His contorted, vicious face fractured into a stupid, yellow-toothed, childish grin. Braced for a blow, she tucked her chin to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. The blow didn’t come. She squinted to allow a peek. Reaching over her head to the top of the wardrobe, he brought down a small, black velvet case. Slowly he opened the lid, holding the box close to her nose.
Unable to breathe, eyes wide, Anora gulped, swallowing down a bilious shot of rage. Inside the box lay a necklace of garnets, earrings of marcasite and garnets, a long strand of crystal beads, and a cross pendant of marcasite. Hand shaking, she reached out to touch the familiar and much-loved objects. He withdrew the delicate garnet necklace from its nest. The stones came to life, catching the light from the fire. Caution and fear set aside, she whispered aloud, “Mama’s,” and knew her mistake.
The jewelry case snapped shut, nipping her fingers. “So…you found your tongue.” Cuffing her smartly upside the head, he knocked her off balance. “Bite it off, bitch.”
Caught in the corner, unable to escape, she took a blow to the ribs and fell to her knees. Cowering, her arm over her head, he placed a muddy, wet boot on the back of her neck, forcing her face down to the floor.
Bending over her, dangling the blood-red necklace close to her scrunched-up face, he growled down to her, “Mama’s be damned. These pretties are mine. Pretty is all they are. They ain’t worth a damn. I got to have somethin’ for my trouble. I sweat every day out on that ferry, yakkin’ with those yokels. Grinnin’ like an idiot to get their money. I thought your papa had a good notion. I thought he was gonna get rich workin’ a ferry. But it’s no way to get rich; it’s borin’ as hell. Back and forth…back and forth all the damned day. I keep a roof over your sorry head. Ain’t you fed? Ain’t you got clothes on your ugly back? You ain’t got nothin’…never did have nothin’ that’s yours. The little bit you got is mine to do as I please…hear?
“These pretties were meant for a…woman…not an ugly piece of flop like you. I know just the woman too. She knows how to treat a man…give him pleasure. She don’t lay there like a dead carp. She’s got a spark in her eye, and she smiles at a man after a hard day. She even laughs out loud. She don’t sit around moaning, baggy-eyed. Why, I bet if you was to smile your face would break.
“Sometimes I think you’re dead. You just don’t know it.” He straightened and laughed at his joke.
Bending back down to her, he told her, “I tried to teach you how to pleasure a man, but you’re too stupid, even too stupid for that. You ain’t good for a thing I can think of. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and do yourself in. Go drown yourself.”
Mewling, blubbering, Anora tried to shake her head.
“No? Then here…” With a flash, he had his whittling knife unfolded out of its bone handle sheath. He dropped the necklace onto the floor in front of her nose, wrenched her arm around so she could see. “Just slash here,” he said, bringing the silver edge of the blade so close to her skin on her wrist it chilled her blood. “Both wrists see,” he said, demonstrating more slowly this time. “Go deep, so’s the blood that’s keepin’ you here will drain out and you can be with your high and mighty mama and that ninny-hammer sister of hers.
“I’d stay and see to it,” he said, carelessly dropping the blade in her hand, “but there’s a woman, a real woman, that’s waitin’ for me. She wants me, see. She knows a real man when she gets one.”
Removing his foot from the back of her head, he kicked her in the pelvis with the hard toe of his boot. The blow drew her into a ball like a pill bug. He stood for a moment, studying her, cocking his head, as if she were doing something that at last interested him.
“I’m gone to have me some good time. I think, if you’re still alive when I get back, I’ll take you for a little ferry ride. Maybe you’ll be a little crazy…sort of fall overboard…disappear under the stern…get caught up in the rudder. Yup, I think that should do it.”
Picking up the necklace, putting it back in the case with the other jewelry, he rolled it up in his white shirt and good suit. Going to the table, he grabbed the chicken with one hand, and the bread with the other.
His maniacal laughter stayed with her long after he’d gone.
»»•««
Replete, after supper, they sat in the front parlor, Paxton savoring a snifter of brandy, Hank enjoying a strong cup of coffee with plenty of cream and sugar. Lydia, who sat on the settee, her feet up, sipped her tea. Isabell had curled up like a kitten and fallen asleep on the braided blue and brown oval rug before the fire with Charity tucked under her chin. Lydia draped a throw over the child, sat back in the chair, and closed her eyes. A brace of lit candles placed on the pie-crust table between the two chairs helped to illuminate the room.
Breaking the silence, Hank said, “It’ll be good to have some money coming in. I’m grateful to Mr. Gregson for hiring me as his job supervisor. We’d planned on living off what we’d saved, and my share of the orchard when my stepbrother, Burton, bought me out, but to be honest, I didn’t think we could last more than a year. Getting started all over again takes a long time and a lot of cash. Now all I have to do is find time to build a home.”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” said Paxton. “Between us and the men at the mill, we’ll get a house up for you by the end of summer…maybe a barn too.
“You don’t know it, but you already have friends here. Like Gregson. Today, you paid cash in advance for your lumber, nails, and roofing. That’s kind of rare out here where most folks have to barter for the things they need.
“Ben Talbot’s about the only other man I know of in town that still had money when he got here. Now you. I had some cash, but I was single, not a family man.”
Hank shook his head. “Don’t put me in the same class with Ben Talbot for any reason. I don’t want to have anything in common with the man. It’s bad enough we’re the same gender.”
Paxton tipped his head to the side and swirled the liquid in his glass. “Oh, well, that was then. These days Ben owes money all over town. He likes to drink and wager. He trades off his debts for free ferry service to a couple of the shopkeepers, and with me for his tab at the saloon. He’s always working the farmers out of flour, bacon…he got all his chickens through barter.
“I’ve heard talk he has quite a temper, and it’s hard to collect cash from him. I don’t have much to do with him. I go across river maybe twice a year. But I’ll be crossing more now, getting you set up, and afterward, of course.”
Lydia squirmed in her chair and pulled a face. Hank concentrated on the contents of his cup, staying silent on the subject.
“I take it you two don’t have much use for Ben Talbot,” Paxton said in the silence. “What happened last night?”
“I…I think we should get Isabell up to bed,” Lydia said to Hank. “I think I’ll retire too.”
Coming to his feet, Paxton raised his glass to her. “You’re going to leave without answering my question?” Paxton asked, and answered his own question.
Lydia cleared her throat. “Very well, I’ll tell you what I think of Ben Talbot. I believe him to be a cruel, vile, twisted man. He at once frightens and sickens me. He’s dangerous.”
She kissed her brother on the cheek. “You have a beautiful home, brother, very comfortable. You’ve made us most welcome. I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep. I’ll be ready to see Takenah and meet some of its people tomorrow.”
He returned the buss. “It’s a date. Goodnight, Lydia. Sleep well.”
Hank had scooped Isabell up to his shoulder and had already started for the stairs. He’d seen it before, folks turning a blind eye to the brutality between married couples. But Hank would never accept the reality of it as none of his business. He couldn’t ignore it, not this time.
The second he reentered the parlor, Paxton handed him a cigar, helped him light it, and waited impatiently for him to get comfortable before asking, “All right, what happened?”
Hank too
k his cigar out of his mouth, blew a steadying cloud of smoke, watching it drift out across the room. “I think we were invited in to share the Talbot cabin for Talbot’s amusement. He played our safety against his wife’s cooperation. I’m guessing he threatened her with our safety. I didn’t actually hear what he said to her, but I know the Ben Talbots of this world, and it’s how their evil minds work.”
Paxton leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry…I still don’t understand…”
Hank didn’t know if he could say what happened. The words weren’t readily available. He hardly ever had use for them; he certainly would never associate them with any part of his life now. He wanted Paxton to understand what was happening to Norie Talbot. But then, on the other hand, he didn’t care to have Paxton discover he was no stranger to the ugliness Ben Talbot created, in fact, had come from such an environment himself.
He leaned forward too and lowered his voice and gaze. “Norie Talbot isn’t mute…she isn’t crazy or dumb, she’s being tortured, humiliated, and beaten.
“I suspect a lot of folks around know what’s going on but find it easier to accept everything over there is just like Ben Talbot says it is.” He sat back in his chair. “I’ll wager Talbot stages the poison food performance anytime he has a big audience to reinforce her lack of credibility in case she might consider running off. He’s the only one who can handle her, I should imagine the story goes. She has spells, and she tries to kill herself, and there are bruises and cuts, self-inflicted of course.” He stopped, realizing he sounded too much of an authority. Stuffing the cigar in his mouth, he bit down hard to hold back a flood of bilious memories.
Paxton narrowed his gaze, jammed the cigar between his teeth. Popping up out of his chair, he began to pace before the fire, chewing on his cigar. “My God, Hank. I’ll kill the monster with my bare hands. You took him out and gave him a good thrashing? I hope you killed him.”
With his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, tense, rigid with rage, Hank shook his head. “No, Paxton, you still don’t understand. Ben Talbot is no fool. He lured us into his web, all smiles, offering us a meal and a place before his hearth—a true Samaritan. Using effusive hospitality, he camouflaged the quicksand. By the time I realized the danger, he’d homed in on our weakness. Isabell. He insisted we sleep inside, making it sound so reasonable, it would’ve been rude to refuse. But refuse I tried to do. I told him we’d rather sleep in our wagon. That’s when he made his move on Isabell, suggesting we allow her, the poor little child, so cold and fragile, surely we would allow her to sleep inside out of the night air. By this time Isbell had sidled up to Norie, taking note of her bruises, her hurts, she took pity on her, empathizing.
“You could cut the tension in that cabin with a knife. Norie sat on the edge of the bed, sitting on her hands, trying so hard not to move or give anything away. Sure, I could’ve hauled Ben outside and given him a good going over, but what for? Talbot would testify I’d attacked him for no good reason. He’d offered us his home, a meal, and a warm place to bed down. And for his kindness, I attacked him. The Ben Talbots of this world know how to play the game. You can bet I would’ve come out of the episode with a lot of stink on me. To save Lydia and Isabell from a scene, I relented, and we set up our cots before his fire, as he knew we would have to do. He put us in the middle of the room to taunt his wife.
“We stuck it out. This morning we got in our wagon and got the hell away from him. It’s Norie that has me concerned. She needs help, Paxton, and there’s no one. I’ve been trying to think of a way to help her without causing her more difficulty.”
“What do you mean, he made a move on Isabell?” Paxton asked, seating himself on the edge of his chair.
“Oh, there was nothing in his words that would cause anyone to be uneasy. But his manner, his voice, and the cold, lecherous gleam in his eye—I saw and heard a threat. He wanted Isabell to sleep inside. He started to pick her up. He’d been…well…I guess you could say, he’d been flirting with her, calling her a pretty little penny, smiling at her, nodding to her when he spoke. She didn’t like him touching her hand, but minding her manners, she didn’t make a fuss.
“And you know Isabell, she couldn’t help being curious about Norie. The poor girl had bruises all over her face, she could hardly stand up.”
Paxton stopped in front of him. “I never liked him, never trusted him.” Arm resting on the mantle, Paxton looked down into the flames in the hearth. “He talks too much. I’d heard some of the women complain about his boorish advances, but a lot of men out here are rough around the edges. A person doesn’t think much about it.” He turned and said to Hank, “It goes with the territory.”
Setting his cup down on the side table, Hank came to the hearth and looked into Paxton’s eyes. “You’ll make things worse for Norie Talbot if you go over there and try to push Ben Talbot around. He’ll take it out on her. He might eventually kill her. She’s that bad off. She had a fever this morning.
“She’s strong. I saw the look in her eyes. She’s got sense. Sense enough to lay low, try and keep out of his way. I say we do the same.”
“Do nothing…I don’t think I can.” Tossing his soggy cigar into the fire, Paxton said, “Damn the man’s black soul.”
Chapter Six
Oregon rain, Hank didn’t know if he’d ever get used to it. He couldn’t get warm; everything permeated with the dampness; clothes, boots, it went right to the bone. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyebrows to keep the wind off his forehead and urged his team of mules to move a little faster through the middle of town, but the mud made it hard going.
Unable to sleep, tossing and turning in the softness of the feather bed, and restive in the comfortably furnished bedroom of Paxton’s home, he’d risen before dawn, dressed, and went over to the planer. He loaded up a wagon with some of his lumber, stakes, and bailing twine, intent on setting out the perimeters of the house today, despite the inclement weather.
Heading down the road toward the ferry, he recalled what Paxton had said the night before. “You’re guessing, Hank. What can you do? Might be you’re wrong about this whole thing. You can’t help Norie Talbot. You’ll get everyone all riled up. No, the more I think about it, it’s best if we leave well enough alone. You’re new here. Don’t go kicking up a dust. Settle in, get to know folks.”
Good advice, Hank couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t help Norie Talbot. All he could do was wait and watch, just as he’d done when a child. One thing for sure, he didn’t intend to fall into Ben Talbot’s trap. He wouldn’t bash the man’s brains to bits, get himself accused of unreasonable and unwarranted conduct.
How easy it would be for Ben Talbot to muddy up his name, as well as Lydia’s. No, better to stand back, and wait. The problem with that reasoning, he didn’t think Norie Talbot had the luxury of time.
Lydia didn’t know anything about his childhood, his family. Hank thought he’d stuck all that muck in a dark hole and buried it. Ben Talbot had scraped open a hole in the protective layer he’d formed over the crud in his memory.
Norie Talbot reminded him of his stepmother. Now memories of her floated to the top like bloated, dead bodies, bobbing in the waters of his mind, cluttering his thoughts, making him anxious and sick. If he could get to work, keep his mind and body busy, maybe then the memories would fade again, go away.
He didn’t want to be haunted by memories. He didn’t want to go back to his childhood. Already, he heard the cries for mercy, the sounds of his father’s fists pounding against his stepmother’s body.
The smell of stale whiskey that hung on Ben Talbot’s breath like mildew reminded him of his father. Still in his head, he could hear his father’s voice, deep and unnatural, laughing at the girl, the teenage girl who was his stepmother. And hear her screams. All the while, the man shouted at him, taunted him to stay, watch; learn what a woman was really good for. If he closed his eyes, Hank could see the long, silver knife, the blade slicing across her white t
hroat.
He remembered her eyes, full of tears. He remembered the taste of his own tears. He remembered running…running and never looking back. He remembered the sound of his father’s laughter. Her screams had followed him for days and days, years and years.
After being taken in, and made to feel as one of their own, by the Reason family, the screams, the smell, the sight of her blood faded into a nightmare that resurfaced from time to time when stressed or ill. But eventually, he’d forgiven himself for leaving his stepmother to her fate.
But, Norie Talbot, he couldn’t leave her, as he had his stepmother. He had to find a way to help Norie. He wanted to hold her, protect her. He was a man now. He could help her.
His hands, sweaty in the cold rain, pulled back on the reins before the mules started over the steep, slippery bank down to the river. He needed a moment to quiet his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he shook off the chills that plagued him.
Opening his eyes, he saw the ferry docked below. He’d assumed it’d be moored across river. He urged the mules and wagon to the edge of the river. Consumed with an uneasy feeling, he pulled up short of boarding.
Looking around, he didn’t see Talbot anywhere. The ferry looked abandoned. He set the wagon brake and hopped down, nearly falling onto his backside, his feet sliding in the wet clay. Across the river, the oxen stood yoked in their styles, their heads down against the rain.
With his hands stuffed into the pockets of his wool coat, Hank stood staring at the far bank. He could see no smoke rising above the trees from the chimney of the obscured cabin. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he supposed he could get the ferry across by himself. Two bells and the oxen would start turning and pulling the cable. He wasn’t so certain about the rudder, or how to manage the strong current, but he was game to give it a try. Making up his mind, he got up onto the wagon.
“Hey, mister,” a boy called from the bank above and to his right. Clinging to some alder branches to keep him on his feet, the boy skidded down the bank to greet him. “Need to get across?”
The Widow's Ferry Page 5