by Janet Eaves
So what had he been up to? she wondered, as she walked to the far end of the barn where the heavy oak door to the tobacco stripping room lay closed. Fortunately there was a light switch on the outside of the built-in structure so she was able to enter safely.
There were still indications that tobacco had once been stripped in the dimly lit room. The long, three section press machine with its hydraulic hose attached to an electric air-pressure device looked much as she remembered, though layers of dust now covered it. The woven-wood, flat baskets the hand-tied tobacco would be placed on were already considered old-fashioned when she’d worked for the Casey’s’ way back when, but Mister Casey had treated them as treasures from his past, and kept them in pristine condition. Not now. They were dirty and rotting. The man was probably spinning in his grave.
Winnie sighed, shaking her head at the complete neglect of the place as she continued to scan the room. Though filthy, nothing much had changed with the long bench that workers would stand in front of to lift the stalk, strip the tobacco leaves off, then place them in the now disintegrating burlap sacks that hung off the table’s front edge.
She exhaled through pursed lips. There was a lot of cleaning up that would have to be done. The stripping room was as dusty and web infested as the rest of the barn. But the worst thing was that there was no sign of photo developing equipment. So where had Jack done his dirty work?
She crossed her arms, rubbing at the goose-bumps chilling them. At the moment she had no idea where to search next. She started to leave the room when a hint of white caught her eye. Nestled tight in the corner between the stripping table and the wall was a picture of another woman, naked, terrified, and chained to the posts of a bed similar to the one she’d known all too well.
Shock loosened her grip and the photo floated to the dirt floor as vomit rolled up from her stomach to her throat. She turned, bent over, and let go, making the dust rise as she emptied everything inside. She ran the back of her hand over her mouth as she stumbled backwards until her bottom rested against the stripping table.
She hadn’t been Jack’s only victim. The realization was too terrifying to contemplate. She glanced down to the photo again, this time more prepared for what see was seeing. With shaking hands she lifted it and studied the woman, only now realizing she was barely more than a girl. Where was she, now? Who was she?
Winnie turned back to look over the area where the photo had been lodged, then squatted down to look beneath the four-foot wide by twelve-foot long table. Again, spiders and dirt had made a comfortable home in the dark area. She placed the photo of the unknown girl on the stripping table, swallowed hard, then forced herself to crawl underneath, shuddering as the webs caught and covered the hand she’d put out to knock them down.
Still feeling slightly ill, made worse by the aroma of dust, mold, and stale tobacco leaves, she moved into the dark corner, wishing she’d brought a flashlight. It was really too dark and dirty to see anything so she felt around on the ground. There was nothing there. No photo equipment. No more pictures that she could feel. Nothing but dry-rotted tobacco leaves which disintegrated at her touch, and, she feared, dried-out bug bodies. Alternately disappointed and relieved, she crawled back out and ran her hands down her jeans, then swatted away as much of the spider-webs as possible from the denim material.
She glanced at the photo and her heart twisted. There was more than terror in the girl’s bruised and bloodshot eyes. She recognized the resignation. The acceptance that this was her life and nothing could change it. Winnie blinked back tears. She’d felt the same way. Thank God the man was dead.
No, not man. Now, more than ever, she knew he was nothing more than a monster.
Chapter Twelve
Snakes were easy to recognize, and the young man sitting before him reeked of something slimy, though Tom wasn’t yet sure if it was mischief or malice. He sat silently as Rudd expounded on his accomplishments here on the farm, as he was clearly willing to take the credit for keeping the place going for the now deceased farmer and his poor widow.
Tom smiled when he felt it appropriate, but was saved from commenting as the farm-hand clearly liked to hear himself talk. Beneath his smile, however, he was replaying the scene he’d walked in on when Rudd had first appeared.
Winnie had acted strangely, to put it mildly. He hadn’t been able to gauge her reactions to the man, to determine if she was afraid of him, or if she might be afraid of Tom finding out that there had been something between the two of them while the farmer had lived. Either way, she’d been incredibly nervous and made herself scarce at the first opportunity.
Tom finally held up his hand, stopping Rudd’s endless diatribe. “This is the thing,” he said, smiling. “There’s a really good chance I’m going to buy this property when it’s available, so in the meantime I am taking over, and taking charge.” He pinned Rudd with a stare.
A flash of something reflected in the man’s eyes, but he quickly smiled back. “Sure. Fine. I’m glad I don’t have to do it all anymore. Gotta life of my own, ya-know?”
“Glad to here it.” Tom stood and held out his hand. Randy took it, shook, then lifted his pristinely clean billed hat from the table to put it on his head. “I’ll see you in the morning then, around seven?”
Rudd looked surprised by the hour, but shrugged as if he couldn’t care less. “Sure, boss. Bye.”
Tom followed him through the house to the front door. They nodded to each other, then Rudd left, taking his new model truck down the long driveway toward the road. He watched silently until he heard the back door, which lead directly into the kitchen, slam. Interesting, he thought, that the lady of the house would time her reappearance at the exact time of Rudd’s departure. Apparently it was time for him to start asking questions. The first one being why the man spooked her. Though he feared they might be romantically involved, he knew he needed to know, not guess, what their relationship actually was since any situation he could think of might impact his investigation.
Tom bit his bottom lip, wondering if just a little part of him was interested for reasons not at all related to the job. But thinking too deeply about that was out of the question.
“Hi.”
Tom turned and felt his jaw drop. Winnie was filthy, covered from head to sneakers in cobwebs, dirt, and he wasn’t altogether certain what else. On top of it, she smelled. Like musty tobacco, and possibly even manure mixed with soured milk. He snapped his mouth closed and tried not to wrinkle his nose. “What happened to you?”
Winnie’s gaze darted around the room before landing on him. “I was out in the barn. It’s a mess.”
An understatement, Tom figured, if she could walk in and come out of it looking like that. “Did you fall in something?” He wasn’t certain, since her face was dirty enough to have her looking like a chimney-sweep, but he thought she blushed.
Nodding, Winnie walked past him and started up the stairs. “Don’t ask,” she said, heading to her room. She stopped at the top of the landing and looked back down at him. “Are you keeping Randy Rudd on?”
Tom nodded. “Yes.”
She studied him for a moment. “Why?”
Interesting, he thought. “Because he knows the farm and I’ll need a little guidance to get started.”
She stood there silently for a moment, just looking at him and Tom got the impression he was taking some kind of test. Finally she exhaled. “I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. If he stays, he’s your responsibility. I don’t want him back in my house.”
“Okay,” Tom agreed, watching as she walked away, presumably to prepare for a shower. Unfortunately he hadn’t gained anything by the exchange. She could have either hated the guy all along, had a relationship with him she now wanted Tom to help her end, or they could have been in business together and now she wanted him out of the picture so she looked innocent.
No, he didn’t have any answers. But he would, Tom promised himself as he headed to the barn to check it out for himself
. Oh, yes, he would.
Chapter Thirteen
After brushing her teeth to get the taste of vomit and dirt out, Winnie stripped and stepped into the claw-foot tub, enclosed by the white curtain hanging from the circular shower rod overhead. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand, hearing the pipes knock and squeak as they always did. At first she just stood there, allowing the liquid heat to rinse off the first layer of filth from her hair and body.
She lowered her head and allowed the tears to flow with the water. As both pooled a muddy brown at her feet, she pulled the picture of the young woman into her thoughts, a mysterious young woman who had suffered as she had. The thought that Jack might have killed her, or worse, still have her imprisoned somewhere, ate at her.
She would have to call the police and show them the photograph. There was no other option. Being exposed for what he really was, was certainly no less than Jack deserved, but it would open up a can of worms that she would have to be the one to deal with. They would ask questions. They would want to know if she knew anything about the woman, which, of course, she didn’t–and then, in a way she did, too.
The same, or very similar, chains bloodying the young woman’s wrists had left black bruises and torn skin on her own. Even now the scars were a daily reminder of his passion for bondage, a passion he’d exercised with the chains only once as he’d used leather strips the other times he’d tied her up. The terror in that poor girl’s haunted brown eyes was mirrored deep within Winnie’s soul, a stain no cleanser could remove. And now she knew the pain she’d endured had been experienced by at least one other. Had there been more? Was Jack a sadistic serial killer she’d somehow managed to outlive? It was all too much to comprehend. Yet there was nothing she wouldn’t have put past him.
The snapshots of the girl and herself had been taken not only to torment, as she’d originally thought, but were trophies of power. Had that poor girl found the strength to tear them up, too, only to find that the action was both a waste of energy and time? Jack had used his power over her because she’d been innocent of the world, of love, of marriage. Sure, she been older in years that the girl in the photo, but she hadn’t been any older emotionally, nor in experience. Jack had used them both horribly and was still using her from the grave even now, because he’d known that the shame of revealing his degradation would cost her more than it would have ever cost him.
A hard knock at the bathroom door startled Winnie, reminding her that she was taking longer than she ever had before. Well, she didn’t care. This was her house now and she would take as long as she liked. “What?”
“Just checking to make sure you were okay.”
Tom was such a decent man. He’d been nothing but kind, other than his obvious disappointment over her throwing away the farm’s history. And the reality was that she shouldn’t have, as there was a world of information that could have been useful to him, especially if he did decide to purchase the farm.
There was just something inside her that had wanted, no, needed, to start everything fresh, make everything new. Her life had been no life to this point. Her mother had died too young. Her father had taken too long to die. Though she’d taken care of him out of love, by the time he’d finally expired she’d felt as if her entire life had been taken from her. At the least, her youth.
And then she’d made the worse mistake of her life. Jack Butler had represented a new start. He’d presented himself as her new start, when in fact he’d been her worst nightmare. She finished washing and shut off the water. “I’m done,” she called. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“No hurry. Just checking on you,” Tom returned, through the door.
Winnie smiled as she dried off. Wouldn’t it have been nice to have met someone like him after emerging from the cave she’d lived in while caring for her father? Tom was a good-looking man. A hunk, in fact, if that was still the right term. Although she was fairly certain “hot” was much more current.
Yes, hot definitely fit. Tom’s sun-streaked sandy hair fit the incredibly handsome face. He exuded masculinity with his tall stance, broad shoulders, and slim hipped body. He seemed quite comfortable with his subtle physical strength, his softly spoken words, his respectfully polite conversation. Tom never said or did anything that could be misconstrued as offensive. He would have made a wonderful older brother to run to when her life had turned so ugly. But a brother was the last thing she could ever consider Tom. The unimaginable truth was that she was attracted to him. And that was simply unacceptable.
The thought of a man touching her intimately was horrifying, and yet she wondered what Tom’s touch would be like, what his strong lips would taste like, what his skin, with its light dusting of blond hairs, would feel like against her own smooth skin. Maybe it was all those romance novels she’d read. Maybe her internal wiring had been preprogrammed to make her want the things she’d originally wanted all those years ago when she’d still believed a man in her life could complete her. Well she didn’t believe it anymore–yet the attraction was strong enough to keep him on her mind all the time.
For now, all she wanted was to reconnect with some of the friends she’d lost contact with, make new friends, or just to be a friend. She didn’t want to step right back into a mine-field where her hopes and dreams were once again pinned on the promise of being loved and cherished, or even just adored. But she didn’t want to be one of those women that spent an entire lifetime lamenting over the mistakes they’d made in choosing a partner, either. She didn’t care if she died a bitter old lady. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to live as one.
That meant she had to put the past behind her and move forward, and she was determined to do just that. With women friends. With hobbies. Maybe even open her own business, though she had no idea if she was good at anything. But it didn’t matter if she wasn’t. She had money. More than she’d ever dreamed of having and she could just have fun doing whatever she fancied as the fancy hit her.
Coach Jim Hood’s new wife, Lilly, carrying their tiny newborn, had stopped her in front of Lilly’s New Beginnings shop on Main Street just the other day to introduce herself and offer her condolences. And then Lilly had been nice enough ask if there was anything she could do. Winnie’s immediate reaction had been to respond negatively, but something had stopped her from uttering the words.
Perhaps Lilly’s genuine smile of friendship was what made her take the time to ask questions about the children’s shop, as well as the other new shops that had opened or reopened while Winnie had cared for her ailing father, then been imprisoned by Jack’s controlling nature. It seemed Legend’s Main Street had completely undergone a revitalization that went deeper than the reconstruction or refacing of the buildings, sidewalks and newly bricked streets. She’d known nothing about any of it, and had taken almost that entire day to walk up one side of Main Street and down the other, reacquainting herself with the only town she’d ever lived in.
The Ben Franklin’s Five and Dime was now Time Out, a what-not shop filled with old pocket watches, partial or completed china sets, walking sticks, and all manner of antique trinkets. Mae’s Mess, the greasy-spoon dinner that had only opened for breakfast and lunch was now called Mocha Mae’s, a chic little internet-coffee house, selling Suzie Schul’s cakes and muffins with an incredible assortment of hot and cold coffee drinks. The old sewing machine store was now Blake’s Electronics. Little yappy robot dogs and other animals, not all identifiable, moved around just inside the large plate-glass window that each Main Street store used to display its wears. Blight’s Jewelers was still there, but their storefront was cleaner, brighter, and fancier than she remembered.
There was also a store she wasn’t sure she wanted to look into. It’s highly reflective silver coated glass didn’t allow you to see in from the street, but she figured allowed one to see out from inside. The name across the top of that large display glass was Gertie’s Garters, and sounded just a little too sexual to someone who hated sex. And the last thing
she needed was sexy underwear. No one would ever see it.
All in all, there seemed to be every imaginable shop available now to make Legend a viable tourist town, which she was learning was the goal. The people of Legend were as friendly as she remembered from her youth. And they all wanted to be her friend. It was wonderful. It was surprising. Mainly it was just plain terrifying. She’d headed back to the house that day more determined than ever to find and destroy those photos. Until she did, she knew she wasn’t really free.
She hadn’t found them.
And now, as she twisted her wet hair up into her towel, she knew that should she find the evidence of Jack’s sickness, she wouldn’t be able to destroy them. She would just have to suffer from shame. She would have to make this all public with or without the pictures of her. The other girl deserved it. In fact, if the photo hadn’t been so faded with age, she’d act immediately in case the girl’s life depended on it. As it was, she needed time to build up the courage to go public.
Chapter Fourteen
The furniture’s arrival and its placement, along with redecorating all the rooms, took up all of two weeks, but in the end made Winnie as happy as she’d ever been about her living space. Her parent’s house had been outdated in both construction and décor, and had smelled like old, sick people for as long as she could remember.
Jack’s house had been outdated too, though Miss Betty had some wonderfully elegant antiques. All of which Winnie had happily donated to both the Goodwill and local churches. She didn’t care one bit that she could have sold some of the pieces for a good amount of money. She’d just wanted them gone so she could continue to move forward with her own life.
If Tom had an opinion about anything she was doing to the house that could one day be his, he wasn’t offering it, and frankly she didn’t want to hear it. She was her own woman now. In fact, she’d decided to stop being ridiculous about the horror she’d suffered. Once she had time to put it all in perspective, she realized she could have had it worse. Yes, Jack had hurt her, badly, and he had humiliated her, but in the end she survived, and that was what counted.