Lonely Souls

by Rosemary Fifield

  “Dawson?”

  “No, ma’am, it’s Blake. My ma called and said you needed someone to keep you company, and here I am.” He brushed past her, striding into the house with his heavy boots and said, “Where’s the goddamn lights? It’s darker than hell in here.”

  Shelby closed the door against the cold and rested against it for a moment. What was she going to do? She really didn’t want to be alone here with Blake. “Thanks for coming, Blake, but Grant McIan’s on his way, and Shane should be home soon.”

  “Really? That’s not what Ma said,” His breath smelled heavily of beer. “And you don’t have to thank me for coming yet. I ain’t even breathing hard.” He laughed at his own crude joke as he switched on a table lamp. “There, now I can get a good look at you. You know, you’re not half bad under them scars. A little makeup and you’d be okay.”

  “Thanks, that’s very nice. Now, would you please leave? Grant’s on his way.”

  “I doubt it some. Day like today, Grant’ll be boiling ‘til three a.m. I’m surprised he even left the sugarhouse to go on that call.” Blake’s voice moved away, and she heard him settle on the couch. “So, I’ll just set here and take care of you, okay? Don’t mind me.”

  Shelby turned and walked toward the kitchen. If she could lock herself in the bedroom, she’d probably be okay.

  Blake’s heavy footsteps came close behind her. “Where are we going?”

  Shelby drew a startled breath. “I thought you might be hungry. I know there’s some pumpkin pie in the refrigerator. Why don’t you help yourself?”

  She turned toward the bedroom, but he stepped in front of her. “Hey, I can sit alone at my own place.”

  “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  “Great. I’ll come along.”

  Shelby sighed. “Blake, please get out of my way.”

  Blake’s beery laugh flooded her face, and his fingers closed like vice grips on both of her upper arms. “Now, Shelby, that’s pretty rude, and I don’t think you should be talking like that. Let’s just kiss and make up, what do you say?”

  She turned her face away and he planted a sloppy kiss on her neck, then pulled her closer to his chest and repeatedly kissed her cheek and neck. “Blake, stop!” She tried to free herself, but the man was extremely strong and her efforts only made him tighten his grip. “I thought you were going to check out the refrigerator? There might be some wine in there.”

  “No beer? You high class types don’t drink beer?”

  “There might be some beer. Blake, you’re hurting me. Let go.”

  “Mmmm, I’m not ready to let go.”

  “Blake, you will never work here again if you hurt me!”

  Blake laughed but there was no humor in his voice as he said “I’m not going to hurt you. Making love don’t hurt.”

  Shelby’s heart began to pound in fear. “It hurts me. I’ve been in an accident. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but you fuck Shane, don’t you? Or does he only fuck you in the ass? Maybe that’s what you like, huh?”

  “No!”

  Blake pulled her tightly to him now, then reached his hand around to grab her butt. “Nice one. I can’t wait.”

  Shelby knew she had to stop him now. She brought her leg up between his legs, but he anticipated her move and hit her hard with his knee. The immediate pain in her previously fractured pelvis was overwhelming, and she gasped as her leg buckled beneath her.

  “Try that again, and I’ll fix you good,” he snarled.

  She was still recovering from the excruciating pain when she realized he was propelling her into the bedroom. She heard him flick the lightswitch and kick the door shut, and she began to tremble all over.

  “Hey, I love this bed. Pick your position! Are we gonna have a good time!”

  “Blake, please …”

  “That’s a good girl. Keep begging.” He shoved her roughly onto the bed, and a new wave of pain tore through her pelvis. “I know you want it from a real man real bad, and I’m here to give it to you.” He pushed her back against the headrail of the bed, one hand tight against her neck. “What say we start with a little titty action.”

  Shelby bit her lip to keep from crying out as he grabbed the front of her flannel shirt and pulled it apart with one hand, sending the buttons flying. His nails scratched her chest as his fingers curled over the top of her bra and ripped it away, breaking the straps as he pulled. His rough hand closed over her left breast to squeeze it, and she struggled against him, kicking him with her long legs. Blake released his grip on her neck and slapped her hard across the face, propelling her head to one side with the force of the stinging blow. She was still gasping for breath, her cheek and jaw smarting painfully, when he grabbed her sweatpants with both hands and yanked them roughly toward her knees, simultaneously dragging her flat on the bed as he stripped her. Involuntary tears streamed from her eyes, and Blake laughed.

  “I love it when women cry. Now how about a scream? No one will hear a scream. Screams turn me on real good. I bet I know how to make you scream …”

  Ma was in bed when Dawson came home. He left his gear in the summer kitchen that he had recently cleared out, and went into the house in his stocking feet. He needed a shower now and was ready for a good night’s sleep. He started across the kitchen and caught his sock on a raised crack in the linoleum. “Shit!”

  “Sonny, is that you?”

  “Well, who the hell else is it going to be, Ma? We’ve got to do something about this kitchen floor.”

  “I suppose. Where have you been?”

  “Riding around.”

  “Cassie called around seven-thirty.”

  “Oh yeah? I’ll call her in the morning.”

  “Floyd’s had a heart attack.”

  “How serious?”

  “She didn’t know. She was pretty upset. She said she wanted to go to the hospital, but she didn’t want to leave that woman alone. What’s her name? Shelley?”

  “Shelby.” Dawson turned and walked toward her bedroom. “So what did she do?”

  “She asked me to send you over, but you weren’t here, so I called Blake.”

  Dawson drew an involuntary breath. “You what?”

  “I called Blake, and he went over. What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, jeez, Ma, there are things about Blake you just don’t know!” Before she could answer, Dawson was on the run. He lifted her keys from the hook beside the door, pulled on his snowmobile boots and grabbed a jacket from the ell, then ran outside and jumped into his ma’s car. The tires spewed loose gravel against the house as he tore out of the driveway, and he headed for Chatham Ridge as fast as he could go. If he was caught speeding without a driver’s license, he’d lose his license for good, but he didn’t care. Maybe he was wrong about Blake, but maybe he wasn’t. He had never felt so terrified in his life.

  The trip across town took forever, but at last he was tearing up the long driveway and roaring to a halt outside the front door of Shelby’s house. Blake’s truck was in the parking lot and lights were on in the house. The front door pushed open easily and he ran inside.

  The lights were blazing in the living room, but no one was there. He ran through the music and dining rooms into the kitchen where the lights were also on. No one. He looked toward Shelby’s bedroom and saw the door was closed. Then he heard her.

  Her voice was muffled, like someone screaming into a pillow, and Dawson began to run once more. He slammed into the bedroom door and burst into the room, grabbed his brother, and threw him against the wall. Shelby was lying face down on the bed, wearing only a loose shirt, and her hips were covered with blood. Dawson turned and backhanded Blake’s face as hard as he could, splitting his brother’s cheek open and breaking his nose. Blake staggered backwards with a howl, but Dawson had no more time to devote to him. He pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed and covered Shelby, then leaned over her. She was sobbing convulsively now, and Dawson’s heart was pounding wildly against his ribs as he bent
closer to speak into her ear.

  “Shelby, this is Dawson. Blake’s gone. Shelby, can you hear me? You’re going to be okay. This is Dawson.” He tucked the blanket around her and rolled her onto her side. She cried out when he moved her, then began screaming and thrashing and pushing him away. The blanket fell away from her upper body and he covered her again, then lay down beside her on the bed, repeating her name and his name, trying to calm her. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly to his chest, saying over and over, “This is Dawson, You’re okay. This is Dawson. I’m here to take care of you. You’re going to be okay. This is Dawson.” He held her with all his strength until she was too exhausted to thrash any more, then buried his face against her neck and said. “Shelby, I need to take you to a hospital. I don’t think we should call anybody else. I think we should just go.”

  She lay quietly now while he pulled the bedspread from the bed and wrapped it around her front as best he could. Her eyes remained open, but she said nothing and her face had lost all expression. Dawson picked her up as gently as he could, talking to her the entire time, but she remained impassive, her face blank, her body offering no resistance. Blake had crawled out of the room and was in the kitchen holding a bloodied towel to his face when Dawson came into the room with Shelby in his arms and said, “Bring some more blankets out to the car, you fucking bastard.”

  He was terrified of how badly she might be injured, and he considered making Blake drive so he could cradle Shelby in his arms on the twenty-minute ride, but his brother’s face was swelling and he was staggering as he walked. Dawson prayed to God that he was doing the right thing as he gently laid her in the backseat of his mother’s car and tucked the extra blankets around her. She didn’t need the humiliation of having the fast squad involved. He would take care of her now. She remained unresponsive as he slipped into the driver’s seat, put his mother’s car in gear, and started slowly down the long driveway.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Miriam Penfield was washing dishes when the silver-gray van pulled into her yard. She wiped her hands on her apron and went out through the summer kitchen to meet the tall blond man Sonny had told her to expect.

  She watched him step down from the van, his legs and body long and slim like Sonny’s. His strong handsome face looked angry, and when his pale eyes settled on her, she felt a momentary twinge of fear. He had every reason to be angry, of course, and she could not blame him for how he must feel. She stood silently in the doorway to the ell and waited for him to speak.

  “Mrs. Penfield. I’m Shane Freeman. I understand Shelby is in your house.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “I’ve come to take her home.”

  Miriam shook her head. “She’s not ready to go anywhere yet, Mr. Freeman,” she said quietly.

  The blond man glowered at her. “You can’t keep her here against her will.”

  “No one is keeping her against her will,” Miriam replied evenly, determined not to be offended by his rude manner. “She’s comfortable here, and she’s well taken care of.”

  The man opened his mouth to protest, but Miriam was ready for him. “Mr. Freeman, we all feel terrible about what’s happened. It was my son who did this terrible thing, and I will have to live with that until the day I die. But we’re also able to help her and take care of her. And right now, this is the best place she could be.”

  The muscles along Shane’s face tensed. “The best place for her is at home, and that’s where she belongs. Not with the people who are responsible for this!”

  Miriam felt her face flush. “My son Blake is responsible for what happened,” she answered, returning his cold stare. “And my son Dawson is responsible for saving her. From what I understand, you left her alone when she should never have been left alone!”

  “I left her with Cassie, who left her alone,” the man scowled. “Now please, get out of my way and let me see her.”

  “You can see her,” Miriam said, “but she’s not leaving with you unless she tells me herself she wants to go. She’s not a child, and I won’t let her be treated like one.”

  “I don’t see where you people think you have any right to even come near her, much less tell me what you’re going to let her do!” Shane was furious. “Where’s Dawson? I want to talk to him right now!”

  “He’s not home. He’s helping a neighbor with a calving. And, come to think of it, I don’t think I want you in my house until he’s here!”

  “And when will that be?”

  Miriam shook her head. “I don’t rightly know.”

  Shane forced himself to calm down. Putting her on the defensive had reduced his chances of seeing Shelby.

  “Where’s Blake?” he asked. Miriam noticed a flicker of pain cross his face at the mention of her older son’s name.

  “He’s not here. He’s not welcome here.” Miriam fought to control the ache that was rising in her throat. She hadn’t been this perpetually close to tears since Billy died in Vietnam. “Come inside, Mr. Freeman,” she said at last. “Come see for yourself that Shelby is okay.”

  She led the way through the summer kitchen and into her house, then asked him to wait at the table. Her bedroom, which Shelby now occupied, was accessed from the living room. Inside, the shades were drawn and she could barely see the girl in her bed.

  “Shelby?” she said softly. “It’s Ma. Your friend Shane is here to see you. Are you awake?”

  The girl’s subdued voice came out of the darkness. “Yes.”

  “Do you want to see him?”

  “Yes.”

  Miriam crossed to the windows beside the bed. “I’m going to pull up the shades to let in some light, but the curtains are still closed. Can I get you anything or do anything for you first?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  Miriam gave the two shades each a yank, and they rolled up to let in the morning light.

  “What day is it?”

  “Friday. Friday morning. About ten o’clock.” Miriam went up to the bed and straightened out the bedclothes. The girl looked better than she had just a few hours before when she had refused breakfast and gone back to sleep. The tranquilizers were wearing off, and she seemed to be more aware. “Are you hungry? You promised me you’d eat today.”

  Shelby shook her head.

  Miriam left the room, and Shane went in. She resumed washing dishes, her ears straining to pick up their conversation from across the kitchen, but both were soft-spoken, and she could not hear a word. She feared Shelby might agree to leave with him, and she did not want the girl to go. It was the least she could do to take care of her now, and, Lord knew, the girl needed a woman’s care. She was unable to do much for herself, being stiff and sore and badly bruised. Physically, it was just a matter of letting bruised and damaged flesh heal. But it was her mind and her growing agitation over what had happened that was worrying Miriam now. Shelby was already reacting against Sonny, not wanting him in her room. If the girl went home with Shane, she might never work out her fears.

  “Mrs. Penfield? Shelby wants to talk to you.” Shane stood outside the bedroom door, tall and quiet, a pained look on his handsome face. Miriam wiped her hands on her apron and returned to the girl’s bedside.

  She was sitting up, propped against the pillows, and color was coming back into her pale face. Her large gray eyes were fixed on the bedclothes as she spoke. “Shane wants me to come home.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “I don’t want to burden you. You’ve been very kind.” Tears began to flow down her pock-marked cheek.

  “Well, I don’t want you to go,” Miriam said. She reached out and grasped the girl’s hand. “I think we need each other right now. I need to have you here, and I think you need me to take care of you.”

  Shelby nodded mutely and squeezed Miriam’s hand in return.

  “I think it would be nice if your young man brought some of your things over, don’t you? Why don’t you give him a list? And tell him he’s welcome to vis
it all he wants, but you need old Miriam’s love right now.”

  Shelby began to sob, and Miriam bent over to give her a heartfelt hug. “I mean it when I say I need you, too,” she said softly into the girl’s ear. “I think you understand. Now, dry your eyes and I’ll send him back in.”

  Dawson was waiting for Shane when the latter returned in the afternoon. Together they unloaded the wheelchair and the walker and a suitcase of Shelby’s things. Neither man had anything to say as they carried items into the house and lined them up in the living room. But when they finished, Shane asked if there was somewhere he and Dawson could go to talk. Miriam suggested her sewing room upstairs and said she’d bring them coffee when she had some made. Dawson led the way across the kitchen to the stairs behind the closed door, and the two men climbed the narrow passage to the second floor.