Twisted Retribution

by Donna Arp Weitzman

  “Reverend Thomas, I’m so sorry to bother you,” she began.

  “Never a bother, Sarah,” he said. The minister smiled and she relaxed. “You’re one of my favorite regulars. I wish everyone at church was as devout and God-fearing as you.”

  Sarah slipped into the dark red upholstered chair in front of the massive wooden desk housing many books. Reverend Thomas sat in the creaky oak chair and rocked a bit, never taking his eyes from Sarah’s face.

  “Problems at home?” he quietly questioned.

  Sarah could only manage a slight nod.

  “Let’s talk about it,” he soothed. Sarah’s eyes welled with tears, and her hands trembled.

  “It’s okay, Sarah,” Reverend Thomas said. “Together we can overcome Satan’s test. I’ll help you be strong.” By then Sarah was sobbing.

  “Sarah, do you believe God forgives us regardless of our sins?” he asked.

  “Yes sir,” Sarah affirmed.

  “Do you believe that murderers, adulterers, thieves, and so on can be forgiven if they ask God?”

  Without hesitation, Sarah said a determined, “yes.”

  “Then if you trust God so thoroughly, why did you come to see me?” he wanted to know. “What keeps you from praying to God to ask for your sins to be forgiven? Have you done something you think our loving God won’t forgive?”

  “No, sir,” Sarah said. “But I do think about maybe getting a divorce sometimes. I know God doesn’t like divorce.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” added the reverend sharply. “In your wedding vows you made a covenant with God and your husband to love and obey your husband for better or for worse, for sickness and health...” His voice trailed off. “Do you now think this covenant is gone? That God forgot about it?”

  “No, sir,” Sarah said, wanting to set the record straight. “I believe in my vows.” She looked down, not wanting to face a disciplinarian minister. “I just wanted to get your advice.”

  Reverend Thomas’ demeanor changed instantly. Suddenly his voice was soft and loving again, and he stood up and knelt beside Sarah’s chair. Taking her folded hands in his, he said, “Let’s pray together. God tells us when there is more than one gathered in his presence, he will be with us.” Together, their bodies near and heads almost touching, Sarah and Reverend Thomas prayed for Sarah to be a loving and obedient wife, asking God to forgive any meanness or resentment in her heart.

  Sarah sat feeling relieved by the end of the prayer. Reverend Thomas suddenly pulled her close to his kneeling body. Nuzzling her ear and trying to kiss her skin lightly, he assured her that she needed a man’s attention and strength. If her husband wasn’t providing this, he would perform the task. It would ultimately make her marriage more solid and not hurt anyone.

  Sarah felt baffled and guilty. Had she done something to entice Reverend Thomas?

  “Lord, please forgive me,” she begged in silence. Suddenly frozen with the possibility of Pete’s retribution, she pulled away, saying nothing.

  Gathering her purse and the tiny white leather bible her grandmother had given her when Sarah took Jesus in her heart, she hurriedly apologized to the preacher and left his office. She hoped he would not follow her or try to talk to her about what had happened, not ever. She desperately didn’t want to lose her church family.

  ***

  Sarah grew up in a small West Texas town called Nocona. Her parents were quintessential post-war working poor. Dad was a railroad worker and Mom sold Avon beauty products to stay-at-home mothers. Sarah was one of three children, a middle child who caused little disruption and grew up primed to please others. Her brother was an early Vietnam fighter, and her younger sister got pregnant in high school and left their town for the next little settlement down the road nearer to her young husband’s family. Sarah was left at home with parents who were wounded by their own disappointments, including the trilogy of children they had produced. Sarah appeared to be headed for the same road to nothing when she graduated high school and stunned her parents by enrolling in a community college in hopes of a bright future.

  A solid B student, Sarah remained in her parents’ home to keep college costs down. They agreed to pay her way until she married, and Sarah did most of the housework in return. Never fathoming that a small-town Texas girl could have a future without a husband, her parents explained that the minute she married, she was her husband’s responsibility. This was the way of the Lord. The woman leaves her parents and cleaves to her husband.

  Sarah was raised in the Church of Christ, one of the most conservative religious groups in her county. No drinking, no dancing, no sexy clothes, and most other things “no.” Along with her mother and sister, Sarah rarely missed either sermon delivered on Sunday mornings and Sunday nights. Wednesday night was for organized bible study, and she spent other times during the week at ad hoc meetings and volunteering.

  Dutiful and devout, Sarah made one terrible, unforgivable mistake as a young adult. It would forever impact her well-being. At a weekend church retreat, one of the young men brought along his cousin, Pete Sears. Pete had just returned from Vietnam and was ready to cash in his Veterans Administration loan and find a suitable wife. Pete never liked courting women and was already unhappy with his station in life.

  After a couple of unremarkable dates, Pete brought up marriage, quizzing Sarah about her plans for her future. A second-year psychology student, Sarah wondered how she would ever use her education. Her eyes were opened to the problems of mental health and unsavory behavior, but Freud’s theories still sounded far-fetched to her within the limited surroundings of her community college.

  Pete took Sarah to meet his mother and, pending her approval, planned to ask Sarah to marry. Pete’s father chain smoked and had died young of lung cancer. Mother Sears was a leather-skinned, depressed matriarch who berated her two boys at every opportunity. It seemed she blamed her children for her undeserved poverty and ill health. She did read her bible, however, and was impressed that Sarah was a godly young woman.

  At the first dinner Sarah shared with Mother Sears, Mother lambasted hippies, feminists, and abortion. She warned Sarah she would not stand for either of her boys marrying one of those crazy women. Pleased to allow Mother to have her way, Sarah assured her that although she’d gone to college a couple of years, she would be very happy making a wonderful home for Pete. The deal was sealed.

  Sarah and Pete married at Sarah’s parents’ home one month later. Sarah’s sister was her matron of honor. Pete’s brother was his best man. Both Sarah’s parents and Mother Sears sat at the head table at the reception, barely speaking yet hospitable for show in front of the neighbors who came by for barbecue.

  Sarah had memorized the wedding vows. She promised God she’d be a great wife and meant every word of it. Pete seemed annoyed that the vows took so long during the ceremony. Sarah didn’t understand why he obviously didn’t like her pastor.

  Pete was complicated in a simplistic country way. Sarah had studied bi-polar disorder but refused to allow herself to think about her new husband having such a serious malady. She thought the war had taken a toll and with enough of her love and attention, he’d be okay. Pete was the younger of two boys and was drafted, while his daddy had feigned flat feet and got out of going to World War II. That lie lived with the Sears family, exacerbating Papa’s guilt because two of his best friends and one of his cousins had died in France. Papa Sears took to drinking and cards. He established a mechanic shop in the backyard, and local men took their cars to him for a cheap fix.

  By having his own scrappy little business, he could have a drink at his pleasure and rarely missed a card game when invited. His nasty temper got him ejected from higher class poker games at the VFW hall, so he mostly participated with the poor blacks and low-class drunks. An occasional black eye or cut across his greasy cheek showed his penchant for cheating the other players.

  Sarah never met Papa Sears but instinctively knew she would not have liked this man. She heard horror stor
ies of his abusive ways, beating his boys as children just to make his demons feel better. He was kind to no one and had no identified friends. His existence was animalistic, lashing out at his perceived enemies, existing on simple meals Mother pushed in front of him in the ramshackle kitchen, and sleeping alone on a cot stuck in the living room corner.

  Four years before he died, Daddy Sears coughed up nasty brown phlegm. He didn’t trust doctors and wouldn’t pay for medical care of any kind. If any of the family got sick, Pete told Sarah they were expected to “suck it up.”

  When the cancer finally overwhelmed him at 48, he looked decades older. A waste of a life, Daddy had done little for very few. His death was barely mourned by anyone. His sons lacked respect for their father, and Mother Sears paid him the only compliment she could muster. “He never beat me,” she’d say when people asked about her dead husband. “He didn’t believe in hitting a woman.” With this, she seemed to show a smidgen of respect for the drunk.

  At community college, Sarah had attended a beginner’s course in child psychology. During the hastily arranged wedding plans, the nagging thought of an abused child likely becoming an abuser as an adult would creep through Sarah’s psyche. Although this fact worried her regarding Pete, she willingly chose the path that she and Pete took and genuinely believed they would have a fairytale life. She’d keep the home spotless and make delicious meals. They’d hold each other into the wee hours and eventually when God chose, they’d have sweet, innocent babies. There was no hesitation in her mind that Pete was a family man.

  Sarah’s mother was obviously disappointed in her choice of husbands. She didn’t say much and tried to go along with Sarah’s excitement for her upcoming wedding. Together they planned the food, cake, and punch. There would never be any liquor in a Church of Christ parishioner’s house, especially at weddings. Sarah would wear her best lace dress and carry fresh flowers. The wedding would be simple but lovely, much like its female participant.

  During the ceremony, the pastor asked both Sarah and Pete to repeat after him as he spelled out the religious vows—Sarah hopeful, Pete resentful, the pastor suspicious of Pete’s motive and Sarah’s innocence.

  The wedding was short, the bride kissed, the fresh bouquet thrown to a small gaggle of single church girls. Sarah was expected to take off her garter and give it to Pete. Embarrassed, she shyly raised her skirt and slowly slipped the band from her leg. Pete was instantly irritated. Under his breath but certainly loud enough for Sarah to hear him, he snapped, “Why the hell are you being so slow? Get the goddamned thing off.” Sarah was startled and hurried to tear the elastic off her leg and thrust it into Pete’s hand. He threw it to his buddies who were whooping and hollering by now.

  The record player belted out a popular Frank Sinatra tune, and the guests urged Pete and Sarah to dance the first dance. Pete held Sarah tightly, making sure she was close enough to hear him whisper, “Let’s get out of this place and go fuck.”

  Sarah was disturbed by his choice of words.

  “Honey, there are guests here who came to our wedding,” she reminded him.

  “Fuck them. Your old man and old lady can feed them. That’s the only reason they came—for a free meal.”

  Sarah was helpless. “Let me tell my parents we are leaving,” she begged.

  “Hurry up. Remember, you’re mine tonight and from now on,” he said, and a shiver ran down Sarah’s back.

  She made her way to her mother. “Pete wants to leave,” she explained and tried to smile.

  “What?” her mother asked and looked stunned. “All these neighbors and friends came to see you and congratulate you.”

  “I’ve got to go, Mama. I love you,” Sarah said. She went toward Pete, and he grabbed her hand and led her outside to his used Chevrolet he’d bought when he returned from the war. Off to the honeymoon and a new life for Sarah and Pete.

  ***

  Pete had insisted that they drive to Amarillo, Texas, for a few days. They’d call it their official honeymoon, but he just wanted to scout out some places to hunt deer and antelope in the fall. Pete was a huge fan of hunting any animal. He loved guns and was a good marksman. He made it clear before the wedding that he’d be gone hunting every fall, either alone or with some other guys. Either way, he planned on killing something, hopefully a big buck.

  The Sears wedding day took place during the perfect late October weather on a warm, sunny Indian summer day. Driving to Amarillo, the weather started to change. West Texas wind gusts began blowing drifts of snow across the lonely highway. Darkness soon fell, and the only sound in Pete’s Chevrolet was the radio. The dashboard lights cast a shadow on the glass, and Sarah could see herself in the window. Tiny tears had formed and were meandering down her cheeks. She rubbed the moisture and wondered what in the world was wrong with her. She should be laughing and happy.

  After a couple of hours traveling through the snow flurries and darkness, Pete wheeled into a motel in Childress, Texas. Reading the unfamiliar city limits sign, Sarah inquired, “I thought we were going to Amarillo for the night?”

  “Well, aren’t you the curious one?” Pete chided her. “What’s wrong with this place?”

  Sarah replied meekly, “Nothing.”

  The room was sparse and cheap. But Sarah was determined that her first married night would be romantic. She brought a lavender negligee set, gown, and robe and sprayed Chanel No. 5 on her wrists and neck. A neighbor of Sarah’s mother had given Sarah a lingerie shower. Ladies throughout the small town brought negligees in all colors, along with pajamas, perfume, and make-up mirrors and brushes. Sarah loved it all. It had been difficult to decide which outfit to wear for her honeymoon night. She wanted to wow Pete and make him proud he’d married such a sexy woman.

  Sarah was the last to bed that night. Pete was awake but under the covers when she exited the bathroom. Sarah, being a virgin, was new to this scene. Should she turn out the lights or leave enough light on to see Pete and he her? She slid in the bed and touched Pete on the face. He immediately rolled on top of her.

  “Are you a virgin?” he demanded. Before she could answer, he half-shouted, “You better be!”

  Then without tenderness or hesitation, he entered her vagina and thrust repeatedly until he stopped. Sarah was hurting, bleeding slightly. She wasn’t sure she liked this new thing called sex. But she knew it was a part of being a good wife; God mandated it. So when Pete wanted sex, she would comply, faking happiness.

  Pete seemed satisfied that it was Sarah’s first time.

  “Good,” he sighed afterward. “I had whores in Saigon, and I sure didn’t want to marry a woman some man has already soiled. Rape or not, I didn’t want a whore for my wife.” Sarah was oddly happy she had pleased Pete.

  Sarah laid awake for hours, raw between her legs. Pete snored and took up much of the bed. He offered no gentleness or kindness, and Sarah quickly learned these would never be part of their relationship.

  When dawn peeked through the cheap curtains, Sarah went to the bathroom and checked the overnight weather outside the small window. A thin coat of ice was spread over everything in sight. Sarah wanted coffee and something to eat. Instead, she climbed back into bed. Pete was awake and wanted to relieve himself inside Sarah.

  “Dear God,” she thought, “is this what the wife has to endure, sex anytime the man decides?” Sarah silently prayed. Again, salty tears spilled onto her cheeks as Pete grunted, heaving inside Sarah. Her rawness was sharp and painful. Pete was quick but hard and powerful. Neither said a word, before, during, or after the act. Pete got up and started the shower. Sarah took out a new outfit to wear before realizing it was too light to wear in this cold environment. She had no coat, boots, or gloves.

  Silent and brooding, Pete went outside the motel room and started the car engine. It needed to warm up. Skipping a shower to be ready to go on Pete’s timetable, Sarah made sure she got ready quickly. Today was the beginning of years of being prepared at a moment’s notice. Pete would rule
at all times; Sarah would comply.

  A few miles from Amarillo, Pete announced he was hungry and that they’d eat at the next truck stop. Like long, straight and flat ribbons, the roads were dotted with brown, muddy snow. The truck stop Pete chose had provided overnight shelter for 18-wheelers and a few other snowbound travelers waiting out the storm. Pete wheeled the Chevy to a stop outside the newspaper racks by the front door. Sarah wondered what had happened back in her hometown overnight.

  Opting for a booth, the skinny, unkempt waitress poured hot coffee for the honeymooners. She looked at the two, guessing they had eloped.

  “What can I get you two?” the waitress smiled through a few missing and yellowed teeth. Pete seemed irritated with her. Sarah had learned the signs of methamphetamine use after observing some of her classmates at college, and this woman was most certainly a user. How sad, Sarah thought to herself.

  “I’m starved,” Sarah announced to both Pete and the waitress. “I’d like the pancake stack with whipped cream and strawberries.”

  Pete glared at his wife and then added he’d have two eggs over easy, bacon with biscuits, and white gravy. The waitress left for the kitchen.

  Several men were talking and laughing loudly in a booth several feet away. Discussing the best times to get their rigs back out on Highway 10, they seemed unhurried. A tall driver who looked like a cowboy crawled out of the booth, headed toward the men’s room. He smiled at Sarah and slightly winked. Embarrassed, Sarah suspected he instinctively knew she was no longer a virgin. She nodded at him, barely smiling and diverting her eyes.

  The waitress brought more hot coffee, filling both their mugs. Pete’s demeanor changed, and he looked agitated and nervous. Under his breath, he seethed at Sarah.

  “You like that son of a bitch trucker?” he questioned her, mad as hell.

  “No,” Sarah whimpered, scared of Pete’s temper.