They Call Her Dana

by Jennifer Wilde

  I put the skillet on top of the stove beside the two pots and dropped a generous pat of grease into it. The plump pink pork chops were soon sizzling and turning a satisfactory mauve-brown. I turned them with a long fork, then checked the bread. It was ready, a crusty golden brown. I removed both pans from the oven and set them on the windowsill to cool for a few minutes before turning them out. Pausing at the window for a moment, I stared at the moss-hung trees and the sun-speckled patterns on the ground. From the barn came a metallic clanging noise as my stepfather repaired some farm tool. The noise ceased abruptly, and a moment later Clem sauntered out of the barn, wiping a hand across his brow.

  He stood there in the sunlight in brown work boots and snug tan breeches, his loose white cotton work shirt tucked carelessly into the waistband. His auburn hair gleamed with dark, coppery highlights, and there was a sullen expression on that brutal, rough-hewn face so many women found attractive. He reminded me of a bull, incredibly strong and muscular, full of surging energy he could barely repress. He glanced at the house, scowling, his hands balled into fists now and resting on his thighs. He seemed to be contemplating something, debating some course of action, the scowl deepening as he did so.

  I turned away from the windows and checked on the pork chops and saw they were done. I took them out of the skillet and placed them on a plate, then I took the handle of the skillet with a thick cloth and poured the grease into a can, setting the skillet on the scarred oak countertop. I took the bread out of the pans and sliced one of the loaves, moving by rote, here in the kitchen but not here at all. Every feeling I had was deadened. I had been encased in total numbness ever since Ma’s death, but my mind still functioned and I still saw and observed and took mental note of all around me.

  Clem O’Malley had not been kind to me since the funeral—he was incapable of kindness—but he had treated me with a strange deference, speaking to me in a gruff yet courteous voice. Whereas before he had snapped orders in a surly growl, he now made requests in a manner that, for Clem, might almost be considered polite. The boys’ manner had changed, too. There were no more rowdy jests, no more suggestive leers. Both of them were unusually quiet in my presence, seemed uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed, keeping their eyes lowered. Courtesy because of my loss? Hardly. Clem had spoken to them, telling them to mind themselves around me.

  Leopards do not change their spots, I told myself, and people don’t change overnight. Had I been capable of feeling, I might have been uneasy about this change of attitude toward me by my stepfather, but the numbness encased me, and I shuffled about doing my chores, blessedly free of feeling. I scooped buttery green beans onto the plate beside the pork chops, forked a tender ear of corn out of the boiling water and put it on the plate, too. The back of my dress was wet now, and the petticoat beneath felt limp and heavy. I heard my stepfather coming into the house, and a moment later I felt his eyes on me as I buttered slices of bread and placed them on a saucer.

  He didn’t say anything. He merely stood there in the doorway, staring at me with an intensity I could feel even though my back was turned. I buttered another slice of bread and, inside of me, something started to tremble, a tiny quiver of alarm that somehow managed to make itself felt despite the numbness. I turned around, holding the saucer of bread. Clem seemed to fill the doorway, not that tall, true, but so large, so sturdy and muscular. His presence was almost overwhelming, like some invisible physical force vibrating in the air. I set the saucer of bread on the table.

  “I just see one plate, girl,” he said. “You ain’t eating?”

  “I ain’t eating,” I said in a flat voice.

  “You didn’t have no breakfast, either.”

  “I wudn’t hungry,” I mumbled.

  Clem tilted his chin down and lifted those dark blue eyes, looking at me with smoldering speculation. Broad shoulders leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, he raised one hand to his chin and began to rub his full, sensual lower lip with the ball of his thumb, his eyes continuing to devour me. Some of the layers of numbness seemed to fall away, and I felt another quiver of alarm, stronger this time.

  “You gotta eat, girl,” he said.

  His voice was deep, and there was a husky catch in it, like a rough purr. Another layer of numbness fell away and then another, and deadened nerve ends vibrated with alarm. It was as though I were awakening from a long sleep, and instincts that had been dormant sprang back to life. I suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed. The kitchen seemed smaller, seemed to close in on me, and I was acutely aware that there was no escape except through the door he blocked with his sturdy bulk.

  “I had some cornbread yesterday,” I told him.

  “That ain’t enough. You gotta keep up your strength.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Clem. Your food is getting cold.”

  Clem hesitated for a moment and then sauntered over to the table and sat down. The chair creaked a little from his weight. He smelled of wet hay and leather and sweat. I noticed that his auburn hair was slightly damp, and the white cotton shirt clung moistly to the musculature of his back and shoulders. Out in the yard the chickens squabbled. The noise seemed to come from a very long distance. Clem started to eat, looking up at me now and then as I took the corn and the beans off the top of the stove.

  “Any applesauce?” he inquired.

  “I shook my head. “I didn’t have time to make any.”

  “You make tasty applesauce, Dana. I guess it’s all that brown sugar and cinnamon you use. You’re a right fine cook, come to think of it. You really know how to make a man’s belly feel good.”

  I made no reply. Instincts were shrieking now. Get out, get out, leave at once. Run. Yet I knew I mustn’t let him sense my uneasiness. I mustn’t give him that advantage. How I wished Jake and Randy were here. Uncouth as they were, they would at least have dispelled this atmosphere of enforced intimacy. I didn’t want to be alone with Clem. Ever.

  “More green beans?” I inquired.

  Clem nodded. I spooned more beans onto his plate. He watched me, those blue-black eyes taking in the full swell of my breasts, the smooth skin of my naked shoulders. I returned to the counter and set the beans down, trying to still the quivers of alarm.

  “I have chores to do,” I said.

  I turned around and started toward the door. As I passed the table, his hand flew up and strong, sinewy fingers clamped tightly around my wrist. When I tried to pull away, he tightened his grip even more, brutally squeezing flesh and bone.

  “What’s your hurry?” he asked gruffly.

  “I told you, I got chores to do.”

  “They can wait. I want coffee. You got coffee?”

  “I haven’t made any.”

  “Make some coffee,” he ordered.

  Our eyes met, Clem’s dark with blue-black depths, my own cool and defiant. Those strong, warm fingers tightened a fraction more. I wanted to wince at the pain, but I stoically refused to do so. After a moment, he released my wrist. I rubbed it, still looking down into those hated eyes, and then I put water into the coffeepot, scooped coffee into it and set the pot on top of the stove. My wrist still throbbed painfully. I would have to brazen it out, I knew. If I backed down now, if I let him win, I would be at his mercy. I couldn’t let him intimidate me.

  “More corn?” I asked.

  “Reckon I could use another ear.”

  I put it on his plate and turned back to the counter, wiping at it with a damp cloth, trying to keep occupied, aware of those eyes watching every move I made. Clem finished eating and wiped his mouth with a napkin. The coffee began to boil on top of the stove, its fragrant aroma wafting on the air. Clem pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair, well fed, looking rather indolent now.

  “Yeah,” he said, “you’re a right fine cook. You’re gonna make some man a good wife one-a these days.”

  “I ain’t interested,” I told him.

  “No?”

  “Not in the least.”

/>   “That’s ’cause you don’t know what it’s like bein’ with a man,” he said. “Bein’ with a man can be—better’n applesauce, better’n anything. You don’t know what-ja been missin’, girl.”

  I felt a warm flush tint my cheeks. Clem noticed it. The faintest suggestion of a grin curled on his full lips, and his blue-black eyes seemed to gleam with secret amusement. He enjoyed devilin’ people, enjoyed making them feel uneasy. He was like a cat cruelly toying with a mouse, I thought, but I wasn’t a mouse. I gave him a frosty look.

  “You’re gonna love it,” he promised.

  “I’m willin’ to wait for the right man,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “An’ he ain’t gonna be swamp trash like the men around here.”

  “Hold yourself pretty high, don’t-ja?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “Think that cherry’s some priceless jewel. You ain’t no different’n any other wench, girl. Prettier’n most, maybe, but that don’t make you no bloody princess. Tail’s tail in the dark.”

  “You should know, Clem.”

  It was bold of me, but Clem didn’t seem to mind at all. That faint suggestion of a grin flickered on his lips again. He shifted his position in the flimsy chair, broad shoulders rolling. He enjoyed his reputation with women. No man in the swamp was more successful with ’em, and no man treated ’em with more cavalier disdain.

  “You look just like your ma,” he suddenly observed.

  A sharp pain seemed to thrust inside me. The protective numbness was completely gone now, and I was a prey to all the emotions I had managed to repress before.

  “Yeah,” he continued, “you’re the spittin’ image of her. Same honey-colored hair and hazel eyes. Same lush body. When I first seen her, I thought she was the fetchin’est woman I ever clapped eyes on. Wearin’ yellow silk, she was, carryin’ one of them yellow silk parasols trimmed with white lace. She was visitin’ Miss Amanda at the plantation. Didn’t even notice me, of course. I was a lowly overseer, shouldn’t even-a been lookin’ at two such highborn young ladies.”

  So it was true. My ma was quality. I had known it all along, even though she had always refused to discuss her life before Clem. He knew about her background. He could tell me all I needed to … If I could find out the name of her family, I … I might somehow be able to … Using the thick cloth as a holder, I took the coffeepot off the stove and poured the dark, steaming brew into a chipped white cup.

  “I always knew Ma was a lady,” I said quietly, setting the cup of coffee in front of him.

  “Wudn’t such a lady next time I seen her—two years must-a gone by, and I went to town to get some provisions one day and happened to go into one of them waterfront hotels for a drink. I seen her sittin’ in the lobby, her bags beside her. They were throwin’ her out. Seems her fancy man had gone off and left her all alone. Her folks back in New Orleans had already disowned her. She didn’t have a penny to her name, didn’t have no one to turn to. I went over to her and introduced myself, said I recognized her, asked if I could be of some kinda assistance. I never will forget them hazel eyes gazin’ up at me, all fulla tears. I paid up her hotel bill and took her in to dinner, and three weeks later she became Mrs. Clem O’Malley.”

  “I—I see,” I said.

  “Your ma never told-ja anything about it, did she? Didn’t want you to know what really happened. Guess you thought she was married to your pa. Guess you thought he’d died, thought your ma was a widow when she married me. She wudn’t no widow.”

  “My father—”

  “Don’t know anything about him. Just know he was some fancy man her family didn’t approve of, know she ran off with him and lived with him for several months without th’ benefit of clergy. He knocked her up and then did a vanishin’ act. It’s an old, old story—happens all the time.”

  He paused to take a sip of coffee, carefully observing my reactions to his words. I tried to show none. Ma had loved the man she called Robert. She hadn’t married him, but … she had probably believed they would be married soon. I couldn’t blame her for what she had done. They said love was an overwhelming emotion, said it made you do things you’d ordinarily never dream of doing, and I wasn’t going to pass judgment. I might fall in love one day. I might do something even worse than what Ma had done.

  “So you married her,” I said in a flat voice.

  “She needed someone to give his name to the bastard she was carryin’ inside her, and I needed someone to look after my two motherless boys, so we made a bargain. She came back to the plantation she used to visit as a guest, this time as the wife of the overseer. It was humiliatin’ for her, of course, but Clarisse wudn’t in no position to complain. She was damned lucky to get me.”

  Clem didn’t scowl, showed not the least sign of anger. He merely took another sip of coffee, looking at me with dark, thoughtful eyes. What desperation Ma must have felt to have married such a crude, sullen brute. What misery he had dealt her. I hated him with all my heart and soul, and I longed to claw his eyes out, but he had information I needed to know. I took his empty plate and the saucer of bread off the table, setting them on the counter.

  “What was my mother’s family name?” I asked, ever so casual.

  “Whatta you wanna know that for?”

  “I—I’d just like to know.”

  “Wouldn’t do you no good. Whatta you think, think you might go to New Orleans an’ track ’em down? That’s rich, girl. Them Creole families are haughty as royalty, think they are royalty, and they’re totally unforgiving. Clarisse was brought up like a princess, and when she defied her folks, when she ran off with her fancy man, they disowned her completely. Think they’d have anything to do with her bastard?”

  “I—”

  “They’d have the servants throw your ass out, girl. You wouldn’t even get past the front foyer. Any wild notions you might have, you might as well put out of your mind here and now.”

  “I—I don’t even know where New Orleans is.”

  “And you ain’t likely to find out,” he told me.

  Clem finished his coffee and set the cup down and rose slowly to his feet. He stood there looking at me for several moments, his eyes full of speculation again, and then he nodded to himself, a decision made. He flicked the tip of his tongue out and licked his full lower lip, and I could see the desire darkening in his eyes. I hated him, hated him, and that hatred was so strong now it left no room for fear. Nerves taut, body tightening, I braced myself like a cat, ready to spring.

  “Yeah,” he drawled, “you’re just like your ma. Clarisse had that superior air about her, too, but I soon broke her of it. I’ll break you, too. I’ve been patient with you this past week, girl, givin’ you time to grieve, but now we’re gonna settle things.”

  “There ain’t nothing to settle. I—”

  “I’ve had my eye on you for a long, long time. You’re gonna be my woman. You’re gonna cook for me and see to my needs and—”

  “Like hell I will,” I said coldly.

  “You’re still a minor, an’ legally you’re my responsibility. You’ll do as I say, girl, and you’ll like it.”

  “You ain’t got no hold on me. You ain’t even kin. I—I’m leavin’ today, and—”

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere. We’re gonna have us a real good time, an’ when it’s all over you ain’t even gonna want to leave, girl. You’ve been holdin’ on to that cherry far too long as it is. Ain’t normal. Ain’t healthy. I’m gonna take it. I’m gonna show you what life’s all about.”

  “Stay away from me, Clem,” I warned.

  “What-ja gonna do? You gonna beat me up?”

  “I—”

  “The little wildcat, they call ya. Me, I always like a bit of challenge. Fight me all you want, girl. That’ll only make it more interestin’.”

  He moved slowly toward me with that loose, animal stride, his eyes gleaming darkly, his mouth curling in a grin of anticipation. A heavy auburn wave had fallen across his
forehead. Closer and closer he came, huge and muscular and utterly confident, and I knew I couldn’t possibly dart past him and reach the door. For a moment sheer panic threatened to overwhelm me. I felt weak, defenseless, at his mercy, and then something steely came to the fore. I wasn’t going to let him do it. I’d kill him if necessary. Clem stopped a couple of feet from me—so close I could smell his hair, his skin, his sweat—and his eyes were alight with devilish amusement.

  “Don’t do it, Clem,” I said.

  “You’re gonna love it,” he murmured.

  He reached for me. I moved back, stumbling slightly. Clem chuckled, enjoying himself immensely. The kitchen was hot, the air close and stuffy. The chickens were squabbling again. I was calm as could be on the surface, deliberately calculating each movement, but my heart was pounding, pounding, and I seemed to be having trouble catching my breath. I moved back another step, my thighs bumping against the counter. I was trapped, trapped, but I wasn’t going to let him. I wasn’t. I moved to one side and Clem chuckled again, taking his time, savoring my fear.

  “I been waitin’ for this,” he told me. “I been waitin’ for a long, long time. Seein’ you bud, seein’ you blossom, seein’ you growin’ up into the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on. Your ma was beautiful, too, but you got somethin’ special about you, somethin’ that makes a man’s throat go dry, makes his palms sweat, makes him wanna—” He cut himself short, nodding, blue-black eyes agleam. “Yeah, I been waitin’, girl, and now I’m gonna do what I’ve been wantin’ to do since you was thirteen years old.”

  He moved quickly then, grabbing my arms, squeezing them tightly, slamming his body up against mine. He was as strong as an ox, his body rock-hard, solid muscle. His face was inches from my own, and his lips parted and he lowered his head, seeking my mouth. I struggled vigorously, shaking my head from side to side, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arms with brutal force, his breath hot on my cheek, my neck, my shoulder. My heart pounding, I managed to take a deep breath and make myself go limp. Clem was startled, and he loosened his grip on my arms as I seemed to succumb to his authority.