by Tully, Jim
“He’s like you,” said the father, “he belongs in the reform school.”
“Nobody thinks so but you. You’re so mean you hate your shadow. He’s a good boy; you just pounded him till he’s like a beaten-up dog, and damn you, you’ll suffer for it. Now I want to tell you, I’m not running away and I’m not going to the reform school, and if you send me, I’ll run away and sneak in the house and stab you. I want you to let me alone. You may be stronger’n me, but that’s no sign you can scare me.”
The mother came to the porch.
“You hear this, Ma?” asked the father.
The flat-breasted woman stood erect. “Yes, I heard it and all I’m sayin’ is—she’s right. God never gave no man the right to beat Leora’s nice body till it’s black and blue’. You drove my boy away—for he ain’t in his bed.”
The mother trembled and sobbed with new-found courage.
The other children gathered about and stared at Leora.
“Take Ma inside,” she said, “And you, Sally, go get us some breakfast.”
The father stared after the mother as the children helped her, still sobbing, inside the house.
“This is a purty thing to come home to.” He stepped toward the porch.
“It’s what you deserve,” the girl said.
“If you don’t put up them scissors, I’ll call the police.”
The girl sneered, “You beat us up, and if we fight back, you call the cops.” She stepped forward. “Go ahead and call them. I’ll tell them what you did to Buddy, and show them what you did to me. We take your beatings because we’re proud, but I’m not proud no more—and I want you to let us alone—every one of us.”
The words stunned the father.
“All right,” he said.
The girl stepped on the burnt lawn. The father went into the house.
Breakfast was eaten in silence. The meal finished, Sally rose and asked, half to herself, “I wonder where Buddy is.”
The children looked at Leora, then at the father. The mother left the table, sobbing. Leora and Sally went to comfort her.
Mrs. Blair had leaned on Leora more than on her other children. Leora, in turn, had mingled contempt and kindness for her. For years she had heard of her mother’s girlhood and of her marriage.
“He was a handsome man then,” her mother used to say. “No better looking man ever made love to a woman nowheres.”
Leora, allowing her mother to dream, would make no comment.
She had suffered long with Blair, a failure at everything. After their marriage they had gone on their wedding trip in a prairie schooner to a homestead which Blair bad taken in the West.
She wore a calico dress of white, sprigged with pink roses. A large sunbonnet was drawn over her hair. It was then the shade of her beautiful daughter’s.
For over three weeks they were on the way. The roads were drifted cattle trails. They did not talk much. When she became tired of gazing at the far horizon she would watch the wagon wheels turning in the sand.
She stayed in a sod house of two rooms with Blair for four years. Unusual in that section, it had a rough pine floor. In all that time she did not go near a town.
Bent by the wind, dusty weeds rattled in the yard.
To keep the rattlesnakes away from their home, barbed wire was laid on the ground at a safe distance from the house. Blair had explained to her that they would not crawl over anything sharp.
She heard a hissing sound one day. A rattlesnake was coiled in a corner. She ran out of the house and would not enter until Blair came home and killed the snake.
She was heavy with child at the time. The fear of losing the baby paralyzed her for days.
Mrs. Blair dreamed vaguely of better times to come, how or when, she did not know.
She would watch the storm clouds gather and disperse. Rain in would now and then splash on the hot earth and disappear. The cattle would moo contentedly and switch their tails as it fell upon them. Thoughts of escape would come to her. The child kicking in her womb made her brush them aside. Besides, a promise made before God was not to be lightly broken by her. If she did not love Blair, he was the only human creature she knew. She clung to him in desperation.
Her nearest neighbors were eight miles to the north, where a dozen cowboys were in charge of a cattle camp. The closest woman lived twelve miles to the south.
Each night, after their animal-like embraces, she would lie awake and listen to the wind in the sand-grass, or the mooing of the cattle roaming about in the dark.
The post office was in a small village thirty miles away. It made no difference. No one ever wrote to her.
She was alone when one baby was born. Blair had gone to the village.
The pains began to gripe her.
Hardly able to bear them, she dug her nails into her palms. Sweat stood on her forehead. In agony, she tore the clothes from her body. She pulled at the bed posts and bit into the flesh of her arms. At midnight she lifted herself from the bed and staggered across the floor. It was then the baby was born. The cord had been wrapped twice around its neck.
She lay for hours unconscious beside the dead child.
A drought came. Blair left the place with ninety dollars after a sale.
For fifty dollars he took over the one restaurant in the village. The bulk of the work fell upon Mrs. Blair. There was food to cook and floors to scrub. From the window, when Mrs. Blair had time to look up from her stove, she could see clothes lines, piles of cans and rubbish, and empty liquor crates at the back doors of the five houses on the other street.
Women known as “the girls” lived in the larger house. These girls satisfied the sex desires of men for sixty miles around.
One of these “girls” came the night Leora was born. She told Mrs. Blair that she was a neighbor woman who wanted to help.
It was this woman who brought Leora into the world. She did not leave the house for three days afterward.
Mrs. Blair named her child Leora after the woman. She often talked of the incident. She had not realized that such a girl could be so kind. When Leora was older, her mother told her of the girl whose name she bore.
Leora was not amazed. In all the years to come she was never to pass judgment on another woman.
In spite of the hardship endured in the West, Leora’s mother longed through the years for the wide land and the open skies again.
Chapter 3
Leora was at the doctor’s office before noon. He greeted her cordially.
“I’ve come to talk to you,” she said.
“Yes, yes, my child,” returned the doctor, placing both hands on her rich red-brown hair as though in the act of giving his blessing.
He closed the door of his small private office.
“Now,” he said, “let us hear all about it.”
“It’s nothing much,” she said, “My body stings—I’m afraid it won’t ever turn white again.”
“Dear, dear,” he touched her tenderly. “We can fix that all right.”
“But I don’t want anyone to know I came to you—I want to pay you sometime.”
He laughed softly, saying, “All right, Leora, let us see.”
He pondered for a moment, then asked, “Which part hurts the most?”
“Every part,” was her answer.
He placed her on a small table and left the room for a moment and returned with a large bath towel. Turning the girl on her face, he unbuttoned her dress so that her back was exposed. He rubbed it gently; then allowed his hand to stray over her body. Buttoning her dress, he turned the girl over, and touched her knees. She lay quite still as his hand touched her thighs.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
She touched his forearm and answered, “No, Doctor.”
His hand went further and lingered.
The girl did not move.
Suddenly he leaned over, pressed his hand more firmly against her body, and kissed her fervently.
Then putting her in a sitting posi
tion, he said quickly,
“It will be all right in a few days; just have your mother rub you with witch-hazel and alcohol.” He thought a moment, “and you might cut a lemon in half, then dip it In glycerine, and rub your body every day for about a week—that will whiten it.”
He again put his hands on her hair and held her face to him, “Come at this time tomorrow,” he said as she clung to him.
He watched her down the street and returned to his private office.
“She’s been a woman two years,” he thought. “We’ve drifted together like two lost clouds.”
An impulse tugged at his throat. “Why in hell did I ever get married?” he asked himself, “with new apples growing every year—I’m stuck in an orchard with one.”
He nursed the thought of Leora. He had watched her grow up with the feeling that perhaps some day— He shrugged his shoulders.
His wife knocked at the door and said, “Jonas, your lunch is ready.”
“Thank you, Mary,” was the return, “I’ll be there in moment.”
He mixed a solution to steady his churning brain. He watched the purple liquid roll into the white, then set it on a table. Taking a small grain, he placed it in a glass of water and watched rivulets of purple arise to the top.
He stood in deep thought for a few seconds and then said, “Oh, well, it’s all too damn much for me,” and went to join his wife.
“Did you have an interesting morning?” she asked him.
“Oh, so, so,” was the reply. “Little Leora Blair came in—a slight ailment—that’s about all.”
“She’s a beautiful little thing,” said the wife. “How will she ever end in such a home?”
“God will watch over her,” the doctor replied, with slight mocking.
“Jonas, dear—why do you make light of what you don’t understand?”
The doctor did not answer for some time. Then, as one would address a child, he said, “That’s all right, dear.”
Farway’s wife was a beautiful, ailing woman. She was the daughter of a prosperous farmer. While attending college in Cincinnati, she had met her husband. She was still under thirty, with yellow hair, sunken white cheeks, and a slight figure. The doctor had no sex desire for her. It had died within a few months after their marriage, five years ago.
A miscarriage had made her anemic and fretful.
The doctor soon had an affair with a nurse. It lasted three years. To his dismay, she had married an osteopath, while other women went in and out of his life.
He would often see the nurse who had married the osteopath. Though her marriage had not broken the intimacy, it had made it more inconvenient. After each affair, he would smile grimly, as he did not respect osteopaths.
He would always say, “Dr. Milligan,” the name of the cheated husband, with a slight sneer.
To gain more freedom he encouraged his wife to spend weeks with her parents. His mother-in-law considered him an ideal husband for such thoughtfulness.
He now said, “It must be lovely in the country, Mary. I’m sure your mother would be glad if you paid her a visit.”
“Perhaps I will, quite soon,” said the wife.
Leora came the next day. The doctor caressed her as before, then touched her firm breasts. The girl received his caresses willingly.
Buttoning her dress, he placed her on his lap. Both were silent. Finally the girl laid her head on his shoulder, then pulled his face toward her and kissed him.
He rose and lifted her in his arms.
She sighed. Her body went limp with yielding. Satisfied with himself, the doctor seated her on the table and said, “Just a few more days, Leora, and your body will be well and white again.”
The girl crossed her legs, while the doctor watched.
“Do you love me a little?” he asked.
“A lot,” was the answer.
Hearing footsteps in his outer office, the doctor smoothed the girl’s hair, kissed her on the forehead, then opened the door and said formally, “Tomorrow at the same time, Miss Blair.”
She thanked him and left the office, while the doctor admitted the caller.
That afternoon, while making his calls, the doctor stopped at the Blair home.
“Just passing by,” he said to the father. “I wondered how you all were.”
Leora greeted him demurely, her hand lingering in his.
“I’m going for a call beyond Locust Grove,” he said. “Perhaps you girls would like to come along.”
Leora caught his meaning, “Yes, Sally, let’s do,” she said.
It was late when they returned. Sally thanked the doctor for his kindness, while Leora allowed her hand to linger in his a moment, then said quickly, “Goodnight,” and hurried away.
Chapter 4
Two weeks passed. The doctor’s wife was with her parents in the country. The housekeeper had gone for the day.
The doctor carried the girl up stairs and placed her on the large bed in the front room. Leora looked about the room, then said, “Not in her bed.”
“Beds mean nothing,” returned the doctor. His hand was on her body. As always, she became quiet at his touch.
Removing her clothes, he surveyed her nude loveliness.
Her curiosity was stronger than her desire.
An hour later they rose. Her body glowed. She forgot the slight hurt he had caused.
The fulfillment of an often unconscious dream, she went toward him, holding her clothes before her.
Taking her clothes, he placed her on the bed again. He was more patient. She responded slowly with the rhythm of her body. He crushed her to him, exclaiming, “My God, my God.”
Several hours passed. He explained to her the mystery of her body and how she might prevent having children.
She returned home late that afternoon and remained silent upon the bed until dusk. The effect of the doctor’s caresses would not wear off. She walked again to his office.
At twelve that night she explained to her mother that she had met the doctor accidentally and had gone to a picture show.
It was the first of many days. She became listless and indifferent when not with him.
Her attitude changed in a few months. While she still liked to be with the doctor, her affection for him was not deep. She came to resent Mrs. Farway.
Not wishing trouble in his home, as Mrs. Farway’s parents were wealthy, the doctor secured Leora a position with Dr. Otis Haley, as office girl. Now self-supporting, she soon bloomed into a woman. She was sixteen years old.
Dr. Haley was the wealthiest physician in the county.
He had thick lips and a goatee. His ears were small, and his eyes furtive, rheumy, and large. He belonged to all the clubs in his home city, and was a member of the Queen City Club in Cincinnati. A deacon in the Methodist Church, he was an agnostic at heart. His surgical instruments were scattered about his medical library. Once, when Leora came into the library, she overheard him say to a visiting physician, “How can a man believe in all the Christian tommyrot, after seeing what we have seen, Doctor?”
Leora noticed that the visiting physician kept his eyes upon her, and did not answer his host’s question.
Dr. Haley’s desire for Leora soon became greater than his friendship for Dr. Farway.
Where Dr. Farway had confidently taken the fort, Dr. Haley, being older, laid careful siege.
Unaware that Leora knew of his intentions, he raised her salary twice, and gave her many presents.
At last the doctor won.
She gave herself to him as casually as she would have crossed a quiet street.
Then remembering her aunt’s words, “Never let a man think you’re easy,” she began to cry.
Dr Haley was a leading citizen. He became bewildered. Nothing could soothe her for some moments. “I’m sorry you did that,” she said. “Now I can never get married—what will my husband say?”
As Dr. Haley did not know, he placated Leora with fifty dollars.
Later, when Dr. Ha
ley was in slight doubt about his having been the first to seduce her, Leora became angry and cried, saying over and over, “How could you think of such a thing, Doctor?” After much pleading on Dr. Haley’s part, Leora explained that she had ridden a bicycle a great deal the year before.
Satisfied with another conquest, Dr. Haley was no longer in doubt.
She was as casual and indifferent about sex relations with Haley as she was with Farway.
Though she remained discreet with both men, her intimacy with each continued. Dr. Farway gave her money, and Dr. Haley gave her a salary of twenty-five dollars each week.
There had never been so much money in her home before. She gave Sally thirty dollars with which to buy her mother new clothing. When the mother returned with clothes of varying shades, Leora, irritated, returned to the store with her mother and selected more harmonious colors.
She developed greatly during this period. As she earned more than her father, his fear of her became apparent.
She spent more time with her aunt than ever. Dr. Farway once met them in Cincinnati, where a medical convention was being held. As the doctor was busy during the day, she idled many hours with men her aunt knew.
One tried to seduce her. She laughed at him.
“Who are you savin’ it for?” he asked.
“For you, when you get a hundred dollars,” was the answer.
Leora received the money, and the man another illusion.
When she told her aunt of the experience that strange woman laughed and said, “You’re comin’ on—I wish I had had as much brains at your age.”
When they returned home a week later Leora went at once to Dr. Farway’s office.
“I’m bringing you bad news,” she said, “I’m that way for a baby.”
The doctor was speechless. Then he thought of a plan. “Why don’t you go to Dr. Haley,” he suggested, “he’ll fix you up for fifty—here it is.” He handed her the money. “You can tell him some boy did it.” She was at first doubtful. He pleaded with her until she promised to explain it to Dr. Haley. “But don’t mention my name to him,” said Dr. Farway.
“I won’t,” returned Leora.
Neither did she mention it to Dr. Haley in the way Dr. Farway had suggested.