Sins of Summer

by Dorothy Garlock

  Dory remained still as a stone, her eyes locked with Milo’s. Her intense hatred of him was like a festering boil, but the emotion rioting through her was wholly concealed behind the noncommittal expression on her face. She could hear the small mewing cries of the kitten beneath his boot heel and forced herself to stand still, even though Sid was rubbing his hardened crotch against her hips.

  When Sid’s hands moved around to cup and fondle her breasts, Milo’s expression changed to a smirk. When Milo dropped his hand from her face, he scratched his crotch and laughed.

  Thinking about the kitten under Milo’s boot heel, Dory endured the humiliation of Sid’s fingers pulling at her nipples and the hand that moved lower to her mound to press her back against his crotch.

  “I like titties,” Sid murmured. “I like ’em best if they’ve been nussed.”

  Encouraged by her lack of resistance, Dory’s tormentor became bolder and moved his mouth around to hers.

  The smell of his foul breath caused her stomach to churn and sickening bile to come up into her throat. Suddenly she had taken all she could take. In a haze of red rage, rationality exploded. Rebelling against this indignity to her body and mind, she groped for a knife on the table. Her fingers closed around the handle of a three-tined fork. She gripped it, and with all the force she had, she drove the sharp tines into the hand pawing her breast.

  “Yee… ow!” Sid screamed.

  Dory broke free and ran for the door. She was fast, but Milo’s long reach caught her as her feet hit the porch and he dragged her kicking and screaming back into the kitchen.

  “Ya dammed bitch!” He slapped her with such force it spun her around. She crashed into a chair before she hit the floor. He yanked her to her feet and struck her again and again.

  “Bitch! Slut! Whore!” Sid yelled, holding his injured hand. Blood poured through his fingers. “Ya’ll pay fer this flat on yore back. I’ll screw yore damned eyes out!”

  The rage that boiled up in Dory gave her strength. Half-mad with pain and fury at what was being done to her, she jerked away from Milo and grabbed the fork.

  “Don’t hit me again… or I’ll kill you!” She hissed and spit like a cornered cat, but her strength was no match for his.

  “With that?” he sneered, and struck her so fast and so hard that she had no time to use her weapon. She reeled back against Sid. He yelled and shoved her against the table. She stumbled, hitting her cheek on the edge of the table as she fell heavily to the floor.

  It didn’t occur to Dory to stay down. She was more angry than she had ever been in her life. Her rage was a holocaust sweeping up from deep inside her, ridding her of all fear, robbing her of dignity. She managed to get to her feet, only to be knocked down by a blow from Milo’s fist. She lay stunned. When her senses returned she found herself crawling to a chair so that she could get to her feet again.

  In a daze of confusion and pain, she heard Wiley’s voice, loud and strong.

  “Hit her again an’ old Berthy’ll cut ya slap-dab in two.”

  “Ya gawddammed ol’ fool,” Milo roared. “Get the hell outta here.”

  “After you,” Wiley said calmly.

  “I’ll cut yore heart out.”

  “Maybe. But not now. Get out.”

  “Ya ain’t orderin’ me outta my own house.”

  “I ain’t. Old Berthy is. Get out and take that ruttin’ warthog with ya. My finger’s gettin’ itchin’ to empty both barrels.”

  As Milo moved around the table. Dory inched back to keep him from getting behind her and using her as a shield. Her head felt as if it were in a cellar with a thousand bells ringing at the same time. She could hardly focus her eyes.

  “Ya goin’ ta let ’im run us off?” Sid blurted. “Shit. We could take ’im.”

  “Ya yellow pup. Ya couldn’t knock a pimple off a jaybird’s ass. Come on, make yore best try ’cause one’s all ya’ll get.”

  Milo’s face was beet-red except for the white around his mouth. Stiff with rage, he kicked a chair out of his way, snatched a towel off the washbench and threw it at Sid.

  “Yo’re a dead man,” he snarled at Wiley, then to Dory as he went out the door, “Ya stupid whore! Ya’ll wed Sid or that kid’ll get what the cat got.”

  Sid sent a silent threat to Dory that he would be back, wrapped the towel around his injured hand, and trailed out after Milo.

  Wiley followed them to the porch and watched as they crossed the yard to the corral. He could hear the murmur of their voices as they caught their horses and saddled them. Wiley was as sure as anything that his fate was sealed.

  Milo would kill him.

  Hell, he was an old man anyway. If he’d ever done anything worthwhile in his life he had done it tonight. Milo had turned ugly mean, like a rogue steer, and Wiley doubted that even Louis would be able to control him now.

  As he waited on the porch for the sound of the horses leaving the homestead, Wiley heard a rifle shot and at the same time heard the plop as the bullet sank into the porch post beside his head. He dropped to the floor and shouted to Dory to blow out the lamp. Seconds later there was darkness, except for the small slice of moon that hung over the treetops.

  After rolling over so he could get the shotgun in position, Wiley waited. The only sound was the stamping of the horses in the corral. It’s a hell of a place to die, he thought. He’d always thought he would die in bed, not flat on his belly on a board porch. Straining his ears for a sound, he heard Dory’s whisper.

  “Wiley! You all right?”

  “Yeah. Stay in the house.”

  “I’ve got the rifle—”

  “Shhh…”

  There was a long silence, then Milo’s voice came from the side of the yard where the sumac grew.

  “Did I get ya, old man?”

  “Come and find out, ya shithead.” Wiley felt good. If he could get Milo, there’d be one less worry for Dory. After a minute of silence, he yelled, “Hey, yellow-belly. Ya feared of a crippled-up old man? Yo’re mighty brave at fightin’ women.”

  Milo answered with a shot that passed over Wiley’s head.

  “Shit! A blind man could do better’n that. Hell, ya couldn’t hit a bull in the arse with a shovel,” Wiley taunted, hoping Milo would fire again. The flash would give away his position and old Bertha would do the rest.

  In the quiet that followed, the sound of a running horse was heard, followed by a nicker from a horse in the corral. Then silence.

  “Someone’s comin’,” Dory whispered from just inside the door. Oh, God! Don’t let Ben walk into this.

  It seemed to Dory the silence went on forever. She leaned against the wall with the rifle in her hand. Could eternity be this long, she wondered. There wasn’t a sound from Wiley on the porch. Dory’s mind raced to Odette and Jeanmarie. Odette would not have heard the commotion or the gunshots, but Jeanmarie would have. She prayed that Odette would not be persuaded to come downstairs. She prayed that it was Louis out there in the dark and not Ben.

  When the sound of the shots came, Dory’s heart plunged to the pit of her stomach. Logic told her that Milo would not be shooting at Louis. Please, God, Please. Oh, Ben, I’ve not even had a chance to tell you I love you.

  That awful silence again. It went on and on until it was broken by the sound of a horse leaving the yard. One horse.

  A minute passed, then she heard Ben’s voice.

  “Wiley. Dory. It’s Ben.”

  Dory’s legs melted from beneath her. Limp, she sank to the floor and rested her forehead against the rough wall beside the door.

  “Up here on the porch,” Wiley called. “Watch yoreself There’s two of ’em.”

  “Only two?” Ben said, and shoved his Smith and Wesson into the scabbard that rode on his thigh. “There’s only one now and he took off like a scalded cat.”

  “Which one’d ya get?”

  “Sid. He shot at me. I didn’t give him another chance. You hurt?” Ben squatted down beside the old man.

  �
��I ain’t hit, but I shore as hell twisted my leg when I dropped to the porch.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “No. Leave me be for a while an’ see ’bout Dory. She’s just inside the door.”

  Inside the kitchen, Ben struck a match so he could find the lamp. He lit it and turned to see Dory huddled down beside the wall.

  “Dory? You all right?” Ben knelt beside her and tried to turn her toward him. She resisted and put her hand up to shield her face. “Odette and Jeanmarie?” he asked.

  “They’re all right.”

  Ben took hold of her wrist and pulled her hand away from her face.

  “Godamighty!” he exclaimed. “Did Milo do this?”

  Tears of pain and humiliation rolled down Dory’s cheeks. One eye was almost swollen shut. The cut on her cheekbone, where she had hit the table, was open and oozing blood. Her mouth was cut, her cheeks and jaw bruised and swelling. Blood from her nose had run down her chin and onto her shirt.

  A soft whimper of pain came from her lips. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. Ben held her gently, not knowing where all she was hurt.

  “Is Dory all right?” Wiley called anxiously from the porch.

  “She’s beat up pretty bad,” Ben answered in a tight angry voice.

  “Fool that I be, I ne’er thought he’d do such a thin come runnin’ soon as I heared her yell.”

  “He’s been hittin’ on her for some time. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “Nary a word,” Wiley said. “Lucifer! James’ll kill ’im.

  “He won’t have to. I will.” Ben’s words were cold and harsh and strangely void of anger.

  CHAPTER

  * 15 *

  Ben gently stroked the head of short tight curls pressed to his shoulder. She had fought Milo to keep him away from Odette. She had endured her half-brothers’ slurs and physical abuse in order to protect James. She was a proud, brave woman and he wanted to rage with savage destruction at the men who had done this thing to her.

  “I’m… sorry…” Dory whispered in anguish.

  “Sorry? You’ve done nothing to be sorry for. You’re the spunkiest woman I’ve ever known.”

  “But… I’ve got blood on your shirt.” She rolled her head back and forth.

  “It’ll wash.” Ben had almost forgotten that Sid’s bullet had torn through the fleshy part of his arm above his elbow. It was his blood she was seeing on his shirt.

  “Ben… Ben…” She said his name in a breathless whisper and looked up at him with unfocused eyes.

  “I’m here, honey. And I’m staying. Don’t worry. They won’t be back.”

  Dory’s eyes cleared. She grabbed a handful of his shirt. “He’ll kill Jeanmarie if I don’t… if I don’t marry Sid! I’ve never seen Milo so mean! He’ll do it. He was going to kill the kitten if I didn’t… didn’t… let Sid—”

  “Dory, listen to me.” He shook her shoulders gently. “Sid is dead. I killed him.”

  “You… killed him?”

  “Yes, I killed him. He was trying to kill me,” he said, looking intently into her face.

  “Milo said… he said… that he’d—” She choked up and couldn’t say more.

  “He’ll not hurt Jeanmaric.”

  “But… I’m so afraid!”

  “I know you are. Can you stand up? I’ll get you to a chair and help Wiley up off the porch.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  “He hurt his leg when he dropped down.”

  There was a momentary catch in her breath when she moved, followed by a faint moan. It was a steady hurtful sound. Every bone and muscle in her body hurt. Her teeth hurt, her eyelids, and her tailbone. The room tilted when she stood, and she held tightly to Ben. He eased her down onto a chair and took her a wet cloth.

  “Hold this against your face while I help Wiley.”

  The cold, wet cloth felt good. It came to her befuddled mind that she needed to clean herself up before Odette and Jeanmarie saw her. There was so much blood on her shirt. Where had it come from?

  Wiley hopped into the kitchen leaning heavily on Ben.

  “I’ll sit here by the door, Ben. Get me ol’ Berthy. If the bastard comes back he’ll get a dose of lead. You all right, Dory? Gawddamn that bastard,” he exclaimed when he saw her face. “I ort ta a kilt him… wish I had.”

  Ben retrieved the shotgun, picked up the rifle, checked to see if it was loaded, then stood it beside the door.

  “Ben, did ya get hit? Blood’s runnin’ down yore hand.”

  “It’s nothing. Sid’s bullet grazed my arm. If I get a nick I bleed like a stuck hog.”

  “You’ve been… shot?” Dory jumped up out of the chair so fast that she was dizzy. She stood swaying and grabbed the table to steady herself. Looking down, she saw the lifeless body of the kitten, its head a bloody pulp. “Ohhh… ahhh—” She gagged, slapped a hand over her mouth and stumbled toward the door.

  Ben caught her with an arm about her waist and helped her to the edge of the porch. The contents in her stomach spilled out of her mouth in gushes. She moaned and gagged and vomited until there was nothing to come up. When the sickness was over, she hung limply on Ben’s arm until the dizziness passed.

  “Poor little kitten.” She began to cry. Tears rolled from her eyes and fell on her blood-stained shirt. Ben turned her in his arms.

  “Don’t cry, honey. Don’t cry. Please don’t.” His words thickened and ran together.

  “I’m trying,” she whispered, her lips trembling so that she could scarcely say the words. “It was so awful. Milo had his… foot on the kitten’s head and it was crying. He made me stand and let that sorry excuse for a man… paw me.” She shuddered and began to cry again. “It was degrading. I didn’t know what else to do. Oh, Ben, I feel so dirty—.”

  “Sweet, brave woman, you did what you had to do.”

  “When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I… stabbed Sid with a fork and ran to the door to get outside. Milo caught me and hit me. I fell against the table and grabbed another fork, that’s when he really beat me. Milo hasn’t been like that before. He’s always been mean, but it’s only the last year that he’s pinched and slapped me. Tonight I could feel how much he hated me. I think he wanted to kill me.”

  “Were he and Sid drinking?”

  “No. I’m sure they weren’t. Milo asked about Odette as soon as he came in the door. He wants her.”

  “I’ll kill him first,” Ben said quietly.

  “Or he’ll kill you. He’s a back-shooter, Ben. I know he killed Mick. He laughs every time it’s mentioned.”

  “You and James are going to have to make some decisions. You can’t stay here. That’s certain.”

  “I forgot about James,” she gasped. “He’d go crazy if… he saw me.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. James can take care of himself.”

  Her hand touched his wet sleeve. “You’re hurt—”

  “—It’s not bad at all.” His hands gripped her shoulders and held her away from him.

  “Are you sure?” Her voice trembled.

  “I’ve had worse from a mosquito bite. Will you be all right here on the porch while I take care of the kitten?”

  Dory stood with her arm hooked around a porch post. After a few minutes, Ben came out of the house carrying a bundle and walked off into the darkness. When he returned, he took Dory’s arm and they went back into the house. She glanced at the place where the kitten had died. On the floor was a wet spot where Ben had scrubbed at the stain.

  Dear Ben. She would thank God every day for the rest of her life for sending him here.

  Moving slowly like a tired old woman, Dory went to Wiley. Tears mingled with blood on her cheeks. She pressed his hand.

  “If you hadn’t come, they would have beat me down and then gone upstairs for Odette. Milo said he was going to… ah… have a go at her. I don’t know what they would have done to Jeanmarie. I’m so glad I didn’t lock myself in up there. If I hadn’t been down here th
ey would have gone up there right away. I delayed them long enough for you to get here. Oh, Wiley, I’m afraid for you. Milo said he’d kill you.”

  “There, there, gal. It ain’t goin’ to be easy gettin’ ol’ Wiley.” Embarrassed, yet touched by her attention, Wiley attempted to be cross. “Get on with ya and get yoreself cleaned up. You’d scare the daylights outta the young’un if she saw ya in such a mess.”

  “I’m hoping she’s asleep by now. Mercy! If Jeanmarie’s asleep, Odette won’t hear us and open the door.”

  “Odette might know more about what’s going on down here than we think,” Ben said. “I’ll go up.”

  He picked up one of the lamps and left the room. At the top of the stairs, he held it up so that the light was on his face. Just as he suspected, the door to Dory’s room was open a crack. It opened wider when Odette saw Ben.

  “Papa?”

  Ben held the light to the side so she could see him clearly and beckoned. Odette stepped out into the hall, her eyes fastened on his bloody shirt.

  “Papa! You’re hurt!”

  “It’s just a scratch. You can tend to it later.”

  “Milo and a man came. Dory sent me and Baby up here.”

  “Milo hurt her. She needs you.”

  “Bad?” Odette asked and waited anxiously, her eyes on Ben’s lips, for his reply.

  “She won’t die,” Ben hastened to say, and he saw his daughter’s shoulders slump in relief.

  Odette hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. She paused in the doorway and gasped when she saw Dory’s face.

  “Dory… Dory—” she exclaimed.

  Dory tried to make her swollen lips form words Odette could understand. “I’m all right.” She had to repeat the words several times.

  “Ah… Dory.” Odette took Dory’s hand and held it to her cheek. The look in her large sorrowful eyes was almost Dory’s undoing. “Milo do this?”

  Dory nodded, trying not to cry again. She pointed at the bloodstain on Ben’s shirt.