Promises to Keep

by Chaffin, Char

  Chapter 10

  Ruth leaned her head against the settee cushion in the study, and reached for inner calm. If she kept her story clinical and detached, it might be easier to get through the awful narrative.

  “I was raised in a poor family. ‘White trash,’ most people called us. My mother and stepfather were illiterate, backwoods, abusive and neglectful. Willa, my mother, had little common sense when it came to her children, but Greeley Mason, my stepfather, had none whatsoever.” She was silent for a second or two, remembering more than one occasion when her parents would come home from a night of heavy drinking, their loud voices awakening her and her half-sisters, Lindy and Lulu.

  Her older brother, Junior, had already run away from home by the time her sisters were out of diapers, and it fell to Ruth to care for them, for her mother would just as soon have kicked them out of the way as look at them.

  “My home life was the stuff of nightmares, Travis. Greeley was a brawler, a gambler, and he spent most of the money Willa brought home from whatever waitress job she had at the time. Before I reached fifteen, she’d been fired numerous times. She came to work drunk, and she stole from the tip jar. She flirted with all the male customers, and then cheered when Greeley picked fights with them for daring to talk to his wife. More often than not, during the fistfight he’d pick their wallets, too.”

  “Where did you live?” Travis’s words were a hoarse croak, as if he couldn’t wrap his mind around the kind of life she described.

  “I was born in Harlan, Kentucky, and my biological father died in the Harlan mines. Willa brought Junior and me to West Virginia, where she met Greeley. We lived there until I was about twelve, then we were evicted from our rental and had to leave. For non-payment, trashing the place, fighting. We weren’t by any means ideal tenants.” She moved her shoulders in a resigned shrug, finding a familiar numbness stealing over her as she recounted a past that felt as if it had happened to some other young girl, years ago. “Greeley brought us to Thompkin. His older brother, Nate, lived here in a small trailer, and we all moved in with him. I slept on the sofa with my sisters, and Willa and Greeley took the other bedroom. The walls were paper-thin, and we heard a lot of fighting.” She saw the distress on her son’s face when she added, “As well as the sounds of . . . other things.”

  Ruth was unaware that she still cried, until she brushed at her eyes and her fingers came away wet. She coughed, but her voice thickened as she held her emotions at bay. “One night, Willa was at the bar getting drunk as usual, and Nate had gone by train to visit a lady friend who lived in Alabama. My sisters were asleep, and I was in the kitchen doing my homework.”

  Bitterness coated her throat as she dredged up the painful memories. “I’d met evil already, in the form of my stepfather, but even I had no idea just how deep his foulness penetrated, how low he could sink.”

  With a sound of distress, Travis shifted from his seat to come to her side, but she raised a hand, effectively holding him off. She would get through this on her own, damn it.

  “The night that forever changed my life started with rain and quickly escalated to a thunderstorm, wet and windy. I sat at the kitchen table trying to stay awake long enough to complete a geography essay, but I found my attention drifting. Perhaps I’d even dozed a bit.

  “When the kitchen door flew open, my first thought was that the wind had done it. Sometimes the old door didn’t close properly. I barely had a chance to acknowledge Greeley’s presence before he moved to the table and yanked me up, out of my seat.”

  Her book crashed to the floor and the pen flew out of her hand as Greeley dragged her toward the open back door. She stammered, “I didn’t do anything! What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

  “Shut up, yew lil’ bitch. We’re goin’ fer a ride.” His voice was a mean growl, and the hand he’d clamped around her arm hurt. He pulled her down the porch steps and shoved her into the front seat of Nate’s beat-up Chevy sedan, climbed in after her, and revved the engine. He peeled out of the driveway so fast, she could hear gravel spit. She cowered on the seat, chilled to the bone in her thin tee shirt and shorts, bewildered, afraid.

  They drove in the wind and the heavy rain, weaving all over the road. Even from where she sat, Ruth could smell the whiskey on Greeley’s breath. God only knew how long he’d been drinking that day.

  “Well? Ain’t yew wonderin’ where I’m takin’ yew?” He glared at her as he took a sharp right turn. The car almost flipped over. Hanging on to the seat, she swallowed tears of panic and fright, knowing if Greeley saw them, he’d just get meaner.

  She managed a shaky, “Y-yes, sir.”

  In the greenish light from the dashboard, his smile was awful to see. “I’m takin’ yew t’ yer new daddy.” His grin widened when he saw the shock and confusion on her face. “Name o’ Franklin Turner. An’ yew better be good t’ him, else I’ll be hearin’ about it.”

  “I don’t—where’s my mama? I want my mama!” Now Ruth sobbed, far past fright or anything she’d ever felt in her life that had scared her. Tears poured from her eyes, and her entire body shook, hard. When Greeley reached over and backhanded her, the blow knocked her against the side window. She curled her body into a tight ball of misery and anguish, while he told her exactly what her “new daddy” expected of her.

  “He’d been gambling again.” Ruth pressed against her eyes to ease the ache behind them. She hoped Ronald could see what it cost her to speak of her past this way in front of their son, who listened, pale and stricken. “While I cowered in my seat, Greeley told me how he’d bet all the money in his pockets, had gone from having a large pot of cash to just a few dollars to call the last hand. He’d bragged of holding three of a kind, all queens, and how he’d just known for sure his hand couldn’t lose. Well, he was beat by a better hand, and the man who held those winning cards was named Franklin Turner.”

  “Annie’s grandfather.” Travis’s voice shook.

  “Yes. Her grandfather. Apparently as well as being a child molester, he was also a gambler and a drunkard. I couldn’t say how old he was back then. Perhaps in his mid-forties.” Ruth clenched her hands into tight fists, her only outward sign of distress. “Greeley didn’t have anything on his person worth giving to Turner, who demanded his money and threatened to beat Greeley to a pulp unless he paid up.

  “And then he remembered he had a fifteen-year-old stepdaughter at home. Greeley told that vile man all about me. How young I was, how pretty. How innocent.”

  Ruth had to stop and take calming breaths, had to force out the rest, before she went mad from having to dredge up the horrible memories. She would finish it, though. She would get it out, and then would never speak of it again.

  “I suppose I don’t have to tell you how eagerly Franklin Turner snapped up what Greeley offered.”

  She should have wrenched the door open and dove out, risking injury, rather than stay in the rattletrap station wagon curled into a tight ball of terror. Should have risked running down the highway in the rain, in hopes that another car would come by and rescue her.

  But there weren’t any other cars on the road. She prayed they’d get pulled over by the police, who would then see Greeley’s condition, figure out she was being kidnapped and arrest him for all kinds of crimes. Of course as luck would have it, there was never a cop around when one was most needed.

  She rocked on the seat, her arms wrapped around herself, and her entire body trembled violently. She’d been pawned off the same way a drunk would pawn his last possession just to buy a bottle. As if she were less than nothing. Less than human.

  Oh, God.

  Rain pounded on the roof of the car as it jerked to a stop in a parking lot, deserted but for one lone car. And she knew there was a monster in that car, waiting for her.

  Fresh panic and terror surged through her as Greeley got out and strode around to the passenger door, tugging it open. He caught hold of her arm and hauled her across the seat, the ripped cushion underneath scratchi
ng her bare leg. She landed on the wet gravel on her hands and knees, whimpering.

  Greeley forced her to her feet and pushed her, pulled her toward the car. As they got closer, the driver’s door opened. Ruth got her first look at Franklin Turner.

  “He was tall and heavy, the most frightening thing I’d ever seen. When he looked me over, I could see the eagerness in his eyes, and it was all I could do remain sane from the fear. Greeley had to hold me upright or else I would have fainted.

  “He cursed at Greeley for leaving marks on my arms, but he was just as cruel when he grabbed hold of my hair and pulled my face into the light from the street lamp. He must have liked what he saw, and I am sure he saw a lot, as much as my wet clothes probably revealed. He dragged me toward his car and Greeley followed, assuring him I was a virgin as promised. Then he offered Franklin Turner my baby sisters, too. He told that monster Lindy and Lulu would be ‘ready’ for him in just a few years. And they both laughed as they shook on it.”

  “Oh, my God. God.” Travis looked sick, and Ruth could find it in her shattered heart to pity him at that very moment, for she knew she’d stripped some of his innocence from him.

  But there was still more to tell.

  “I don’t know how long he drove, or where he was driving to. I sat in the front seat, blind to anything except the hard grip he had in my hair and the way his breathing sped up every time he looked over at me. When he suddenly stopped the car, I knew there was nothing or no one to save me.”

  He opened the door and yanked her out by her hair. Ruth screamed, trying to fight him. It was like a gnat trying to fight a giant. He pulled her beneath him in the back seat.

  She couldn’t break his hold.

  He panted into her ear, things he wanted to do to her, things he expected her to do to him, awful things—while rough hands tugged at her clothes and rougher fingers pinched and probed. The pain of what those fingers did to her recoiling body forced another scream from her raw throat, and she tried to strike out with one hand. He easily pinned it down. He dug painfully into her tender skin to hold her still as he covered her lips with his and thrust his tongue inside her mouth.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. And she knew if he did this, if he raped her, she’d somehow find a way to kill herself rather than live with the shame of it.

  Yet it was human nature to fight when cornered. Ruth tried to incapacitate him the only way she knew how. She kicked out with her bare feet, trying to catch him in the groin. She had seen her mother do that to Greeley when he’d gotten drunk and mean and rough, and it had just about killed him. Please God, let it work, this time.

  But his big hands blocked her move, and he knocked her leg to the side as if it were nothing more than a pesky fly. He even chuckled as if amused by her attempts to protect herself.

  Franklin Turner was strong. He maneuvered between Ruth’s legs, pulled her arms above her head so hard, they felt wrenched from their sockets. And Ruth had no way to protect her body any further against him, because he’d gotten his pants open.

  Before she could take a breath to scream again, he clapped a palm over her mouth to hold in the sounds she made as he raped her.

  “I must have blacked out, for when I came to, the car was moving again. I could hear him, just whistling along to the radio as if he hadn’t a care in the world, while I lay bleeding on the back seat. I remember throwing up, but I doubt he heard me over the radio’s ear-splitting volume.

  “I’d lost track of how many times he’d hurt me. I knew he’d do it over and over, if I didn’t get away. He’d lock me up somewhere and use me until there was nothing left of me. I’d never had a date, never been kissed before. And now I was broken, ruined, dirty. If I’d had access to a knife right then, I’d have slit my throat.”

  Travis made a sound deep in his own throat that sounded as wounded as she felt, and Ruth gritted her teeth against the need for his sympathy. Almost finished. She pressed hard at her aching forehead.

  “I had to get away. I fought back the terror and made myself think. The rain was still coming down. I could hear the wind against the windows. If I flung open the back door and tried to jump from a moving car, I’d hurt myself, and it would be easy for him to stop and go back for me. I’d end up with broken bones, maybe worse, and the monster would still have me.”

  If he touched her again, she’d go mad. She’d rather die than go through it, day after day, feeling him pushing into her. Destroying her.

  She kept an eye on the back of his head while she fumbled for her torn clothes and dressed. Maybe she’d find something on the floor of the back seat she could use to knock him out. There’d be a chance the car might flip over, or worse, hurtle over an embankment. It was still better than doing nothing and sitting here waiting for him to stop the car again and climb into the back with her.

  She kept her movements as subtle as possible and prayed he wouldn’t notice. Luck was with her, because he must have thought she was still unconscious. He never looked over his shoulder or checked the rearview mirror.

  Rooting around on the floor, she could have cried aloud with relief when her fingers tapped over what felt like a metal case. Sliding forward, she peered over the seat and saw a tool kit. There might be a hammer in there. Maybe a wrench and a screwdriver. All potential weapons.

  As stealthy as she could, she eased open the latch, which gave without a sound. Her fingers searched for the largest tool. Her hand closed over a hammer.

  Now, she had a weapon. She wasn’t defenseless and helpless any longer.

  Across the room, Ronald watched her with tears in his eyes. They brimmed over, slid down his ashen cheeks. Ruth glanced at him once, and the sight of his emotion bolstered her. She murmured, “I held that hammer in my hand for what seemed like eternity, though it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two. I was so frightened, thinking I could kill this man for what he’d done to me. Then I told myself I’d never have the courage. He’d stop the car and have me in his hands again. I’d never get away from him.

  “Finally, I decided it was now or never. I had to take him by surprise. If I waited until he stopped, then he’d see what I held in my hand and he’d surely use it to kill me. So I moved behind the driver’s seat and waited until the car swung around a curve. And I hit him in the back of the head, as hard as I could.”

  Travis exclaimed, “Jesus! What happened?”

  Ruth smiled grimly. “He slumped against the steering wheel and we spun out on the wet road. I clung to the seat as the car flipped over and ended up on its side in the ditch. It was a miracle there had been a guardrail to keep it from going over the embankment, because when I finally crawled out from the back seat, I could see how close we’d come to one of those hilly areas where there’s usually a gully. The car could have crashed at the bottom of it.” She dragged her chilled hands over her damp face.

  Exhaustion gave her shoulders an uncharacteristic slump, and she was thankful there wasn’t much left to tell. “The point is, I got away. I can’t tell you how many miles I ran. Maybe two. Probably more. In that rain and wind, nothing looked familiar, none of the landmarks. I was numb with cold, in pain, bleeding, and still petrified out of my mind. My feet hurt from running barefoot on the road.”

  Sheer inner strength alone had enabled her to push through her narrative without falling apart. The necessity of somehow drilling into her son’s brain the imminent disaster of pursuing a future with the Turner girl . . . it was worth what she’d suffered to relive the horror.

  Before her son or husband could jump in and say anything, Ruth finished it. “After what seemed like forever, I saw lights. A lot of them. I had reached the bottom of Thompkin Hill, though at the time of course I had no idea. I trudged up that long driveway, thinking it was another road, and then, as if I somehow knew salvation and safety was just ahead, I began to run again. By the time I’d reached the porch and was pounding on the door, my hysteria had returned with a vengeance. When your father opened the door, I
fell into the foyer, and into his arms.”

  She allowed herself one glance at Ronald as she spoke. There would be sympathy for her in his eyes, and she hated herself for seeking it. She wasn’t a broken, traumatized child any longer, and yet her confession reduced her to what she’d struggled for so many years to overcome.

  He must have seen the price she paid for rehashing the entire ordeal, for Ronald wheeled to her side and reached for her hand. He stroked his thumb over her skin.

  Without asking her, he chose to tell the rest. “Your mother was soaked to the skin, bruised and bloody, unable to speak of what had happened to her. I brought her upstairs, and Martha and your grandmother attended to her. She slept for almost twenty-four hours, and when she awoke, she was screaming from a nightmare, the first of many she’d have over the next year or so.

  “We tried to get her to tell us what had happened to her, but it was almost two days before she could speak coherently. We tried to convince her to allow the family physician to examine her, but she cried so piteously that we let it go, afraid to terrify her any further. It was week or more before she said Franklin Turner’s name.” Ronald carried her hand to his lips as he spoke and kissed it gently, bringing fresh tears to her reddened eyes.

  She watched the emotion, the shock and outrage, flit across her son’s expressive face, and knew what he was thinking. He’d try to rationalize, make excuses, based on what he thought was love for the Turner girl. Romantic, sensitive despite his level of intelligence, he remained a teenaged boy in the throes of first infatuation. She emitted a quiet sigh, and waited for his reaction.

  With a jerk, Travis rose to his feet and paced the confines of the study, clearly in turmoil. “No wonder you’ve never wanted to leave the house.” He turned and faced her. “All this time you’ve been afraid, haven’t you? I used to think you just had some kind of agoraphobia.”