Brenda, it seemed to me, found peace while she was with Mrs. Johnson. After the first few weeks of working there, I noticed a change come over her. At first, it was her appearance. She came home with new, clean clothes that Mrs. Johnson gave her. I remember staring at them, thinking how pretty she looked. None of us had ever owned a new dress with the tag still on. She started to brush her hair every morning with a new hairbrush Mrs. Johnson gave her. Brenda always made sure she was shiny clean before Mrs. Johnson arrived to pick her up. In the past, her long dark hair had hung in her eyes as though she were hiding from the world. Now she clipped it back and showed her freshly scrubbed face every morning. She had always looked beautiful to me, but suddenly, she glowed.
At the same time, she changed the way she carried herself. At fifteen, her figure was already well developed. Before Mrs. Johnson’s visit, Brenda did everything she could to hide her figure. She slouched over, caving her chest in, and she always cast her eyes down. After only a couple of weeks, she started standing up straighter. She seemed to be gaining confidence and a sense of pride.
Daddy, however, did not change. If anything, he grew meaner, and his meanness seemed more and more focused on Brenda. He would violently lash out at her without any warning or reason. He did worse, too, and many nights I would pet my sister’s hair as she silently sobbed in the back of that bus. She continued to work with Mrs. Johnson each day, though, and handed over her wages to Daddy every Saturday.
On many occasions, his beatings left their mark. She would go to work with angry purple bruises on her face and arms. It was only a matter of time before Mrs. Johnson figured out what was going on in my family.
One night, Brenda failed to come back to the bus after work. The hour when Mrs. Johnson would normally drop her off came and went. Mama grew more nervous, pacing up and down the bus like a trapped animal. I remember hoping desperately that Brenda would return before Daddy got home, but that was not to be. When Daddy arrived, it was not yet dark. He came stomping up the steps with a whiskey bottle in his hand. He had an uncanny sense for trouble. One look around the bus and he found the heart of the problem.
“Where’s Brenda?” he growled.
Mama did not say anything. None of us did. He knew without us saying a word. He roared like a grizzly bear and slammed his fist against the top of the metal ceiling. The windows rattled. I thought the bus would explode with his rage.
“I’m gonna kill her!”
The other children cowered in the back of the bus with me, trying to stay out of his way and be as quiet as possible. Mama stood by helpless, not speaking, not knowing what to do. His hand rose up and struck her in the face. She staggered back.
“You,” he growled. “You set me up!”
Mama tried to regain composure, but she was dazed from the blow he’d given her.
“No, Broadus, I swear I don’t know where she’s at. Mrs. Johnson picked her up this morning like she always does.”
I believe his anger was checked, at least for a time, because of how much in debt he was to the Johnsons. They let us live on their land and gave him a job. At least once a week, Mrs. Johnson brought us food from her kitchen. Instead, he ranted and cursed Brenda, calling her horrible names, threatening to go find her and kill her, but he stayed at the bus. As the sun set behind the mountains with no sign of Brenda, he could not contain himself any longer. He ordered us all into the car, and we drove off to the Johnsons’ house.
It was a short drive, but he worked himself into a frenzy on the way. I held my breath and waited for the storm that I knew was coming. Nobody ever dared to cross Daddy. I knew that even if he found Brenda, it would not go well. He would never let Brenda get away with what he considered an act of rebellion.
I shook and felt sick to my stomach. I do not believe a single one of us breathed as we rode to the Johnsons’ home. When we pulled up into their driveway, Mr. Johnson was standing on the back stoop. Whatever small bit of composure Daddy had earlier was gone. Mr. Johnson was no longer his boss. Instead, he was a man that crossed him, and Daddy was ready for war.
Amazingly, at least to me, Mr. Johnson had the courage to come right up to the door of the car before Daddy could even get out.
“Hello there, Broadus,” he said, leaning against the driver’s door. He put his hand over the open window. “You don’t have to get out. What brings you here so late?”
Mr. Johnson’s voice was calm, and he seemed completely at ease. I was able to breathe for the first time, and I thought maybe Brenda was not there after all.
“I am looking for my oldest daughter,” Daddy said through clenched teeth. “You know why I’m here!”
Mr. Johnson’s calm expression changed. He looked alarmed that Brenda had not come home.
“She left a few hours ago, saying she wanted to walk instead of having a ride. I hope she didn’t run off.”
Daddy’s anger roared to life. He shoved open the door so hard that it pushed Mr. Johnson back. Daddy practically fell out of the car, he was so spitting mad.
“Brenda’s here and I’m gonna find her! She ain’t run off,” he said, mocking Mr. Johnson. “If you’re hiding her, I’ll kill you both.”
Daddy drove Mr. Johnson away from the car. Still cursing, he charged past the man toward his garage. He stormed through the Johnson’s property like a bull, banging on the walls as if to scare Brenda out of hiding.
For his part, Mr. Johnson stayed calm. “I can understand your concern, Broadus, but she ain’t here. I’ll help you look for her in the morning, when it’s light. She’s probably just out being a teenager.”
“She ain’t no teenager,” Daddy said.
He refused to give up. He opened Mr. Johnson’s barn door and climbed up into the loft, kicking the walls and bellowing like a wild bull along the way. He cursed Brenda and ordered her out of hiding. He searched everyplace imaginable outside the Johnson home but could not find her. All the while, Mr. Johnson calmly followed him. This went on for what felt like an hour.
Finally, Daddy’s anger ran its course and he stopped his search. He was left looking as if he did not know what to do next. He walked back toward our car.
“She had better be back by morning,” he said.
Mr. Johnson nodded. “Yessir. Come back in the morning and we’ll look for her together. We’ll find her. I’ll bet a nickel on that.”
Later in life, I read a passage from the Bible: “A soft answer turneth away wrath” (Prov. 15:1 KJV). I believe that if Mr. Johnson had acted any differently that night, there would have been bloodshed. His soft answers kept Daddy from exploding and causing a worse scene. Daddy simply drove us all back to the bus. Little did I know at the time, Brenda came out from hiding as soon as our car was out of view. She had been inside an empty oil drum that sat not a foot away from where Daddy stood just moments before.
When I visited her for Thanksgiving, she told me about it.
“My entire body was shaking with fear while Mr. Johnson followed Daddy around the yard and right past the oil drum several times. I felt he could see through the metal and would find me. I was sobbing and stuck my whole fist in my mouth to keep him from hearing me. I thought I’d have a heart attack when he was standing right beside me. I was sure he’d find me and kill me. Worse, I thought he’d kill Mr. Johnson.”
Chapter 7
Arrest
Wayne had already packed the van with our suitcases and was sitting down in Brenda’s family room watching a movie, giving my sister and I all the time we needed. We couldn’t stop talking. Time had turned back, and we were kids again. We talked about our lives, both the ones we shared together and after I lost her. Hearing her speak about the Johnsons made me want to know more about what happened when she went to their house. “Do you think Mama told Mrs. Johnson about . . . what was going on?” I asked.
Brenda shook her head. “I don’t. Mama was so timid by that time. I think all she could do was try to stay alive.” She paused. “I told Mrs. Johnson.”
I stared at her in awe. “How did you ever find the courage?”
We were all so afraid of Daddy back then. He threatened our lives on a regular basis and made it clear that he would kill us if we dared tell a stranger about our life. Regardless, that is exactly what Brenda did.
“I told Mrs. Johnson what he was doing,” Brenda said. It was still difficult for her to speak of Daddy, and I could see the pain on her face. I laid my hand over hers as she continued. “She then told her husband, who called the police. The sheriff and his deputies came out to the Johnsons’ house and I had to tell the whole thing over again. It was so different back then.”
“It was different back then,” I agreed. “You didn’t see these stories on TV like you do now.”
“Nobody reported sexual abuse when we were little. That is part of why I waited so long. I was afraid nobody would believe me.” She looked down. “The officer questioned me for a long time. They told Mr. Johnson that they needed corroborating reports. I didn’t understand at first, until he said I would have to go back home until they got a warrant. The sheriff said that they’d have to go out and talk to Daddy, and the rest of you.”
“He would have killed you,” I whispered.
She nodded. “I begged Mrs. Johnson not to send me back”
“I remember when they came for him,” I said, thinking back.
The sun had barely started to peek through the trees, and I lay in my pile of rags and listened to the birds chirping outside. The peace and quiet was soothing compared to the tension from the night before. Early mornings had always been a special time for me, even to this day. Back then, when Daddy was drinking as he did, he usually spent mornings recovering instead of cussing and beating us.
That morning, however, was different. The quiet turned to chaos when the door to the bus crashed open. Glass broke and metal slammed against metal as the police and sheriff stormed the bus. Everyone else was still asleep but were jarred awake by the crash and the pounding of heavy footsteps. I saw the sheriff and two other officers at the end of the aisle, their guns raised. I screamed in terror at the shock of it.
The officers rushed down the narrow aisle toward us. At that instant, Daddy sprung up, wide-awake. One of the officers was on him before he had time to escape. The officer wrestled Daddy to the floor of the bus, but Daddy fought hard. I watched in terror as the officer brought out his handcuffs.
Daddy thrust back his elbow, landing a hard blow to the man’s midsection. The officer doubled over with the breath knocked from his lungs. Daddy used the narrow aisle and the clutter of bodies to his advantage; it kept the other officers from reaching him right away. He reared back and landed a vicious kick to the downed officer and was able to scramble free. He lunged for one of the open windows and jimmied his body through the tiny opening like a snake seeking cover.
Susie gathered up the children as far away from the fight as was possible. Robbie climbed over the top of my head in an effort to get out of the way. An officer reached my daddy just as the top of his legs were disappearing through the window. At the same time, the sheriff ran out of the bus. He confronted Daddy from the other side as he hung in midair, helpless. The sheriff cracked him over the head with his lead blackjack. Together, the two officers still inside grabbed Daddy’s legs and roughly yanked him. Daddy came flying back into the bus, the fight knocked out of him by the blow he’d taken to his head.
By then, all three of those officers were on him. They threw him down, smashing his face against the metal flooring. Daddy struggled, but that just won him an even harsher beating. Billy clubs flashed in the dawn sunlight. I saw blows land on Daddy’s head, and my hand went to the scar on my temple left from the last beating he’d given me.
None of us dared move when the beating continued. No one said a word. Mama did not jump up and try to stop the officers. Nor did we cheer the violence. It was as if time just stopped, and none of us knew exactly how to react to what we were seeing.
One officer got the cuffs on Daddy while the others held him down. They picked him up and dragged him off the bus by his arms and feet. Mama followed behind them with us in tow. I peeked around her back and watched.
I stared, unable to move. The sheriff pushed Daddy into the back of his patrol car, and I caught a glimpse of him as the door slammed shut. Blood oozed from his hair and covered the side of his face. One eye was already swollen closed. He looked small, almost harmless back there.
We all just watched as the patrol car rolled away, carrying Daddy out of our lives. Relief built up inside me as the sheriff’s car disappeared. He was really gone. The police had taken him away, and he would not ever be able to hurt us again. We were free!
Chapter 8
One More Piece
Wayne came in to Brenda’s kitchen when we finished talking and gave her a big hug. It warmed my heart to see how she had taken to Wayne. I was not surprised though. Wayne was a kind, gentle soul who attracted animals and the helpless to him like a magnet. Late one night in the middle of a horrific thunderstorm a few years before he found Brenda, the wind blew our barn door open and Wayne had to go out into the pitch-black night to get it closed. The electricity was out, the lightning was flashing all around us, and the rain gushed down in torrents. When he got out to the dark barn, something grabbed him around his legs and wouldn’t turn loose! When he realized it was a stray dog, scared to death and drenching wet, his heart melted. This dog actually wrapped his front paws around Wayne and held on as if asking for help. I think Wayne was as scared as that stray mutt before he realized what had attached to him in the dark. But, needless to say, that dog had a home for life. That is the way Wayne was made; he always helps every living thing. I have never seen him kill a ladybug or moth; instead he returns them to the outdoors. He adopted Brenda as his sister the day we walked into her home. It was nice to know we felt the same way.
When I hugged Brenda good-bye, I held her close to me. I did not ever want to let her go. I was still afraid that I might lose my family again. When we finally got into the car and Wayne pulled away, I fought back tears and tried to stay strong.
“I don’t ever want to lose her again,” I said.
“We won’t,” he assured me. “She seems happy.”
“Yes, she does.” But I knew she had not forgiven our dad for the sixteen years of misery she lived through.
Wayne and I started the long drive home. I stared out the window, my mind walking back through the door and into Brenda’s kitchen again. It was so hard to leave her after missing her for so many years.
At the same time, my heart felt different than it had prior to that visit. It was not fully healed, but a piece had returned to fill part of the hole inside me. I had finally found family. My prayers had been answered. Wayne seemed to read my mind. He glanced over at me as he drove the car down the highway.
“It’s different this time.” He smiled at me. “This time it’s all going to work out.”
I knew what he meant. This was not the first time Wayne had tried to reunite me with my broken family. Years before, he had tracked down Susie only to learn she had died of pneumonia at a hospital in California. On the phone, an attendant told Wayne that her ashes had been mixed with those of other bodies who had not been claimed and buried in a single, seven-inch space with no marker. I could not bring her home to rest. The man on the phone felt awful, but he told Wayne that they had held on to the ashes, on a shelf in a cardboard container, for someone to claim. No one had shown up.
Finding out Susie had died all alone with nobody to claim her remains broke my heart. Then Wayne located my little brother Robbie. I can remember it like it was yesterday; my husband walked into our kitchen with a large piece of typing paper in his hand and an even larger smile on his face.
“I think you might want to sit down, sweetie,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
Wayne could barely contain himself as he dangled the piece of paper in front of my face. On it was written my little brother’s name an
d his address. My heart pounded and I started to hope, but I tried to stay calm. Slowly, I dried my hands on a dish towel and sat at the kitchen table beside Wayne, afraid to trust my eyes.
“Is it really him?”
Wayne nodded, still grinning. “It’s really him!”
“Are you sure?”
He laughed. “Yes, honey. We’ve found your baby brother.”
Tears ran down my face, one landing on the paper in my hand. I talked my next move through with Wayne, debating whether I should pick up the phone and call him. We decided it might be best to write him a letter so he could prepare for the news. I got right up from that table to do just that, but first I hugged Wayne around the neck with all my might. We were both laughing and smiling when I went to sit down to write that letter to my little brother, whom I had not seen since I was nine years old.
In the letter I told Robbie who I was and how much I would love to come and see him. I carefully enclosed two pictures of me, one current and the other from when I was nine, taken at Connie Maxwell Children’s Home. I sealed the envelope, placed the stamp on perfectly, and took it directly to the post office. For the next week I felt as though I was pacing every second of the day. I could hardly wait to hear from Robbie. Time crawled, and I checked the mailbox dozens of times each day.
When I saw Robbie’s return letter in our mail the next week, I was too excited to even open it. I ran into the house yelling and jumping up and down.
“It’s here, it’s here!” I was beside myself with excitement.
Wayne came racing into the kitchen to see what I was carrying on about. With trembling hands, I passed the letter to Wayne and asked him to read it aloud. He glanced over it, and it only took a few seconds for his face to fall.
I could barely get the words out. “What does it say? When can we go see him?”
“We can’t,” he sadly whispered. The hurt in Wayne’s voice turned to anger. “He doesn’t want to see us.”
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