by S. C. Wilson
Most men wanted two things from the town: whiskey and women. The Rowdy Rabbit offered both.
The four men outside the saloon on the day Toby brought his mother and sister to town were not there looking for honest work. They were scouting the area trying to figure out how to make some fast, easy money. Their thirst had brought them into Granite Falls that day. Uneducated and unskilled, except at causing trouble, they survived mostly on canned beans washed down with cups of tar-like coffee. These small, petty thieves wasted no time in relinquishing whatever cash they acquired at the local saloons.
The two men who headed up this ragtag team of misfits were Jake and Clay Roberts. They had no interest in their father's dream of his sons following in his footsteps. Farming was hard work. The brothers wanted no part in breaking their backs over a plow.
They had assumed finding gold would be easy money. Much to their disappointment, they never had any luck. These days the drifters spent their time stealing, drinking, and harassing women. They loved to play cards and would sit down at any table that would have them. More than one establishment had thrown them out for cheating. Jake and Clay were nasty guys, the kind of guys that, if you saw them on the street, you would cross the road so you wouldn’t have to get too close.
Jake was the older and meaner of the two brothers. He was homely, overweight, and downright vile. Greasy black hair topped a face scarred by acne. Dirt and grime filled the deep craters partly hidden beneath a scraggly beard. Not one to smile much, few noticed his teeth were rotten. His black eyes and constant sneer vied with his foul odor.
The younger man, Clay, was the physical opposite of his brother. So scrawny he appeared emaciated, he almost disappeared when standing behind Jake. Clay, like Jake, also had terrible hygiene. He was dirty blond, with only a few sporadic hairs on his baby face. His yellow teeth could be more easily seen due to the mindless grin he always wore.
Clay had no formal education and relied on his brother to help make any kind of decision. What Jake said was the law, and Clay would follow orders without question. Years of abuse from his older brother had taken its toll on Clay, robbing him of empathy. He enjoyed watching Jake beat someone to the brink of death. He liked the sight of fresh blood and was always willing to join in a good fight, or a bad one. If he could get in a few good licks on some poor, defenseless guy, or animal, he was even happier.
Willard Fulton and Chester “Pinky” Riffle were the other two men with the Roberts brothers that day. They were nobodies, really. They weren’t even friends. Circumstances had placed them across the poker table from Jake and Clay. Lacking direction, their main fault was being easily roped into anything guys like the Roberts boys dreamed up.
Willard wasn’t the smartest duck on the pond. What he lacked in brains, though, he made up for in brute strength. Mean from the day he was born, most people did what he said. Those who didn’t had a tendency to find themselves in a pine box.
Chester was a different sort of fella. He hadn’t been born mean, but rather raised that way. He had been going by the name “Pinky” for as long as anyone could remember. The way he told the story, his infamous missing digit had been bitten off during a fight. What his narcissist mother would say, if you knew where to find her, was tough ole Pinky lost that finger when he was a small boy.
When Chester was five, his father thought it was high time the boy learned to ride a horse. He sat Chester on the back of a horse and gave it a hard smack on the rump. It bolted. Needless to say, Chester didn’t stay on long. He was lucky it was only his hand that got trampled. It as easily could have been his head. Young Chester saw all that blood, his blood, and cried. His father had enjoyed picking on him, and this provided yet another cruel opportunity.
“Stupid boy, can’t even stay on a horse. Talk about worthless,” he had said, walking away. He was just a child but that didn’t matter to his parents. They truly enjoyed belittling their son. The more they mistreated him, the meaner Pinky got.
Clay tried not to show his embarrassment at being snubbed by Jamie Pratt. He hoped the gang of misfits wouldn’t bring attention to the rejection. However, they began to antagonize him almost immediately, fueling his temper.
“Girls like that don’t want the likes of you touchin’ her,” Pinky said with a chuckle.
“Shit,” Clay said, “she couldn’t handle a man like me. If I got ‘er alone, I’d make sweet love to her and she’d be beggin’ for more.”
The three men laughed in his face, only adding to his rage.
“You are right about that, jackass. She’d be beggin’ all right. More like beggin’ for ya to get off her,” Jake said. He spat another long stream of tobacco juice.
“I’d go after her and show y’all, but her father is waitin’ at home.”
This earned another round of laughter from the goons.
“Big talk for a little man,” said Jake, flashing rotten teeth through a mean smile. “You ain’t showin’ shit.”
Clay’s face burned. Knowing the other men might notice him blushing only made him angrier. His lip curled, another involuntary response. He felt his hands ball into fists; his shoulders rose.
“Lookit!” Pinky said in a mocking tone. “He’s puffin’ up like a chicken!”
Willard and Pinky laughed. Jake took a step closer to his brother, looking down at the smaller man.
“What are you gonna do?” he asked, his hot, stinking breath in his brother’s face.
Clay’s chest rose and fell. He did his best to stare his brother down. Fingernails drew blood in his clenched fists. And then he turned and started walking. The other men laughed, forcing it out louder to humiliate Clay. He kicked a stray dog on his way back toward the saloon, earning more guffaws from the others as they followed along behind.
Chapter Five
The nervous staccato of Toby’s boot on the toe board was the only sound breaking the awkward silence hanging over the wagon.
“Are you all right?” Sarah said, placing a hand on his leg.
“What is Father going to say when he finds out I just stood there?” Toby asked, his eyes betraying him, filling with tears.
“There was nothing you could’ve done. You didn’t just stand there. You got us away from trouble. Your father will be proud of you. I know I am.”
Toby’s bottom lip trembled. “I didn’t say anything to them—didn’t do anything to make them stop.”
“Son, you learned a valuable lesson today. Some men are just no good. You have to know there is no way to win against men like that. Sometimes it’s better to walk away and say nothing. They just wanted to cause trouble. Don’t ever stoop to their level.”
Jamie leaned up from the back. “Toby, you did exactly what Daniel would’ve done. He knows when it comes to people like that, it’s best to walk away. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you much stronger than them.”
“Your sister is right. Do you think Daniel would have gotten into a fight with those men?”
“Uh…probably not,” Toby said as he tried to inconspicuously wipe away the tear rolling down his cheek.
“What do you say we all forget about those men? Let’s not let them spoil this fine day,” Sarah said. She reached into her pocket for two pieces of candy. “I was going to wait until after supper to give these to you, but I think you should have them now.” She handed a piece to each of them.
Toby pulled the wagon up to the house, and helped his mother and sister unload their purchases. The confrontation in town had frightened him. He had tried his best to hide his fear, but he was relieved to be home.
As the women started preparing a pot of venison stew for supper, Toby headed to the barn to tend to the horses. He brushed them down, taking his time, trying to calm his nerves that were still on edge from the encounter with the drunken men in town. He’d felt like a man earlier. Now, angry and riled up by his failure to act, he felt like a boy again.
Toby threw in some hay and latched the stall door behind him. He grabbed the bucket to
fetch some water from the stream. As he did, Jessica came tearing around the corner.
“Toby! Just look at the fish I caught! Aren’t they monsters?” She squealed with delight.
Nerves still tied into tight bundles, Toby jumped, fists up. He regained his composure by placing his hands on Jessica’s shoulders and taking a slow, deep breath. He was about to speak when he was interrupted by a scream from inside the house.
“You get in the stall with Dakota and stay there. Don’t come out until I come for you,” Toby said, commanding her in a terrified whisper. He paused long enough to grab his rifle from the wagon seat. The old bucket with the rusted handle lay forgotten as Toby sprinted to the house.
Jessica hated it when Toby told her what to do. Just because he was three years older didn’t give him the right to boss her around. This time was different. Hearing the terror in his voice, she did exactly as she was told. She ran into the stall, latched the door shut, and completely buried herself in the hay.
Toby burst through the door. He stopped dead in his tracks, recognizing the intruders instantly. They had been followed home.
His mother, the quiet, soft-spoken woman who would never hurt a soul, was bent over the table, dress hiked up to her neck. Her torn undergarments lay on the floor next to her.
Willard and Pinky stood around the table looking on as Jake raped Sarah, eyeing the spectacle like a prizefight. Toby could not see his mother this way. He looked away, locking his gaze on his sister. Clay Roberts had Jamie in a bear hug from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. Pinky lunged at Toby, wrestled the rifle out of fear-crippled hands before the boy could react.
Jake paused long enough to yell, “Take that damn kid outside!” He then resumed forcing himself onto Sarah before her son was out the door.
Sarah tried to remain calm for Jamie’s sake. This was something no daughter should ever have to witness. Sarah was restrained, on her stomach, against the redwood table James had made her after he had finished building the house. He had told her, “Sarah, this room, all of us seated around the table, this is the heart of our home.” If there was any truth in that, then that heart was being broken.
Sarah knew she was going to have to stay strong if they were going to make it through this. She didn’t dare look at Jamie, fearing if she did, her daughter would see how terrified she really was. Instead, she focused on the little clock sitting atop the mantel; oblivious to the fact her fingernails were clawing scratches into the surface of the beloved table. Shocked and staring, Sarah willed the clock’s frozen hands to move, to count her family out of this nightmare.
Jamie didn’t want to look. She turned her head away in horror and shame. Each time she did, Clay would twist her head back in her mother’s direction, forcing her to face the sordid scene head on. Red handprints blossomed against her cheeks, the hard slaps penalty for closing her eyes. Jamie stared, deadpan, eyes cold and flat. She focused on the fact that her father and brother would be home any minute.
Could be home any minute.
Should be home any minute.
Clay whispered in Jamie’s ear. “Ever been with a man? Mmm…bet not,” he said, moaning. His voice alone was enough to make her skin crawl, even if it wasn’t hot and scented with whiskey and decay.
Taking his time, Clay lifted the hair from the nape of Jamie’s neck, clumsily kissing her tender skin. She retched as his fetid breath assaulted her, leaving her with a bitter taste in her mouth. He rubbed himself against Jamie’s backside, the bulge in his pants prodding her through the thin fabric of her dress.
Jamie said a silent prayer as Clay continued to push himself against her. Please, the terrified young girl pleaded with God, please let Father and Daniel get here soon.
Clay had never been a man of patience. He was impulsive, if anything. With a quick temper and a short fuse, he wasn’t the kind of guy to stand around and watch anything. He was always one of the first ones in, and he was tired of watching. Without warning, he jerked Jamie by her arm. She screamed as he pulled her toward the door.
Her daughter’s scream was all it took to pull Sarah’s eyes from the clock. She lifted her head off the table and cried out. “No! She’s just a girl. Take me instead.”
Her pleas fell on deaf, uncaring ears. Jake pushed her face flat against the table and continued his assault.
Toby, still restrained out on the porch, watched as Clay shoved Jamie through the door. He tried to muscle free from the tight grip Pinky had on him. His strength was no match for his captor. Toby watched in helpless terror as Clay shoved Jamie off the porch. She hit the ground hard.
“Get up,” Clay shouted, “or I’m going back in the house and put a bullet in your mama’s skull.”
Knowing he would do just that, Jamie stood unaided and continued on to the barn without resistance.
Under the hay in Dakota’s stall, Jessica could hear the commotion outside. She wondered if Toby might be returning. Peeking out of the hay enough to see through a knothole in the wood, she watched as a man she had never seen threw Jamie to the ground so hard she swore she felt the vibration beneath her. Jamie cried harder and gasped for the air that had been knocked out of her.
Jessica saw a stream of blood roll down her sister’s chin. She wanted to storm out of the stall and beat him with her fists. Her body wouldn’t move, though. She was too afraid to make a sound. Her teeth began to rattle, and she thought for sure the echoing chatter was going to reveal her hiding spot.
What was about to happen in the barn was a violation in more ways than one. The heinous act would rob Jessica of her innocence.
The man bent down and hiked Jamie’s dress up so far the hem rested on her neck. She resisted, pulling her dress down, desperately trying to remain covered.
“This is going to happen—so you can fight me if you’d like,” Clay said, his voice sinister, “but I promise you are not going to win.” He raised his booted foot and kicked Jamie in the ribs. She yelped as she curled onto her side in a protective ball.
Clay bent down and squeezed her face. “So what’s it going to be?” he asked, looking her dead in the eyes.
Jamie, hurt, traumatized, and defenseless, didn’t speak.
Clay took her silence as acknowledgement of his control. “Good,” he said with a sneer. “Now, roll over on your back and raise your damn dress. And don’t make me ask again.”
Fearing more violence if she resisted, Jamie did as she was told. She rolled over. With trembling hands, she slowly lifted her dress above her waist.
“Higher,” he ordered. “I want to see you—all of you.”
Jamie obeyed.
“Mmm…perfect,” Clay said as he bent down. He pulled off her undergarments and tossed them to the side.
Jamie turned her head away, lips and chin trembling, as the gravity of the situation set in. She was totally powerless, but knew it would be over much sooner if she didn’t resist.
Clay reached down and removed his belt, letting his pants fall to the ground.
Jamie dug in her heels and did her best to scoot away from him. She was too scared to worry about the consequences.
Clay snickered. “And where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked, grabbing her by the ankles and pulling her toward him, scraping her back against the hard barn floor.
Jessica could tell by the looks of him the man was mean. She also knew whatever he was about to do to Jamie was bad, monstrously bad. Out of the corner of her eye, Jessica saw the pitchfork leaned up against the wall. She envisioned herself sneaking out of the stall, grabbing it, and thrusting the tines into the man’s back. She was still paralyzed, though, frozen with fear. She couldn’t move a muscle.
Jessica watched powerlessly as the man fell on top of Jamie, pushing his way between her thrashing legs. With one hand he pinned Jamie’s hands above her head. With the other, he reached down between his own legs and, in one quick move, did something that made Jamie cry out.
Jessica watched the man’s body move over Jamie’s
motionless form. Jessica grew even more concerned when she saw that all the color had gone from her sister’s face. The man’s movements reminded Jessica of a fish flopping when it’s out of the water. She wondered, bizarrely, if she would ever be able to look at a fish again.
Then, it appeared to Jessica as if the man was being shocked by an invisible force. He released a long, protracted moan, and then his flopping slowed to a stop. It seemed an eternity to Jessica. In truth, the whole sickening scene was over in minutes.
Inside the house, the assault on Sarah continued. Her eyes still focused on the ornate clock, an attempt to block out the reality of the hell her family was going through. She forced her mind to go back to the day she had gotten the clock. Sarah had been fond of it since she was a small child. Knowing this, her mother presented it to her on her wedding day. Sarah couldn’t have asked for a more perfect gift. To her, it was more than hands and gears; the clock was a piece of her mother, still with her. Someday, she would pass it down to Jamie. She panicked when Jamie came to mind. She couldn’t even let herself think about what was happening to her right now.
Finally finished with Sarah, Jake fell heavily onto a chair. He was exhausted, panting, and dripping sweat. He was not used to any type of physical activity.
Willard was eager for his turn. He flipped Sarah over onto her back and undid his pants. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he kissed her roughly. His weather-beaten skin left small abrasions on her soft lips. Sarah felt as if she would never come clean again.