So here she was, a day later. She slowly breathed out a ponderous sigh, knowing she needed to get a move on if she wanted to climb to her secret sanctuary and still have time to absorb joyous memories of her childhood. Nightfall could come quickly in the woods.
Netty again tried to get to her feet, this time with more success, and set off. She squeezed her large frame into the painfully tight cleft in the rocky hillside, choosing to avoid the wider expanse of the longer route. She was overwhelmingly aware of how her slender figure had ballooned in the few years since her sham of a marriage. She wondered if perhaps it had been a subconscious defensive move to dissuade Robert’s occasional drunken late night forays into her third floor bedroom. It had been there that he’d chosen to indulge his malicious need to remind her of her powerlessness. Just as he’d done on their wedding night.
The evening had started out full of promise, her innocence perfectly clear, even as her mama tried to prepare her by tentatively discussing the rituals between a man and woman in love. Not able to grasp the significance of the talks, she came away convinced that her wedding night would prove to be mysterious and wonderful, capturing the feelings of the true love her mama described to her. Delivered to the bridal suite, she’d prepared for Robert’s arrival, the canopy bed so sumptuous she dare not sit on it.
Readying herself for her husband, she’d donned the new nightgown her mama had painstakingly stitched for her. She’d never held anything this elegant, with its delicate lace and silky translucence. As she brushed her long brown hair, thick and gleaming, she’d casually wondered what was keeping Robert. He’d pulled away from her after the ceremony to welcome his boisterous friends, barely speaking to her apart from an occasional dance. The crowded room had consisted mainly of strangers. Robert’s sisters formally congratulated her, but had quickly moved on to other party guests. She understood his need to play host to his friends and business associates, although the unfamiliar smell of spirits she’d detected on his breath as they danced had left her confused and nervous.
Time passed quickly and, before long, she’d nodded off on the petite water silk divan in the far corner of the bedroom. She’d startled awake as Robert stumbled into the room, locking the door behind him. It was very late and her innocent eagerness had dissipated with her grogginess from not having properly slept. As she yawned herself awake, she’d softly inquired as to his whereabouts.
Robert had stood in front of her, lightly swaying on his feet as he regarded her with what she could only describe as a sneer. Without warning, he’d backhanded her across the face; the strike so powerful that she’d fallen from the divan. He’d turned toward the bed, then turned back as if he’d suddenly thought better of it. He’d hauled her to her feet, his face transformed into something unfamiliar and strange. Pausing his hand in midair, he’d reached out and slowly, so gently, caressed her bodice. Before she could react, he’d viciously gripped the bodice and yanked it down, fully exposing her trembling nakedness. Lust had filled his eyes as he painfully bit down on her nipple, causing her to scream in shock and pain.
He’d backhanded her again, whispering ominously, “You stupid strumpet, do not ever question me again.” With further disdain, he’d then pushed her to the floor. Struggling to pull down his trousers, he’d mounted her from behind, slamming into her tender virgin flesh. His big hands wrapped themselves around her throat, cutting off her air. Disgusting sounds emanated from him, reminiscent of hogs fighting in their pig slop. By the time he’d finished, her screams had lessened to shocked and gulping whimpers. She’d cowered defenselessly on the floor as he’d grunted his way to the bed and collapsed, falling into a deep stupor.
Netty lay stunned, her beautiful fantasy dissolving into the reality of the burning pain and blood between her legs. She felt numbness on her face. Reaching up, she felt her nose and realized Robert had broken it. Hot tears streamed down her swelling face as she slowly made her way to the wash bowl. She’d tenderly blotted at her thighs with clean linen, wincing at the ruin of her nose in the looking glass above the stand. Gathering up the remnants of her lovely nightgown, she’d achingly pressed the ruined gift to her heart. Oh, Mama, please come take me home.
Netty had then slipped into her robe and carefully crept to the bottom corner of the bed where she’d silently curled up, praying that the morn would come quickly. Suddenly, Robert had tossed in his sleep. His foot shot out from under the comforter, slamming into her bottom as he viciously kicked her off the bed.
“Country trash does not sleep in my bed.” He’d snorted drunkenly as he contemptuously rolled over to sleep. She’d crept over to the tiny divan, careful not to soil the beautiful silk with her blood.
Netty had woken to the warmth of the sun streaming into the room, announcing a steamy summer morning on the wane. Her body ached all over. Her nose had swollen to twice its size and was canted to the side. She glanced at the bed, discovering her husband’s absence with relief.
Running quickly to the door, she’d found it locked. Puzzled, her heart thumping wildly, she’d known it was not a good sign. As she gingerly dressed and packed, hoping to escape back to the cabin and her mama, she’d heard noises in the hallway. After some fumbling with the lock, the door slammed back against the wall with a bang. Her husband had strolled into the room accompanied by his manservant, Eli, and several older housemaids. Upon his order they’d grabbed her then plunked her down on a mahogany slipper chair. Amid her protests, she’d noticed Eli carried a large pair of sewing shears in his rough meaty hands.
Robert had proceeded to lay out the rules for her. She would be confined to the townhouse with no visitors. She would take all her meals in the kitchen before he returned from work and then retire to her own room. She would help with the packing during the day as they’d be leaving town to move to a mansion called Sunnydale in Norristown, in the neighboring county.
Her head had reeled with confusion. She’d realized Norristown was at least a hard two-day walk, maybe more, from the farm. Robert’s automobile, a luxury in the eyes of poor country folk, frightened her, yet gave her confidence that the distance would be manageable for her, although not for her mama. That is if she was allowed to use the vehicle. As her visible panic mounted, she’d witnessed a signal from Robert. Two housemaids grabbed her arms, holding her down as Eli approached with the shears. Walking to the door, Robert appeared satisfied.
“This will be a small taste of my displeasure if you become a nuisance.” Turning smartly, he’d dismissively left the room. Eli had then scooped up a fistful of her long gleaming tresses and, with one hack, her hair had disappeared.
She’d become his captive, isolated from all she knew. Her days had consisted of packing and desperately staying out of Robert’s sight. She’d realized the cropping of her hair was meant to demoralize her. He needn’t have bothered. She’d been so traumatized, she appeared to be the walking dead, even spooking the household staff. Her nose had begun to heal without the benefit of medical care. As a result, the cant had fused permanently, throwing her pleasant features off balance, making her almost unrecognizable. It also left an unsightly bump on the bridge of her nose. The dull and lifeless hair left on her scalp had begun to show signs of small bald spots brought on by stress. Over time, they’d become permanent.
And the rapes had continued. Not frequently, for she realized Robert actually despised her. But once a week, he returned home at dawn, pleased with himself and more inebriated than usual. He’d routinely appeared at her bedside naked, his ugly purple erection stupid with desire. She’d dared not cry out for fear he’d punish her in some sick evil way. So she’d acquiesced, silently wanting to kill him.
Why, why, why me? What did I do wrong? Why has Mama not come to visit me? Did they turn her away at the door? Not knowing had driven her crazy. If only she could get a message to her mama, she and Mr. Woods would rescue her.
*
As much as a month had passed since her ill-fated wedding, and the household packing was final
ly completed. Netty had decided to bribe a young housemaid with one of the coins given to her by Mr. Woods. God bless the miracle that had made Robert neglect to search her belongings and appropriate her purse.
She’d painstakingly written a message to her mama in her childish block letters, hiding it in her apron pocket with the coin, planning to pass it along to her young accomplice, a kitchen wench she’d managed to discreetly befriend.
The hardwood floors squeaked. Spinning around, Netty had seen Robert standing in the doorway. Oh Lord, did he see me hide the note? His expression unreadable, she’d held her breath. Without preamble, he’d casually sat her in a chair and delivered the awful news. The sheriff had found her mama assaulted and murdered in their cabin. It appeared to have occurred several weeks ago. She need not plan a funeral; the body had already been interred. Netty had screamed, pitifully slumping to the floor.
*
Her cold silent tears brought Netty back to the present, sitting on the chilled floor of the lonely woods. Wiping away her useless teardrops, she carried on, not understanding the unrelenting compulsion. Her damaged feet continued to whimper their fruitless protest.
The cleft in the rocky hillside led her to the path that circled around a magnificent piece of granite, most likely deposited as glaciers moved across the continent during one of the many ice ages. The rock, a beacon to any child, had seduced her as well. It had become her private sanctuary. The place she ran to for dreaming, praying and saying goodbye to her creatures when her efforts to help their sufferings had failed.
Every creature she’d lost withered her young heart and caused her to rail at God for his indifference to the suffering of the innocent. In particular, her worst moments with God came after receiving a maimed creature, often dropped on her family’s doorstop by a sympathetic neighbor, clearly intentionally harmed by someone. She knew instinctively that every creature was entitled to one thing: life. To steal that through abuse or indifference argued a crime against God. At her rock, she could cry or rail at God in private. As long as she was respectful to Him, she could exercise her frustration, vent, then return home to her makeshift hospital, ready to soldier on.
Sudden chattering from above drew her gaze. Two squirrels argued, probably over territory judging by the signals of their furious tail thumping. Brightening, she grasped the first handhold to climb the rock just as she’d done before her marriage. She gingerly pulled herself up, her eyes skimming over a pile of loose rocks at the base of the granite where it leaned into the hillside, something of a cairn that she didn’t recall having seen before. Further on, she spied a fat rattlesnake sunning itself and coiled around the base of a young maple tree, frighteningly close to the pathway she would have to traverse on her way back out of the woods. She remembered the knoll was not called Snake Hill for nothing.
Reaching the top, she spotted the concave depression she’d used as a throne as a child. The seat was cold and sharp against her twenty-three-year-old rump. Suddenly, Netty saw another flash of rainbow color in the periphery of her vision, similar to the one that had visited her at the cabin. Was she coming down with something? Maybe a brain malady? She couldn’t afford to get sick now, just as she was starting her new life. Memory returned to her last days at the mansion.
*
A truce of sorts had developed between her and Robert. Thankfully, he no longer demanded her attentions in the bedroom. They still lived in their Renaissance Revival mansion in Norristown, and occasionally she’d wandered the mansion at night while Robert was out late with his business partners. She’d loved admiring the high ceilings and beautiful carvings of their home, secretly investigating every nook and cranny.
She was forbidden to enter her husband’s stunning library. The room was thirty eight by twenty five feet, and every inch of the dark oak walls was carved with intricate designs. The massive fireplace was dressed in an emerald-green marble surround with an amazing carved mantle that stretched all the way to the twelve-foot ceiling and which showcased Robert’s valuable collection of antique American gold coins. She’d often spied him in the library, slobbering over them as if they were his children. The collection frequently impressed guests who’d stopped by to request favors or seek his advice.
She’d sat at her husband’s extraordinary partners desk, the top made of the richest burled walnut. A partners lamp made by the talented Louis Comfort Tiffany rested comfortably where it could reflect the warmth of the fireplace. She’d pulled on the chain, casting light over the hand-carved body of the desk.
It was while admiring the intricate dark walnut carvings that she’d innocently discovered her husband’s dark secrets. Accidently pressing a small carved bump that was part of the design on the inside wall of the cubby for her husband’s legs, she’d discovered a secret panel. Upon excited investigation, she’d found the source of his unexplained wealth. It was certainly not family money as everyone had assumed. For inside the secret panel she’d also uncovered a shelf holding a copy of Robert’s father’s will.
Robert stood to inherit nothing. Except for the family townhouse, deeded to his five elder sisters, there was little of the Doyle fortune left. Expensive wedding dowries and even more expensive weddings had severely drained his father. Such was the cost of attracting suitably wealthy husbands. His sisters were set.
Netty had also uncovered receipts from the town clerk that showed Robert paid the taxes and upkeep of the family townhome, which had come as quite a surprise. Hmm, she thought, Robert is not known to be generous.
Upon further investigation, she’d found receipts for large sums of money to several town fathers and realized that he wielded much power and influence in their city. He ruled the county courthouse and was bowed and scraped to accordingly. Things started to add up, yet it made the question of why he’d married her even more mysterious. And what about the source of all of his money? Her suspicions had flamed wildly.
And there it had been, pushed to the very back of the secret drawer: a ledger, dog-eared and covered with spills, but legible. The ledger had contained payroll records, listing most of the names of his so-called friends and business partners. Taking in the columns of numbers along with dates and times, it had become clear. They were his employees. Last but not least had been a detailed account of shipping intake and disbursements. Glancing at the materials listed, any fool could have seen that her husband was a gin- and rum-runner. Law enforcement clearly rested in his back pocket. The late night partying at the carriage house now took on a new light. It also explained the presence of the thuggish strangers who’d seemed ever-present back there during the day.
Would it be possible to use this information to obtain her release? She’d often thought of murdering her husband to end her imprisonment, but knew she couldn’t face her Lord if she took a life.
As she shuffled the papers and ledger back to their hiding place, her hands had dislodged an envelope she’d previously overlooked. Glancing at it quickly, she saw it was the last will and testament of James Woods; her Mr. Woods.
It had taken her many years to begin to heal from the death of her mother, and just as long to bury her hurt and disappointment over Mr. Woods’ abandonment. Perhaps he’d thought that now she was married, her days occupied her to the exclusion of old friends. She’d failed time and time again to convince Robert to let her visit him. Finally, Robert confessed to her that Mr. Woods had passed away shortly after her mother’s death. It was presumed to have been a heart attack, as he’d been found in an alley not far from his home. He added the rumor that the family had inherited a sizeable fortune.
Netty had run her fingers tenderly over Mr. Woods’ name, wondering why his will was in Robert’s possession.
Out of curiosity, Netty had opened the contents of the envelope. Most of the text seemed to have been written in a legalese and jargon unfamiliar to her. She’d recognized the names of members of Mr. Woods’ family and could see he’d taken care of them.
Suddenly, she recognized her own name
on the last page: Jeannette Elizabeth Woods Smith. Woods? What is that all about? Quite an odd mistake. Tears had dropped softly to her lap as she realized Mr. Woods had not forgotten her at all. Reading on, she learned that he’d bequeathed to her all the two thousand acres surrounding the cabin her family had lived in.
She’d been incredulous. Why was I not told? When did this happen? Netty looked for a date on the will. On the signature line, she read that Mr. Woods had signed it about five years before her marriage. And underneath his signature was her husband’s name as attorney of record. The stunning truth: he’d always known.
Feeling a lump on her lap, she realized she’d overlooked more papers. Smoothing them out on the desk, a tiny map of the farm and their cabin unfolded. It had been attached to a message asking her husband to draw up the final contract for the transfer of Lots 1 thru 300, blocks 14 thru 46 to the O’Reilly Development Corp. He is selling part of the farm: my farm?
Netty considered the implications. Mr. Woods’ family must have wondered about the strange bequest. They must have been aware of it. If the will legally conveyed title to the property, she’d been the legal owner for many years. Her thoughts and emotions had turned upside down with confusion while her sneaking anger had grown. She couldn’t understand her husband’s motives for hiding her inheritance. It left her only one choice. She must challenge him and wrench the truth from him.
Dare she hope that this might be the vehicle for her escape from her insufferable existence? She’d thought it might be, but she must take pains to be careful. Breathing deeply, she’d tried to calm down. She desperately needed to think straight.
Alien Species Intervention: Books 1-3: An Alien Apocalyptic Saga (Species Intervention #6609) Page 2