Winds of Fate

by Thomas H. Reed

  Dan sniffed the air and said, “Maybe a shower.”

  Looking defiant she asked. “And while I am in the shower?”

  “You are a little young for me, honey, so a bath will have to do for now; unless of course you’d also like to rest for a while in a bed with clean sheets for a change.” She gave a short snort and said, “Who do you think you’re kidding, Mister?”

  “Tell you what, kid, the bathroom has a lock on the door, if you don’t trust me you can lock it.” Another short snort, “Like that’s going to stop you.”

  He shrugged, “Suit yourself.” He turned and started back through the gate.

  “Wait!”

  Dan turned and looked at her expectantly.

  “I’m hungry, I’m cold, and I stink. If you’d give me your best promise you won’t hurt me, I’ll go with you. Please, please, please!”

  Dan swallowed hard, and then said, “You have my best promise.”

  “Pinky promise! You can’t break a pinky promise!”

  Dan suppressed a smile, and then replied, “I don’t know, kiddo, I don’t make pinky promises for just everyone that comes along.” Then he paused as if he were making a great weighty decision. He eyed her for a spell as if he were reluctant to go so far as make a pinky promise, then finally he asked, “Nothing but a pinky promise will do, huh?”

  “Pinky promise or I stay here.”

  He smiled again, “You’re sure asking a lot for just breakfast and a shower, but, okay, pinky promise it is.” He reached down, hooked his pinky around her dirty little finger, and said, “Now. Let’s get inside; it’s colder than Blue Billy hell out here.”

  She gave him a stern look, and then said, “No cussing, either!”

  His gaze was serious as he said gruffly, “Oh, okay, no cussing.”

  She got up and followed him into the house. She sniffed the air that smelled faintly like spice, and stood looking around the kitchen. Without asking permission she stepped quietly into the living room, giving it a thorough once over. Half of one wall was covered with shelves filled with books and sculptured things that looked expensive.

  There were plants hanging from the ceiling in hand-woven baskets; the floor covered in lush carpet. Over the fireplace were photographs of the man with other people, some in uniforms and others in hunting outfits. The girl suddenly felt tears welling up; she’d never been inside of a place like this before and didn’t know how to react to it. She didn’t know why the lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. She swallowed several times then stepped quickly back into the kitchen. Dan turned to study her, his nose wrinkling as he said, “Outside, the stench wasn’t that bad. It appears as if it has gained potency in closer quarters. Perhaps you should take a shower while I make breakfast?”

  She hesitated then said, “This is all I have to wear.” He thought for a moment then said, “Wait here!” He walked to the back part of the house and was gone about five minutes before returning with a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt that looked about her size. “These were my nephew’s clothes. He left them here last summer and grew out of them before returning.” He held the pants up to her and said, “They might be a bit long in the legs, but if you roll up the cuffs they should do you just fine.” He waited outside the bathroom while she undressed and handed him her soiled clothes through a crack in the door, “No peaking!”

  He smiled, shook his head, took the clothes and started toward the laundry room but changed courses and went to the trashcan in the garage instead. By the time she got out of the shower, he had breakfast waiting. She walked shyly into the kitchen looking twice as good and smelling a hundred percent sweeter. She was still tugging at the shirt trying to make it fit when she looked up and said, “Kind of big I guess.” He pointed to a chair at the table and said, “Sit. Eat. When you’re done with breakfast, we’ll go get you some clothes that fit.”

  “Where are my clothes? I thought you said you were going to wash them?”

  “Wasn’t anything to wash, they were more holes than clothes.” She forked an egg then said, “I can’t pay you for them.”

  “Did I mention pay?”

  She studied him while she munched on a mouthful of toast, then said, “Remember, you made a pinky promise?”

  “I remember, and I always keep pinky promises.”

  “You’d better. I don’t really know what happens to people who break pinky promises, but it can’t be good.”

  “Terrible things happen to them, awful, terrible, horrible things,” he said with a serious face.

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Too terrible to mention, especially to such a young person as you; suffice to say it isn’t good.”

  “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? You never broke a pinky promise?”

  “Me, break a pinky promise? I wouldn’t even allow such a thought to enter my head! That’s why I don’t make pinky promises to just anyone. The consequences of breaking them are just too great to risk.” She forked more eggs, and then said, “Well, okay. I don’t need much anyway.” After she ate she went into the living room and explored it for a while, then sat on the couch. “This is nice. Do you live here all alone in this big old house?”

  “Yep, I had a wife, but she died several years back. Automobile accident.”

  The girl leaned back on the couch and asked, “What was she like?”

  “Nice, pretty, kind of bossy at times, but I loved her with all my heart.”

  The girl yawned then said, “It must be nice to have someone to love.”

  She yawned again and her eyes closed, the next time she spoke, it was incomprehensible mutterings.

  Dan reached down to place a cushion under her head. Her eyes popped open; she threw her hands up in a defensive stance and pushed herself as far as possible against the back of the couch.

  “It’s okay,” he told her quietly, “just making you comfortable.” She closed her eyes and said sleepily, “Remember you pinky promised ...”

  He brushed her hair from her face and said, “Pinky promise ...”

  He took the comforter from the back of the couch, covered her over with it, tucked it in on the sides, and walked to the phone.

  He had fully intended to call child welfare authorities, but paused with his finger on the button. He shook his head as if to clear it, then started to dial again, but suddenly he was hearing his dead wife’s voice: “Dan, if you call those people they’re just going to put that poor child right back into the same kind of home she escaped from.” He looked at the telephone as if wondering why it was in his hand; then whispered to himself; just my conscious bothering me; Helen is dead!

  Dan knew how his wife felt about foster care and welfare departments, and he knew she would hate him if he made the call. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t just ... keep her.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she needs to be with people who can take care of her, people who would see she gets the right clothes and stuff. You know ... girl stuff!”

  “What does she need that you can’t give her?”

  “A mother!”

  ‘She’ll have you.

  “Not much in the way of a role model.”

  Again, he started to punch buttons and again an angry voice stopped him.

  “I’ll haunt you, Joseph Daniels, I’ll haunt you with the face of that child until the day you die, and then I’ll haunt you in your afterlife”.

  “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  “You know I will!”

  “Bossy as ever.”

  “And don’t you forget it, buster!”

  He hung up the phone, went back into the living room, sat down in his easy chair and watched the sleeping girl. This is a mistake. I should call the authorities.

  The small girl interrupted his thoughts with a frightened cry. He glanced to where she lay and saw a pained look on her face, her hands suddenly reached out as if she were attempting to ward off a blow.

  “No, no! Please! No! Please stop!�
�� He got up and walked to the girl, caught her arms and tried to shush her, he brushed at her hair and said, “It’s okay, you’re safe here, no one is going to hurt you. Go back to sleep, let old sand man mend your broken dreams.”

  The girl finally began to settle down, and then relaxed into a normal sleep. He brushed her hair from her forehead and said in a soft voice, “What happened to you, little one? Who did this to you?” He stood up and went back to his easy chair, thinking, Helen, you’re right. I can’t do it. I can’t send her back into whatever hell she’s been living in. I can’t take the chance that a new foster family will be any better than what she just escaped from, and it’s obvious she escaped from some sort of hell. But I can’t see a future for her with me, either. From this point, I’m going to simply play it by ear, maybe talk to her and try to determine what she wants to do.

  Five hours later, she woke up with a start, looking scared, and then remembered the man who had made breakfast for her. He made a pinky promise. That’s why he didn’t hurt me.

  The man was sitting in an easy chair reading a book; he looked over at her and asked, “Did you sleep well?” She nodded then sat up. “I’m hungry.”

  He chuckled, “Children are always hungry because they’re constantly growing.” He put the book down and stood up, “I suppose I could see what’s in the fridge. She followed him to the kitchen and tried to get close enough to look around him as he rummaged through the refrigerator. She looked alert when he took out cheese, sandwich meat, lettuce, tomatoes and mayonnaise. He made two big sandwiches, one for her, one for himself, cut them in half, put pickle slices, and chips on a plate then handed her one. “That should hold you for a little while.”

  When they finished off the food, he started to pick up the dishes. The girl pushed him aside saying, “I can do it.” She picked up the plates and took them to the sink, rinsed them and placed them in the drain rack, then turned and asked, “Now what?” He looked at his watch and said, “I guess I better keep the other end of my deal with you.”

  “What was that?”

  “We need to go get you some clothes, considering that I tossed yours in the trash.”

  When they returned three hours later, she was carrying two shopping bags and he carried three larger ones. He led her to one of the bedrooms at the back of the house and sat the bags on the floor. He pointed to the attached bathroom. “That’s your bathroom.” He pulled the door open just enough to show her the dead bold on the inside and said, “It has a good solid dead bolt, nothing can break it. This is your room as long as you want it.”

  “What do I have to do to keep it?” She asked cautiously.

  “Plenty. For one, I’m horrible at keeping up with my own laundry, so you’re going to have to do your laundry, pick up after yourself, no loud music, no dirty dishes in the sink, no drinking anything liquid after ten p.m., and there will be homework after school. If you’re going to stay here, you have to attend school that will be part of the deal.”

  “And if I don’t want to stay?”

  He pointed to the front of the house. “The door is always open, you’re free to go. But if you choose to stay, I’ll want to know where you go and when you plan on being back in this house.”

  “And what do you get out of this deal?”

  “The pleasure of your company.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “I don’t need a lot. Just want you to pick up after yourself and conduct yourself properly at all times, nothing more.”

  She nodded then said, “Thank you for the clothes; thank you for everything.”

  “You’re welcome, but I’d really like to know who I’m welcoming into my home. Do you have a name?”

  A dimpled smile lit up her face as she said, “I haven’t told anyone my real name in so long I almost forgot I had a real name, it’s Belinda Bentley, but when I was six I had a friend, Natalie, who called me Billie. I liked that name, but nobody has called me Billie since Nattie died. I’d really like for you to call me Billie.”

  “Then Billie it is, and my name is Joseph Daniels, but my friends call me Dan. I think you and I are going to be friends, so you can call me Dan.”

  “So, you’re saying I don’t have to call you Mr. Daniels?”

  “Right, Billie, you don’t have to call me Mr. Daniels.”

  “That’s good, because I’ve never liked anybody I had to call Mister.”

  “You’re a strange kid, but I believe I’m going to like you, Billie.”

  For that, he got another dimpled smile.

  Billie had just turned nine when Dan found her hiding behind his garbage bin. She stayed with him until she reached her eighteenth birthday, and then moved into a college dorm. Between the ages of nine and eighteen, Billie left his home once after a heated row. She was gone for a total of one hour before she came back. During those nine years, Dan never yelled at her, or threatened her with punishment. She played her music too loud, wore outrageous clothes, died her hair pink, green and orange, stayed up late on the computer sometimes, ate all the wrong kind of food, and sometimes stayed out past her curfew with her friends. She stuck chewing gum under the table, drummed her fingers on any solid surface when she was reading, and hummed offbeat tunes when she was doing her laundry or trying to decide what to wear. On the flip side, she was a hard worker. She studied hard, and never gave up on a problem because it was beyond her comprehension. She simply worked harder to get the answer. He enrolled her in a martial arts class and she took to it like a duck to water. They disagreed, they nitpicked, they sometimes walked away from each other to end a confrontation, but he always let her know he cared.

  Shortly after Billie enrolled in collage, she sent an anonymous post to the local newspaper in her hometown. The article was titled, “I was a Child Porn Star.” She wrote of the abuse she had received as a child, how she was sold to the highest bidder on a regular basis, and the movies they had made of her before she was seven. She wrote about the drugs and alcohol that were used by adults around her, and the beatings she got when she complained about them hurting her. She wrote about running away, sleeping on the streets and eating out of garbage cans, and then she wrote about the man that found her and took her into his home and reared her as his own child: He gave me so much more than a place to sleep and eat. He gave me a home, hope, courage, pride, and self-esteem. However, he also taught me how to love and to be loved the way a child is supposed to. More than anything, he gave me a life and someone to call father, and he’s my father, in all the ways that count.

  A stranger, who had no reason to care, made a decision to care. When I was old enough to understand, I asked why he had not simply called the Welfare Department and turned me over to them. He said he almost did. He had the phone in his hand and was dialing the number when the voice of his dead wife stopped him. She had never been able to have children, and over the years before her death, they had talked about adopting. They had gone through the foster parent program, kept children in their home only to have them taken away and placed in another home, or moved back into the same home they had been removed from. The heartache of letting go was too great, and told the supervisor of the foster parent program they could no longer do it.

  That kind man knew the sort of hell I had been through from the moment he laid eyes on me. Having seen it many times before, he just couldn’t take the chance that I would be returned to such a place, or into a foster home where I would be abused even more.

  It was not an easy decision for him because he understood what he was doing was full of pitfalls and problems. Raising a child that was not his, and without a wife, wasn’t an easy chore. Yet he found it necessary to make sure I had friends. I participated in civic functions, became involved in sports, went to parties, and even invited friends to parties in my home. When my grades fell below a “B,” he cut my privileges and insisted that I stay home on week-ends until my grades improved. I took baths, brushed my teeth, kept my room clean, and dressed properly when I was in a classroom. H
e worried, fretted, and paced the floor when I failed to come home on time.

  He crowed like a rooster when I did something he was proud of, and became silent and aloof when I screwed up. He never once struck me, or yelled when I was being a smart-aleck. A simple hurt or disappointed look from him was enough to cause me a load of pain, so I seldom made the same mistake twice. I think I would have rather taken the worst beating of my life than get one of those agonized looks from dad.

  When it came time to take my collage entrance exam, he paced like a mother hen with a fox in her coop. Then he defended my grades when they questioned how I got such high marks.

  I’m aware that I never say it enough, or with enough feeling, but dad, if you’re reading this, I love you with all my heart. You saved me from a fate worse than death and gave me a new life; you saved my soul. If I should be lucky enough to live a hundred years, it would never be long enough to fully express my gratitude. Again, I love you.