Rustled

by Natasha Stories

  I had made a mess of it, should have waited for the lawyer to help me. Now I waited, disappointed in myself, for his refusal. To my astonishment, it didn’t come. I risked a peek at his face. Conflicting emotion flicked across it, and I couldn’t read his mood. I held my breath.

  “You know, Kitten, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. But, I’d want you to stay here and settle them in.” A sly expression came into his eyes. Oh, was he going to make that a condition? I didn’t know what I would say to that, but I did know I was annoyed that he had used it against me. “What did Bill say about it?”

  “He said he’d talk to the DA at Mohave. But, I’ve been thinking about it. The ones who have children won’t fit into the foster system, Russ, you know they won’t. And they’re too young to be on their own.”

  “How many are we talking about?” he asked, apparently beginning to warm to the idea now that he thought it would keep me with him.

  “As near as I can remember, four or five. Annalee might be eighteen now, and I think she has two kids. The other four are either still pregnant with their first or only have one each. All the rest are at least nineteen or older now, and I think they can get state assistance.”

  I pictured them all in my mind, pretty, slender, blonde and blue-eyed thanks to the strong Scandinavian genes that dominated much of the Mormon community in Utah and surrounding areas. So much alike they could be real sisters, and probably inbred to some extent as well, in such an isolated community. Maybe they would want to find husbands, settle down and have more children. But they should have the opportunity to choose something else if they wanted, innocent victims all.

  “Let me think about it, and talk to Bill myself,” Russ said, giving me hope that my actions wouldn’t put the youngest of them into an indifferent system, their children taken from them and their fate dependent on the whims of others. It was enough for now.

  “Russ, please understand that I need to leave for a while. I promise I won’t be gone forever. I need to sort some things out, can you understand? Whatever I decide, I’ll come back and tell you in person.”

  For an instant, the storm clouds turned his eyes darker again, and then resignation flooded his face. “I understand. But I’m holding you to that promise.”

  Another winter storm delayed my leaving for a week, and in that time Russ and I made love every chance we got, knowing that we would soon be parted. Insatiable, I wondered whether my pregnancy was the source of my raging horniness. Being raised in the company of women who were constantly pregnant gave me a greater understanding than most unmarried women my age would have had about my condition.

  While it made it harder for both of us, we couldn’t bear not to be in each other’s arms as much as possible. I believe we christened every bedroom in the house, including his with its single bed, and leaving quite a mess for the girls who kept his house to find when the storm broke. We never bothered to make the beds up again, just left the sheets and blankets thrown into the floor and whatever disarray our escapades caused for them to straighten up.

  We made love in the beds, in easy chairs, with me leaning over tables and the sides of the bathtubs, in every shower and one night on the big leather sofa in the library, risking Janet’s embarrassment if she had caught us. The only time I objected was when Russ suggested the kitchen table. I thought that was just too much to ask Janet to ignore.

  Surprisingly, Russ had dropped his objections to my leaving. At least, he told me he would go along with it if I would promise to return. I told him I couldn’t promise I’d be back for good, but I’d consider it. Evidently he decided that my desire for him would win out, because he declared that good enough. I didn’t dare tell him I thought he was right, and that I’d run back to him at the slightest hint of trouble.

  Russ wouldn’t hear of my getting on a bus, though. Instead, when the storm broke, he drove me to Cheyenne and put me on a plane to St. Louis, handing me enough cash to live on for at least a month when I got there. I promised to pay him back, but he just waved the promise away. “There won’t be any need when you come back to me, Kitten.”

  §

  I arrived in St. Louis with no one to meet me at the airport, of course. Mom didn’t even know when I was coming. I found a taxi driver who knew the address and asked him to take me there. He looked at me dubiously and said, “Miss, are you sure? That ain’t a nice neighborhood.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. But thank you for your concern.” His continuing frown told me that I should prepare myself for the worst, but nothing could have prepared me for the dump he delivered me to.

  Not a blade of grass, nor landscaping of any kind was visible among the rusty heaps of metal that people called home in this trailer park. Broken-down cars lined the lanes, kids’ toys littered the yards, and every window that was visible was either covered by what looked like blankets, towels or sheets, or had broken, gapped slats shut to the outside world. If whatever they were concealing was worse than the outside, I couldn’t imagine how they lived in it. This made the worst parts of Bethel City look like paradise.

  When he came to the lot where my mother’s trailer was parked, my driver offered to wait, and I was very tempted to have him do so. But, I needed to conserve Russ’s money until I could get a job, so there was really no choice but to stay with Mom. I squared my shoulders and told him no, I’d be all right. He took my luggage to the broken steps for me, and refused a tip.

  “I don’t know why you’re here, Miss, but if it’s because you don’t have much money, then you need it worse than I do. You take care.” Impulsively, I gave him a hug and sent him back to his car with a smile on his face. Only then did I knock on the door. From within came a voice I hadn’t heard for months, somehow muffled.

  “It’s open.” My mom.

  I opened the door slowly, trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever I’d find inside. A wave of stale cigarette smoke choked me before I had a chance to see anything, and I turned back toward the steps, coughing.

  “Close the door, you’re letting the cold in,” demanded my mother. I still couldn’t see her, but I hastened to step inside, holding my breath for as long as I could, and closed the door behind me, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom inside.

  “Charity?” Mother’s voice held wonder, and then she was there, hugging me as best she could. I returned her hug and kissed her cheek, then held her back to look at her. What I saw broke my heart.

  “Mom, have you been sick?” I blurted. She gave a croak that passed for a laugh and shook her head. Then she turned away and went to sit in a sagging easy chair in front of a small TV that was emitting noises in the corner.

  “Welcome home, Charity. It’s good to see you.” I was baffled. Mom looked like a cancer victim, thin as a rail, straggling hair, much more wrinkled than I remembered. She was only forty-five, but could easily have been mistaken for sixty. What in the world had happened to her in my three-year absence?

  Then I saw it. Every flat space was littered with full ashtrays and empty bottles. Beer bottles, whiskey bottles, bottles of all shapes and sizes with one thing in common, they had all held some sort of liquor.

  “Mom, you never used to drink or smoke, what happened?” I demanded.

  “Honey, you didn’t know what all I did, but what happened was I sent you to your dad.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You started drinking because you sent me to dad? Why didn’t you tell him to send me back?” Anger and indignation flooded me at the implied blame.

  “Don’t judge me, girl. I did what had to be done. I didn’t start because I sent you away, it just took away my limits.” I didn’t understand, but this conversation was going to take a while.

  I said, “Let me get my luggage in. Is there a place I can sleep?”

  “You can sleep on the sofa. There’s only one bedroom.”

  “Thank you, mom, that will be fine.” It wouldn’t, but there was no sense in upsetting her. I certainly wasn’t going to put her out of her own bedroom. I also wasn’t
going to stay long. I had read that second-hand smoke is bad for pregnant women and their babies, so I planned to be out of here within the week, one way or another. I went out to get my bags, which would stay packed until I could leave here and get my own place.

  §

  What I didn’t know that day, but learned over the course of a couple of painful weeks, was that a woman my age with a tenth-grade education and no experience was unemployable. I also learned how my mother earned the money for the booze she drank, as a series of disgusting low-life men came to the door, some of them making passes at me if mom didn’t answer the door herself.

  When the heat was shut off, I used most of Russ’s money to pay the back bills and get it turned on again. I got food stamps and got on a waiting list for subsidized housing, but it looked like I was going to have to appeal to Russ for help if I wanted our baby to be healthy.

  I kept putting it off, ashamed, until the money was gone and so were all the beautiful new dresses he bought me, sold to keep the lights on. All but the lovely green one I had worn to paint the town of Kingman red. That represented a time, maybe the only time, I had ever been happy in my life, and I couldn’t bear to part with it.

  I had no choice. I had been in St. Louis for exactly a month when I decided I had to call him. Merry Christmas, Russ, I’m having your baby and you need to come get me. I didn’t know how he would take it, but this was no longer about me, it was about our baby. One thing I did know was that he would come through for us, no matter what. I walked to a convenience store and used my last quarter to call him, collect.

  Chapter 14

  I almost lost my nerve when his voice came on the line sounding frantic with worry. “Kitten, is that you? Thank god you called!”

  “What’s wrong, Russ?” I couldn’t imagine what had him so agitated, but it must be important.

  “Why are you still living in that dump?” he almost shouted.

  “Wait, Russ, back up, what are you talking about?”

  After a moment when I imagined him taking a deep breath, he spoke in a calmer way, “Remember the skip tracer that found your mom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I told him to keep an eye on you, but he’s been reporting you’re not working, barely leaving that trailer. Twenty times, I’ve had to talk myself out of coming to get you, to give you your space, and I just can’t do it anymore. Please tell me you’re ready to come back.”

  “Russ, I’m so sorry,” I interrupted. “I’ve been staying here with my mom the whole time because I haven’t been able to find a job.” The silence on the other end of the line sliced into my heart like a knife. Maybe he just wanted to know I was okay, maybe asking him for more money, or to come for me, wasn’t a good idea. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”

  “Don’t hang up!” he shouted. It was the smartest thing he could have said, as I was about to do just that. “Kitten, what’s been going on? Are you in trouble? How can I help?”

  The relief was so great that all I could do was cry, great gulping sobs that were driving him frantic on the other end of the line. “Kitten,” he pleaded, “talk to me. What is it?”

  Finally, I gained enough control to say in a tiny voice, “Russ, oh god, I need you. Please come and get me.”

  His voice shaking, Russ asked, “Where are you? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “I’m still at mom’s. Same place. Oh, Russ, it’s been awful.”

  “Stay put. I’m coming. I love you, Charity.” And then he was gone, leaving me to clutch his last sentence to my heart. He loves me. It’s going to be okay. I walked back to mom’s, trying to decide what to do about her. I understood her pain, and how she had ended up the way she was, and I blamed my dad. But blaming didn’t fix it, and I had no idea how to fix it. Maybe Russ could advise me.

  §

  When the authoritative knock on the door came less than three hours later, I momentarily panicked, thinking the police must be there. None of mom’s ‘clients’ knocked like that. But I didn’t know what either of us might have done wrong, unless she were about to be arrested for prostitution. I didn’t think they did that except for streetwalkers or notorious houses. I went to the door with my heart pounding. Dumbfounded, I stared at Russ, who was staring at me with an equally lost expression. Then I flew into his arms.

  Russ enfolded me, holding me tenderly as he kissed my hair and then my lips when I raised my face to his. I don’t know how long we stood there in the open door, lost in the wonder of holding each other again. My mother’s voice brought me up short, though.

  “Close the goddam door!”

  I pulled Russ inside with me, heedless of the wrinkling of his nose. I was so used to the smoke now that I never noticed it. “How did you get here so fast?” I asked him. It was as if he had been just in the next town.

  “Chartered a Lear,” he said, as casually as if he had called a taxi. I gaped at him.

  “Oh, my god, Russ, that must have cost a fortune!”

  “Quit worrying about my finances and tell me what’s going on,” he growled. I hesitated. Even though my mom was intoxicated as usual, I just couldn’t talk about it there.

  “Can we go somewhere else?” I asked anxiously.

  “Absolutely,” he declared, pulling me off the sofa. “Where’s your coat?”

  “I’ll get it. First, let me introduce you to mom.” I was ashamed of her, ashamed of her condition, but I loved her. I couldn’t bear to embarrass her by leaving without even introducing Russ to her, even if she probably wouldn’t have noticed. “Mom, this is Russ. Russ, Elizabeth Green.”

  “Brown,” she said.

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  “It’s Brown. Didn’t I tell you I got remarried after you left?” My head was swimming. No, she had not. And where was Mr. Brown? I looked at Russ helplessly, only to find he was shaking with mirth.

  “What?” I said again, this time asking him what was so funny. At that he burst out laughing, chanting “Russ White, Charity Green, Elizabeth Brown. Too funny.” I quelled him with a look, but now mom had caught the joke and was chuckling herself, a horrible sound punctuated by a wet cough.

  “Mom, we’re going out for a while. See you later.”

  “Okay. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Wondering if there was anything she wouldn’t do, I put on my coat and led Russ from the dingy trailer and into the cold December air.

  Still chuckling a little, he asked, “Where do you want to go?”

  “Anywhere. Somewhere that isn’t here,” I snapped. Oh, good, that was bound to make him want me, I thought.

  It sobered Russ, though. He handed me into the rented SUV he had arrived in, and went around to the driver’s side.

  “Did you really charter a Learjet?” I asked him.

  “Yep, and don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” His cowboy drawl was back, easily my favorite of his personas. “Are you gonna tell me what’s happenin’ here, or do I have to spank you?”

  Memories of the couple of times he had spanked me, and the aftermath, flooded my overwrought mind, and suddenly I was laughing and crying all at once. Russ pulled over and took me into his arms. “Okay, we’re going to check into a hotel, and I’m going to sit patiently until you’re ready to talk. Are you hungry?”

  “Always,” I told him.

  “I thought you looked skinnier. We’ll get something to eat first.”

  All through our meal, a less-than-satisfactory lunch at a nearby Denny’s that I was determined to keep down despite the smell making me nauseous, Russ stared at me. I could feel it when I was looking at my plate, and every time I looked at him I met his blue eyes, the darker Mediterranean blue version that told me he was laboring under powerful emotion, though he kept his face neutral. I didn’t want to pour out my woes in public, but he had seen some of them for himself, and it was clear he was agitated.

  Finally we were finished and he took me straight to a nice hotel, where we would be able to get a better d
inner from room service later, if we wanted. He checked us in as Mr. and Mrs. Russ White, but I didn’t protest. What difference did it make?

  In our suite, Russ sat me down on the sofa, knelt and removed my boots, then swung my legs up and covered me with an extra blanket from the closet. Then he pulled a chair from the table close to me and sat down. “Talk,” he commanded.

  Now that he was here with me, I didn’t know where to start. I stammered a little as I said, “Y-you saw how my mom lives.”

  “Yes,” his grim reply came.

  “It’s even worse. Russ, she hooks for booze. I’m so sorry your money didn’t last, but I had to pay back utility bills to stay warm, and I couldn’t get a job anywhere.” The ‘anywhere’ came out as an anguished wail, making him reach over and take my hand.

  “Don’t worry about that. What do you want to do now?”

  I really hadn’t thought beyond calling him for help. Did I still want to get my GED? It cost money for someone over nineteen, and I had none. Without it, I couldn’t get a job. It was a classic catch-22, I thought. Nor could I go back to that filthy, smoke-filled trailer. I could smell the smoke on me, in my hair and clothes, the nausea threatening again. The next thing that popped into my mind came out my mouth with no filter.

  “I want to take a bath.”

  If Russ thought it was strange for me to answer him so literally, he didn’t say so. Instead, he said evenly, “That can be arranged.”

  He pulled me off the couch and into the sumptuous bathroom, where a jetted tub was the finest thing I had seen since Russ appeared on my doorstep. He turned on the water to fill it, then turned to me to begin undressing me. I was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and vest from his ex-wife’s closet, along with a pair of her jeans, but with my own underwear that he had bought me in Salt Lake. His hands were busy as he pulled off my t-shirt and then turned me to unhook the bra.