“Eric, please. I’ll take this to the laundry room.”
“Repeat it, or I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
With trembling voice, she repeated the words. “All right. Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”
“Now, clean up this mess.” He spat the words at her.
Once he released her arm, she began to hurriedly pick up the laundry. She had just bent to pick up the last pillow case when she felt Eric's fingers grasp her hair. With a hard tug, he jerked her upright, then threw her across the room. She dropped the pile of sheets she had been carrying, landed on top of them and looked up to see Danny, sitting wide-eyed in terror, shoving his thumb in his mouth.
"Oh no," she thought, "I hope Eric doesn't see that. God knows what he might do."
She didn't have to worry about him taking notice of Danny. She was the focus of her husband's full attention. He advanced on her across the kitchen. "Clean this mess up, you lazy, slovenly witch."
His first kick caught her in the ribs just below her left breast. She curled into a fetal position in an attempt to protect herself and as a result the next two kicks caught her on her right side. She gasped for air but couldn't seem to get any. Then she felt Eric's hand in her hair again. Her head was jerked upward and twice her face was smashed into the floor. She knew instantly that her nose was broken and prayed that he would stop. He let go of her hair and kicked her once more in the ribs before stepping away from her.
She lay on the floor, gasping for breath and letting the blood pool under her face. No way would she attempt to get up with him still in the room for she knew from experience that had she tried to get up, he would have knocked her down again and the beating would continue. She lay still and waited for his rage to subside. She thought of Danny, watching in terror, but could do nothing for him. She was afraid to even look towards him for fear of drawing Eric’s attention in that direction, for, if he was still sucking his thumb, Eric would feel compelled to do something to stop him for, also from experience, she knew that thumb-sucking was considered to be a disgusting habit that parents were duty bound to break a child from doing. She also knew from experience that when he was this angry, he was certainly capable of hurting the small boy. An infraction of the rules such as this could certainly not be overlooked. Fortunately, today, Eric was totally oblivious of the small boy staring in terror at him.
He watched Emily for a minute and then snarled, "Are you just going to lay there and bleed?"
She made no response. All of her efforts were being expended to keep breathing, which was proving to be extremely difficult.
"Get up and clean yourself up."
There was still no response.
"You make me sick. I'm getting out of here." He kicked her once more as he walked past her, slamming the door behind him as he left the house.
Relief flooded over her when she heard the car roar down the driveway. Slowly, with great difficulty, she rose to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. The pain in her chest was almost unbearable and she was finding it nearly impossible to draw breath. She was merely drawing in small gasps of air as with great difficulty she cleaned herself up and with a cold cloth over her nose, made her way to the living room to look after Danny. He was still sitting wide-eyed on the floor with his thumb in his mouth, his small face white, and tears coursing down his cheeks. She attempted to pick him up but the pain in her chest and the loss of breath prevented her from doing it, so instead, she sank down on the floor beside him and gathered him into her arms. Slowly, she worked at drawing more air into her lungs and just as slowly releasing it. After a few minutes she was able to breathe a little easier; although it was still with slow, shallow breaths. She held the sobbing child and gently rocked him until he finally fell asleep. She left him lying on the floor and with great difficulty struggled to her feet, pulled the afghan off the couch to cover him and returned to the bathroom.
Her nose had stopped bleeding, so she once again washed her face and then stared at the face that looked back at her from the mirror. Her nose was badly swollen and bruising was beginning to appear around her eyes. She knew that she needed medical attention and should go to the hospital but realized that there was no way she could. Eric would be furious if she were to allow anyone to see her in this condition. Anyway, she didn't have a vehicle or anyone to watch Danny and be here when the school bus arrived.
She tried to clean up the pool of blood on the kitchen floor but found it too difficult to bend down so she covered it with paper towels, realizing that she would have to wait until the children arrived home to help her clean up. When they arrived, they were eager to do whatever they could to help. Under the direction of Sam they cleaned the blood from the floor, gathered up the bedding, did the laundry and made a simple meal. Emily couldn't help but notice the hard look on twelve-year-old Sam's young face. Each time he looked at her, his anger was more apparent.
Before he went to bed, he spoke with his mother. "Mom, what are we going to do? We have to get out of here before he kills you. Why can't we go stay with Grandma and Grandpa? I’m really scared of what he’s gonna do if we don’t get out of here. I keep wishing that he’d just go away but I know he won’t. Sometimes I wish he was dead."
"Honey...don't...say that. He’s...your...father."
"I don't care. I hate him. I hate him when he hits you. I wish I could beat him until he can’t ever get up again.”
"Sam, I’ll...do something. I'll figure...a way...out."
"When, Mom? When? You’ve been saying that for so long and we’re still here. When can we get out of here?"
"Soon. I...promise."
Later, after a cup of tea and three extra strength Tylenol, Emily started up the stairs to bed. Three agonizing steps up, she remembered the porch light. "Forget it,” she thought, "He probably won't be home tonight anyway."
She sighed. There was no sense taking chances. She would play it safe and leave it on. It took her a couple of minutes to get back down the stairs and across the kitchen floor. She flipped on the light switch and again crossed the kitchen and began the climb upstairs to her room.
The clock on the bedside stand showed 2:18 when Emily woke with a start and lay there listening. In just moments she heard laughter and knew what had awakened her. Eric had returned home and brought someone with him. She heard their friendly banter as they came through the front door.
"Just what I need," she thought, "another party to clean up after."
She tried to go back to sleep but soon realized that was impossible. Minutes passed as she lay there, hoping that the children wouldn't wake up and go downstairs. Before long, the sweet, overpowering smell of marijuana invaded the room and the laughter coming from downstairs died down. She wondered how Eric was able to rationalize this part of his life with the part in which he played the right hand man to the pastor and upright member of the Christian religious community. It seemed that by keeping these two factions totally separate, it was all right. He believed that there was a set of rules just for him and as a result felt no guilt or remorse for this part of his life but rather seemed to feel that his drug use was a justifiable means of relaxation.
Emily tried unsuccessfully to return to sleep but with the sounds coming up from downstairs and the knowledge that sooner or later her husband would climb the stairs and get into the bed beside her, sleep eluded her. She had many times used relaxation techniques but tonight even with them she couldn't find the release she sought in sleep. She visualized herself lying on a grassy bank, the breeze blowing gently over her. No good. Next, in her mind she was floating on a pool of cool water. Nothing helped.
She heard the fridge door shut, followed by cupboard doors closing and was glad that she had hidden some of the food. This trick she had learned the hard way, after a few of these late night parties had left the fridge and cupboards almost bare of food.
It was just past 4:30 when Emily heard the sounds of people leaving, followed in just minutes by Eric's footsteps on the stairs. Her
heart was pounding and her mouth dry as he opened the bedroom door. He slipped out of his clothes and into bed without speaking to her. They lay side by side, not speaking for several minutes, then Eric broke the silence, "Why do you do things to make me hit you, Emily? I don't want to hurt you, you know. But you always do things that drive me crazy. Sometimes I think you must want me to hit you."
Emily could think of no response, so lay there in silence. After a few minutes, Eric rolled over in disgust, "Now you won't even talk to me. Jeez, Em, I deserve better than this."
She lay perfectly still, staring into the darkness; waiting until Eric's even breathing convinced her that he was asleep. Only then was she able to go to sleep, but before it claimed her, she promised herself that this would not go on forever. Somehow, she and the children would get away, soon.
Chapter 4
Fortunately for Emily, the next day was Saturday, and the children didn’t have to go to school. Sam got up with the younger ones and had them bathed, dressed and fed before she and Eric awoke. She had heard nothing from downstairs, as the children had tried hard to be especially quiet.
She woke to the sound of a winter bird chirping happily in the tree outside her window. The peaceful feeling evoked by it's cheery song didn't last very long before reality settled over her like a pall. Her nose was completely congested and anything other than shallow breathing caused severe pain. Instantly, the events of yesterday afternoon flooded her memory. In time she was able to get her eyes opened a little despite the terrible swelling but when Eric stirred beside her, they automatically closed. She needed a little time to prepare herself to face him. She found that she had plenty of time, for Eric dozed off again and nearly half an hour passed before he became truly awake. He turned toward her, flopped his arm over her and looked into her face.
"Aw...Em."
He rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. For a time, he appeared to be at a loss for words.
"Jeez...just look what I have to wake up to. Why on earth do I have to put up with this? You know that I didn't want to hit you. Why do you always have to do this to me?"
Emily licked her lips and spoke calmly, "I did...nothing...to you. This was...your fault...not mine. I’m not...going to...take the blame...anymore."
"Oh, yes, of course; poor picked-on Emily. And, as always, I get the blame for causing the whole thing. You can slack off and do whatever you please and I should keep my mouth shut and let this house and my family go right to hell. You’re so self-righteous, you make me sick." He stood up, "I've got things to do. I'm sure not going to sit here and argue with you." His voice was filled with scorn.
He put on his housecoat, collected clean clothes and stormed downstairs, filled with anger; anger at Emily for being in a position to make him look bad if anyone were to see her, anger at life for being beyond his control, and anger at himself for allowing Emily to upset him. He turned the heat on under the kettle, and then noticed the dirty breakfast dishes the children had left stacked in the sink. He went into the bathroom and started the shower. Someone had left the top off the shampoo. He felt the bath towel hanging on the towel bar and discovered that it was damp. By now, he was furious.
"Useless bloody kids."
He opened the bathroom door and shouted for Sam, who quickly answered the summons from his father.
"Get me a dry towel and wash those stinkin’ dishes."
Sam hurried to the linen closet, with the same hard look on his face that his mother had noticed the day before. He grabbed a clean towel and facecloth and hurried back with them to his father. Eric snatched them from him and slammed the bathroom door. Sam glared at the closed door, hatred in his eyes. He wished that he was older and bigger and could be the one in control. He would love to be the one hitting, to be pounding his father's head into the wall. He stood there and visualized his father completely at his mercy. Eric would plead with him to stop but Sam would continue pounding. He wouldn't stop as long as there was still life in his father's body. Eric would be sorry. It would be payback time; not just for him but also for his brothers and most of all for his mother. The hatred he felt towards his father filled him to capacity. He turned away from the door and found Scott and Kyle standing by the sink.
"We'll help you."
A feeling of resignation washed over him and he sighed as he nodded and joined his brothers at the sink. It took the three boys only a few minutes to wash up the dishes. Then Sam turned the heat down under the boiling kettle, collected Danny from the living room and led the boys upstairs to play.
After he had finished his shower and dressed, Eric made coffee for himself and moved with it to the living room. He switched from channel to channel but found nothing of interest. The quietness of the house was annoying. He shut off the T.V. and paced to the window. Nothing outside seemed to interest him either. He moved to the bottom of the stairs to call Emily, but decided that he couldn't face her again today. He paced back and forth for a few minutes, restless and bored, trying to think of something to do. Again he went to the bottom of the stairs, needing someone to keep him company, for one thing that he couldn’t stand was being alone, without someone to impress or someone over whom he had enough power to make him feel important.
“Man, I’ve got to get out of here.” he murmured, heading for the closet for his coat and boots.
Emily heard the car drive away and realized that she had to face the agony that awaited her as she attempted to get up. Earlier, she had tried to roll over and had found that whenever she moved, the pain in her chest was almost unbearable. She had hoped that this morning there would be some degree of improvement, but if anything the pain when she attempted to move was worse. Once again she tried to roll over, this time very slowly and carefully, but the pain as she moved was unbearable. She lay there a few minutes longer, trying to find some way to move that she could tolerate but there was none. After nearly ten minutes of struggling, she had to admit to herself that she couldn’t do it. There was no way she could get off the bed without help. She rested for a minute until she was able to get here breath again, then called for help. The boys crowded into her room; eager to do whatever they could to help her. She explained the problem, then tossed back the covers and asked Sam to take her hand and pull her over onto her side. Again she needed a bit of time to catch her breath, then she was able to swing her legs out of the bed and Sam was able to pull her upright to sit on the edge of the bed. Once again she had to rest and catch her breath, for the pain was incredible. But she was up and for that she was very grateful. After sitting still for a few minutes, she decided that she was ready to try getting to her feet. She called Scott over and with him holding her right hand and Sam the left, she gritted her teeth and with the two boys pulling her up, she slowly got to her feet. Now she had only to try to dress herself. This task, too, proved to be more than she could handle and again, she had to depend on the boys to get her clothes together and help her to dress. She couldn’t reach down to put her pants over her feet and the children helped her to get them to her knees where she managed to pull them the rest of the way up under her nightgown. Her bra, she knew, was totally out of the question so she opted to not even try to get it on. Even with help, her blouse was very difficult to manage. But manage they did and before long she was dressed and ready to make the trip down the stairs. The effort required to dress had exhausted her and she looked longingly at the bed, wishing that she could just lie down again but that would only necessitate the need to get up again and the prospect of that was enough to convince her that she might better stay on her feet. With the boys clustered around, trying to help, she finally left her room and began the long trip downstairs. It was difficult going, but she kept moving slowly but steadily toward her destination.
Halfway down the stairs Danny decided that he had waited long enough. He wanted his mother; now.
"Up."
"No, Danny. I...can't."
"Up," he insisted, reaching across Sam’s shoulder, where he was being c
arried, to pull on his mother’s sleeve. The baby’s tug pulled her off balance and a wave of pain caused what little color she had to drain from her face.
Sam pulled Danny away from her. "Be careful, you'll hurt her!" he snapped. The small boy began to cry loudly. Emily wished that she could take him in her arms and comfort him, for she knew that he didn't understand what was happening and why he was being denied his mother’s attention that he wanted so badly. When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Emily gasped, "A chair. I've got to...sit down."
Quickly, Scott pushed a chair over to her and she sat still for a few minutes and then took Danny on her lap. Her breathing was very shallow, anything else was more than she could manage, so it was with great difficulty that she tried to explain to him that she was really hurt, “Danny, ...Mommy hurts. Mommy has...an ouch. You have...to be...a good boy ...for Sam ...until Mommy ...gets better.” She then spoke to the older boys, “I’m sorry, guys...but I’m really...hurt this time...I’m going to...need your help...for a while...until I get...some better. I don’t know...how long...it will take...but I know...until I’m some...better...I won’t be able...to do much. I’ll have to...depend...on you.”
Sam spoke up, "You need to go to the hospital, Mom."
"I'll be fine...in a few days."
"Mom, you look awful. I think Sam's right." This came from Scott.
"I don't know...what they could do...at the hospital. I've just...got to mend...Let me...rest here...a minute...and then I'll sit...in the...living room. When your father...gets back...with the car. Perhaps...he will take me."
"Mom, you know that he won’t take you.” There was a note of bitterness in his voice. “You could lay here and die and he wouldn't take you." Sam stalked away.
She knew that he was right. Appearances were more important than her health or well-being. There was no way Eric would take her to the hospital, when it would mean that his violence against her would come out into the open. Better to leave her here and hope that she would recover in time. She knew that she should be filled with anger, but right now all she could muster was sadness and resignation. Her life didn’t seem to be worth much at this point. And yet, what would happen to the children if this continued and he either killed her or harmed her to the point that she couldn’t care for them anymore. She had no choice. She had to make some serious decisions right away. After a few minutes, Emily slid Danny to the floor, struggled to her feet and made her way to the living room. Scott and Kyle followed and helped her get as comfortable as possible, then went to the kitchen to get her something to eat. Although she wasn't hungry she needed a cup of tea and when the boys insisted that she eat, she agreed to try some toast.
Leaving Sharpstone Page 3