Beholden

by Lesley Crewe

  An electric shock ran up and down my spine. Myrtle saw that she’d scored her point and sashayed away. My hands trembled as I drove home. How on earth did she know? Did everyone know?

  I’m ashamed to say the gin didn’t last long, and I paid for it the next day. But it didn’t stop me from getting another bottle a few weeks later. Gradually, I came to understand the appeal of alcohol, but I didn’t get carried away.

  That’s what I told myself, anyway.

  Jane and I celebrated the New Year together: 1950. The year she’d turn fourteen. It excited both of us. Everyone was happy to see the forties over with. Happy to say goodbye to the war years. The papers were filled with good-news stories about how the economy was booming and good times awaited all Canadians. I fervently believed that the future was bright for a young person like Jane. I’d been putting away money for her for many years, and when she was old enough, I wanted to surprise her with it. At first it was intended for university, but I soon realized Jane wasn’t the sort who would thrive in academia. She was a little too shy, and somewhat backward, if I was truthful. It wasn’t her fault. She’d grown up with next to no stimulus whatsoever, after her mother died, and I believe it dulled her senses. As much as I tried to read to her and get her to engage with worldly matters, she seemed content to just pass the days in her normal routine.

  In mid-January, I was coming out of the barn from milking the cows. It was a bitterly cold day and I was in a hurry to get inside. I slipped on a patch of ice and went down heavily on my right ankle. The pain was excruciating. I managed to haul myself into the house using my hands and good foot. I examined my ankle and didn’t think it was broken, but I knew I’d twisted it badly.

  Jane found me later that day, with my leg up on the couch under a few pillows. She made me some scrambled eggs and toast and spent the evening trying to cheer me up.

  “It’s ridiculous that I’m in this predicament. I have chores to do.”

  “I’ll milk the cows and feed the goats and hens.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “I’m doing it.”

  I reached over and held her hand. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  George looked at it when he arrived the next night. “Are you keeping off this foot?”

  “I try. But it’s not always possible.”

  “A bad sprain can be just as bad or worse than a broken bone.”

  He fried up a couple of steaks and baked potatoes for supper. He wouldn’t let me do a thing. When we were almost finished our meal, I brought it up.

  “I saw Myrtle Turnbull recently in the village.”

  “I’m sure she had something pleasant to say.”

  “She said that she knew I was sleeping with another woman’s husband.”

  His head shot up. “What? Did she mention me by name?”

  “No. She didn’t have to.”

  George reached automatically for his pipe from his pocket. He didn’t say anything as he puffed away.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t come here anymore.”

  He dismissed me with his hand. “She has absolutely no proof. It was a lucky guess on her part. She’s always stirring the pot.”

  “But what if—”

  “Mavis is never going to find out. She hates St. Peter’s and she’s never coming here again. Myrtle doesn’t know where I live and I doubt she’s ever even been outside the village.”

  “But her husband is a police officer. He can find things out.”

  “Angus Turnbull could care less about my love life. He has a pretty checkered one of his own.”

  I sighed. “Okay. If you’re not worried about it, then I won’t be.”

  It was the first of February, and I was hunched over my sewing machine. At the age of forty, I found my neck was bothering me a lot. I’d sometimes have to put hot or cold compresses on it to keep it from aching. A hazard of my job.

  When I went upstairs to get a warm facecloth, I happened to look out the bathroom window. It had a great view of the field behind my barn. Normally, no one walked that way, as there were only deep woods beyond that point, but I was sure I saw two figures walking towards the edge of the trees.

  I pressed my nose closer to the glass. It looked like Jane, and walking beside her was a young man. They disappeared quickly from view. My heart constricted. I knew she was in danger. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. In my rush to get downstairs, I went over slightly on my ankle again and cried out, but I grabbed my boots and put on my coat and started to run as fast as I could past the barn, over the fence, and into the field. There was a light coating of snow and because of the terrain, I fell a few times in my rush to get to Jane.

  Finally, I spied footprints and followed the path they made for me. Calling her name, I was out of breath when I got to the woods. I was able to pinpoint where they were from the sound of twigs breaking. I thought I saw something, so I rushed headlong through the dead fir branches and came to a bit of a clearing.

  A young man I’d seen before in the village was rushing away from me.

  “Stop!” I yelled. “What are you doing? Stop this instant!”

  He ignored me and disappeared.

  “Jane! Jane, where are you?”

  I heard her call to me. Brittle twigs hit my face as I hurried towards her voice. I finally found her lying on her back, her dress up around her waist. She was crying.

  “Oh God, no! NO!” I dropped down beside her and took her in my arms. “It’s okay, Jane. I’ve got you.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” she cried. “He got on top of me. I thought he liked me.”

  At that moment I wanted to kill him. I didn’t even know I was crying until I saw my tears fall on Jane’s hair.

  “We have to go,” I said. “It’s too cold to be out here. Let’s go home.”

  As I was helping her up, I noticed something shiny underneath her. It was a pocketknife with initials on it. Perfect. I’ve got you, you bastard.

  Somehow, we managed to lurch home. I stoked the fire and ran a warm bath for Jane. She was still crying and did everything I told her, as if she were a toddler. I dressed her in a flannel gown and fed her warm soup. Then I rubbed her forehead and sang to her. Eventually, her breathing quieted and I knew she was asleep.

  The pain in my ankle registered at some level, but I was too furious to care. My inability to protect Jane from the same heartache I’d experienced all those years ago made my blood boil. Why did men think they had a right to our bodies? I wasn’t going to let this go.

  Jane stayed with me for a few days before she said she really had to go home. I didn’t want her to, but the minute I drove her home, I continued on my way. I knew where I would find this guy. I’d seen him working at his father’s garage.

  I pulled up to the garage. I wanted to spit on the sign. A man came towards me, wiping his hands on a rag.

  “What can I do for you?” he said.

  “You are the owner, are you not?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We need to talk in your office.”

  “My office? I don’t really have an office.”

  “You don’t want your employees to hear this.”

  He was instantly on guard and looked around. “We can talk in here.” He pointed at a small room off to the side mostly filled with tires. I followed him into the small space, which reeked of rubber.

  “What’s this all about?” he said as he closed the door behind us.

  “Your son works here. He’s a tall boy with long, blond hair.”

  He made a face. “So what?”

  “Rather stupid looking.”

  “Hey! What’s the matter with you, lady? You have no business insulting my boy.”

  “Your son raped a young girl. I caught him at it and I have proof!”

 
The man seized my arm. “What proof?”

  “Let me go unless you want me to call the police.”

  He let go. “So, show me.”

  In that instant, I knew it was the wrong thing to do, that he would just snatch the pocketknife and say I never had it, so I kept it hidden in my coat pocket.

  “I saw him do it. And the coward ran away when he saw me coming. An all-around champion of a son you have there.”

  His face turned a lovely shade of red. He stepped towards me. “Now I know who you are. You’re the nut who lives on the hill. You’ve got quite an overactive imagination there. Must be from spending too much time alone with dirty romance novels. Now I’m warning you. You mention this to anyone, and you’ll find that one night your old house will go up in flames. Do you understand what I’m telling you? I don’t have time for gossips. And no one will ever say anything about my boy. Now get out of here before I do something drastic.”

  As I walked back to the car, still seething, I knew I was helpless against this man. It made me sick to my stomach.

  The unfairness of it all.

  But one thing I did do was go straight to the bank and open a safety-deposit box. I put the knife in there. If my house did suddenly catch on fire, at least I wouldn’t lose that crucial piece of evidence.

  George came for a quick visit that July and said he wouldn’t be back until the fall. I didn’t ask him why and he didn’t offer an explanation. I loved being with him, but the burden of not telling him anything about my life was starting to affect me. He should’ve been the one person I could tell my troubles to. I was becoming dissatisfied with our arrangement. I was always here and available whenever he wanted. Didn’t that diminish me somehow?

  But the minute he held me, my loneliness would overtake me and I only wanted his body close to mine. To think I could have lain with him every night of my life. My own stupidity often crushed my spirit. But I didn’t let on. Or at least I thought I didn’t. Sometimes George looked at me as if trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

  We had two nights together before he left. I almost told him about Jane as we sat together at supper, but I felt I was being disloyal to her if I talked behind her back with someone she didn’t know. What was the right thing to do?

  I was rocking in my chair on the porch, thinking about our last hours, when I saw Jane walk towards me. I waved, then paused. I looked again at her with her blouse blowing open in the wind.

  The thought, once planted, stayed. I beckoned her to come up onto the porch.

  “How are you feeling today, Jane?”

  “Good.”

  “Anything new?”

  “No. There’s never anything new.”

  “Jane, I want to ask you something. I don’t mean to pry but it’s important.”

  She looked away, the wind blowing her hair straight back. “Okay.”

  “Have you had your period lately?”

  She fiddled with the stalk of grass between her fingers. She still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Jane?”

  “How did you know?”

  Merciful God. What was I going to do? I immediately put my thumbnail in my mouth and started to chew. What was I going to do? What was I going to do?

  “Have I done something wrong?” Jane asked quietly.

  I immediately got out of the rocking chair and joined her on the steps. I put my arms around her. “No, of course not.”

  “What does it mean when you don’t have your period?”

  I couldn’t face it just then. “That sometimes happens. It doesn’t mean anything. Want a cookie?”

  Later that night I got down on my knees by my bed and said a prayer to a god I wasn’t sure I believed in. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to scare her and tell her she’s having a baby. She’s just a child. And her father will kill her. What’s going to happen to her? Please tell me what to do.”

  I prayed all summer but got no further ahead. Fortunately, Jane was a small girl and her little bump wasn’t noticeable to anyone but me. No one else cared enough about her to bother looking.

  And then after one sleepless night in the overwhelming heat of late August, it occurred to me. George would help. I’d get George to take her away. He’d look after her somehow; he loved me and he’d do anything for me. He was a doctor; he could find her a good home and watch over her. He’d be able to find a good home for the baby. I’d send him the money I had saved when the time came, and Jane could find her own way in the world. I didn’t want her in this town with her rapist lurking around and her miserable, murderous father so full of anger. If he found out about the baby, God knew what he’d do to Jane. It was the only solution.

  It was now mid-September. I knew George was coming that night. He’d sent me a letter a week before, so I waited until the very last moment to talk to Jane. That afternoon Gervais’s truck wasn’t around when I knocked on the door. Jane opened it, surprised to see me.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I guess your father’s not home.”

  “He hasn’t been for a few days.”

  “Let’s go inside. I need to talk to you.”

  The cottage was so neglected. No child should be living here. I was doing the right thing.

  We sat at the table and I held her hands. “Jane, I want you to trust me. I have a very dear friend named George who is going to make things all better for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want you to go away with him. He’s going to find you a better place to live. You can’t continue to live here. It’s not right.”

  “Why can’t I live with you?”

  “Because your father would never let that happen.”

  She started to get upset. “But I’ll miss you.”

  “One day, you and I will be together again. Once you’ve grown and have an education and a nice life, you can come back to me and we can be best friends again. I just need to get you away from here. It’s not safe right now.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Jane, I didn’t want to tell you this before, but you have to leave. You’re going to have a baby.”

  Bless her heart, she looked at me in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Remember the time in the woods with that young man? He made you pregnant, and that’s why you haven’t had your period. I didn’t want to tell you before, because I didn’t want you to be frightened. But now that George is going to help us, everything will be all right. He can find a home for the baby and take care of you at the same time.”

  “He’s going to take my baby away from me?”

  “He’ll find a good home for the baby, because you are too young to have a child. It wouldn’t be fair to the baby and certainly not fair to you. I want you to grow up to be a young lady who can take care of herself.”

  “I’m not sure….”

  “Jane, if your father knew you were having a baby, he’d throw you out, or worse. Do you understand?”

  “But—”

  “Dearest, do you trust me?”

  She looked at me with her big blue eyes. “Yes.”

  “Then trust me that this is the right thing. I want you to gather a few clothes and things you might need and put them in a suitcase and come up to my house at six tomorrow morning.”

  “Should I take Bridie? She might miss her home. And my father would be alone.”

  “Bridie can stay here for now, if you like. If you need her later, I’ll send her to you.”

  She nodded. I kissed her cheek and left before her father came back.

  When I woke that morning, next to George, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms. It bothered me that I had drunk so much I didn’t wake up when he brought me to bed. He didn’t like the idea of
me drinking and I hated being exposed like that.

  But as much as I wanted to be with him, I knew I had much more important things to do. I hurried down to the kitchen and, on the dot, Jane was there, holding an old carpetbag in her hands.

  “Good girl. Is your father home?”

  She shook her head.

  “I want you to wait in the car until George comes out. Then you will drive home with him.”

  She nodded. I think she was afraid to speak in case she cried, which just about killed me. I reached into my housecoat pocket.

  “I want to give you something, Jane.” I held up the heart necklace George had given me so many years ago. “I want you to wear this and know that I am always close to your heart. I’ll think of you every day while you’re away. Please know I love you very much.”

  I put the necklace on her and saw tears in her eyes. I held her against me. “You are a brave and beautiful girl. I believe in you.”

  She nodded and I opened the car door and she sat down, gripping her luggage in her lap.

  “Take care, little one.”

  I shut the door.

  I can’t remember what I said to George. I think I was in shock. When I saw him drive away with my precious child in the car, I broke down and cried all day. And the next.

  Had I done the right thing? Had I even told George she was pregnant? I couldn’t remember. It was all one great big blur. And knowing she wasn’t close by made me lonelier than I’ve ever been.

  Her father finally showed up five days later. He knocked on the back door.

  “Is Jane here?”

  “No, she isn’t. Have you lost her?”

  “She’s not home.”

  “How would you even know? You’re never home to check. Normal parents care about what happens to their children. But not you. You’re a disgrace, Gervais. I wouldn’t blame her if she ran away.”

  “You should shut your mouth.”

  “Gladly.” I slammed the door in his face.