Shona Jackson- The Complete Trilogy

by Vicky Jones

  "I'm just gon' get another beer, Shona, you sure you don't want one?" Randy lifted his large bulk from behind the round bar table.

  "No thanks."

  Shona hated the stench of smoke which contributed to the stale, thick air in the Copperpot. She was uncomfortable but figured she would stay long enough to be respectful towards Ron, Ellis and a few of the other guys she got on alright with. As the evening wore on, it became clear to her that there was an obvious divide in the workforce. It was playing out right in front of her tonight, the two corners of the bar gradually filling up with men choosing their side.

  Randy returned to Shona's table and put his beer down, not registering that Deputy Paul had followed stealthily behind him.

  "I wanted to say somethin', Shona–" Randy began. As he did so, Deputy Paul kicked the chair from underneath him just as he went to sit down, sending Randy crashing to the ground with the table landing on top of him. Riotous laughter broke out as they cheered the commotion and chanted for the fat man to get to his feet.

  Shona sprang into action and struggled to help the prone Randy up.

  "You alright?" she asked, brushing fragments of the broken bottle from his beer-soaked shirt.

  "I'm fine," he replied, trying to pull himself together amid the chanting workers.

  Bruce and Kyle could hardly contain themselves as they congratulated Deputy Paul on the evening's entertainment.

  Just then, a cheer erupted from the corner nearest the door.

  "Now there's a sight for my sore eyes," Shona heard somebody in the bar say as a pretty young woman glided in.

  She was wearing a cornflower blue cocktail dress, the fine sequins shimmering in the bright lights of the bar. Her silky brown hair was parted on one side and held in place with a diamond-encrusted butterfly clip. Sighs of admiration rippled across the workers, with one small corner trying to stifle their wolf whistles.

  Chloe Bruce had arrived.

  "Here's my princess." Opening his arms wide, Larry Bruce embraced his daughter, giving Kyle a wink behind her back.

  "You alright?" Shona whispered to Randy, who was sitting quietly and looking over at the crowd of men now fawning over Chloe Bruce.

  "Yeah. It's just boys being boys. It's fine," he said, looking at the ground.

  A few minutes of awkward silence passed between them until Shona decided to cut her losses and make a move. Cuban hadn't arrived anyway and no one else really wanted to talk to her. She walked around the table to say goodbye to Ron and to congratulate him again, shaking Ellis's hand as she passed him.

  "What do you think of her, Ron?" Ellis asked, just as Shona was out of earshot.

  "She's great. Works harder than most of the guys. Gets a tough time, though. I mean, I can't be everywhere."

  "Hmm–" Ellis replied as he watched his star recruit stride towards the exit.

  Across the room, another group had also clocked Shona's movements.

  "There she goes," Kyle said to the little crowd that had gravitated over to him and Bruce. Chloe's head snapped around towards the exit, just as the door swung shut behind Shona. The others sniggered.

  Chloe, meanwhile, was curious to meet this Shona—the girl who had got all the men talking, the managers' opinion divided and who she had only, to date, seen the blurry outline of as she was hastily leaving a room.

  It was gone midnight, long after Shona had returned home from the Copperpot, when she heard a creak of the barn door and the fresh air of the night sweep over her blankets. A dark figure moved tentatively in the shard of dust-speckled light between the doorway and the corner of the barn. It was Cuban finally returning home, his whimpers replacing the silence. He sat on his little pallet bed and took off his boots with a strangled cry.

  "Hey. What happened?" Shona asked.

  Hearing him shivering, she crept towards his hunched figure. Edging closer, she looked down to where his boots had landed, a pool of dirty ditchwater staining the wooden barn floor. Something else was mixed in, making the water rusty in color. She reached her hand down and put two fingers in it.

  Blood. Lots of it.

  "Cuban…what the hell happened to you?"

  "I'm fine. I fell," he replied limply.

  "You're bleeding, for God's sake!"

  He rocked backward and forward on his bed, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

  Shona went back across to her bunk, pulled her boots on in the half-light and headed to the little cupboard Tom kept a first aid box in. Pulling out a wad of bandages and a little bottle of iodine, she switched the light on to see how badly hurt Cuban was, but couldn't have prepared herself for the horror that greeted her when she saw him.

  Dripping with blood, Cuban's leg looked as if he had caught it in a bear-trap. Cuts and scratches covered his shin bone, his right eye was swollen and he had a wide gash spanning the bridge of his nose. He looked broken.

  "Christ. How exactly did you fall to make your face and leg look like that?"

  "I don't know…I don't know!" he replied, rocking back and forth on his bunk.

  "You're lyin', Cuban!" She sniffed and wiped her hand across her face.

  "Someone chased me. I tried to take a different route home like Tom and Ruby asked me to do, but they musta followed me. They threw some kinda blanket over my head and knocked me down. I fell, then a damn dog got hold of m'leg. I don't wan' talk 'bout it no more. Please. I just wan' go sleep, OK?"

  Shona silently patched him up, then switched off the light. She went back over to her bed, feeling tormented by the thought of the ordeal her friend had been through that evening.

  Chapter 30

  Despite the fact that she was one of his only friends, Cuban still hadn't told Shona the full story of what happened that night. The following Monday night after work, they were sitting chatting in the barn, sorting out the pieces of wood that Elbie had thought perfect for Shona to make her benches out of.

  "You done much readin', Shona?"

  "Nah, not really. You?" She picked up two pieces of wood and held them together, sizing them up as armrests.

  "Well, I couldn't read until a nice white guy I worked for a few years back taught me, then I couldn't stop. I liked Marjorie Morningstar by Herman somebody. You heard o'it?"

  "Nope!" She laughed, not expecting to talk literature while hammering two-by-fours together.

  "It's about this woman who wants to change her life. Wish I could do that, just click m'fingers and be in that bar in New York playin' that smooth jazz. I can almost hear it now."

  A smile crept across Cuban's face as he drummed a beat on a piece of wood with his fingers.

  "Yeah? That sounds like a good place."

  "You know, Miss Chloe was behind me in the queue today–"

  "And?" Shona concentrated on her wood pile.

  "I went to let her go in front of me and–"

  She stopped what she was doing and faced Cuban. "What?"

  His face dropped, unsure at why his light-hearted story had created storm clouds on Shona's pretty face. Her eyes, which had glistened with softness for him a moment ago when he talked about his dream, were now cold and hollow.

  "And she let me go ahead of her, insisted on it."

  "Really."

  "You shoulda seen the look on Lou's face! She ain't so bad, Shona. I don't think she's like the others."

  "Don't trust her. She didn't stop what happened to you, did she?" Shona's voice was harsh. Picking up three small pieces of wood, she analyzed them for flaws, then threw away the one piece that didn't make the grade. The other two pieces, one in each hand, were further scrutinized by their holder.

  "Shona, she don't know! If she did, I think she'd try and stop it."

  "Do you? You really think she'd come to your rescue?" She slammed the wood down on the stone floor, sending echoes rippling through the barn.

  "Shona, what is your problem with Miss Chloe?"

  "She's one of them. She won't ever help the likes of us. I'm goin' to bed."

  "C
hrist! What happened here?"

  Shona scanned Cuban's possessions as they littered the floor early Tuesday morning.

  "Locker check. Not that anybody else ever has one."

  "Look, sorry about last night. I'm just not as hopeful as you are that things around here can change! Ain't nobody gon' come save us." Her tone was blunt. "I think we gotta just get on with it and get out of here as soon as possible!"

  Cuban tidied the last of his possessions up with Shona's help and rehung his spare pair of pants and an undershirt before attempting to bend the metal locker door back flat so it would close.

  "Thanks for your help, Shona." He shook his head and put his hands on his waist. "Jeez man, that Chambers! You'd think going on a date with the boss's daughter would put him in a better mood!"

  "What you talkin' bout?" Shona stopped what she was doing.

  "He's got a date with Miss Chloe. Don't know what she sees in him."

  "She likes him?"

  "God only knows why and if she does, well…there's no hope."

  Her face hardened. "She is like them," she whispered to herself.

  Shona's strange mood swings were still playing on Cuban's mind. Tasked with clearing up some smashed glass in the kitchen, he gripped the bag with the shards in it too tightly, recoiling in agony as a white-hot sting ripped through his hand.

  "Argh!" He stamped his foot in pain.

  "You OK?" Ron Black heard the shriek.

  "Yessir. It's nothin'." Cuban tried to hide the blood dripping through his fist and pooling onto the kitchen floor.

  "I'll get something for that," Ron replied, inspecting Cuban's wound as he stared in disbelief that his boss would want to help him.

  Ron Black burst into the meeting room trying to minimize his flustered appearance by smiling broadly and straightening his tie. Not a good start to my first management meeting, he thought as his eyes scanned the room, searching for his seat around the table. The only warm eyes were those of Jeffrey Ellis, who understood that the first meetings were always the worst.

  "I'm sorry, sir! Cuban cut his hand real bad so I had to get a bandage and then I got caught up with guys who wanted to see me about some shifts and, well, you know–"

  Ellis waved a hand to reassure him and invited him to sit down in the seat next to him.

  "Should have let the son’bitch bleed to death," Deputy Paul said under his breath to Larry Bruce, who smiled in agreement.

  "Right, me up first, isn't it? Is Chloe joining us?" Ron rustled his papers as he sorted them into neat piles and took a deep breath.

  "She's in town on business," Bruce replied.

  "It's OK, Ron, take your time," Ellis encouraged.

  "Thank you, sir. Phew…Um…Well, I've had some ideas about the future of the company."

  Ellis flashed a warm smile at his newly promoted manager.

  Returning to his office after the meeting, Ron felt elated. It'd gone better than he'd imagined it would, especially considering how late he'd arrived.

  Insisting the workers go home half an hour early, as they had worked so hard that week, was a decision that had irritated Kyle, who was still struggling to play second fiddle to Ellis's new star player.

  "So…" Kyle leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded. "You're the do-gooder?"

  "Pardon me?" Ron looked up from his desk.

  "You know, Mr. Popular." Kyle sauntered into the office.

  "Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."

  "Wanting to win over the guys?"

  "Not especially."

  "Wanting to impress the boss?"

  "This all a problem to you, Chambers?" Ron sat up straight, broadening his shoulders.

  Kyle smiled. "Me? No."

  He picked up a small die-cast model of a Spitfire off the neatly arranged desk. Holding the plane by its wings, Kyle began to spin it, prompting Ron to lick his lips in the hope that he wasn't thinking of breaking it.

  The little model plane had been a gift on his twenty-first birthday from his father, just before he and ten other brave American pilots left to fly with the RAF Fighter Command in July 1940, rejecting the neutrality laws and risking imprisonment for doing so. Ron hadn't seen his father again after that. He'd been lost somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, but Ron had always kept a little piece of him on his desk to remind him of the bravest man he’d ever known and the importance of having honor in the workplace. He’d also received his father's Battle of Britain clasp attached to the Campaign Star that was awarded posthumously, but the sentimental value of that little Spitfire plane was far more important. It was the last thing his father had given him. He motioned with his eyes to put his prized possession down. Kyle did so, then leaned across his desk.

  "Thing is, I'm just headin' home to get ready for a date with the boss's daughter. You know, your boss? I'm making a good impression here and my future relies on that fact. I just cannot allow anything, or anyone, to get in the way of that."

  He stood up straight and backed out the door with his familiar swagger, leaving Ron to try and work out what the hell had just happened.

  It felt like Kyle had just threatened him.

  Chapter 31

  "What are these bags doing here?"

  Chloe returned home on Tuesday evening and nearly tripped over three large sacks of books that had been left in the hallway. Antonia looked up from the windows she was cleaning and scuttled over.

  "Your father asked me to pack 'em up. He's making way for new furniture in the lounge," she explained, removing one of Chloe's kitten heels from a bag handle loop.

  "Oh, so they’re going be thrown in the trash?" she asked, reaching down into one of the bags and sifting through the books.

  "That's what he said."

  Antonia walked into the kitchen as Chloe picked up a few of the books, then took them to her den down the basement steps. As she returned to her bedroom up the main stairs, her mother stood waiting by the door, a broad smile draped across her face.

  "You need to get ready, Chloe darling. I bought this for you." Eleanor Bruce directed her daughter's attention to the midnight blue, off-the-shoulder evening dress she was holding.

  "That's stunning, Mother. Are we going out to dinner?"

  "You have a date," Eleanor smiled.

  "A date? Who with?" Chloe was a little perplexed that, even though she was twenty-five years old, she was still having dates arranged for her by her mother.

  "It's a surprise. The ladies in town are so jealous of you." Eleanor stroked the soft velvet of the evening gown.

  "So everybody knows, apart from me?" Chloe put her hand on her hip.

  "Quick. Go get ready." Eleanor scooted Chloe to the bathroom.

  Chloe found it impossible to feel excited while getting ready, especially as she had plans for a simple night in her den finishing a sketch she'd started. She hated these types of occasions, where her parents would invite some boring executive over for the chateaubriand, champagne and show of wealth.

  "You look beautiful, Princess." It was just before 7 o'clock when Larry Bruce, pouring his usual pre-dinner glass of whiskey, caught a glimpse of his daughter as she sidled into the living room.

  "Thank you, Daddy. Who is the date?"

  "You’ll find out. He’ll be here soon!" Bruce tapped her on the nose.

  Ten minutes later, Chloe was still poking at her tightly-pinned hair in front of the mirror in her bedroom when she heard the doorbell ring.

  "Chloe, come down, honey," Eleanor called up to her daughter from the bottom of the stairs.

  "Here goes," she muttered to herself.

  Gripping the banister for support as she swept down the stairs, Chloe saw her mother beaming, her hands clasped against her chest. Her father raised his topped-up glass to her and nodded his head towards their guest–and Chloe's date for the evening. A tall, dark-haired man stood with his back to her, offered his jacket to Antonia. As she went to hang it up in the closet, she passed Chloe and squeezed her forearm lightly like she always did w
hen she sensed her young mistress was nervous. Chloe's eyes followed Antonia, then drifted back towards her parents as their guest for the evening turned around.

  Kyle Chambers.

  Chloe's smile faded. It didn't go unnoticed.

  "Honey, say hello." Eleanor raised her eyebrows.

  "Hello," Chloe said evenly.

  "You look stunning." He flashed his Hollywood smile as he kissed her hand. Chloe faked a smile as a reply, drawing her hand away. They walked over to the dinner table where Kyle held out her seat.

  "Thank you," she said coolly.

  "So, Kyle, how's things?" Bruce poured him a large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

  "Well, Larry, things are going great." He took a slug of his red wine and smacked his lips. "You know, with your leadership n'all, I really feel I know where we're heading. I'm gon' ask for more investment and hire some real men if you catch my drift, sir. Not the Jeffrey Ellis kind, with all due respect. I mean, Ellis is great but his choice in personnel, well–"

  Kyle and Bruce both chuckled, the latter wiping his mustache on a napkin.

  Antonia served them their food, smiling at Chloe to check she was alright. She managed a pained smile back, listening to Kyle and her father talk with such disrespect about the workforce who were making them so much money every day.

  "So your parents Kyle, tell me about them," Eleanor chipped in.

  "Well, I'm very close to my parents, ma'am. My father did well for himself and built up a nice fortune in the steel business back home in Pittsburgh; he's one of the most influential people there," Kyle bragged, chomping on a piece of beef fillet. Bruce's ears pricked up as he rambled on about his father's fortune.

  "You've hardly touched your food, sweetheart," Eleanor said, noticing Chloe's near-full plate.

  Antonia observed but said nothing as she busied herself fetching drinks.

  "I'm not hungry, Mother. It's not the food, it's delicious," Chloe added quickly, hoping she had caught her words before they had offended Antonia, but she smiled to reassure her it was OK.