Lonely Girl

by Cox, Josephine

Satisfied, he continued to focus on the soft, whispering voices and the occasional rustling of hay. He needed to pinpoint their whereabouts exactly so he could take the advantage of surprise.

  It enraged him to think that thieves were actually here in his barn, furtively plotting to rob him of what had been earned through his own hard work over the years.

  Apart from his father’s generous gift of the farm, nothing had ever been handed to him on a plate. The daily grind and worries of running a good farm demanded blood, sweat and tears, and he was not about to stand by while a bunch of thieving rogues helped themselves to what was his.

  At the same time doubts ran amok in his mind. Was he foolish to think he could round up these thieves all by himself? Maybe he should have called Paddy, his brother-in-law. He was a good man and he would have helped, but John had not asked because the anger in him had taken away his common sense. So now he was alone and vulnerable, and possibly about to get the worst beating of his life.

  His fear was palpable but he pressed on regardless, slowly, on tiptoe, with the spade at his side, and his heart beating so fast he feared it might leap out of his chest. He desperately hoped the element of surprise might just give him the edge.

  He thought it strange that, in this moment of huge anxiety, he could remember every plank of wood that made up the floor beneath his feet. He recalled his tired limbs as, many moons ago, he had worked day and night to get the barn finished and the crops in before rain came.

  So many seemingly irrelevant details tore through his troubled mind. Building this barn had been a mammoth task. Although he had help from neighbouring farmers, there was no let-up for any of them. With the summer ending, and the changeable autumn weather fast closing in, they’d had to get the roof on without delay.

  He recalled the excruciating pain in his limbs as he drove the long, thick nails into every plank, post and joist. And how could he forget the crippling weariness when carrying the timbers across his shoulders, day after day, and into the night, until he could hardly stand up? But when the barn was finished the pride he felt was worth every bead of sweat, and every wrenched muscle in his body. He and his good neighbours celebrated the completion of Tanner’s Barn together. The buzz of excitement at the sight of that monstrous barn standing proud was like nothing he had ever experienced …

  Just now, his heart was filled with pride in this strong, handsome building; which was now being invaded by those who did not give a tinker’s cuss if they ruined him.

  Suddenly his meandering thoughts were brought back sharply to the present by the rustling of hay and whispered voices. Grim-faced and determined, he tightened his fist on the spade.

  ‘Ssh, Tom.’ Putting up a warning hand, Molly rolled away from her man. ‘Listen.’

  Bemused, Tom was about to reply when she pressed the flat of her hand over his mouth.

  ‘Be quiet!’ she hissed.

  Suspecting she might be playing games, he pushed her hand away and smiled. ‘Bad girl!’ He was about to draw her on top of his nakedness when she clambered away to reach for her clothes.

  ‘Get dressed,’ she whispered. ‘Hurry up.’

  When Tom saw the scared look on her face, and the way she panicked when grabbing up her clothes, he realised she was not playing games. He, too, listened and he could hear the soft crunch of footsteps as they trod over the carpet of strewn hay.

  Anxiously grabbing his trousers, he managed to wriggle into them without making too much noise, while Molly hastily pulled her dress on over her head.

  With both of them at least half decent, they pressed deep into the hay, remaining silent and as still as possible while the footsteps closed in on them. They fervently hoped the intruder would pass by without ever knowing they were even there.

  Moments passed in which they heard the shuffle of footsteps heading towards where they lay huddled together and holding their breath. Making no move, they kept their nerve. A moment later they were much relieved when it seemed the footsteps had changed direction and were receding.

  Molly and Tom remained very still until they were satisfied that the intruder had truly gone away. Molly was glad of Tom’s strong arms about her, though his voice trembled as he whispered, ‘It’s all right, Molly. I think they’ve gone.’

  ‘Whew. Thank goodness.’ Hugely relieved, and totally believing they were out of danger, Molly softly scrambled to the edge of one of the surrounding hay bales to peep over, congratulating herself that she and her lover had managed to avoid being discovered. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the shock of finding herself staring into her husband’s face, his horrified gaze shifting from her to the half-naked stranger lying at her feet.

  Before John could even open his mouth, Molly went wild, screaming at the top of her voice and cursing him to hell and back, in a curious and desperate attempt to take the moral high ground. ‘You beast! What right have you to follow me? What the hell d’you think you’re doing sneaking up on me like a thief in the night?’

  Her blind rage overwhelmed her guilt and shame as she continued to tear into him with a vicious volley of foul language and sanctimonious nonsense.

  Not daring to move, Tom lay trembling with fear, desperate to avoid the fray and undecided whether it would be better to run or stay and take his punishment.

  The decision was made for him when Molly began kicking and lashing out as John took her by the arms and held her against the hay bales.

  ‘What the hell is your game, Molly? I came looking for you, because I was worried. Rosie is, too. We thought you might be in trouble, and here you are, lying in the hay … with some man.’ His voice shook with disgust. ‘What’s wrong with you, Molly? I thought you were better than this. So come on, I’m listening. Who the hell is he, and how long has this been going on behind my back, eh? You had better explain yourself … if you can!’

  He glared down on Tom, who had quickly finished dressing and was now sitting on the edge of a bale, rocking back and forth, his head buried in his hands, and softly muttering to himself.

  Bold as ever, Molly now tried to brazen it out. ‘My man here is Tom Stevens.’ She saw the look of recognition on John’s face. ‘Yes, that’s right, Tom Stevens, my old boyfriend.’

  Lowering her voice to a whisper, she smiled up at him in what she hoped was a winning way. ‘We met up tonight, and I suddenly remembered the fun we used to have together and I just couldn’t help myself … I never meant any harm. It was supposed to be just a bit of a laugh. What with my job and helping in the farm, I have such a rotten time – and you’re always working. You never have time for me – and I sometimes wonder if you even love me at all.’ She now became all tears. ‘Maybe you’d like me to go. Well, maybe I should go, then you won’t need to follow me around, spying on me!’

  Shocked by the implication that this was somehow his fault, and still reeling from what he had seen and heard, John reached out, grabbed her by the wrists and drew her to him.

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Molly. We can get past this. I love you too much to lose you. Please, Molly! Let’s go home and talk things through, like civilised human beings.’

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ Molly wailed. ‘You don’t love me at all. You creep around spying on me and … and now you’re hurting me. Let go of me. Let go!’

  Working herself into a frenzy, she began hitting out with both fists as he desperately tried to restrain her. But then she seemed to go crazy, screaming and yelling for Tom to help her, and the more John tried to quieten her, the louder she yelled. ‘Help me, Tom! He’s hurting me … Tom, please! Help me … get him off!’ She knew from the past that Tom was never a fighting man. The idea of having two men coming to blows over her was truly exciting. She didn’t care who got hurt, as long as it wasn’t her. And besides, she thought herself to be worth fighting over.

  While putting on the show of her life, she threw herself at John, and started squealing as though she was being hurt. ‘Tom … for pity’s sake … help me! He means to kill me! If
you love me, get him off me … help me!’

  John, however, was taken by surprise at her wild, confusing behaviour. Unable to calm her, he held her all the tighter, while assuring her that he just wanted answers, and he was willing to take her back to the farmhouse and quietly talk things through, but this only made her scream and shout all the more.

  Fully convinced of Molly’s terror at the hands of her angry husband, soft-hearted, simple Tom decided that unless he came to her aid he would surely lose her for ever. With no thought for his own safety, he launched himself at John and brought him down with an unexpected heavy punch to the chin.

  Congratulating herself on the devious trick that turned her kind-natured lover into a raging bull, Molly made her escape to the far side of the space from where she watched the two men locked together in a brutal fight. Tom, foolishly believing Molly’s cunning lies, tore into John, who was left with no choice but to defend himself with every ounce of strength he had.

  From her safe place, she continued to watch, her mind racing ahead. Suddenly she realised this was the perfect opportunity to inherit the farm and everything in it. Why wait any longer, when tonight could be the beginning of her new life?

  Quickly she glanced about before darting across to collect the heavy-headed spade from where John had dropped it.

  As she made her way back, she was startled to see Tom sent staggering backwards when John landed him a crunching blow to the face. He slumped to the ground, where he lay for a moment, unnervingly still.

  Momentarily unsure what to do, Molly remained in the shadows, greatly relieved when Tom scrambled up, roaring, to make a beeline for John, who gave as good as he got.

  Molly crept forward, still keeping in the shadows and waiting for her moment.

  The two men, back on their feet, were fighting with everything they had. John continued to get the better of Tom, who was soon pinned against the wall, exhausted and with nowhere to go. Somehow, because of his blind love for Molly, he found new strength to take up the fight again, though he was coming off the worst for it.

  Molly decided it was now or never. Clutching the spade, she made her way towards the two men, who were so heavily engaged in their bitter fight, neither of them realised what she was about to do.

  Not too far away, young Rosie was continuing to search for her father. All around her she could hear the confusing cries and shuffling of night creatures. It made her nervous, but she had Barney, and that gave her a sense of security.

  Suddenly, in amongst the chorus of foraging creatures, she heard what sounded like a human voice, high-pitched and excited. Alarmed, she stood still and listened, but there was only silence except for the occasional rustling in the long grass edging the paddock. When suddenly something darted out of the grass and across her path, her fears increased tenfold.

  ‘D’you think we should turn back, Barney?’ She felt so alone, despite the presence of the Labrador, and was constantly wary of the hidden creatures who might be watching her even now. ‘What d’you think, Barney, eh?’ She wrapped her arms about his thick, silky coat. ‘I don’t like it here. I want to go home. Maybe we’ll find my parents are there by now.’

  Barney looked her in the eye as though trying to convince her that he would look after her and she must not be afraid.

  ‘Ssh! Did you hear that, Barney?’ She tightened her hold on him. ‘Just now … it sounded like a person calling out. D’you think it was Daddy? Or maybe it was her.’ Made nervous by the noises all around her, she could not be sure of anything any more and could no longer trust her own instincts. The only thing that made her feel safe was having Barney with her.

  Sniffing about on the ground, the faithful dog seemed anxious for her to move on. ‘Good boy, Barney.’ Going forward, she lovingly patted his neck, and with Rosie holding tight to his lead the two of them inched forward through the undergrowth around the paddock. Suddenly Rosie came to a halt. ‘Be still, Barney!’ She glanced about, unsure which direction they should take.

  Barney was sniffing the ground again.

  ‘Can you find their scent, Barney?’ Rosie grew excited. ‘Do you know which way they went?’

  With his nose to the ground, Barney cautiously led the way, with Rosie tight on his heels. When suddenly he set off at a run, Rosie had to move as fast as she could to keep up. She wanted to call him back, but was afraid to speak loudly in case someone might be lurking nearby. Trusting in Barney, she kept close, while he stopped occasionally to sniff the air and listen before taking off again.

  After a few minutes Barney slowed his pace as he came to the yard and sniffed the ground excitedly, which told Rosie he was alerted to something, or someone. ‘Careful, boy … go softly now.’

  Like two thieves in the night, they went swiftly across the open yard and on, towards the larger outer buildings.

  ‘Hurry, Barney … quick. Down here!’

  The soft glimmer of moonlight lit their way as they left the yard behind and followed the well-trodden path to the big barn, now just a few steps away.

  ‘Wait for me, Barney,’ Rosie told the Labrador in a whisper. ‘Come here, boy … stay by me!’ And the wise old fella did exactly that.

  The path led to a shadowy yard by the hay barn. Fearful, Rosie paused a moment, indicating for Barney to keep silent. Padding over to her, he stood vigilant by her side, his long snout pointing in the direction of the big barn, and the short hairs on his back bristling in anticipation.

  Just then, Rosie heard a series of noises, dragging sounds as though someone or something were being shifted about. Someone was inside the hay barn.

  ‘Ssh! Stay back, Barney.’

  Instead of obeying her, the dog stretched himself to his full height with his head down and ears pinched forward. Pausing only to ensure that Rosie was safe, he inched forward, making a soft, rattling noise in the back of his throat, which Rosie recognised as a low warning growl.

  ‘No, Barney …’ Drawing him back, Rosie leaned down to tell him softly, ‘Be still! We don’t know who’s in there. We don’t know if they mean to hurt us. We need to be careful … they must not see us.’

  When she put her finger to her lips in a warning gesture the dog appeared to understand and he obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

  Inside the barn, Molly waited for her moment. When it came she tightened her grip on the spade and stole closer to her unsuspecting husband, who now had Tom, buckled in a state of exhaustion, pinned by the scruff of the neck. Molly realised with horror that her husband had the upper hand and, his other fist drawn back, he was ready to land the defining punch that would end the bloody fight.

  She could not have been more wrong. In truth, the normally placid John Tanner was sickened by the brutality between himself and this ordinary man, who had not only fought valiantly, but had taken a heavy beating with a brave heart.

  Now, as he pinned Tom Stevens against the wall with one strong arm, John realised that there was nothing to be gained from battering the hell out of him so, holding the other man at bay, he wearily suggested that the two of them should stop the fighting and talk about the situation in a calm and proper way.

  Although she could not make out every word, Molly was horrified to see the two men talking in what appeared to be a civilised manner. She had a choice: to make her move now, or to abandon it altogether. She decided that she was too near her goal to back out. Her mind was made up. The deed was well within her grasp. The sooner she could finish it between them, the better.

  She ran forward, the spade held upright, and a murderous look in her eyes.

  Tom glanced up and saw with horror what she was about to do. ‘No, Molly!’ he yelled, but it seemed she didn’t hear him, or didn’t want to.

  Tom darted forward with the intention of pushing John out of the way, but it was too late. Raising the spade as hard and as high as possible, she smashed the back of the spade-head down across John’s head; the sickening sound of metal against flesh told its own story.

  John sank to the f
loor, his lifeblood oozing from the huge, jagged wound at the base of his skull.

  For what seemed an age, the silence was palpable – nothing moved, no one spoke – but when the blood-spattered spade fell to the floor, it was as if all hell was let loose.

  ‘God Almighty, Molly … what have you done?’ Tom ran forward, his shirt splattered with blood and his eyes big and round with disbelief as he stared at the man on the ground.

  Molly caught her breath. ‘Get away from him!’ Her voice shook with fear.

  ‘Oh, Molly … Molly … dear Lord … what have you done?’ Clasping his hands together above his head, Tom began rocking back and forth, back and forth, making deep moans as though suffering unbearable pain. ‘What have you done, Molly?’ he asked her over and over. ‘What have you done?’ His hands shook uncontrollably as he bent on one knee to check the other man, who had made not the slightest move since taking the full brunt of that devastating blow.

  With big, shocked eyes, Tom looked up at Molly, who was also trembling violently. ‘I think he’s dead, Molly.’ His voice was almost inaudible, as though he was unable to speak because of the horror he felt at Molly’s shocking deed.

  Molly remained silent, staring down on John’s lifeless body.

  ‘You killed him, Molly!’ Tom’s voice rose in panic. His wide eyes remained fixed on the other man, lying so still and bloodied, his broken face splattered with his blood, and his eyes wide open to the ceiling. Over and over he accused her, as though he needed to say it out loud in order to believe the horror of it. ‘May God forgive you, Molly. Look at your husband! Look what you’ve done …’ He began to pace back and forth, faster and faster, as though demented, shaking his head from side to side and moaning, ‘What shall we do, Molly … whatever shall we do?’

  Molly was surprised at his reaction. She had truly believed that this man who had cuckolded her husband without any sign of regret might understand why she did this, yet one minute he was on his knees moaning, the next he was pacing the floor like someone crazy, whining and accusing.