“ She deserves to be married for love, not pity, Sonny. Besides, she’s putting the baby up for adoption, so your obligation is null and void.”
Dawson stared at her. “Are you sure? I know she said that once, but I thought she was just talking.”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“But that’s our baby, too. My mother’s grandchild.”
“Give me a break! It’s not like your family’s been rallying around her all this time.”
“How the hell were we supposed to do that when nobody knew? She said it was Claude’s kid! I was supposed to rally around her for that? I asked her time and time again whose kid it really was, and she wouldn’t tell me!”
“Maybe it was the way you asked!”
“Why don’t you adopt it?” Teddy said, looking up from his lunch. “Your ma would take it in a minute, I bet.”
“Does your Ma even know?” Marcia asked.
Dawson shook his head. “I haven’t had the heart to tell her.”
“What about that Shelby person? Cassie tells me you’re sweet on her. Or don’t you think she could handle a baby?”
“She won’t have anything to do with me now.”
“Because of Blake? She blames you?”
“No, she just doesn’t want me near her.”
“Oh, because of the male thing? She’ll get over that.”
Dawson shook his head. “I’m not so sure. It’s more than just being male. I’m the one who saw it happening.”
Marcia stared at him for a long moment before she said, “Oh.”
Dawson sighed and looked out the multi-paned bay window on the end of the trailer. Adoption actually had its possibilities. It would keep his mother’s grandchild in the family and provide another generation of Penfield to possibly work the farm. If only Shelby would consider the possibility and give him a chance.
“Give her time,” Teddy said, reaching for a cigarette from the pack on the table.
“Yeah,” Marcia grinned. “Once she gets to know you better, she’ll be taking her clothes off for you on her own.”
Dawson kept his eyes on the cornfield outside the window but his mind had gone to the scene in the bedroom, when a terrified Shelby was fighting and pushing him away. He had seen her naked, and all he had felt for her was love and compassion, but how could he make her realize that? That her nakedness hadn’t been a sexual thing but just part of who she was – the woman he loved and wanted to take care of, in need of someone to wrap her up and carry her out of that place to get help. It was just Shelby.
Marcia was standing beside Teddy’s chair, and he put his arm around her hips, drawing her near to give her a hug. She smiled down at him, and the meaning of the gesture was plain. Dawson finished his coffee and zipped up his snowmobile suit.
“Thanks for listening,” he said as he stood up. “Has Cassie made any arrangements to sign away the baby yet?”
“I don’t think so,” Marcia answered. “I think she’s hoping something will turn up. You know, if you claim paternity, you wouldn’t even have to mess with the cost of adoption.”
“Oh, thanks,” he said, eying her coldly. “Is that part of the plan you two worked out? That I should claim paternity?”
“There is no plan, Sonny. Grow up. I just thought of it, as a matter of fact. But it’s true.”
“Who’s going to believe I fathered a kid with blue eyes and fair skin?”
“I’m not saying you put up a notice at the Post Office. I’m saying you put your name on the birth certificate and take custody. Who’s gonna contest it? Blake?”
Dawson studied her for a long moment. “I’ll think about it. But don’t go saying anything to Cassie. I’m not sure I like any of it.”
Marcia shrugged her shoulders. “No skin off my teeth.”
Dawson said good-bye and went out to his snow machine. He was extremely uncomfortable after being that close to Marcia without any of the sexual release she had come to represent. She would be jumping in the sack with Teddy now, and he was doomed to go home to a woman he loved who wouldn’t even let him near her room. A woman whom he wanted more than he had ever wanted any woman in his life…
He was driving himself insane. He pulled the snowmobile helmet over his head and started the machine. A good jolting ride home and a cold shower would have to do the trick. There was no way he would even approach Shelby. Until she came to him, he would have to endure a multitude of cold showers. Dawson laughed bitterly to himself. He was going to die of pneumonia.
Shelby sat alone in her bedroom with Miriam’s words traveling through her mind. “Don’t let Blake keep on hurting you. Force him out of your mind. You’re the only one who can do it.” Easy words to say.
But that was unfair. Miriam certainly knew about rising above humiliation and hurt. And she was right. He would rape her over and over again if she let him, and he didn’t need to be anywhere near her to do it. Only she could keep him from totally destroying her life.
And Cassie, raped by Blake as well. She never did explain why she had never told anyone, why she had let him remain free to do it again. To do it to her! To be sent to Shelby by his mother, who had no idea how dangerous he actually was because Cassie had never told anyone! And Cassie had lectured Shelby about women assuming it was their fault! Why had Cassie failed to protect other women from him? Because she was too damned embarrassed to tell anyone?
And how could Cassie bear to see him again, over and over, day after day when he was working at the house? The very thought of him brought a violent bout of nausea to Shelby; how could Cassie actually choose to be anywhere near him? Because she wanted to be near Dawson? Yet she couldn’t tell Dawson the truth about who had fathered her baby? What kind of a relationship was that? Was Dawson such a violent person that she feared him more than she feared the man who raped her? Yet people were trying to get Shelby to trust Dawson. Why should she, when he was no different than anyone else?
And how could Dawson seriously think he needed her? He might think so now, because of some unexplainable infatuation, but that would eventually wear off and she would just become a burden, a stone around his neck. She would be where she was now—watching the man she loved slip away. She and Shane had been drifting further and further apart for weeks, even before the rape.
He had been so preoccupied, he was barely even a companion anymore. No doubt he had someone else he longed to be with. She had always known it would happen someday. It was just a matter of time, and he would want to be moving out of her life. And she would have to make him feel free to go, no matter how she really felt. She owed him that much. No, it was even more than that. She loved him that much.
She rose from the chair and felt her way along the wall to the bed, then traveled around it to the table on the other side where Miriam had put her cassette player. Among the things Shane had brought was a collection of tapes. They were identified with Braille markings, and she went through them until she found the one Shane had made in the music room. She slipped it into the cassette player and let the sound of Shane’s distinctive style on the acoustic guitar become her entire world. She lay on the bed and his music took her back to happier days when they were lovers intent on no one but each other. They were in each other’s arms, lying on the bed in his Portland apartment, getting to know how another. How incredible it had been then to think he could love her in spite of all that was wrong with her. In spite of the raw, ugly scars, both inside and out. He had helped to heal so many of those scars, encouraging her during periods of intense pain, whether physical or emotional. Memories of his unwavering love had later carried her through the crisis of learning he was bisexual. She was determined then to return his love in kind, and she had. The bond between them had become stronger than ever as a result.
But now they were both changing, growing apart. Shane needed space to grow in his career, and she was holding him back. The initial idea of the school had seemed like a good one, but lately his enthusiasm had been waning, even as his need
to travel to other places had increased. Taking him away from Portland had been a mistake. Tying him down to babysitting her had been the beginning of the end.
The last cut on the tape was one of the few for which he had written words. His beautiful voice, clear and lyric, brought tears to her eyes with the gentle song he had written for her:
You were born again into a world of darkness
Born again after the fall
With broken wings that cannot lift you
Yet you fly further than us all
And you’ve taken me to places I had only heard of
Shown me things that I had never seen
Made my life a world of wonder
My broken angel, my lover’s dream.
To me you are a thing of beauty
A snowbird lost on a moonless night
A graceful swan with broken feathers
You carry us both on your wingless flight.
And you’ve taken me to places I had only heard of
Shown me things that I had never seen
Made my life a world of wonder
My broken angel, my lover’s dream.
When Shane called that afternoon, Miriam found her in her room sound asleep, the earphones still on her head. He told Miriam not to wake her and said he would call back later.
Miriam made macaroni and cheese for supper. It was a simple meal Shelby could manage, and she agreed to sit at the table with Miriam and Dawson. They listened to A Prairie Home Companion on the radio while they ate, lingering over a cup of coffee and apple pie to hear Garrison Keillor’s monologue. Dawson said little throughout the meal, trying to minimize the impact of his presence. He was grateful just to have her nearby.
Shelby washed the dishes while Dawson wiped them and put them away. He watched her profile as they worked silently together, listening to the last half hour of the radio program. The right side of her face was almost flawless. She must have turned toward her husband in the passenger seat at the moment the windshield shattered. He wondered how much she remembered of the accident and whether she had lost consciousness or suffered through it all, fully aware of what was happening. Had she been blinded right away? There were no marks on her eyes; they seemed untouched. Had something hit her head so hard as to leave her blind? If so, how had she even survived?
He looked at her slim body, her narrow hips and long legs. She had been athletic once; he was sure of that. Her arms were extremely strong as a result of using the walker; he had felt that when she had tried to push him away. He wished he had met her years before when she had lived in Hanover. Would she have even looked at him then? Probably not.
They finished the dishes, and she went into the living room where Miriam was repairing rips and tears in Dawson’s clothes, the results of contact with barbed wire fencing and other farm hazards. Dawson sat and read out loud to them from a book by E.B. White entitled The Points of My Compass. It was a collection of essays on life in New England, and Shelby listened with interest. Dawson read well, his voice expressive and interesting. Miriam had said that as a child, Dawson had loved to read out loud to anyone who would listen. Now, in lieu of television, he read to his mother while she was otherwise occupied.
When Dawson took a break from reading, Shelby went into the kitchen to return Shane’s call. A strange male voice answered, and she apologized for dialing the wrong number. The man laughed and said Shane was temporarily indisposed, but she should hold on. Shelby felt her skin go cold and her hand began to shake.
“Hey, Shel, how are you doing?” Shane’s voice was warm and affectionate.
“Who was that?”
“Not who you apparently think it is.”
“Oh?”
“Come on, honey, I can read you like a book. He’s a prospective student come to see the facilities. We were just finishing dinner.”
Shelby tried to control the tension in her voice. “Good. What does he think?”
“That’s hard to say at the moment. Are you coming home soon? I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. And I’m sorry I’ve made you stay away. But I’ve been … thinking about a lot of things.”
“And?”
“I don’t want to get in your way.”
“Shelby, don’t be absurd. I want you home. Here. With me. That’s what I’ve wanted all along.”
“I don’t know, Shane. What are your plans?”
“Well, I’m supposed to go to New York on Thursday for a few days. But you could come along.”
“What’s going on in New York?”
“Oh, all sorts of things. I can’t tell you right now.” There was a smile in his voice and it irritated her. Was he making eyes at his “student?”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll stay right here. If you can’t tell me, you aren’t going to want me coming along.”
“Shelby …”
“It’s no problem, Shane. They want me here.”
“I love you, Shel.”
“Me, too. Good night, Shane.”
Dawson came into the kitchen as she was hanging up the phone. He cleared his throat to let her know he was there, then said, “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” She turned away from him with an angry toss of her auburn hair.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Thank you.” She started to walk toward the living room, her hand out to guide her should she miss the doorway.
“To the right. More.” Dawson folded his arms across his chest to keep himself from reaching out to help her.
She stopped abruptly, her back to him, and let out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry, Dawson. I don’t mean to be rude.”
“That’s okay.”
“Well, it’s not. And I … I’m sorry. For being the way I am. It’s not that I’m not grateful for what you did. “
“I understand. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Shelby nodded, and for a moment Dawson thought she might turn around. But she started forward once more, working her way into the living room. He followed her and settled on the couch next to his mother while Shelby took the armchair across from them. Miriam was watching a variety show of some sort, and Dawson settled back into the softness of the old sofa, his eyes on Shelby. She was listening to the show, but then her eyes closed and her head fell forward. He glanced at his mother, but she shook her head. She would wake up the girl and help her walk to her bed. They were not going to offset the progress that had been made today by having her suddenly wake up in Dawson’s arms.
Chapter Eighteen
Miriam took Shelby to her doctor’s appointment on Tuesday, followed by an appointment with the rape counselor. Shelby still hated to be touched in any way. It had been torture for her to have Miriam attend to her personal needs the first few days in the Penfield home when she was still too sedated to take care of herself. Now, as the female doctor examined her, Shelby began to hyperventilate and shake uncontrollably in spite of her determination to remain calm.
Both the doctor and the counselor assured her this was normal after being sexually abused, and neither would venture a guess as to when –or even if – her terrors might subside. Her desire to keep others at a distance was a natural form of self-preservation. Her description of constantly feeling dirty –even physically disgusting—was typical, as well, and would take time to go away. It was possible she would never want to engage in sex again; even married women in strong, loving relationships often had problems with intimacy after being raped. It would be up to her to decide her sexual future, and it could be an uphill battle.
Shelby had little to say on the car ride home, for she was lost in thought. Neither the doctor nor the counselor were aware of her personal disdain for being a victim and her aversion to self-pity. Even though she occasionally slipped into bouts of despair, she tried to live what had been Kevin’s personal mantra: it’s not what happens in our life that matters, but how we deal with it. That attitude had helped him develop an off-beat sense of humor as a child often conf
ined to a wheelchair by bouts of rheumatoid arthritis. Remembering his mantra had given her the determination to rebuild her life after the accident. It was up to her now whether Blake Penfield could sabotage her efforts to be the person Kevin would have wanted her to be.
Her determination was sorely tried on Wednesday when she and Shane traveled to the office of the county prosecutor who was bringing charges against Blake. Dawson had given his statements to the police the night of the incident, but Shelby had been too hysterical for them to interview. Now she was expected to relate the complete sequence of events, and the prospect was making her physically ill.
“You don’t have to do this,” Shane said as they stood outside the prosecutor’s office. He put his arms around her for the first time since the attack, holding her to his chest and resting his chin on the top of her head as she leaned into him. “If it’s too much, just tell them you can’t do it.”
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