Breaking TWIG

by Deborah Epperson

  Johnny sat our suitcases by the foot of the bed. "I’m sorry, Honey. I’d planned on something nicer for our first night together."

  "It’s not so bad," I said, surveying our tiny cabin.

  Johnny frowned. "The cabins near the river are larger, but the owner said they might flood if this rain keeps up."

  "This is fine." I inspected the contents of the eight-foot counter that served as the cabin’s kitchen. "There are a couple of pots and a hot plate. Do they sell groceries here?"

  "I saw some canned goods and bread." Johnny opened the door of the old round-top icebox, pulled a metal ice tray from the freezer. "Do you want some groceries?"

  "You’ll have to get out in the rain again."

  "Might as well go while I’m wet. I’ll get some soup to go along with the sandwiches you brought."

  "Okay. I’ll unpack while you’re gone."

  "I won’t be long." He kissed me. "Don’t run off."

  I laughed. "You mean don’t float away, right?" I loved the way Johnny teased me. It was a subtle, witty kind of rub that reminded me of Grandpa Eli’s humor.

  As soon as Johnny left, I unpacked and began sprucing up our cabin. I washed the dust off a couple of white ironstone plates and bowls and set the yellow-topped chrome table for two. The two dining chairs were covered in a matching lemon-colored vinyl. The vinyl on one chair was torn on the edge. Gray cotton hung down on the rusting metal leg. I pushed the stuffing back in as best I could and mentally designated it as my chair. I found an etched-glass kerosene lamp and a box of matches. I sat it in the middle of the table to serve as our centerpiece.

  A gosh-awful orange and blue flowered throw covered the bed. I snatched it off, folded it, and laid it on the floor behind a worn olive-green tweed chair. A cocoa-brown blanket covered white cotton sheets and two feather pillows.

  I folded the blanket back halfway, lit the lamp, and turned off the overhead light. The scene I’d set wasn’t too bad. The gentle radiance of the lamp cast a muted glimmer over the entire room. A picture of the Last Supper hung over the bed. The wavering flame reflected off the protective glass as if to bless our haven from the storm.

  Johnny returned and was as pleased with my decorating as I was. "This is great. It’s so romantic." He pulled me into his arms and kissed me hard.

  I pushed him away. "You’re getting me wet."

  "Sorry."

  "You’d better take a hot shower, Johnny."

  "Okay. I’ll shower while you heat the soup." He blew me a kiss. "You want to take a shower with me, Twig?"

  "What?"

  "Do you want to take a shower with me? We can wash each other’s back."

  I held up a can of tomato soup.

  He nodded and closed the bathroom door.

  Looking around the room, I could see how the dim light and turned-down bed might give Johnny the wrong impression. It hadn’t been my intention to create a romantic atmosphere. I’d simply tried to make the cabin more presentable by hiding the ugly.

  *****

  "Blow out the lamp, Twig, and come to bed."

  I pulled back the curtain. "Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch in case the rain stops."

  "Even if it stopped raining right now, it’d be awhile before the roads were passable."

  "I still think I should keep watch."

  Johnny patted the bed. "Come on, Twig. I’m cold. I need you to warm me up."

  "Put on your pajamas."

  "I sleep in my shorts. I don’t own any pajamas."

  "I’ll buy you some for a wedding present."

  Johnny got out of bed and sat down across the table from me. "Are you afraid to come to bed with me, Rebecca?"

  "I’m not afraid." I pushed the curtain back again. "This rain isn’t letting up. What if it doesn’t stop soon?"

  "Quit worrying so much about your mother. If we can’t get out, Helen can’t get in."

  "She’ll send Sheriff Tate after us."

  "He has no jurisdiction here. We’re safe, Rebecca. Come to bed with me."

  I hugged my knees. "You seem to forget, we’re not married yet."

  Johnny got up, retrieved something from his suitcase, and climbed back into bed. "Come here. I want to show you something."

  "Show me what?"

  "I’ve got a present for you. Come see."

  I sat on the bed opposite him. He handed me a blue velvet box. "What’s this?"

  "Open it."

  I lifted the lid. Inside was a ring, a delicate, filigree silver band. "It’s beautiful."

  "It belonged to my Grandmother Santo. My grandfather had it made for her for their twenty-fifth anniversary. She left it to my father, who left it to me." Johnny slid it on my finger. "I want you to have it as your wedding ring. How does it fit?"

  "It’s a little big," I said, twirling the ring slowly around my knuckle.

  "Don’t worry. When we get to Texas, my aunts will fatten you up."

  I handed the ring back to him. "You’d better keep this until the wedding."

  Johnny got out of bed, opened the nightstand drawer, then banged it shut.

  "What are you looking for?" I asked as he inspected the end table on my side. He was naked except for his underwear and I struggled to keep my focus off the bulge in the front of his briefs.

  Grandpa Eli and I once caught Tommy Nipp and his two brothers skinny-dipping at Jayhawker Pond. When the boys saw us, they climbed out on the opposite bank. Grandpa and I cackled until our sides ached as their pale rear-ends ran for the woods. Tommy turned around once, but his hands were cupped over his tallywacker so I didn’t get to see it. Grandpa assured me I wasn’t missing much since Tommy was only nine at the time.

  Then there was that thing with Donald. He’d shoved me face down into his bedspread. All my efforts had gone into gasping for air while the knife-like pain ripped through me.

  Johnny picked up a book from the top of the knotty pine chest-of-drawers. "Here it is. I knew they’d have one."

  "Have one what?"

  "A Bible. I knew they’d have a Bible. Never rented a motel room that didn’t."

  "When did you rent a motel room?"

  "When I went to Texas last year with my cousin."

  I crossed my arms. "Your cousin? Is this cousin named Lynn by any chance?"

  "You know Segundo and I took my mother to Texas last year." Johnny climbed back into bed. "If I wanted to be with Lynn, I’d be with Lynn. But I’m here, in this run-down fish camp, and I’m ready to marry you."

  "You make it sound like you’re doing me a favor." I started to get off the bed, but he pulled me back.

  "What are you afraid of, Rebecca?"

  "Nothing. Let me go." I struggled to get away, but Johnny held tight.

  "Tell me what you’re afraid of," he whispered.

  I grew still.

  He turned me around to face him. "Please tell me, Twig. You can tell me anything."

  I threw my arms around his neck. "I’m afraid we’ll get caught."

  "No, we won’t."

  "I’m afraid your aunts won’t like me."

  "Yes, they will. They know Mother thinks of you like her own daughter."

  "I’m afraid you’ll . . . you’ll stop loving me once we’re married."

  "Why would I do that?" he asked.

  "Momma and Papa stopped loving each other after they married. The same thing happened between Momma and Frank."

  Johnny pushed my bangs out of my eyes. "Don’t you see a pattern there?"

  "Yes. Couples stop loving each other after they’re married."

  "Only when one member of that couple is Helen. Then the question isn’t why did Frank and your daddy stop loving her, it’s how did they fall for her in the first place?" He ran his hand down his arm. "I don’t see how God Almighty could love your mother, Rebecca."

  Johnny made a good point about Papa and Frank. But I didn’t think the Lord had a choice. The Reverend Murray often cited a Bible verse that said the Lord loved the vilest of sinners. I fig
ured even Momma was covered under that scripture.

  "Hold this," Johnny said, handing me the Bible. He placed his right hand on the Good Book and raised his left hand. "I, John David Santo, take Rebecca Leigh Cooper to be my wedded wife."

  "What are you doing, Johnny?"

  "I’m saying my wedding vows. To have and to hold, from this day forward—"

  "We can’t marry ourselves. Can we?"

  "I’m trying to be romantic, Twig."

  I laid the Bible down. "Romantic or not, this isn’t a legal marriage."

  "Yes, it is." He handed the Bible back to me. "When two people promise themselves to each other, it’s called a common-law marriage. And it’s legal."

  "Then how come I’ve never heard of it?" I passed the Lord’s Word back to Johnny.

  "People don’t do it much anymore, but it’s still legal," he said. "My civics teacher said so. It started back in the old days when there weren’t enough preachers or judges to go around. Folks couldn’t wait forever to get married, could they?"

  "Reckon not." Johnny’s explanation made perfect sense.

  "We love each other and want to get married, don’t we?"

  "That’s what I want more than anything."

  He took hold of my hands. "We can have a common-law marriage tonight and a regular ceremony tomorrow. Okay?"

  "Let me think a minute." I’d once heard Momma and Mrs. Weeks talking about a skinny woman who lived with Mr. Eason in a trailer house behind his machine shop. Momma said it was rumored that the lady couldn’t have children. Mrs. Weeks commented it was probably a good thing since the woman was Mr. Eason’s common-law wife. I wasn’t sure what that meant at the time.

  "Do you promise we’ll get a license and get married by a preacher soon, Johnny?"

  "The first town we come to. I promise."

  I picked up the Bible. "Okay. Let’s get married."

  *****

  "What’s wrong now?" Johnny asked an hour later.

  I scooted farther back in the vinyl chair. "Nothing."

  Johnny got out of bed and came over to the table. "Then why are you sitting here instead of lying in bed with your husband?"

  I shrugged. "I’m not sleepy."

  "I’m not sleepy, either." He started kissing my neck and rubbing my back.

  "That tickles."

  "Come to bed with me, Twig. Come warm me up."

  "You’re hot enough." In all our secret meetings, Johnny and I had never gone past rubbing each other’s back.

  "It’s your job to cool me off."

  "Is that what this common-law marriage thing was really all about? Just a trick to get me into bed with you?"

  Johnny sat down on the end of the bed. "I thought you knew me better."

  The look on my new husband’s face was similar to that of a scolded puppy. "I’m sorry."

  I moved to his side. "I’m just nervous . . . about . . . about doing it."

  He kissed me. "It won’t be like it was with Donald."

  I jumped up, ran to the window, and tried to blink back the tears welling up in my eyes. "I don’t want to talk about Donald."

  Johnny pulled me back onto the bed. "We need to discuss what happened or it’ll always be hanging there between us."

  I began to cry.

  He pulled me into his lap. Whispering words of comfort, Johnny rocked me until I was all cried out. "One day, I’ll kill that bastard for what he did to you. That’s a promise."

  I felt a chill, but didn’t try to talk him out of his ominous pledge. We were on our way to Texas. With any luck, we’d never see Donald again.

  As Johnny wiped away my tears, I asked, "It’ll be good between us, right?"

  He nodded. "We don’t have to do anything until you want to."

  "What I want is to be a good wife to you. I just don’t know how to . . ."

  "I can teach you."

  "Have you had lots of practice?"

  The corners of his mouth twitched. "Just a little."

  "How much is a little?" I asked without a smile.

  "A couple of times."

  I knew Johnny had been with other girls. My gut told me it was more than twice.

  Neither one of us were virgins. The fact that he’d willingly given up his innocence while mine was stolen from me made little difference now.

  "Do you love me? Really, truly love me?"

  He kissed the top of my head. "I love you, Twig. Always have. Always will."

  I didn’t need to hear anything more. "Blow out the lamp, Johnny."

  CHAPTER 11

  It rained all the next day and most of the following night. On the second day, the owner of the fishing camp, Mr. Kellum, knocked on our door at first light to tell us the roads were open again. The Conasauga River was rising. Mr. Kellum offered to discount our bill if Johnny helped him move furniture from the cabins near the river to a storage building on higher ground.

  I’d cleaned the cabin, repacked our suitcases twice, and studied Johnny’s maps until I’d committed to memory every highway, backroad, and pig trail that we’d travel down on our journey to our new life together in Texas. With no work left to do, I decided to write a letter to Claudia. I got my journal and sat down at the table.

  Dear Claudia,

  You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve escaped Sugardale and Momma forever. I know you wouldn’t approve, but Johnny and I ran off and got married. It wasn’t a regular marriage. There was no preacher, judge, or witnesses. It’s called a common-law marriage.

  We’d planned on getting married in Chattanooga, but got caught up in the flooding from Hurricane Ida. Not wanting to spend our first night together in sin, we put our hands on the Bible and pledged ourselves to each other in front of a picture of Jesus and his disciples. Johnny assures me a common-law marriage is legal. I’ve never known him to lie to me except about his kissing Lynn. I’m certain it was mostly her fault.

  Goodbye for now.

  Your best friend,

  Becky Leigh Cooper

  P.S. Johnny said that one day he’d kill Donald for raping me. Do you believe that?

  I slipped my journal into the suitcase just as someone knocked on the door. My new husband had forgotten the key again.

  "Just a minute, Johnny," I yelled. I snatched up the cabin key, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.

  "Hello, Becky Leigh."

  I backed up until the kitchen counter stopped my retreat. "You can’t be here. This is Tennessee. You don’t belong here."

  Sheriff Tate ducked as he entered our little home. "If anyone doesn’t belong here, Missy, it’s you." He removed his Stetson, glanced around the room. "If this is the best Santo can provide, then it’s a good thing Helen sent me after you."

  I folded my arms across my chest. "There’s nothing either you or Momma can do. Johnny and I are married now."

  The sheriff chuckled, pulled out a chair, and sat down at the table. "That so? Let me see your marriage license."

  I eased down across from Momma’s foot soldier. "We’re common-law married. You can’t say it isn’t legal, because it is."

  Sheriff Tate laughed. "Is that all it took for him to get you into bed? I thought you were smarter than that."

  I jumped up. "I’m not scared of you. You have no jurisdiction in this matter."

  He slammed his fist down hard on the chrome table. "You’d better be scared of me, and I have all the jurisdiction I need standing behind you."

  I turned. Behind me stood another lawman. His uniform was navy blue instead of gray like those the Cascade County deputies wore.

  Sheriff Tate stood. "Let me introduce you two. This is Sergeant Walter Sparks of the Tennessee State Highway Patrol. He’s been married to my cousin, Darlene, for twenty years now."

  "Closer to twenty-five years," Sparks said.

  Tate nodded. "This is Becky Cooper, the young lady kidnapped by the Mexican boy."

  "I wasn’t kidnapped."

  "Santo is eighteen, an adult in the eyes of the law, and you’
re a minor. When an adult takes someone’s minor child across the state line without parental consent, it’s kidnapping as far as we’re concerned." Tate slicked back his thinning hair and resettled the Stetson on his head. "In this case, I think we can add rape to the list of charges. Don’t you, Walter?"

  "Sounds good to me, Roy."

  It was if an iceberg had instantly encased my body. I stood frozen, unable to move, think, or breathe. Finally, involuntary reflexes took over and forced me to suck a long gulp of air into my burning lungs. "Where’s Johnny? What have you done with him?"

  I ran past the Tennessee lawman, splashed through the puddles surrounding our cabin, and ended up in the middle of the muddy parking lot. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. Sheriff Tate’s deputy stood next to a Cascade County patrol car. Parked next to it was a dark blue Ford with a Tennessee Highway Patrol logo on its doors. Johnny’s Mustang was where he’d parked it. The Kellums watched from their front porch.

  "Where’s Johnny?" I yelled.

  "He’s on his way back to Sugardale," the deputy said.

  Sheriff Tate grinned. "Don’t worry, Becky, you’ll see Johnny again. You’ll have to testify at his trial."

  I sank down into the soaked earth, not caring that all eyes were on me. Sheriff Tate would deliver me to Momma and to a beating too terrible to imagine. But that meant little to me now. What had I done to Johnny? I wrapped my muddy hands around my waist and rocked.

  *****

  One of Tate’s deputies took Johnny to jail, while the other drove the Mustang back to Sugardale. Sheriff Tate brought me home. I’d begged Momma to let me see Johnny, but she’d refused. Frank offered to check on him for me. When my stepfather returned, he was furious. Johnny had been given a good working over. Tate claimed he’d resisted arrest and his deputies had to use force. Frank and I knew they’d beaten Johnny just for the hell of it. Momma said the boy got what he deserved. I wondered if she’d asked Sheriff Tate to hurt Johnny.