Paint Chips

by Susie Finkbeiner

  We learned in Sunday school that we should love our neighbors, obey our parents, and read our Bibles. We also learned all about what an evil man our father was. And how we would suffer the punishment for his sins.

  That I understood. We bore the punishment for his sins every moment of our lives.

  Each week, we took seats in the back pew to hear the sermon. I was grateful to sit behind everyone else. That meant they wouldn’t glare at us. So that if they talked about us, they had to do it in front of our faces.

  My family. The Yarborough family. The people who lived in the falling down shack on the ridge. Banker’s daughter that got herself in trouble and had to marry a coal miner. A drunken, womanizing, gambling coal miner.

  “Shameful,” they would say of my brother, Titus. “That boy borned outta wedlock. Just shameful.”

  “Marlowe and Cora,” they would say of my identical twin and me. “So much alike, them two. Can’t never tell ’em apart to look at ’em. But if you hear ’em talk, well, then you’d know. Cora ain’t such a nice girl. Sullen, that one. But that Marlowe’s somethin’ different. That Marlowe’s just too good for the likes of them.”

  “I don’t know why she don’t leave that man,” they’d say of my mother. “You see all three of them kids with the black eyes. And she herself don’t look no better. Why don’t she just get her some help?”

  The walk back down the mountain, after Sunday services, we all shuffled our feet. Worn down. Beat down. Without a hope in the world.

  One Sunday, after church, we walked home in the pouring rain. The thirty-minute trip took twice as long in our drenched clothes and feet that got stuck in the mud.

  “Come along,” my mother called to us, pushing the hair off her face. “We mustn’t be too late. Your father could wake anytime.”

  “Will he whoop us?” Titus asked.

  “He may if he’s angry enough.” My mother gathered us to the side of the road as a driver passed, splashing us with mud. The driver and passengers didn’t look at us.

  “We forgive you,” Marlowe cried, waving.

  “I don’t,” I said under my breath.

  Eventually, we made it to the house. Before walking in, we heard rustling and crashing from within.

  “Marlowe, stand behind me,” Titus said. “Cora, you walk in the back.”

  “Why’s father so hard on Marlowe?” I asked. “He’s just plain mean to her.”

  “Because he can’t abide the goodness in her,” my mother answered. “Hush now.”

  “Why can’t we just run away?” I whispered.

  “Where would we go?” my mother asked. “We have nowhere else in the world.”

  She unlatched the door and stepped in. As I followed behind the rest, I saw a large fleck of paint that hung off the door frame. I grabbed it, held it in my tight fist. Like a talisman of protection.

  The four of us stood in the doorway. We could barely step any further into the house. My father had torn the living room apart.

  The couch lay overturned, its dingy cushions tossed across the room. Contents of bookshelves and drawers had been thrown, scattered and broken, on the floor. A puddle of vomit spread on the area rug. The smell of it burned my nostrils even from across the room.

  “Where the blazes y’all been?” he roared as we stood huddled, watching him claw through a laundry basket of clothes. “Y’all get into this house right now.”

  We stepped over the debris and further inside. He watched us, readying himself to attack. A predator about to pounce upon his prey.

  “Well, y’all gonna answer my question? Where all y’all been?”

  “I took the children with me to church this morning,” my mother answered, her voice trembling.

  “Did you ask me my permission, woman?”

  “No sir. I would have hated to wake you up.”

  “And did y’all think that maybe I’d like to come to church with ya?” he snickered. “Or y’all think you’re too good of Christians to be seen with a sinner like me?”

  “No, sir. That thought never crossed my mind,” she answered. “We just thought you were tired. After how hard you work every day of the week, we just wanted to give you a rest this morning.”

  She knew he was ready to lash out at someone. She moved her slender hands to shield us. Titus turned toward us, making sure to stay in front of Marlowe.

  “What’s for dinner?” He plopped himself down in the creaking rocking chair by the front window. “I’m half to starved.”

  “I have some stew simmering. It should be ready by now. Just let me go check on it.”

  She led the three of us to the kitchen, just a small alcove off the living room.

  I smelled the cabbage, potatoes, and carrots cooking together in gentle bubbles of watery broth. My stomach groaned from hunger. But I knew that most of the vegetables would need to go into his bowl. He demanded everything. And our fear proved stronger than hunger. We didn’t dare keep anything from him. Weak broth would have to do for us.

  My mother tied an old, faded apron around her waist. She ladled the thin soup and vegetables into a large, clay bowl. Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out the only sharp knife she owned. She cut a slice of cornbread, smothered it with butter, and returned the knife to her apron, concealing it from my father.

  “Have her bring it to me,” he growled. “Marlowe.”

  My sister carried the bowl gingerly to him. I held my breath as she walked, praying that she would deliver it without a spill. He took the bowl.

  “Would you like anything else, Pa?” Marlowe asked with sweetness in her voice. Her kindness was a gift that he did not deserve.

  Marlowe loved our father the way Jesus loved Judas. She knew he would destroy her but forgave him ahead of time and loved him just the same.

  He slurped some of the broth and looked directly at my sister.

  “Needs salt. Get me the salt shaker,” he demanded. “Your ma is the worst cook I ever knowed. My pop always told me never marry a rich girl. Can’t cook worth a barrel of manure.”

  My mother rushed to Marlowe with the salt shaker. She passed it along to our father. He shook the small white crystals into his soup. As he ate he hurled insults and obscenities at my mother.

  “Should’a took up with that Mary when I had my chance. Ain’t no one on this mountain can cook like that Mary. And she ain’t no wisp of a woman neither. She got curves in all the right places. Not like you, Thelma. That Mary sure is pretty.” He dripped broth down the front of his beard. “And she thought I was the best thing ever touched this mountain. But, no, I had to go and get you all knocked up instead. And didn’t even get me no money from your tight-wad pa. That Mary went off and married herself to the preacher. I bet he don’t give her what I used to.” He touched himself, making an obscene gesture and laughing.

  When he finished berating my mother and slurping his soup he put the bowl on the floor and belched. When he straightened back up in the chair he looked at Marlowe.

  “Hey, come over here, girl,” he said.

  Marlowe walked to him, lowering her body to pick up the bowl.

  “Naw, you ain’t gotta get that. Let the other one worry ’bout that. You come sit up here on Pa’s lap.” He put his hands under her armpits and lifted her to sit with him.

  “You’re a awful good girl, ain’t ya?” he asked.

  “I try to be, Pa.” Marlowe said with a voice so small, so unsuspecting. Her green eyes open wide.

  “Ya always do as you’re told?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ain’t ya never disobey?” He scrunched his brow together.

  “Sometimes, sir. But I try my hardest to do what’s right.”

  “And you sure is gettin’ purtier every day.” He used his big, rough hands to move her smooth face from one side to the other. “How old is ya now?”

  “Eleven years old, sir.”

  “That’s fine. That’s just fine.” He grasped her firmly by the shoulders. “Now, listen he
re, girl. You’d do anything for this family, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. Anything.”

  “Then you gotta listen up. Ya hear? I got somethin’ real important to tell ya.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her eyes searched his face.

  “I owe a man some money. Name of Ducky. You ever hear of him?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where ya hear about him at?”

  “Church, sir. Pastor doesn’t speak well of Mr. Ducky.”

  “That’s right. ’Cause Ducky’s a bad man. And he do bad things.” He looked at my sister right in the eyes. “And ya know what Ducky’d do to a fella that don’t pay his debts?”

  “No, Pa, I don’t.”

  “He cuts his hands clean off. Right at the wrist. Then that man can’t never work no more.” He gripped her tighter. “And sometimes he kills the man’s whole family. You wouldn’t want that to happen to our family now, would ya?”

  “No. No, sir. That would be awful.” Her voice weakened.

  “It sure would.” He turned her head to look at Titus and me. “You wouldn’t want your idiot brother and sister to get their head’s bashed in, would ya?”

  “No, Pa,” she whimpered, close to crying.

  “Then you got to do just what I tell ya. You gonna be the one to save this whole family. No questions, you hear?”

  She nodded her head quickly, not taking her eyes off his face.

  “Now, that’s a good girl. Now you’re gonna go pack up your things. You gonna live at Ducky’s house now. You belong to him.”

  “Harold, no!” My mother cried, rushing to the rocker and grabbing his arm. “Let him have me. They can do whatever they want to me. She’s just a little girl. Take me.”

  He used the back of his hand to smack my mother across the cheek. She fell to the floor, holding her face. She wasn’t surprised by the hit. She must have expected it. His voice roared at her.

  “Ducky don’t want no used-up old bag of bones like you, woman!” He turned back to Marlowe and gently caressed her red-brown hair. “They lookin’ for younger girls now. Say that’s what sells now a days. And we gonna give ’em what they want, ain’t we, girl?”

  He dropped Marlowe to the floor. She looked at me, horrified. Together we ran to the corner where our belongings were kept. They’d been overturned along with everything else. We sat among our things and wept together in a small huddle on the floor.

  “What y’all cryin’ like babies for?” my father yelled across the room. He pointed at me. “You shouldn’t be blubberin’ about nothin’. You should be thankin’ me for sparing you. You know how much Ducky’d pay for a couple twins?”

  I knew he meant the words as a threat. A warning. One slip up and I would be sent to join Marlowe doing whatever those terrible men told me to do. I would have to watch out for myself or I would be sold off, too. The only way to protect myself was by being perfect.

  “Boy, get your sorry little butt over there and pack up that girl’s junk,” he said to Titus. “No toys or nothin’ like that. Just a couple a dresses is all she’ll need.”

  My brother walked to us, his eyes full of tears that he wouldn’t allow to fall. But I also saw anger in how he set his jaw. Powerless to save Marlowe, he built more hatred for our father.

  “Please, Harold,” my mother sobbed. “Just let me try to talk to Daddy. He could lend us the money you owe. We could pay it all off and not lose Marlowe. Please. How much is it that we need?”

  “Don’t you never say nothin’ to me about your daddy again! I ain’t no man to take a handout from nobody! And I ain’t about to let no wife of mine to act the beggar to her father.” He kicked her with his booted foot. “I’m the man around this place. I make the decisions. If ya don’t like it then just take off. Go back to your daddy.”

  My mother curled up in a ball on the floor. “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Beside, it don’t matter. I’m still gonna take the girl to Ducky’s. It’s too late for me to go back on that now.”

  Dot – 26

  I stayed in the guestroom for awhile after Kristi left for work. A new feeling I barely understood sat heavy in my gut. Rescue had been so close. Sitting on the bed, I battled regret.

  Eventually, I convinced myself to move out of the room. I needed to get back to Lola’s house. I walked down the steps. Very little had changed since the last time I was there eight years earlier. The leather furniture, pictures on the white walls, gray carpeting. All of it the same. Paul’s senior picture and a new recliner had been added. But for the most part it hadn’t changed.

  “Good morning, Dot,” Paul said from the couch in the living room, watching a football game.

  “Hey,” I said, bleary.

  “You need more coffee, don’t you?” He switched off the television.

  “You have no idea. Thanks.”

  We went into the kitchen. He poured coffee into my mug for me. Then he pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard.

  “Is this still your favorite?” he asked, handing me the box.

  “Yeah. How do you even remember that?” I looked at the red box with the picture of rainbow-colored marshmallows. Tearing open the box, I smiled.

  “Well, when you guys were here a lot, my mom made sure to always have it in the house. And my dad and I weren’t allowed to eat any of them. They were just for you.”

  “Please tell me this cereal isn’t that old.” I hesitated before dumping the cereal into a bowl.

  “No.” He laughed. “Mom ran out to the store this morning before you woke up.”

  “She didn’t have to do that.” Tears tried to spill over from my eyes. I willed them to stay put. “It’s too much trouble.”

  “You know, that’s my mom.” He got the milk from the refrigerator and put it on the table. “She was just so excited that you’re here again.”

  “So, your mom’s working at the hospital now,” I said. “When did that happen?”

  “Oh, when I was in high school, she went to nursing school,” he answered. “She loves it.”

  “That’s cool.”

  I poured milk over the cereal in my bowl. So hungry, I shoved a spoonful into my mouth, dribbling all down the front of me.

  “Oh my gosh. That’s attractive, right?” I said, laughing.

  He handed me a napkin. “You know, you always were a dainty eater. Do you remember the time we were eating pudding and Pete made you laugh?”

  “Oh, yeah. It went shooting out of my nose.”

  “And right on my face.” He shook his head. “It was chocolate. And so gross.”

  “You don’t know how much that hurt.”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “Thanks so much for reminding me of that.”

  “You’re welcome. I have a whole file of embarrassing Dot stories I could pull out for you, if you’d like.”

  “No, that’s all right. I’ll pass. You can just keep those to yourself.”

  “Man, I’m so glad you’re here, Dot,” Paul said, eyes soft.

  I knew that if I said anything, I would crumble. Being in that house, loved by the West family, missing Pete, regretting my past. All of the emotion left my heart raw, exposed. Keeping my eyes down, I avoided Paul’s gaze. I didn’t need to break down over my marshmallow cereal.

  Then a new anxiety stabbed in my chest. Being alone, in a house, with a boy. A man, really. An old and very recognizable fear set in. I had to remember that Paul West wouldn’t hurt me. Not ever. I looked up at him and tried to smile.

  “We got to the point where we just never expected to see you again. Especially not after all the time we spent looking for you,” he said. “I’m just glad we know that you’re doing okay now.”

  “Thanks. That’s really nice,” I said, trying to dismiss him.

  “We always wondered . . . .”

  The phone rang.

  “You should get that. Right?” I asked, relieved for the distraction.

  After I got myself together and collected what li
ttle I had with me, Paul drove me back to Lola’s house. The whole way I asked him questions about the college, eager to know as much as I could.

  “What’s your major?” I asked.

  “Christian Ministries,” he answered.

  “What is that?”

  “It just basically means that one of these days I’d like to work in a church or on the mission field somewhere. You know, in ministry.”

  “Wow. That’s cool.”

  “What are you thinking about studying?”

  “Well, I guess I was kind of thinking about something in literature or writing. But I don’t know for sure,” I said, like a little girl talking about a far-off dream. “I might try to become a teacher. I was thinking that I might want to teach in an inner-city school.”

  “That’s great. I think you’d be good at it.” He looked at me for a second. “It’ll be cool having you at college with me.”

  “Really?” I scrunched my face.

  “Yeah. I would love to hang out with you.”

  “Well, I’m not completely sure I’ll be coming. I mean, picking out a college is kind of a big decision.”

  “True.” He smiled at me. “But I promise that I’d be really nice to you. I’d even introduce you to all my friends. I’d take care of you.”

  I kept my face straight ahead. He wanted to take care of me. I didn’t know how I felt about that. Shoving those thoughts away, I smiled again, masking my anxiety.

  “And I’d let you sit with me in the cafeteria, but only if you promise not to spew pudding out of your nose on my friends.”

  “Now, that is a promise I just can’t make.”

  We drove onto my street and pulled in front of the house. Lola lounged in the hammock, reading a book. She looked at us, drowsy eyed, as we climbed out of the car.

  “You know, in the daylight I can see a lot of repairs you need to have done to this place,” Paul said to Lola. “The eaves are a little droopy, a few shingles need replacing, and I think I see some nails that should be hammered down on the porch. Not to be rude or anything.”

  “By all means, young man, be my guest. We’re always looking for free repairs,” Lola joked.