DarkHeart of Hampton House

by Joy Redmond

  Hampton House

  DarkHeart of Hampton House

  Joy Redmond

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, events and locations portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  ISBN: 978-1497354418

  Text Copyright © 2013 by Joy Redmond

  Cover design by Shaelee Michelle Wolfe

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication

  To my special friend, Renee Lindsey Parker, who held me together and guided me through the hard times.

  Chapter One

  Lance Jackson dug through the pile of clothes on the closet floor, trying to find a clean-enough pair of Levi’s. He found two pair, so he checked for grass stains and only one pair had stains on the knees. He slipped on the cleanest pair, not bothering to put on underwear.

  Jimmy ran out of the room, yelling, “Hurry up, Lance. You’ve only got five minutes to get to the table if you want breakfast. You know I can’t wait for ya. I’m hungry and I ain’t gonna be late.”

  “I know, Jimmy. Go on, I’ll be there on time.” He pulled up the zipper and snapped the button, mumbling, “Someday, I’m gonna chop off ole Ruby’s head.” Lance called her ole Ruby when he was alone, but when he was within hearing range, he knew he would be knocked upside his head if he didn’t call her Miss Hampton.

  He headed for the stairs, grabbed the banister, and as he bounded the steps he could hear the other children chattering around the long oak table, and Miss Hampton yelling at them to quiet down. The wonderful smell of bacon filled his nostrils. If Miss Hampton was frying bacon, that meant she was making pancakes too.

  Lance rushed to the table, took his seat and glanced at the clock. He didn’t know how to tell time, but he knew if the little hand was on the six and the big hand was on the one, then he’d made it without a second to spare. Breakfast was served at six o’clock, and if a child was later than five minutes after six, they got no breakfast, but they had to sit at the table and watch the other children eat.

  A few times, Lance had been late and he could hear his stomach rumbling, and he supposed the other children could hear it too, because he noticed Peggy Jo, the oldest girl, drop her hands from the table when Miss Hampton had her head turned. When the meal was over and the children were taking their plates to rinse them, Lance dove under the table to find a half piece of bacon and a few bites of a pancake. Peggy Jo always looked out for him when he was hungry.

  Miss Hampton placed a large platter of pancakes in the middle of the table, then placed a platter of bacon beside it. Each child got two pancakes and two pieces of bacon. Miss Hampton always took four pancakes and six pieces of bacon. She said she needed more food because she had to keep up her strength if she was going to take care of eight children.

  Lance knew the truth though. Miss Hampton was a glutton, and all of the kids took care of themselves with the help of the older ones. Jimmy, the oldest child, did his best to take care of Lance.

  Warren, the second oldest boy only took care of himself and often stated that he hated the rest of the little bastards, especially Lance.

  Miss Hampton plopped her big body into her chair at the head of the table, which was the signal for the children to drop their heads and fold their hands while she said the blessing.

  Lance’s chair was the first one to Miss Hampton’s right. After she said, “Amen,” she looked into his eyes. “Who do ya think you’re fooling? The rest of the kids have on pajamas and are barefoot just like they always are on Sunday morning. But look at you. You’ve got your jeans on, which tells me that you peed the bed again!”

  Warren snickered, but the other children dropped their heads, as if they feared what Miss Hampton was going to do to Lance.

  Lance didn’t answer; he merely stared with all the hatred he possessed in his young soul.

  “But I’m gonna spare ya the paddle today,” she said as she stuffed a big bite into her mouth and a couple drops of maple syrup dropped on her chin. “Do you know why I’m not gonna take the paddle to ya today?” She shoved a piece of bacon into her mouth as if she were giving him time to think about it.

  He gripped his fork, stared at her, and pictured himself flinging the fork with enough force that it would embed between her eyes. The scene he imagined gave him such a thrill he almost peed in his britches. He smiled.

  “Don’t be giving me one of them sweet smiles, boy. Your charm doesn’t work on me. I’m not gonna take the paddle to ya for two reasons. Today is the Sabbath—and today is also April the first.”

  Jimmy said, “Today is your birthday, Lance. You’re an April Fool baby. Ain’t that right, Miss Hampton?”

  “That’s right, Jimmy. Look at the wall calendar by the fridge, Lance. I wrote your name on the date just like I do all the kids. You can read your name, can’t ya?”

  He grunted, which earned him a slap upside his head—a slap he knew was coming, but he didn’t care. Her slaps had stopped bothering him a long time ago.

  “You know better than to grunt at me. You answer, ‘Yes, ma’am!’”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, talking with his mouth full. “And I know how old I am too. I was five yesterday, so that makes me six today,” he answered, and grabbed his glass of milk.

  The children only had ten minutes to finish a plate of food, and since Lance was five minutes late he only had four minutes left after the blessing.

  Miss Hampton pulled his hair. “Six ya are, and that’s much too old to still be peeing the bed. You better remember that, boy!”

  He drained the last drop of milk, his stomach hurting from having to swallow the food whole, then he curled his top lip in a sneer, and waited for another slap.

  Miss Hampton ignored him and said, “Okay, kids, carry your plates to the sink and rinse them. You’ve got thirty minutes to get dressed for church. And brush your teeth and comb your hair. Go!” she yelled.

  Eight children grabbed plates, rinsed and hurried upstairs to dress in their Sunday-go-to meeting clothes. Each child had three outfits for school, two play outfits, and one for church. They had one pair of school shoes, one pair of Sunday shoes, and they ran barefoot during the summer.

  Thirty minutes later, all eight of them were standing in a straight line in the living room, waiting for inspection. The line began with the oldest and went on to the youngest. They stood with shoulders back, heads erect, and didn’t utter a sound as Miss Hampton looked them over.

  Lance was the last one. She looked him up and down and said, “I guess you’ll do. Jimmy did a good job helping ya dress.” She licked her palms and smoothed down his cowlick. “Head for the truck and don’t dilly-dally!” she yelled.

  Jimmy took Lance’s hand, led him to the truck and lifted him into the bed. Once Miss Hampton had the truck rolling down the road, Jimmy said, “Let’s sing happy birthday to Lance!” The children began singing and Lance’s face turned red, but he liked it. It made him feel special.

  Lance liked Jimmy, because he was the one who had taught him how to tie his shoes when he was four-years-old. Lance loathed Warren. The only thing Warren ever taught him was how to cuss, catch a snake by the tail, snap it in the air, and pop its head off. Lance liked to watch Warren snap their heads. He got a thrill when the heads dangled and blood ran onto the ground.

  Lance laughed when Jimmy told him that Jesus didn’t like to hear cuss words, and he chuckled when he heard Warren say that Jesus could close His ears to whatever He didn’t want to hear. Lance used his share of cuss words, but he was careful not to let them slip out when Miss Hampton was in hearing range. He had slipped one day and Miss Hampton had stuck a bar of soap in his mouth and he had to suck on it unt
il he puked.

  Lance noticed that the five girls did Miss Hampton’s bidding without hesitation or griping, but he figured it was because they were silly girls with no backbone. Even though Lance hated Warren, he did like the way Warren stood up to Miss Hampton and he hid and laughed when Warren got his ears boxed for sassing her.

  Sunday was Lance’s favorite day of the week because many women of the church brought big baskets of fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, fruit pies, and cakes for the orphans’ lunch, and there was always enough leftovers for supper.

  ***

  The summer of Lance’s eighth year, Jimmy turned eighteen. When a child reached the age of eighteen, Miss Hampton would tell them to pack their bag, be on their way, and make it on their own.

  Lance felt an emotion he wasn’t familiar with when it was time to say bye to Jimmy. Was it sadness? Jimmy slapped Lance on the back and told him to be good, mind Miss Hampton and to stop cussing. “I can’t promise anything, Jimmy.”

  Lance watched Jimmy wipe a tear just before he turned and headed up the long lane to the main road. Lance felt empty inside, another emotion he wasn’t familiar with. He didn’t want to watch his best friend walk away, knowing he’d never see him again. He wanted to say a cuss word, but out of respect for Jimmy, he didn’t.

  Later that day, Lance was thrilled when he heard Warren tell Miss Hampton, “You can kiss my happy ass goodbye too. I’m just sixteen, but I ain’t gonna stay around here another two years. I’ll be pullin’ out come tomorrow.”

  Miss Hampton roared, “I’ll kick your sorry butt goodbye, you worthless little bastard. Good riddance!”

  Good riddance is right, Lance thought. But he wondered what Warren would do to him before he took off.

  Late that afternoon, Warren climbed a tree, waited for Lance to walk under it, then leaped on top of him, smashing his face into the ground until he almost choked on dirt.

  Lance fought, but Warren was too strong for him to whip, and Lance was humiliated beyond endurance. He fumed the rest of the day, making plans to sneak into Warren’s bedroom that night and choke him to death. His palms itched as he pictured his hands wrapped around Warren’s neck, his thumbs pressing against his Adam’s apple, watching Warren’s eyes bug out of his head as he took his last breath. “I hope he shits his pajamas,” Lance mumbled.

  The thought of Miss Hampton having to clean him up before calling the undertaker made him smile. Then he figured Miss Hampton would make Peggy Jo do it since she was the oldest girl. His smile disappeared. Much to his disappointment, Warren took off before bedtime, announcing, “I’m gonna join the Army.” He flung a gunny sack filled with his belongings over his shoulder and stormed out of the house. Nobody said their goodbyes. Miss Hampton stood like a statue and didn’t utter a sound.

  Chapter Two

  When all the children were in bed asleep, Ruby Hampton was ready to retire to her bedroom. She unpinned the key from the inside of her bra and unlocked the door. No child was allowed to enter her chambers, but to be on the safe side, she kept it locked. She entered, locked the door from the inside, undressed and slipped on her nightgown.

  She sat at her desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out a stack of letters. She held them in her hands and ran her thumb over their tops as if she were shuffling a deck of cards. She had written the letters over the years but never mailed them. Some nights she chose to reread some of the letters and this was one of those nights. She picked up the first letter. Though she had written it with a #2 lead pencil, the writing was as clear as if she had written it the day before.

  December 21, 1917

  Dear Cousin Willadeen,

  I miss you so much since you and Aunt Maybelle and Uncle Vernon moved to Charleston. I have such fond memories of us playing together as children. I always thought of you as my sister and Aunt Maybelle as my mother since I never got to know my own mother.

  It pains me deeply to know she died a few hours after I was born, but I’m also happy that she got to hold me before she closed her eyes in death. Sometimes when Father looks at me, he makes me feel like I’m responsible for Mother’s death. Sometimes, I feel guilty and it saddens me to think I killed the woman who gave birth to me.

  I’ve begged Father to let me come to Charleston for a visit with you, but he says he can’t spare me in the fields. He works me like a plow horse six days a week. I come home from school, go to the fields and come in, in time to cook his supper, clean the kitchen and do my homework. I have no social life and I get so lonely for company.

  I’m eighteen years old and I’ve been invited to a Christmas barn dance this coming Saturday. I so hope this handsome boy who attends my school will be there, though he’s a few years older than me. He’s never paid much attention to me, and I think that’s because I’m on the plump side. I did manage to find time to sew me a fancy dress and I’m going to curl my hair and pinch my cheeks real hard, hoping I’ll attract his attention. If Father refuses to let me go, then I’m going to sneak out of the house when he falls asleep.

  I’ll write next week and let you know how things go.

  Sincerely,

  Cousin Ruby

  Ruby folded the letter, placed it back in the envelope, and put it back into the desk drawer. Her mind traveled back to that night and she wiped away a tear. Crying wasn’t allowed, and Father had taught her that tears were a sign of weakness. She didn’t want to be a weakling, but there were times when she couldn’t stop a tear from running down her face. “If only I could go back and undo that night,” she whispered and sighed deeply. Then she headed for bed.

  Ruby tossed and turned but sleep wouldn’t come. Her heart was heavy with memories that she wished she could erase. She turned on the lamp by her bed, got up and went back to her desk. She picked up another letter.

  September 23, 1918

  Dear Cousin Willadeen,

  Father agreed to let me attend the barn dance. Sure enough, the handsome boy was there. I just knew he wouldn’t acknowledge my presence, but to my surprise he came my way, smiling ever so sweetly. He handed me a cup of punch and he asked if I’d like to step outside so we could talk in private. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly hold on to my cup.

  It was rather chilly outside, but he took off his coat and put it around my shoulders. I was so excited by his nearness I was breaking out in a sweat. He took my hand, and his touch sent tingles up my spine. He led me up the hill and we sat down on the pond bank. The moon was shining so brightly and the reflection on the water was breathtaking. Without saying a word, he leaned in and kissed me.

  I’ve never been kissed before, but his soft lips felt like he was pouring kerosene though my body and his tongue lit a flame. Then his hands were all over me. And the flames leaped higher. My brain kept screaming at me to push him away, but my heart wouldn’t listen. Then he did something I wasn’t expecting. He pushed me flat on my back, yanked up my dress and ripped off my pantaloons. I won’t write details of what happened next because I want to be a proper lady, so I’ll just say we did what only married people do. I can’t explain the pain. It was brutal.

  When he was finished with me, he didn’t say a word as he adjusted his trousers, then headed off. I was ashamed of what I had allowed to happen and I assumed he was too, and that’s why he hurried away. By that time I went into hard chills. I kicked my pantaloons under a bush, brushed the dirt off my new dress and I was thankful for the coat.

  I unhitched the horse, climbed into the buggy and whipped that poor horse all the way home. I guess I was taking my hurt, shame and embarrassment out on him. The ride back home seemed to take forever, and it was then I remembered Father telling me to stay away from a drinking man because he would bring me heartbreak beyond anything I could imagine. I fought tears, but they escaped down my cheeks. If he hadn’t been drinking he wouldn’t have done the nasty deed to me. It was then I also realized he had taken me by force, but I still knew it was my fault. When it was happening, my mind was in such a spin and my b
ody was in such pain, I couldn’t put it all together.

  Being foolish, I thought what he was doing meant he loved me, and even though it was painful, I thought I loved him too. When I reached home, I put the horse in his stall, covered the buggy, hid the coat under a stack of hay, and made my way into the house and upstairs to my bedroom. I undressed in the dark and slipped on a nightgown. Just as I was about to crawl into bed I saw a light flicker. I jumped as if I’d been shot. Father had lit a match.

  Father grabbed my arm and yelled, “Do you know what time it is?” I didn’t know as I hadn’t been paying attention to time. Before I could answer, Father yelled, “Way past time for a decent girl to be coming home, which means you’ve been up to no-good. I won’t have my daughter acting like a tramp!”

  I tried to protest, but he dragged me downstairs and outside with only my nightgown on, and headed for the barn. He made me take my nightgown off as he grabbed the horse whip from a nail. He lashed my back and buttocks until I thought I’d faint. Then he threw my gown toward me and told me to get dressed. It wasn’t the first time Father had taken the whip to me. He’d done it many times when I was a child and got too big for my britches. But he had never whipped me as hard or as long. It was as if he knew what I had done.

  Once we were back in the house, he took me to the kitchen, pulled a chair from the table and told me to sit. I sat down with my head buried in my hands. I wasn’t going to cry in front of Father. He ripped my gown open down the back. Then he reached into the cupboard and took out a tin of ointment. I was comforted as his large hands coated my welts with the magic ointment that took the sting out. Then he turned me around, pulled my head to his large chest, and stroked my hair. It was his way of saying he was sorry he had to whip me, but it was for my own good.