed down firmly on her chest. People could do worse: they could take Shawna from her, leaving her alone once more. That was something Jobeth would not let happen. No one would take Shawna from her. She looked up toward the screaming noises with hooded eyes, prepared to defend herself and her charge. Crowded around the mattress, like soldiers at a siege, stood six yelling boys and one shrieking girl. “They ain’t got no right in ma house!” caterwauled the girl with jet black, curly hair that frizzed out wildly around her face. Her eyes were like black rubies and seemed to be alive with fire. Her tattered brown dress fit her curvy shape snugly; her breasts heaved angrily, about to pop out of the extremely low-cut neck line. “Now Tamara, this just ain’t the way to act.” The boy receiving her fury fumed. He was an odd-looking boy who looked like he was about sixteen or seventeen years of age. He had sandy brown hair and a round, flat face with green cat-like eyes. He stood uncomfortably, gangly with his newly developed height, and stared back at the black-haired beauty. Jobeth felt numb. She wondered if she should grab Shawna and run. She felt so tired--she did not think she could outrun the group surrounding them. Another boy, with hair just as dark as the girl’s, noticed that the two terrified strangers were awake. Jobeth caught sight of him from the corner of her eyes and flinched back, holding Shawna protectively in her arms. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, ready to beat out onto the dirty floor at any moment. “Hello,” he said kindly, his deep blue eyes penetrating through Jobeth. Her breath escaped her for a moment. The boy was the most handsome person she had ever seen. Before she had time to compose herself, everyone else in the room was circling her and Shawna with questioning faces. “My name is Oliver,” he said, eyes twinkling. “And the two you just heard fighting over there are Tamara and Alan.” Oliver offered his scruffy hand slowly to Jobeth in a friendly manner. Shawna smiled hesitantly at Jobeth. She could not help herself. Oliver had already won her over with his handsome good looks and his charming smile. Jobeth twisted her lips as she watched the admiration in Shawna’s blushing face and was suddenly angry. Jumping up, she pulled Shawna with her. It didn’t matter how tired she was, she was not staying any longer in this house. Shawna frowned, confused by Jobeth’s hostility, and hid behind Jobeth’s legs. Jobeth immediately felt guilty and her anger slipped away as quickly as it had come. She cleared her throat and tried to decide whether to say something. “I am Jobeth and this is…” she pulled Shawna in front of her, almost defiantly, and glanced at the one called Tamara. At first she thought the black-haired girl was older than she was. But with a closer look, they seemed to be about the same age. “this is Shawna.” Tamara glared back with distaste. Shaken by the fiery female in front of her, Jobeth straightened her back. “We’ve been traveling for weeks,” she continued, looking around the room for a reaction. Everyone was quiet and seemed to be listening with interest, with the exception of Tamara, who had turned her back to them all. Her long black hair hung like a jungle of vines to her petite waist. Jobeth had never seen such hair before. She found it quite striking, even if she was taken aback by Tamara’s apparent resentment of her. “We thought the house was empty. We only planned to stay the night and leave in the morning.” Jobeth finished. She looked down on Shawna’s platinum head trying hard not to think of the situation they were in. Her eyes stung with fatigue and the fight in her was quickly escaping. “Well, yah see it ain’t empty,” Tamara hollered, turning around quickly, her hair flying madly about her. The boy, Alan, nudged her with his elbow, glaring at Tamara angrily. She looked back at him with as much venom. Jobeth and Shawna both jumped at Tamara’s outburst. Straightening her shoulders again, she looked directly at Tamara, whose chest was still heaving angrily. Jobeth felt like crying. She was so tired and felt so sick. Her limbs felt like dead weights hanging helplessly from her shoulders. She simply did not have the energy to battle this stranger. Her mouth began to water and Jobeth fought back the urge to gag. “I am terribly sorry if we have caused anyone any inconvenience. We’ll just be on our way.” Jobeth grasped Shawna’s hand and plunged forward, dragging her out of the tension-filled room. Her throat tightened and her eyes began to burn with tears. Every muscle in her body cried out for rest. She was defeated. It was late and too cold to sleep outside. “Now just hold on there, Jobeth,” a male voice interrupted. She stopped in her tracks. Saliva pooled in the inside of her mouth behind her bottom lip, but she didn’t dare to do a thing about it. The voice sounded like the odd-looking boy with the round face who had just argued with Tamara. What is his name? “Yes?” Jobeth asked. Her back still faced the voice. She squeezed Shawna’s hand hard feeling her wince in pain. Alan stared at the straight, thin back of the peculiar girl as she clutched tightly to the ghostly white child. His chest tightened at her stubborn refusal to turn and face him. He looked to Oliver, questioning him with a raised right eyebrow. Oliver nodded his head, giving Alan the answer he wanted. “Yah two are welcome to stay here.” Alan spoke quickly before the spooked girl ran out of the house with her little waif in tow. Jobeth closed her mouth and held her breath. She really did not want to stay, but she was so tired and --something she didn’t want to admit--she was lonely. The last person she had spoken to who was her own age was Judith. Judith was Jobeth’s best friend before her parents accident. She cried with Jobeth after her parents were killed. She also wept, her red pig-tailed head buried into Jobeth’s shoulder, before Jobeth was sent to live with her new foster parents. “I will never forget you, Jobeth,” Judith had pledged the day Jobeth left. They had clung together, two friends never to see each other again, their lives headed in opposite directions. Jobeth pulled away from Judith’s freckled, wet face and climbed into the wagon. Her belongings were packed neatly in a small chest in the back, secured with thick ropes. “I will never forget you either, Judith,” Jobeth promised as the horses pulled away from the sobbing girl. She waved frantically at Judith, but her friend, overcome with grief, ran away, her hands covering her face, unable to bear seeing her friend leave. She hadn’t thought of Judith since she entered the doors of the Johnston home. And she did not want to think of her now. Judith would be appalled to see what had become of Jobeth’s life. Suddenly Nick came to mind. The boy Jobeth had spoken with at Mother Tomalina and Father James’. He was tough and scarred from battles fought too young in life, but full of life and laughter regardless. Judith would have wrinkled her brown spotted nose at Nick. But Jobeth had rather liked him. She then thought of the ragged lot behind her. They were like Nick. She looked down at her thin, faded dress. She had given Shawna her tattered sweater to keep her warm. It hung down to Shawna’s knees, causing her to look lost in the stretched garment, but it at least kept the chill out, if only a little. Jobeth fingered the material of her dress. She would freeze with nothing but its flimsy cover. Judith would not be caught dead in a rag dress like the one Jobeth wore. She was like Nick now. She was like the people behind her: tough and scarred, ragged on the inside and out. No, I am still different, she thought. I am mostly dead inside. Only the darkness of dreamless sleep soothes my soul. “There ain’t no place for yah to go and we don’t mind the extra company at all. Plus, that there little one don’t look like she can go nowheres but bed.” Alan’s voice cut into Jobeth’s thoughts. He knew Jobeth was seriously weighing his offer. He refrained from mentioning that she looked as though she would drop in her own shoes at any moment. Finally, turning to the voice speaking to her, Jobeth surveyed Alan. He had strong, green, cat-like eyes. A strand of hair bobbed up and down on his forehead, giving Jobeth the feeling that Alan was a boy fighting in a man’s body. She looked away, blushing, feeling she had seen something private and personal about him. The other boys in the room were all smiling at her, trying to make her feel welcomed. Her eyes came to rest and widened on a child’s face that sat oddly on a young man’s body. He flashed Jobeth a wonderful, bright smile. She could not help staring, speechless. The boy’s skin was a deep, rich chocolate brown. Embarrassed by her rudeness, she turned her gaze quickly to the handsome raven-haired Oliver. “Stay, Jobeth. We’d all like you to stay.” Oliver walked over toward the hesitant girl and placed a warm hand on her bony shoulder. Jobeth instinctively pulled back, repulsed, but then relaxed as Oliver gently coaxed them back into the room by taking Shawna’s small hand. Unable to help themselves, they both followed Oliver shyly. Alan stood alone and held his breath. Anger began to burn in his chest. Oliver’s smooth talking had again worked its magic. Jobeth glanced back over her shoulder at Alan, who looked lost and awkward. His heart pounded heavily in his ribcage. This new girl was different. He could tell she wasn’t like them, even though she looked like it. She had come from better--a flower hidden in the weeds. He smiled awkwardly and blushed because it felt silly and forced. Jobeth grinned weakly back and turned away. Alan lowered his head, feeling like a fool. “Humph,” Tamara smirked, moving to stand beside Alan. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and tried to compose himself. Tamara stood righteously with her arms tensely crossed over her large breasts. Her exposed cleavage bulged in Alan’s face. “What now, Tamara?” Alan steamed, looking away from her chest and back to Jobeth, who sat quietly listening to Oliver. “Seems Oliver found a new toy to play with, don’t it, Alan?” she asked, nastily pursing her red lips together. She cackled, noticing Alan’s red face and walked over to the other side of the room where Jonah, the black boy who had shocked Jobeth, sat. Tamara plunked down beside Jonah as graceful as a lump of clay and continued to smirk at Alan. His attention veered from Tamara, tired of her obnoxious ways, and went back to watching the new girl. Jobeth was putting Shawna back down on the mattress they had been sleeping on. Oliver was talking a mile a minute and Alan could not help noticing Jobeth shyly smiling back. His heart pounded painfully again. Absently, he reached up and rubbed at the pulsing muscle beneath his chest. His fingers moved up and down in rhythm to his heart. His fingers tingled warmly with the motion. Jobeth was the most unusual girl he had ever seen.

Chapter 2 & 3

— Chapter 2 —
Puffy white clouds floated across the clear blue sky. It was harvest time and Jobeth was out in the field, picking corn with the other children. She threw a cob into a sack and wiped the freely flowing sweat from her brow. Her face was a mass of black and blue bruises After Father James raped her, he whipped her ruthlessly with the belt. Her entire body was covered with welts and she ached all over.
“I have to leave,” Jobeth said under her breath. “I cannot let him come back tomorrow.” Visions of the morning filled her mind. She shivered, feeling as though she were dipped in a pool of ice. The day was sweltering hot, but she felt cold. “No,” she said out loud, “I will not think about it.” She shook her swollen head back and forth. Pressure formed in the front of her skull. The ground swirled before her eyes and she felt faint. Jobeth closed her eyes and sat on the ground until the dizziness passed, her fingers raking the gritty dirt beneath her. “Oh God!” she sobbed, clutching her arms. Tears fell uncontrollably as her nails dug into her already bruised skin. Droplets of blood pooled around her fingers, but she did not feel it. “Jobeth?” A tiny voice broke through Jobeth’s tears. She wiped grimy tears away with her fist and looked up into a small, pale, porcelain face. Shawna had lived with the Johnstons since she was eight months old Her long platinum blond hair fell limply in her face. Her steel blue eyes stood out strikingly against her unearthly pale skin. She would have been a beautiful child if she had not been so sickly pale and if dark circles did not shadow her haunted blue eyes. Jobeth slowly stood up, embarrassed to be caught crying, and dusted her dress off. “Yes, Shawna?” She sniffed trying to compose herself. She had purposely gone deep into the fields to be away from the other children. The thought of anyone seeing her after what happened with Father James appalled her. Surely they could tell she was defiled. She looked down at the tiny girl. Shawna was so small for her five years that it was easy not to have seen her. “Are yah okay?” Shawna questioned, and blushed, looking at her scruffy shoes.“Yes.” Jobeth lied “Yes.” “You look like yah got it bad.” Shawna continued. “What?” Jobeth uttered too loudly. Her head snapped toward the puny girl. What if Shawna could tell what had happened to her? Did she look soiled now? She surely felt dirty and polluted. Jobeth cleared her throat and ignored the images forming in her mind. No one could know what happened in that room. No one. “Sorry,” Shawna jumped back frightened, “Your face,” she shuddered. “He must ‘ave beat yah badly.” Jobeth’s hand fluttered to her swollen face. “I’m all right,” she said, feeling guilty. The child was as nervous as a newborn colt. She remembered when one of Pappy’s mares had given birth to a chestnut colored colt. She had gone to pet its damp nose and it had bolted from her outstretched hand with a comical leap into the air. Shawna reminded Jobeth of that colt. High-strung and skittish, ready to leap into the air at the slightest movement toward her. It had never occurred to Jobeth before that maybe the neglect she was experiencing could be happening to the child before her. A sinking sensation crawled up her neck and into her face, making her cheeks tingle. “Shawna,” Jobeth said wiping her nose again, “I have to go to the outhouse. So if anyone asks where I am, tell them that, all right?” She had squatted down to the miniature girl’s level. Shawna lifted her frail face up to Jobeth and fought back tears welling in her enormous eyes. Please. Jobeth yelled in her mind. Do not let me think of you. I have to leave. I cannot worry about you.“You know Mother and Father don’t like it when we go to the outhouse during work.” Shawna wavered. A large drop of salty water formed in the corner of her eye. “I know, but I have to go badly,” Jobeth tried to ignore the tear. She would not feel responsible for a child she hardly knew. During the time Jobeth had come to live at the home, she had hardly seen Shawna. Only in the fields and the odd times at the dreadful kitchen table. There, Jobeth and the other children would eat the same watery soup and dry bread every mealtime. Sometimes if they were lucky, they would be rewarded with a little butter and the odd glass of milk from one of the many cows that the Johnstons owned. Jobeth’ s mouth always watered at the smells of roast beef and other dishes Mother Tomalina prepared for Father James. More than once at the supper table as she stared at their savory foods and ate her soup, she envisioned ways to snatch a leg of lamb or chicken, but was always too frightened of the ever-watchful Mother Tomalina. Maybe at night when everyone slept she would creep up the cellar stairs and steal quietly into the icebox and satisfy the constant hunger that plagued the pit of her stomach But alas, when evening came and everyone slept, Jobeth lay trembling under her gray sheets, picturing the old woman patrolling the icebox with its contents of leftovers. Shawna looked up at Jobeth beseechingly. It struck her that the child never played. This she knew because Shawna was always working. “Look, Shawna, I have to go. If I don’t go then I will wet myself and soil my clothes. I will be whipped again and I do not need another beating,” Jobeth pleaded. This was her chance, her only chance to leave. Mother Tomalina would not be expecting to see Jobeth until the sun was down. If Jobeth left now she would not be missed for hours. This would put plenty of distance between her and the dreaded house. “Okay.” Shawna said, head bent low, turning around slowly. Her little frame looked as though it would blow away like the frail dress whipping angrily around her. Faded and worn, her bony structure was visible through the thin material as it struggled to pull away. Jobeth took a deep breath, wincing at the pain she felt throughout her entire body. She turned and hurried toward the outhouse. Shawna could be watching. She must not give herself away by going in another direction. She picked up her ratty sweater, half-eaten by moths and tied it around her scrawny waist. She had become increasingly thin living with the Johnstons and the sleeves of the sweater hung limply between her legs, nearly reaching her knees, knees that a couple of hours ago were viciously torn apart to amuse Father James She closed her eyes tight, erasing the images of the morning threatening to play themselves out again in her mind. Run. If she ran she would escape what happened in the dank cellar. Her feet began to move. The sleeves of her sweater twisted between her legs as the sack dragged behind her. She quickly grabbed corn, rhubarb and other vegetables growing in the field and tossed them into the bag. Her chest heaved painfully from the effort and her heart beat frantically for what she was about to do. “I can’t get caught,” Jobeth sobbed. The memory of Father James’ “purple snake,” as hard as a rock, forcing into her, ripping her, humiliating her, flashed before Jobeth’s eyes. She rubbed away tears streaming down her grubby face with the palm of her hand.“I need a bath. Oh God how I need a bath! I have to get his smell off me! How will I ever get his smell off me? “ Jobeth stopped in her tracks, her chest heaving up and down and clutched her hands to her mouth. “What has happened to me? What has happened to my life? Things used to be so simple.” Jobeth sobbed out loud, her tears streaming freely. She felt her heart would break. “Why did you die Mama, Pappy? Why? How could you do this to me?” She moaned. A grimy strand of hair went into her wet eyes and she absently pushed it behind her ear. The wheat in the fields swayed in the wind, making rustling noises that startled Jobeth. “What am I doing standing here like a fool crying? I have to look out for myself now. There is no one for me anymore. I am alone.” She stood up and breathed deeply. The autumn air felt crisp as it went into her lungs clearing them of the heaviness surrounding her heart. Jobeth felt light-headed as she looked beyond the rows of wheat. Later, She would have to reflect on everything. Right now she needed to get herself far away from the Johnstons.She began to run. Jobeth wrinkled her nose as she reached the rat-infested outhouse. She thought of entering the rotting structure with its cold, splintery seats and decided against it. The smell inside was putrid and she already felt nauseated from the fumes emanating from the open door. If she needed to use the lavatories, she would just go outside. At one time in her life, the thought of relieving herself in public was mortifying, but many things had changed since those days. Jobeth never had to worry about being bitten by rats in her old water closet. Mama and she would always scrub the privy regularly, dousing it with lye. Using the outdoors as a washroom seemed more civilized than the dangerous, infectious outhouse that stood before her now. “I will never have anything to do with this place again,” she said, staring up at the house. She crouched down behind the tall grass. It was not really a nice house. It slanted to the right. The original builder of the house, Mother Tomalina’s father, had not been very bright and built it in the winter on frozen ground, so every year during spring, the house shifted and sunk down more to the right. Soon it would sink right through to the bottom of the earth, straight to hell where it belonged. The roof was falling apart and would not be fixed until the cold came and Father James sent one of the young boys up to patch it. Mother Tomalina was sitting in her usual spot at that time of day, rocking in a stiff old rocking chair given to her by one of the villagers. “To rock the waifs in,” The elderly haired woman who had donated the chair had commented. There was never a waif rocked in that chair or a child who wanted to be held in Mother Tomalina’s flabby arms. She always sat like an angel, how she wanted others to see her, but really she was a demon, smirking and rocking at the passing neighbors, looking quite saintly, as she selfrighteously perceived herself to be. “That kind, elderly lady,” the ladies of the town would say, while waving at Mother Tomalina as she sat rocking and knitting away. Mother Tomalina would wave back, giving her best sanctified smile and continue to knit. “It is too bad about her husband, always in town with heathen women,” one would say. “Didn’t one of those orphaned girls they took in turn to wicked ways?” the other would say. “I hear tell Mr. James takes a real liking to her. What a shame for poor Mrs. Johnston. She works so hard to give those children a real home.” They would shake their heads sadly. “To think one of the strays she took under her wing would betray her with her own husband. Two heartbreaks: turning against God and selling herself with the only man known to her as Pa. It is disgraceful.” As soon as they were out of sight of the rocking chair, they would shake their heads and carry on their way forgetting about poor Mrs. Johnston and her wild husband. Jobeth had seen it before in the store when she had been sent to fetch supplies. The whispers passed from one bonneted lady to the other. She saw the distrustful sneers when a lady walked by with her husband. A protective grasp to their man’s arm, as though a mere look from Jobeth would cause their husbands to stray. She had always felt confused by their response. She knew she wasn’t as tidy as she had been before her parents’ death, but Mother Tomalina refused for other people to see the children in her charge dressed in their usual attire. There was a special dress for the older girls and a pair of slacks and shirt for the older boys for such trips into town. Only one boy and one girl could ever be seen in town together, because there was no other outfit for the rest to wear. Jobeth, who was used to being treated as one of the respected children in town, was now thought of as white trash and shunned by the townspeople. Not used to this treatment, she sometimes forgot herself and would start a conversation with a girl around her age, only to have a protective mother herd her daughter away from the ragamuffin child. Jobeth’s ego would be bruised and she would be brought back to the reality of where she was. The girl she had once been, the one with a mother and father and a younger brother, was dead. Just like her parents. Just like her brother. They might as well have all died together. Had she provoked Father James to do what he had done to her? She shook her head and cleared the impression forming again in her mind and turned from the sight of Mother Tomalina’s portrait of a wronged woman. Her eyes searched the expansive area. She spotted Father James in the barn with Dex, a ten-yearold boy who had just come to live at the Johnston’s. Jobeth’s heart once more began to pound uncontrollably. Her breath came in quick sharp thrusts and she realized that she was nearly panting. She looked at Dex and remembered something one of the older boys had once told her. When a boy turned fourteen, Father James would make him pay for his bed to sleep in and the food he ate. Jobeth had asked if any boy had worked for his bed and measly dinner and the boy had said he’d be fourteen soon and would be gone before he would pay for poorly flavored water and a bug-ridden bed. Jobeth had laughed. The boy, Nick, was nice and she enjoyed having him to talk to. She had been so lonely since her parents had died. “What about girls, Nick?” Jobeth had asked once in the barn. They had been sent to milk the cow and she stood behind Nick’s bent back as he finished squirting milk into a tin bucket. He stood up and faced Jobeth. She was already fourteen so she knew girls did not have to pay for their keep, even though Jobeth felt that the backbreaking work she did in the fields was payment enough. Nick’s expression had become dark and he had turned away. “Nick?” Jobeth asked the dark-haired youth. “What about the girls, do they pay?” Jobeth did not like the way he clammed up. Nick, a rambunctious youth with a glimmer in his smile, was a boy who seldom kept a word to himself. He turned to Jobeth, his bangs hiding his brown eyes. “They pay, Jobeth. They pay dearly.” “What is that supposed to mean?” Jobeth responded. Her heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason. She suddenly felt like a trapped rabbit. Did she really want to know what he meant? “They pay with their souls, Jobeth, they all pay with their souls. Leave before yours is taken too.” He turned and scooped up his bucket of milk, not saying a word to her. What he said left her surprised, confused, speechless and very afraid. Shortly after they talked, Nick disappeared. The day before he left, he asked Jobeth to leave with him. She shook her head, afraid. How would she survive out in the world? Now she wished she had left with Nick. Anything would have been better than the ordeal she had endured that morning. Now she would have to leave on her own. Maybe she could find Nick? Then she wouldn’t be alone. But would Nick want to be with her if he knew what Father James had done? Jobeth rubbed her arms roughly. They ached not only from her beating but also for someone to comfort her and make everything all right. She was so alone. So terribly alone. Little Shawna’s face popped into her mind. Small and pale and so very young. It dawned on Jobeth that once she was gone, Shawna would be the only girl left. She shivered thinking of the small, frail girl. Again she steadied her head, trying to clear her mind of all thoughts. She could not think about anyone or anything but herself and the urgency of leaving. Jobeth turned to depart. She had seen enough; there were no second thoughts. She did not want to think what lay ahead; she just wanted to get as far away as possible. She swung her bag over her shoulder and started to walk swiftly away from the house. She didn’t notice the small figure materialize before her, until it was too late and she collided with Shawna. Both girls tumbled to the ground. Dust flew high above them and fell slowly, like a baby’s blanket coming to rest on top of the fallen girls. “What are you doing here?” Jobeth sat up, trying to shake the fear that had jumped up into her throat. The thought that she had been caught would not leave her. She stood up and started dusting herself off with her hands. Shawna mimicked Jobeth, dusting herself off and copying her movements, step by step. She looked up at the older girl, embarrassed, clumsily trying to hide a bulging burlap bag behind her back. The small child knew she had frightened Jobeth terribly and she felt awful about this. “Are you leaving?” Shawna whispered as Jobeth’s face drained of blood. This cannot be happening, Jobeth thought. She glared up at the angry sun that was determined to bake them alive. “Please,” Shawna begged with desperation, her hands clasped together in prayer, “take me too?” Jobeth looked pale beneath her bruised face, but she was listening. Shawna struggled to raise the sack she held behind her back. “I won’t be a bother, I got food so yah won’t have to share. I don’t eat much so yah could have most of my food too. Please take me too. I is begging yah.” A tear slid from her bleached blue eyes and Jobeth could see something haunted, something she did not want to see. Closing her own weary lids, she tried to block out the little girl’s pitiful face. “Shawna, I can’t,” Jobeth clenched her teeth. She felt awful and her lips began to quiver as she pleaded with this child she barely knew. Shawna was trembling, ready to erupt into tears. “Can’t you see you would hold me back? They would search for you. They have had you for so long.” “Noo,” she whimpered, tears rolling freely down her ashen face. Her little hands went up to rub quickly swelling eyes and her lips protruded in a pout. “You don’t know. I’ll grow up and be a big girl and, and . . . he’ll do it to me too, when I’m big like you. I can’t stay cause I’ll end up like the other big girls.” “What other big girls?” Jobeth grasped Shawna’s arm ignoring the child’s astonished face. Tall grass swayed on either side of them and she quickly pulled her and Shawna into the safety of it. Time was already ticking against her. If anyone saw the two girls standing and talking to one another, it would be all over for them and Father James would be back to hurt Jobeth. “What other girls, Shawna?” Jobeth implored, unable to stop herself from shaking the child by the shoulders. If there were other girls, what had happened to them? Jobeth was suddenly desperate to know. Nick had said girls paid with their souls. Did he mean what Father James had done to her? Had Father James done the same thing to other girls? “The other girls who left.” Shawna choked, her head shaking back and forth on her shoulders. Jobeth’s eyes were darting frantically in their sockets, causing Shawna to become frightened. Her reaction reminded Shawna of a trapped doe with starving wolves surrounding it, trying in vain to escape to freedom.“They weren’t ever found, Jobeth, except that one gal. But she wasn’t really found--she just went to town and became . . . “ Shawna looked around to see if anyone else was listening. Seeing there was no one in sight, she cupped her hands to her mouth and whispered, “a whore.” Jobeth pulled back from Shawna gasping and looked at her disapprovingly. Her hand raked through her greasy hair as she absently pulled it away from her tense face. Could the stories be true about the prostitute who had once lived at the Johnston home? Father James’ favorite? Is this the girl the town talked about?Their souls? Nick’s words echoed in Jobeth’s ear. A cold finger rippled up her spine and goose bumps began to rise on her arms. She rubbed them harshly with the palm of her hands.“But the other girls weren’t found, they won’t find us either. Mother and Father never search for runaways long. Only for what looks good in town. When the town folk say its just another ungrateful foundling, Mother and Father stop looking and get another child. It’s the truth.” Shawna bent to look at Jobeth eagerly. “What other girls?” Jobeth asked sternly, looking beyond Shawna.“My sister.” Shawna became a grisly white and the shadows under her eyes darkened. She bowed and stared at her worn shoes. “You have a sister?” Jobeth was surprised. As far as she knew, they were the only girls at the Johnston’s home. “I had me a sister. Her name was Donna. Ain’t that a pretty name?” She smiled as she looked up. Jobeth forced her lips to smile back. The child was beautiful when she smiled, even with her ailing waxen color. “Yes it is very pretty.” “When I have me a baby girl one day, I’m naming her Donna,” Shawna said in a faraway voice. Jobeth stood impatiently waiting for Shawna to continue. “Donna said our real folks loved us. I don’t ‘member the folks cause I was just a babe in nappies, but Donna ‘membered, that being she was eight when our folks up and died of the fever. They took Donna and me away. Our folks were scared we’d get it. That’s what Donna told me. I wish I had known them,” Shawna said longingly picturing parents she never knew. “We was sent here after they died. First nothing real bad happened. Just always working lots, like now. But then Father started doing his thing with Donna. Just like he done with Melodie. Touching her in places he ain’t suppose too. Melodie said she was running away and Donna better get me and her out fast before he come after us. I was just four and so scared.” A tear started to fall down her white cheek leaving a dirty trail behind and her eyes became vacant. “Donna always said, Don’t worry, Pun. I’ll never let nothing happen to you.’ “Melodie was fourteen and Donna was twelve when Melodie ran away in the night. Don’t know what happened to her. Time passed and Father kept looking at Donna funny and touching her. Donna kept saying, ‘Just a little longer, Pun, and I’ll have enough money for us to run away. I don’t want us to starve.’” I knew where she was gettin’ the money. Stealing from peoples’ pockets in town. Could have had her hands chopped off if they’d caught her.”Jobeth sighed and placed a grubby hand to her head, wondering where the girl got such an idea into her head. “Don’t think Donna was bad stealin’, “ Shawna defended her sister, pointing a chicken bone of a finger at Jobeth. “I don’t, Shawna. I don’t. She was just thinking how you both were going to survive.” Jobeth had not even thought of money. How was she going to survive? A scream started to build in bottom of Jobeth stomach. How was she going to do this? “One morning,” Shawna continued, more tears falling down her cheeks, “he came into our room wanting more than just touching. Donna told me to hide when he comes burstin’ into the room. I did, ‘cause I always listen to Donna. She was smart and took care of me. Well, he tore her up bad down there where yah pee. She was bleeding all over. I watched the whole thing while peeking from under the bed. He just kept pushing on her. She screamed and screamed, but he don’t listen. No one here listens to screams. I wanted to go help her, but Donna looked over at me and shook her head. She whispered for me to stay under the bed. I knew she was afraid he’d come after me next if he knew I was there. So I stayed under the bed and watched.” Jobeth felt sick. Images of Father James on top of her, hurting her… Jobeth clutched her head in her hands and squeezed tightly, holding on for dear life, her dirty hair poking out of her fingers. No. She wouldn’t allow it. She couldn’t relive it. It was best to forget and never think it happened. Shawna sniffed and rubbed her runny nose with the back of her sleeve, her mind recalling the day her sister had been raped. “When he left, I crawled out from under the bed. Donna was bleeding and crying. She didn’t look herself at all. She was all white and her lips were blue. Her teeth kept on chattering together and her body kept jerking. ”’Donna let’s go away from here now,’ I begged her. I ran to our bed and grabbed the blankets on top. She seemed to be real cold, so I put them over her. She looked up at me all glassy-eyed and told me to be brave, and not to be afraid anymore. She told me to get away from here before I got to be a big girl. “‘The money’s in the mattress take it, promise me?’ Donna said, grabbin’ my hand. “‘I will Donna. It’s our money when we run away.’ I say to her, cryin’. Donna’s eyes were open, but they seemed really scary lookin’. Just kept staring at the ceiling. She wouldn’t blink or anything. I begged her to stop foolin’, but she never moved. “I stayed with her a long time, till Mother came yelling at us to get to work. She saw me shaking Donna and stopped yelling. She just ran over and put a hand on her chest. “’Git out of here! Out!’ she hollered. I didn’t know what to do. “’What’s wrong with Donna?’ I asked her. “’She’s dead’ Mother said as if it were nothing.” Jobeth’s throat started to close up and she could not breathe. She knew only too well the pain and loss that Shawna felt. “I said to her, ‘No. Donna ain’t dead. She ain’t. We’re running away from you and Father so he can’t hurt Donna no more.’ “Mother got real angry and grabbed my arm, twistin’ it till it hurt. “’You listen to me if you don’t want to end up like your whoring sister. Donna had a high fever she couldn’t break, and that’s what killed her.’ “’It was Father’s pushing on her that kilt her.’ I yelled. ”He tore her all up and she couldn’t stop bleeding.’ Mother got so mad she done slapped me real hard across the face. “’Those are lies.’ Mother starts yelling. I ain’t never seen Mother so mad before, and I seen her plenty mad. “’You listen here, you little devil. I’ll kill you myself if I hear those foul words from your filthy mouth again. Now get out.’ “I ran out of my room and hid in the barn. When it went night, I figured it would be best I get back to the house before it got too late and I got whipped for being out past the dark time. Donna was gone. I never saw her again. I asked Mother where she was at, and she said that she was in hell where she belonged and not to worry, I’d be there soon to help her shovel coal for the devil.” Shawna looked up at Jobeth, cheeks all streaked with tears and dirt. A small fist rubbed viciously across her puny red nose as she sniffled.Jobeth suddenly realized the reason why this little shell of a girl was just that, a shell. The horror Shawna had faced at such a young age had robbed the child of everything. The pain on her babyish face weakened Jobeth’s already broken heart. She ached all over from her brutal rape and the new responsibility of this defeated child before her.She could not leave Shawna. If she did, she would never be able to live with herself. The girl would come with her. How she would care for her, Jobeth did not know. But if she left Shawna, she would be as dark and monstrous as Father James and Mother Tomalina. She would never be that cruel to anyone, never. “How will we survive? I have never been on my own,” she whispered staring across the yellow fields. A gust of wind tugged at Jobeth’s insufficient dress, matting her sweaty, sticky hair. “I still have the money,” Shawna disclosed softly. Jobeth bent her head down to Shawna’s hopeful face. She continued, seeing Jobeth’s interest. “I saved it for when I’d run.” She bit her bottom lip, making it paler, and looked at Jobeth under light eyelashes, “I even stole some from Father. He thought it was one of the older boys and beat him real bad.” She returned her gaze to her battered shoes, shamefully. Jobeth said nothing. Shawna’s lips clasped tightly and stubbornly, together, “I had to. I’m not bad. An I ain’t going to go to hell neither. I don’t give a dickens what Mother says. Donna ain’t in hell, she’s in heaven with Mama and Papa and when the Lord calls for me I’s guess that’s where I’ll be headed too.” Jobeth placed a hand on the little girl’s bony shoulder. Shawna tilted her wet face up to face of the young woman standing tall and stiff. She began to shiver from the look in Jobeth’s eyes and her lips began to tremble uncontrollably. “You are not bad, Shawna, and no one will ever make you feel that way again.” She whispered, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Shawna released her breath and smiled. She didn’t realize she had been holding it.
— Chapter 3 —
Jobeth and Shawna ran with their skirts billowing out behind them and their hands held tightly together. They were afraid to look back. Shawna kept up the best she could with Jobeth, but Jobeth was possessed to run as far as possible from Mother Tomalina and Father James. She would not stop even when her face was beet red under her bruises. Shawna was exhausted but afraid to ask Jobeth to slow down for fear she would be sent back to the Johnstons. She knew Jobeth had not wanted to bring her. There was no where Shawna wanted to be other than with the strong girl running beside her. She never wanted to return from where she came. Never. Exhausted, Jobeth stopped and stumbled to her knees, dragging an equally exhausted Shawna to her own shins. They were both heaving heavily. Shawna felt her lungs would collapse. “Look.” Jobeth panted pointing straight ahead of them. The little girl squinted but could not see anything. Her eyes were blurry from running in the wind. “What is it?” Shawna panted, unable to catch her breath. She spit out a stream of saliva.“It’s . . . it’s a pond.” Jobeth began to laugh oddly. She started to get up. Wiping her sweaty brow with the crook of her arm, Jobeth reached down and grasped Shawna’s twig-like arm, lifting the confused child to her feet. She was almost exuberant over finding a pond. Shawna could not understand this joy as she had never known the need to be clean, having spent most of her five years barely bathing. Kicking off her ill-fitting shoes, Jobeth walked straight to the stream and bent first to drink the cool water. Shawna followed. Surprised at how thirsty they were, they greedily gulped water from the pond. “Have you ever tasted water so good, Shawna?” Jobeth spouted between gulps. She cupped her hands together and took another large gulp of water, savoring each drop as it passed her lips. The excess was permitting to dribble down her chin. “Cain’t say as I has.” Shawna replied. Jobeth turned and smiled at the clean circle around Shawna’s lips. Was that color she saw in the child’s face? “You know, Shawna, it is not proper English to use words like ‘cain’t’. It is, ‘I cannot say that I have.’” Jobeth said sternly. If she was going to be responsible for the young girl, she was not going to have her sounding like an uneducated hick. Shawna lips dropped into a frown. Her dirty face was streaked with water. “I’s sorry.” Shawna whispered, feeling ashamed. She had already offended Jobeth right when she seemed so happy to find this pond. Shawna looked down at her clean, moist palms. Red lines and calluses from long days of working in the fields glared up at her. She was no good. Jobeth would leave her behind. A painful lump began to push its way into her throat, bringing with it pesky, salty tears to fill her eyes. Shawna bit her lip and desperately tried to hold back from crying. Jobeth felt the heat rise to her cheeks, realizing she had crushed Shawna’s tender feelings. She felt awful--like a bully. Couldn’t she have just let her enjoy the water, instead of criticizing? . “No need,” Jobeth corrected herself, placing a hand on Shawna’s shoulder, “You will learn soon enough. Probably very quickly. You seem quite intelligent. You just need proper guidance. You have never been taught. In fact, when Pauli-my little brother--was five, he did not have quite the understanding you do. So there is nothing to be upset about.” She gave Shawna the best smile she could muster. Shawna sighed with relief. Jobeth thought she was intelligent. She was not sure what the word meant, but it was obvious it was a word that pleased the older girl. The pale child grinned back at Jobeth, her hurt feelings forgotten. Jobeth stood up and reached for Shawna. “Let’s go swimming and see what is under all this dirt.” “I ain’t never swam before.” Shawna stiffened. Jobeth was going to be hard to please. “No need to worry, I will show you. But today we don’t have time. We’ll just clean off,” Jobeth said while holding back the urge to correct Shawna’s speech again. She walked into the water. Shawna stood on the shore, hesitant to follow. The water felt cool and refreshing. Jobeth sank down to her knees, her dress ballooning around her. She giggled out loud and encouraged Shawna to kneel down too. It felt good to laugh again. Jobeth couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed or felt good. “Take the sand from the bottom of the pond and rub it on your skin.” Jobeth grabbed at the cool, grainy floor and started rubbing sand roughly on her neck and arms. She sighed and dunked her head back into the water. The water tickled her ears and she felt herself relaxing just a bit. “My Pappy used to say if you don’t have soap and a tub, a pond and sand will do the job just the same.”“Will it clean your hair?” Shawna asked rubbing sand on her arms, amazed that it worked. She looked up at Jobeth for an answer. Shawna always liked how nice her hair felt after being washed. So soft and fresh.“I don’t know. I guess we could try it.” Jobeth grabbed a large handful of the muddy substance and plopped it on Shawna’s head. She squealed with delight and mashed the sand into her hair. Jobeth laughed and grabbed another handful, plopping it on her own head and grinding it into her scalp. Both girls began to laugh and splash each other as though they had always known each other. Warmth encased Jobeth’s tattered body. Covered in sand, she scoured harder on her arms, legs, chest and stomach. She wanted to rub sand between her legs to wash away the filth Father James had put there, but thought against it. She was already very sore down below. Shawna, delighted, closed her eyes and splashed the water with her tiny hands, sending beaded droplets up into the air. Jobeth, seeing her chance, quickly and gently rubbed her swollen genitals with her fingers, until she was clean. She did not feel clean, but at least the proof that James had been there was gone. “We better rinse off.” The thought of Father James sobering her. How she longed to stay in that pond. But that was impossible. They had come far that day but not far enough. “All right.” Shawna splashed water over her muddy arms. “I’ll just dive under water and get the sand out of my hair and then I will help you with yours.” In an instant Jobeth was down beneath the surface of the now murky water. When she resurfaced, she was still black and blue, but at least she was clean. She helped Shawna rinse her hair and they both got out of the pond and sat on the grass to dry off. “We should eat something to keep up our strength,” Jobeth said, combing the tangles out of Shawna’s clean hair with her fingers. Shawna, who had never experienced loving hands brush her hair, basked in the glory of her newfound attention. This day would be etched in her memory forever. In all her five years this was the happiest she’d ever felt. She closed her eyes and smiled to herself as Jobeth continued to detangle her hair. She had been secretly thinking of eating too, but was afraid of ruining the wonderful time and didn’t dare to ask. What if Jobeth felt she was too much of a bother, or ate too much? Maybe she would not want to keep Shawna with her. So she kept quiet. A hungry belly she could deal with. But in just the short time she had spent with Jobeth, she knew she could never be without her. “We will eat one carrot each and a raw cob of corn. Maybe tomorrow we will find something else to eat.” Jobeth stood up and went back to the pond where their sack had been left on the shore. She grabbed two large carrots and cleaned them in the pond. A light breeze caused her damp dress to cling. Walking quickly, Jobeth fretted about where they should go. She could not think of anywhere in particular. Suddenly, she remembered something her father had said to her not too long ago. They were out in the buggy looking at a fence that needed mending. Jobeth went with her Pappy because she enjoyed the ride and his conversation. She always felt so peaceful sitting beside the father she loved so dearly. The sun began to fall behind the horizon. Pauli had been standing behind them telling tales of fighting pirates, dragons and wizards. Jobeth laughed as Pappy declared that Pauli had the greatest imagination he had ever heard. “Oh Pappy, it’s all just playing,” Pauli said, not sure if having an imagination was a good thing or a bad thing. “Look children,” Pappy said, slowing the buggy to a stop. The horses stomped their feet in protest and snorted in disapproval. Jobeth and Pauli looked where their father pointed and saw the reddish yellow of the sun slowly burning out beyond the valley. “When I had no place to go and was in no hurry to get there, I put my sights toward the sun and let my feet carry me home.” Pappy said in a faraway voice. “You talking about the old days again, Pa?“ Pauli asked while leaning over his shoulder, his eyes transfixed by the fiery sun.“Remember that hymn we sing in church?” Pappy asked as he turned to Jobeth. She looked at him solemnly. “How does it go again? Oh yes. ‘I once was lost but now am found. Was blind but now I see…’’ Pappy stared at Jobeth making her feel that the moment was very important: something she should remember. “Yes, Pappy, I remember it. It’s Amazing Grace.” Jobeth answered, gazing at the horizon. “When I had no place to go and was in no hurry to get there, I put my sights toward the sun and let my feet carry me home. I once was lost but now am found. Was blind but now I see.” Pappy’s eyes were kind and warm, as his words were softly embedded in his daughter’s heart. They sat silently for a few moments. Pauli mouthed the phrases his father had just spoken. He looked in frustration at his father and sister. “Pappy, I don’t get it. What does it mean?” “Well, it brought me to your mother.” Pappy turned around and messed with Pauli’s hair. “But Mama didn’t find you, Pappy. I still don’t get it,” Pauli said, shooing his father’s hand away. Michael Roberts looked back at Jobeth and gently took her hand in his. It felt warm and safe. “One day you will understand. It is not for me to explain it for you,” Pappy answered, still looking at Jobeth. She had the strangest feeling he was speaking only to her and not her brother. “I still don’t get it,” Pauli said, tossing a piece of grass out of the wagon. Pappy nickered to the horses and turned toward home, humming the tune of Amazing Grace. Jobeth felt it was strange that she would remember that evening. Did Pappy know that he would not be around for her when she needed his advice the most? Was Pauli never to understand that night because he would never need to? Jobeth watched the dying embers of the sun in the horizon. Night, with all its darkness, would come very quickly. “When I had no place to go and was in no hurry to get there,” Jobeth said to herself, “But I am in a hurry Pappy, I am in a really big hurry.” She clutched Shawna’s hand and began to walk toward the sun, singing Amazing Grace softly to herself.
Night quickly rolled in, casting eerie shadows on the browning grass of fall. Shawna trembled from the chilling breeze and from the scary shapes hovering in front of them. She squeezed Jobeth’s hand tighter and looked up at her face. Was she scared also? Noticing the large, frightened eyes searching her own, Jobeth smiled uneasily at the spooked child.
They will know we are missing now , Jobeth thought. I wonder how far we have gone. I wonder if it is far enough? She looked down at the exhausted urchin. She looked as though she would fall asleep standing up. They had not even eaten supper yet. The poor child was probably starving.
Jobeth felt ashamed again.She was going to have to start thinking about her young charge. As much as Shawna wanted Jobeth to believe she was capable of watching out for herself, she was still only five years old. “We won’t travel tonight,” Jobeth said aloud with regret. “We need all the rest we can get so that we can travel farther during the day.” She wondered just where they would sleep for the evening. It all seemed so simple when she decided to leave. Only the drive to escape Father James had occupied her thoughts. Now she was dragging a five-year-old child into her mess. Jobeth tried to read Shawna’s huge eyes. What lurked behind those hollow dark sockets? She shivered unconsciously. “Jobeth?” Shawna whispered apprehensively. “Are we’s going to sleep outside in the night?” “Of course, Shawna. Where else would we sleep?” Jobeth looked around at her surroundings. Shadows jumped like phantoms. Trees hung their leaved branches low to the chilled ground, reaching for fallen comrades. It was very frightening and Jobeth shuddered, clutching her sweater around her for warmth. She forced a brave smile for Shawna’s sake. “I guess we could look for some sort of shelter.” Jobeth did not want to admit it to herself, but she too was exhausted. “Just in case it rains or something.” Shawna sighed with relief. The night air was chilly, but there was no sign of rain. Jobeth clasped Shawna’s small, pale hand in hers and together they searched for a place to sleep. It did not take long before they found a small, shallow cave beside a narrow pond. They could both smell the sweet, crisp air emanating from the water and Jobeth smiled, knowing that a swim was a good prospect for the morning. “I know it looks spooky,” She said, coming out of the mouth of the cave after searching it first. She did not want to interrupt any four-legged guests who might already be occupying the establishment. “But at least it is a roof over our heads and we are out of the open.” She persuaded Shawna into the dark cave with a stern hand on her hesitant bony back. “I wish we could see better.” Shawna said, walking beside Jobeth into the cave.Jobeth placed her arm around her companion’s thin shoulders. “We will sleep together for warmth. Here, sit down.” Gently she pressed Shawna down into the farthest corner of the cave. It was not a very large cave: just big enough for the two of them. “Use your sack for a pillow,” suggested Jobeth as she squatted down beside the child. Both sacks were quickly arranged as pillows. Shawna slowly lay down. She suddenly felt very tired and the foreign noises outside quickly faded as Jobeth deposited her exhausted form down beside her, cuddling up against her back. Heads resting on their sacks of food, Jobeth looked at Shawna, who was already breathing in deep rhythmic breaths. For the first time, Jobeth thought that Shawna’s pale face looked peaceful. Thinking of the events that had transpired during the day caused overwhelming emotions of doom and despair to crawl up Jobeth’s spine. The images of the morning began to fight their way to the surface of her conscience. Suddenly her chest felt as if a large boulder rested on top of it, crushing the very breath out of her. She sat up, looking around, breathing heavily and trying to catch her breath. Darkness enveloped her, making her heart bang against her scrawny rib cage. “No,” she yelped. Shawna frowned, stirring in her sleep. Jobeth clutched her arms around herself and shivered. “I will not. I cannot think about it ever again. I am free now.” Absently, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. “I have more important things to worry about now.” She glanced at Shawna, who was breathing evenly again. She took a deep breath and the heaviness on her chest began to slowly disappear. She blew air out of her lungs, releasing all the pent-up emotions. “I have to be strong. There is Shawna to worry about now.” She lay back down beside the slumbering child and snuggled up close to her small, warm body. Jobeth ached all over and wondered if she would ever feel normal again. “So tired,” Jobeth mumbled. Overcome with exhaustion, her eyes grew heavy and within minutes she was asleep.
She had been dreaming of Father James, naked, coming to her. Then suddenly she was on the train, walking down the aisle to meet her parents. The baby was crying. She turned to look and noticed everyone looking at her with disgust. When she came to her parents’ seats, they glanced at her with abhorrence.
“Mama, Pappy? What? What have I done?” Jobeth was confused. Why was everyone looking at her so strangely? “How could you, Jobeth?” Mama said turning away repulsed. The back of her head was caked with blood.“How could you do this to your mother and me?” Pappy glared “Have you no shame?” He went to place his arm on his wife’s shoulder to console her, but his arm was only a mangled stump. “But Pappy…” Jobeth looked around, confused. The woman with the screaming baby avoided her eyes, shielding her crying infant from her. Jobeth felt a menacing breeze, and went to wrap her sweater around herself. There was no sweater. She had no clothes on at all. She was standing in the aisle naked. Red fingerprints covered her breasts and belly, descending down low to her hidden mound. They became redder and redder by the moment. She could hear an evil laugh coming up the aisle behind her. The laugh felt hot against her bareback. It was him. He was back again. “Jobeth, you whore. You’re mine forever. Can’t you see it? My mark is all over you.” “No!” Jobeth opened her eyes to darkness--a darkness that seemed to swallow her whole. She sat up frightened, not knowing where she was. For a moment she thought she must have died and gone to hell. Then she heard Shawna breathing beside her and remembered the events of the day. Carefully, Jobeth moved over Shawna’s sleeping form and stood to go outside. The wind nipped at her scantily clad body. It seemed angry at her, trying to blow Jobeth away for all she had done wrong in her life. She wrapped her sweater around her shoulders and gazed out across the dark trees. The wind whipped at her legs, causing goose bumps to rise. She felt a damp chill between her legs. She had not noticed the stinging sensation where the dampness was. She’d been too caught up in the surrounding darkness and the memories of her dream. She touched the wet spot on the ragged dress. Tears gripped her. Suffocating fear caused Jobeth to suddenly want to run away. Maybe if she ran, the nightmare would end. I am safe now. I am safe now. Jobeth heaved trying to control the shakiness in her knees and the beating of her heart. Could her heart take any more of this emotional turmoil? She began to remove her dress, repeating to herself that she was safe. Once her dress was off, she repeated the process over again until she was standing naked in the moonlight, clutching her urine-soaked clothing. Her head hung low as she gripped her clothing to her. She sniffed the air and savagely wiped her nose with her knuckles. “I am going to just rinse these,” she said lifting her face to the stars. Tears streamed down her face but she did not bother wiping them away. “I will never be frightened again. I will clean these clothes and no one will ever know what happened. Mama, Pappy, I will never disappoint you again. I know I am no longer the girl you have raised and I have disappointed you in the worst possible way. I did not want Father James to do what he did to me. I know I must have done something to cause him to fornicate with me. I just don’t know what. I will never entice a man to do it again. I promise. From this day forward I will be strong and never again think of how I lost my virtue.” Slowly Jobeth walked naked to the small pond. She crouched down and began to rinse her clothes by the shore.
The sun rose and shone in Jobeth’s eyes, causing her to squint and shield them with her hand. She sat up, confused as to where she was. She must have dozed off. She looked down at her thin, naked body. Her bony rib cage glared fiercely up at her. The brisk morning air caused her bruised nipples to stand erect. She winced with pain. Her whole body felt as though it had been trampled by a horse.
Embarrassed that she had fallen asleep on a rock naked, she jumped up and snatched the clothes she had carefully laid out to dry the night before. They were still damp. The sun warmed Jobeth’s bare back. She looked longingly at the stream and turned to the cave. There were no movements from within its dark mouth. Carefully, she put her damp clothes back on the rock. She glanced once again toward the cave and listened for Shawna. Nothing. She slipped into the cool stream, letting the water envelop her. She swam a few strokes toward the center, her beaten body relaxing in the icy water, which was refreshing her and making her feel reborn. Jobeth became entranced with the swim. She felt like she was being transported away from the world and the responsibilities thrust upon her. She sighed deeply and plunged under the water. Its healing powers encased her. Wrapped up in her indulgent swim, Jobeth did not notice Shawna stumble from the cave. Fuzzy from sleep and, if possible, paler than ever before, the poor girl looked as though she might faint. Jobeth surfaced and reluctantly started swimming toward the shore. She would have to wake Shawna and start on their way soon. Just because they had not been caught yet did not mean they were out of danger. People could still be looking for them and with the seed of freedom now planted in Jobeth, she would rather die than return to the prison she had just escaped. She stood up, placing her foot solidly on the sand bed beneath her. Kneading water out of her eyes she turned to face the cave. Shawna was frantic searching for her. “Shawna!” Jobeth called out, an arm protectively covering her bosom. Shawna whirled around. Jobeth looked like an angel, submerged to her waist in water, arms modestly covering her front. Tears flowed from Shawna’s eyes but when she saw Jobeth, relief flooded her completely. “What on earth is wrong?” Jobeth questioned. Embarrassed, she quickly came out of the water and hastily dressed. “I thought yah left me.” Shawna said bowing her head. She knew Jobeth was flustered because she had caught her swimming naked. Shawna couldn’t help noticing the teeth marks on Jobeth’s breasts and the fingerprints covering every inch of her body. She didn’t need to guessed what had happened to Jobeth. She’d seen it too many times before. She felt sorry for her -- but at least she was alive. The ordeal had not killed her, as it had Donna. Beads of water dripped down Jobeth’s face. Her dress, which had finally dried thanks to the sun, clung to her wet body. Jobeth wondered again if color ever entered Shawna’s face. She smiled weakly at the ghostly child and grabbed for her hand. Shawna placed her waxen palm meekly in Jobeth’s and gazed up with anguish into the older girl’s face. No child should ever have that look, thought Jobeth. No child should be this frightened. “We are together now. From now on it’s you and I. You do not have to worry about me leaving you behind. I won’t do that to you, Shawna, you must believe me. Can you stand being with me all the time?” Jobeth maintained her composure, trying to sound strong. Shawna beamed, “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

Poppies -Prologue and Chapter 1

— Prologue —
"...you guys are gonna look like Poppies in a field of daisies.”
-Adam to Alan She is dreaming. Mama and Pappy are smiling as the train rolls down the track Mama is so
beautiful and happy. Strands of her golden hair have fallen from her usually wellkept bun. She looks over at Pappy. He smiles lovingly at his wife and brushes a wisp of loose hair out of her clear, hazel eyes.
“Jobeth will be so surprised,” Pappy says in a faraway voice. His dark eyes twinkle, full of life. The conductor is walking up the aisle.“MAMA! PAPPY! RUN! GET OUT OF THE TRAIN!” The conductor is an elderly gentleman of about seventy years. He is dressed in black trousers and a matching black blazer. A black cap rests comfortably on his balding, pale head. His shiny black shoes stop at Mama and Pappy’s seat. “YOU ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME! RUN! RUN!” The conductor tips his hat and smiles at Mama, his lips becoming smooth and unwrinkled. “Is there a problem?” Pappy asks curiously. The noise in the train is getting louder. A baby held to a plump breast in the next coach cannot be quieted and continues to cry in protest. The baby’s fists are balled up and it’s face is scrunched up in anger, fighting off some menacing creature no one else can see. The conductor places a blue-veined hand on the red velvet seat. Blood seems to billow around his knobby digits. Mouth gaping open, he looks out the window beside Mama. “HURRY--IT IS ALMOST TOO LATE! HURRY--GET OUT! MAMA! PAPPY!” The noise is increasing. The baby continues to cry louder and louder. The mother, frustrated, makes noises into the wiggling baby’s red face. She cannot understand her child’s behavior. Two gentlemen dressed in dark suits look up from the card game they are enjoying. They turn toward their window, mouths opened in surprise. Or is it fear? The noise in the coach is getting louder. There is an odd smell clinging to the air. A sweet, sickly smell. The smell of doom. The smell of certain death. “What is the problem?” Mama asks. Concern creases her smooth brow. She stands up in her seat and glances around frantically. Pappy reaches for her arm to soothe her. The conductor raises his old hand. It is shaking and blood is streaming down his arm, sliding into the waiting hole of his sleeve. His rumpled lips flap up and down like sheets on a clothesline. He defiantly shakes his raised hand at the window. Droplets of blood sprinkle Pappy’s clean white shirt and Mama’s hair. They do not notice the blood. They are looking at the old man’s fixed gaze. “MAMA! PAPPY! NO! NO!” Terror fills their eyes. The train reeks of fear. It is a fear that emanates from the very soul of each person on the train. They are going to die--they are going to die horribly and they know it. Mama looks at Pappy sadly and clutches his hand tightly. “I love you, Constance.” Pappy says above the whirling noise. “I love you, too, Michael” Mama mouths, her voice lost amongst the jumble of other fearful voices. “Jobeth . . . “ Mama chokes out. A tear rolls from Pappy’s dark eyes as he embraces his wife. “God help her.” Pappy breathes into Mama’s hair. He buries his face into her shoulder and squeezes Mama tight, knowing it would be the last time he would ever feel his wife again. Suddenly the train is lifted off the tracks. Screams echo through the compartments as the occupants are tossed around like misfit rag dolls that a spoiled child no longer wants. The hurricane sweeps the train into its vortex like a toy, crushing the conductor, crushing the card-playing gentlemen, crushing the now-silent baby. As quickly as it began, it ends. Everything is silent. There is no noise to be heard, except the crackle of flames starting to grow from the engine. The bodies of the passengers are twisted and mangled together, indistinguishable from one another. Blood flows freely from wounds and misshapen bodies. There is Mama. Pappy is nowhere to be seen. Her leg is twisted at an impossible angle. Debris covers her midsection. She is blanketed in blood. Her eyes are closed. A choking sound gurgles out of her bloody throat. Her fingers reach out into a mushy mass of severed arms and legs, searching for someone who is not there. She reaches in vain. Her broken fingernails dig into wet gore, aching for a comforting touch. Suddenly she feels the deep rumble that fills the air. Mama opens her one good eye in panic It rolls madly around in its socket searching futilely. Mama sees it coming directly toward her. A fiery ball of angry orange rolls quickly over the train. A wet bubble of a scream squeaks out of her blood-soaked throat just before she is consumed by the inferno’s sphere of death.
— Chapter 1 — Part 1 In the beginning
“Wake up Jobeth! Wake up!”
There is something shaking me, the girl thought. She opened her eyes to the threatening pull. Glaring down at her with steel-gray eyes was Mother Tomalina, a large woman who could never have been thought of as anything but homely. Even as a young woman, she had been nothing to look at. She had narrow eyes and no eyebrows or eyelashes. Folds of skin between them made them appear even closer together than they were. She had a long crooked nose, courtesy of her charming husband, Father James.
Tomalina Johnston, at the age of fifty-two, had not had an easy life. Her father forced her, to marry forty-year-old James Johnston when she was twenty-five years old. He claimed she should count herself damn lucky anyone would marry her ugly mug in the first place as he sent her on her way. She went to James Johnston, a man who repulsed and sickened her, married him and bedded with him begrudgingly, always with bile in her throat.
James Johnston, who found Tomalina unattractive, took amusement and sexual pleasure over her distaste in copulating with him. This caused him to frequently lift her gown and fondle between her frigid legs. If Mother Tomalina refused Father James, she would be faced with even more pain and humiliation: a nice black eye or a broken nose. Once he even broke a couple of ribs. With time, Mother Tomalina, who had never been a warm very person to begin with, became a bitter old woman. Her heart filled with hate and contempt. Her thin lips were usually pursed into a pucker. The beginnings of a road map of wrinkles covered her face. Her gray hair was always pulled tightly back from her long thin face, so tight that it seemed the roots would pop out and all that would be left was a handful of scant bun.
Mother Tomalina savagely grabbed the girl lying on the cot and dropped her like a lump of coal onto the cold cement floor. Jobeth felt no pain as she fell, only shame. Shame for the wet spot between her legs and on her nightgown.
She had wet herself again. Her mind started racing with the things to come. He would come now, and she feared him much more than she feared Mother
Tomalina. She closed her eyes and swallowed. How did she end up here? How did she, the daughter of Constance and Michael Roberts, end up on a cement floor, soiled and humiliated, awaiting a beating by people she had never even imagined could be so cruel. A lump formed in the back of her throat. Jobeth had once had such a good life, a happy life. Why did it seem a lifetime ago? The hurricane. It all started (or ended depending on how she looked at it) with the hurricane.
Her parents had been killed it on their journey home, after a getaway in Louisiana It was far from their Northern dwelling, but it was a much needed trip for Constance and Michael. Jobeth had stayed home because she had not wanted to miss school, and she felt her parents needed some time alone to heal some wounds. Six month’s prior, her younger brother Paul had been killed. As a rambunctious eight year old, he had been the apple of his parents’ and sister’s eyes.
Jobeth’s parents had given up all hope of ever having another child after their daughter’s birth. Each pregnancy ended by the fourth month in a painful miscarriage, sending Constance Roberts, sick and depressed, to her bed. By the time Jobeth was six years old, her Pappy had beseeched with his wife not to go through with the pregnancy she had just become aware of.
“Michael, God’s will shall be done. I will not destroy this gift.” Constance said calmly but firmly to her panicked husband. “But Constance, if you lose this one, we may lose you also. Is it God’s will that Jobeth and I live without you?” Michael asked in despair. “I do not wish to discuss the matter anymore. This child will come when it is ready or not. But it will be born when it decides and not beforehand.” Constance stood firmly, not looking at him. She rarely disagreed with her husband, but when she did there was no changing her mind. Michael knew there would be no arguing with her and he feared for his beloved wife’s life, hating the child in her womb that threatened her.Several months later at a birth that nearly killed Constance, Paul was born, big and healthy. As soon as Michael’s wailing, squirmy son was placed into his arms, all hate he had for the boy left and love took over. Jobeth, seeing that her mother was going to live and that the child she’d been carrying was also going to live, quickly forgot about her former feelings and became excited that she was no longer an only child. Since his birth, Pauli, a name adopted by Jobeth, was a child everyone, including his big sister, doted on. The little boy with light brown hair and seagreen eyes was aware of his family’s affections and knew that he could do no wrong. So, often he got himself into trouble knowing he would be forgiven. This was his mindset when he climbed the tree in the backyard of their home. He had been warned many times by his parents and Jobeth that it was too high and he could seriously hurt himself should he fall. Pauli felt he could do it. He had climbed many trees in his eight years and this beast of a tree would prove that he was the best tree climber around. He had done well until he reached the top branch. The twigs up this high were brittle and bark flaked off easily under his thick-soled boots, crumbling to the ground far below. Pauli had to clutch tightly to the main torso of the tree several times to balance himself. As he looked up, the leaves of the tree spiraled up to the sun, letting only glimpses of sunshine through. He felt triumph. He had conquered the beast. He raised his right hand high into the coiled green and let out a victory cry. His hand slapped against a branch. It moved and let in some of the sun’s blinding rays. Squinting, he became temporarily blinded. His hand instinctively went to shield his eyes, causing him to lose his footing on the branch. It happened so fast. Pauli never knew what hit him. He never even felt his neck snap, sounding eerily like the branches that fell underneath him, as he hit the ground and landed on his head. He was killed instantly. Jobeth and her parents were devastated after the death of little Pauli. Although they clung to each other for support, the emptiness would always be in their hearts. Jobeth felt relief when her parents had left on the train to a popular resort located on the coast of Louisiana. She had visited there many times with her parents and brother. It was a favored place to vacation in 1893. The dark circles that seemed to haunt both her beloved parents’ eyes seemed to be just a tiny bit faded. She knew this was just what the doctor had ordered. She had been studying quietly in the parlor, curled up in Pappy’s favorite velvet chair when she heard the knock on the door. Sitting up, she folded her notebook and absent-mindly placed it on a nearby end table. Shivering, and feeling as though something was wrong, she walked to the door. Rich aromas hung thick and delicious in the air. She had prepared her Pappy’s favorite: roast suckling pig with potatoes and baby carrots, topped with a thick rich gravy. Her mouth began to water with anticipation of her parents’ arrival. They were due any time now and she could not wait to see them. It had been lonely while they were away and a little frightening at night with all the shadows dancing around on the wall. One night she was certain Pauli’s ghost had returned to get her, angry because she had not saved him from his fall from the tree. She knew she was being silly. But still she hid, quivering under her covers, fearful Pauli would come, his head sitting on his shoulders in an unnatural way. Jobeth quickened her step to the foyer, figuring that maybe it was her parents so loaded down with parcels that they could not get the door. She smiled broadly and skipped excitedly to the entrance. Opening the door, her joy was quickly dashed. Isaiah Hyman the old Jewish man who was her family’s closest neighbor was standing in the doorway. He twisted his yarmulke nervously in his rough, old hands, his leathery face drawn and sad. “Mr. Hyman, what is it? Is there something wrong?” Jobeth’s heart suddenly began to race. Mr. Hyman was not a man to smile much. He never had any type of expression on his face, only a neighborly wave and a “How do you do?” Frightened, Jobeth began to twist her hands together. Maybe something had happened to his sweet wife Sarah?“Is it Mrs. Hyman?” She reached out and clutched the old man’s hand warmly but firmly. “No Miss Roberts, Mrs. Hyman is doing well, but I do bring bad news.” He looked down at the ground, wishing he were not the conveyer of unfortunate tidings. “It is about Mr. and Mrs. Roberts. There has been an accident . . .”
Jobeth could not stop crying. At first it was a guttural deep wounded cry that took her breath away, but as days past, it lessened to silent tears. People from town frequently came to console the young girl, bringing plates of steaming food, but nothing worked. She sat numb, hands limp in her lap, as each person asked the same questions.
“Do you have any other relatives dear?” “No. They were all I had,” she would answer bleakly. Concern for Jobeth’s welfare soon became eminent. Although she was fourteen years old, she could not run a large farm–and it was improper for an unmarried girl to live alone without a guardian.
It was unanimously agreed by the town council that since Jobeth had no living relatives, she would be sent to a nearby town to live with a couple who were known to take in orphaned children.
The arrangements were made immediately and the couple was very accommodating in accepting another mouth to feed. Jobeth’s father’s farm was auctioned off and his arrears paid off with the proceeds of the auction. The small amount of money left after all the debts were paid was given to the couple taking Jobeth in. This was to help feed her, clothe her and keep her in school until she came of age. All this was done as Jobeth sat back passively and watched her old life slip away.
The house she was sent to was the home of Mother Tomalina and Father James Johnston. From the moment Jobeth stepped into the filthy shack, she relived her parents’ death in dreams. Sometimes Pauli was with them, his neck broken and his head twisted and hanging on his shoulders. When she awoke from the depths of her nightmares, bathed in sweat and panting heavily, she saw that she had wet herself like a child just fresh out of nappies. Although Jobeth was humiliated, she could not seem to stop herself. Which brought her back to her present predicament: Lying on a filthy cement floor with Mother Tomalina standing over her. “You filthy girl.” Mother Tomalina screeched. Jobeth tried to get up and run But she was too slow as Mother Tomalina’s strong hand stopped Jobeth in her tracks with a stinging slap across her soft face, sending her sailing across the room. This time Jobeth felt the pain. She brought her hand up to her throbbing cheek and instantly felt the heat rise from her assaulted countenance. Quickly she wiped away the drops forming in the corner of her eyes. “Get up and strip.” Mother Tomalina said in a dry, dead voice, as she turned her back to Jobeth. The girl stood up, shaking on weak legs, and stared at the large rump bent over the tiny cot. Mother Tomalina quickly removed the gray, soiled sheets.“I should wipe your nose in it, you filthy girl.” Mother Tomalina hated children, and thanked God that He chose not to implant her womb with any of her husband’s demon seed. She knew that it was she who was barren and was grateful for it. Guilt filled Jobeth as she shivered and slowly started to unbutton her worn night gown. She could not understand why she wet herself nightly. She never had before. Her numb fingers slowly worked on her buttons. She stared down at the faded gown and wondered again as to the fate of her old clothes. She used to have pretty dresses. Blue and pink with lace collars, not these gray sheer nighties she wore now. They were so worn from use that one could see her naked form beneath it Where had her clothes gone? She had not seen them since she came to live here. Mother Tomalina had taken them from her the moment Mr. Hyman had left after dropping her off in his buggy. “You won’t be needing these high missy clothes here. You’re here to work, not show off your wares.” Mother Tomalina sniffed through her nose that first day. Jobeth didn’t understand the meaning of those words as she followed the homely older woman down to the cellar, her clothes captive in Mother Tomalina’s firm grasp. But they became crystal clear soon after.“Fourteen years old and still messes the bed. Dogs ain’t this bad.” Mother Tomalina scowled, scooping the sheets into her arms. She turned to face Jobeth, who was still fumbling with her buttons. “Not only are you as dirty a dog, you are slow as one too.” A large hand suddenly reached out from beneath the sheets and grabbed the neckline of the nightie. Jobeth’s head snapped up in protest, but before she could say anything Mother Tomalina had ripped her gown viciously off her. She quickly bent down to pick up the pieces of her only night garment and tried in vain to cover her nudity. Now what will I wear!? Jobeth screamed in her head, not daring to speak her anger aloud. “Humph.” Mother Tomalina clucked, her eyes sinking into the younger girl’s naked body. “That modesty of yours will go. There is only one place for the likes of you and that’s the streets.” Jobeth wrinkled her forehead in confusion. The streets? What did she mean? Mother Tomalina twisted her lips into a sour pucker. “Don’t look so innocent to me--within a year you’ll be spreading those pretty white thighs to any eager man with a jingle in his pocket. I’ve seen your type before. You’ll end up with a bastard in your belly not knowing who the Pa is or where he went. Jobeth opened her mouth in protest but Mother Tomalina quickly turned on her heels to leave. She swiveled around suddenly to face the dismayed young girl. “Father will be down to deal with you shortly. I reckon he’ll be mighty mad.” She smirked. Jobeth’s blood ran cold in her veins as Mother Tomalina closed the door. She will do for a while, Mother Tomalina thought to herself. He would leave Tomalina alone for a little while at least, and when he got bored with this one, she’d just find a new one. She groaned under her own weight as she ascended the stairs. She would sleep well tonight.
“How could she say that?” Jobeth’s lips quivered “My Mama and Pappy never raised a girl like that.” She clutched her gown around her tiny breasts and went to sit down on her cot. The cold, wet gown touched her flat belly.
Goosebumps jumped to the surface of her skin, forcing her thoughts to reality. Father James would be down soon. Ice-cold fingers crawled up Jobeth’s spine and the hair on the nape of her
neck stood on end. He would be dressed in his usual trousers, old and faded from years of use. In his large, hairy hands would lay the belt. The belt that would soon turn into a whip that would lash Jobeth’s young flesh.
She was terrified of him. He was huge and burly with cruel, beady eyes. Never had she met a man like him. Then again, she had never experienced brutality until she had come to the home of the Johnstons. Jobeth peeked through the strands of her own greasy hair. She had always been clean, but since she was thrown into this prison for some hidden crime she had committed, she had only been allowed one bath per month. “It’s too much trouble to waste time pumping water from the spring,” Mother Tomalina said. Jobeth was not permitted hot water either when it was time to bathe. It was a waste of cooking wood to heat water for a bath. “We don’t have them privileges here.” Mother Tomalina would preach, “A cold bath makes for a quick bath, so you can be sure you won’t be lazing around soaking in a hot, fancy tub.” Jobeth had to admit the old woman was right about that. The water was always ice cold. She would quickly wash the grime off her skin and be out of the tin barrow before she turned into an ice cube. Once, she was last to take a bath. The water had been warm and greasy from the previous people who used it. This disturbed her more than bathing in freezing water. From then on she volunteered to be first into the tub. It was better to wash in cold water than to bathe in someone else’s dirt. She closed her eyes and cowered on the corner of her cot, waiting. The Johnston’s didn’t have a large house and with all the children they took in, there was not enough room for everyone to sleep. Jobeth’s cot was in a small room dug out in the cellar. All that furnished the room was her cot. The few clothes Mother Tomalina had given her after taking Jobeth’s were neatly folded in the corner of her cubbyhole. Her heart pounded uncontrollably as her eyes darted around the gray room. She would never become accustomed to the degradation of being whipped naked. The first time Father James had come into her room a month ago, she was more upset that he had seen her naked then at the beating. He did not seem to care if she was naked or not. He just grabbed her and beat her and left. Jobeth had cried for hours. No man had ever seen her naked. Not even Pauli or her Pappy. It was just not decent and she felt somehow dirty from it all. But worse of all was the way Father James looked at her. It was a hungry look. Like a fox about to pounce on it’s prey. Bile rose in her throat. Those eyes were far more frightening than the belt ever could be.
Father James stood holding onto the knob of the door. Inside was the whore. The whore he must possess. He felt himself harden with desire. Yes, she
would be his, just like the others. She would be his. He thought of the greasy little wench inside and a mixture of lust and hate filled him. Scratching his swollen belly, he belched with disgust. All women repulsed him. They reminded him of his mother. As a child his life had been filled with humiliation after humiliation by the very hands of the woman who birthed him. His father would leave for work in the fields and the nightmare would begin.
“JAMES! You lazy good-for-nothing, I told you to get the eggs from the barn.” She would yell with such venom. James would duck his curly head down to try to avoid the hard whack across the head, but it didn’t matter. Her hand always connected, and if it wasn’t her hand, it was something else. Once she had knocked him out with a rock. As he lay semiconscious on the ground, bleeding from the head, she calmly stood over him, her dark eyes looking down at his sixyear-old body with disgust and said, “Get up, or just die. I don’t’ care which one you choose.”
The memory flooded Father James with hate and anger. He had endured his mother’s torture until he was eighteen. On a cold winter’s morning she had woken him to a slap across the head and something snapped. He grabbed her hand and all the anger he had built up inside him broke through like a raging inferno He saw the fear in her eyes as he easily twisted her arm behind her back. She grunted painfully as he forcefully heaved her body next to his. He said nothing as his hand went up and connected full force across her thin face. The joy he felt did not need words. She had cried out, but that only excited him more as he ploughed his fist over and over into her face. It was the beginning. The beginning of years of abusing women. First he found pleasure in beating them, but soon that became tiresome. As his beating became more violent, so did his sexual desire. After a while his beatings were accompanied with much more. He sighed thinking about it. They were all the same. Just like his mother. His mother had died from his abuse, but he had gotten away with it. Who would have suspected a son of beating his mother to death? He always got away with it and he would again with this one… what was her name? He scratched his greasy head and specks of dandruff fell onto his yellow stained shirt. Jo something… Some silly name he had never heard of before. He didn’t really care. She would be his to play with in whatever way he wanted. And today he wanted more than to beat her, he wanted to own her. Father James turned the knob and walked into the tiny room. The girl was huddled into a corner of the bed. She shrank back in fear. The smell of sweat clung to him and consumed the room as he gently shut the door, locking it behind him.