by Mercy Levy
Joy peeked out at the audience, ecstatic to see Caleb near the front. In the dimmed light of the auditorium, she couldn’t tell if he was still bruised, but she was so excited just to see him, that she pulled Billie over and showed him the young boy from the edge of the curtains.
“Do you see that boy with the very straight, dark hair, sitting two seats in on the third row?” She asked him as he peered out at the kids. He nodded to her and looked at with questioning eyes. “His name is Caleb.” She answered the unasked question. “He’s a good kid, in a real bad situation.” She continued. “I think his foster father might even be hitting him.” She rubbed Billie’s arm like a worry stone. “Kids like him need to hear that if you don’t give up, you can get out.” She finished, watching Billie’s face.
“I get you, Shorty.” Billie replied. He looked down at the slight figure of the boy Joy was so worried for, and saw himself at a much younger age. He understood what she meant when she asked him to stand for something. Just as her father had stood up for him and kids like him. He let the curtain fall back into place. “I got you, don’t worry.” He said to her with a wry smile. The band students filed past them as they emptied the stage, and soon Billie had no choice but to face the throng of students already shifting aimlessly in their seats. He accepted the mic the teacher handed him and strode out onto the stage, heart pounding like he was about to begin a match. He grinned at the kids and took a deep breath.
“Some of you might know who I am…” He began, only to be drowned out by cheers. Suddenly, his nervousness was gone, replaced by the thrill of the audience. He let the kids chant his name for almost a full minute, then raised his hands to signal their silence. Almost immediately, the chants died down and the students and teachers alike waited for him to speak.
“So, some of you might know who I am,” He began again, “but for those who don’t, my name is Billie Payne, and I’m a fighter.” A few scattered cheers went up, and quickly died off as he waited to speak again. Billie let the energy carry him, and before he knew it, he’d been speaking for fifteen minutes, and Joy was signaling him from the wings. He barely remembered anything he’d said, and felt high and shaky when he waved one last time and walked back offstage.
“Did I do all right?” He asked anxiously, as Joy stared at him like he had suddenly sprouted a second head.
“Are you kidding?” She gasped at him. “I thought you said you weren’t sure you could do it, and you killed it!” She hugged him tight. “I hope you really meant what you said about not giving in to the rumors and holding your ground.” Billie froze, startled. Shit, he thought, had he said that? He considered it. It felt good, it made him feel lighter. Even while his hand throbbed and he felt in his pocket for more pain meds, he felt like everything was going to be okay. He looked at Joy. “What?” She asked, self-consciously pushing her hair behind her ear.
“Do you make everyone be better than they are, or is it just me?” He asked her, enjoying the color that rose to her cheeks.
“I didn’t make you anything you weren’t already.” She replied, rolling her eyes. “You are who you are, and from what I’ve seen, you are what you always were.” He pulled her in under one arm.
“I guess I’m gonna have to be.” He released her. “But I still have something I have to do. And I need to go alone.” She frowned at him.
“I don’t want you to go alone.” She replied. “That’s just asking for more trouble.” He shook his head in disagreement.
“No, Shorty,” he answered, “These guys aren’t the kind that will stop short of hurting a girl. I need you out of sight.” Joy’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded.
“Just don’t get hurt, okay?” She pleaded with him, knowing anything he said now would probably be a lie. He simply nodded and touched her cheek, then winked and walked away, leaving her worried and hating herself for encouraging him to fight his manager.
Caleb found her as she watched Billie walk away. He stood quietly for a minute, then touched her gently on the arm, jerking back from her as she jumped in surprise.
“Caleb!” Joy exclaimed, giving him a quick one-armed hug. She leaned back and looked at his face. “Oh, Caleb, what happened to you?” She murmured as she examined his fading bruises. “Please talk to me, so I can help you.” Caleb shrugged and smiled at her.
“I’m okay, Miss Joy.” He replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “My foster dad, he talks rough, but he’s okay. He just worries about strangers, that’s all.” Joy gaped in disbelief.
“But Caleb, your face…” She managed to get out, finding herself speechless. Caleb pulled his hands out of his pockets and showed Joy his scuffed and scabbed-over knuckles.
“I got jumped on my way home from the movies on Sunday, by Duffy’s troll-friends. If Mike, my foster-dad, hadn’t found me and scared them off, I would’ve been in much worse shape today.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as Joy stared at him. He shrugged. “Mike owns a really small boxing gym across town.” Caleb continued. “He’s the one who’s been teaching me how to defend myself.” The young man chuckled. “When he found out that I put Duffy in the hospital for trying to force himself on that little girl, he bought me an Xbox to pass the time while I was suspended.”
Joy repented of the awful things she’d assumed about Caleb’s foster parents. She sighed and rubbed her temples with her eyes closed. Would Billie call her and tell her if he was okay? Would anyone tell her if he wasn’t? She opened her eyes and Caleb was watching her intently.
“I’m sorry, Caleb, I was thinking, I’m not trying to ignore you.” She apologized with a wan smile. “I have a friend in trouble. I’m just really glad you’re back at school. What class should you be in right now?” She asked him.
“Lunch.” He replied. “Are you okay Miss Joy?” He queried, a worried look on his face.
“I’m worried about my friend, but I’m okay.” She answered him. “You go get some lunch. I have to go, but I’ll you come see me tomorrow, okay?” Caleb nodded his assent, and Joy headed for the parking lot, dialing a cab as she strode quickly through the near empty halls.
In less than thirty minutes, the cab was pulling up to her destination. Joy paid her fare and climbed out of the car shakily. Her nerves jangled and her heart was in her throat as she opened the door and slowly walked in to the harsh florescent lighting of the gym. She heard a familiar thud and a grunt of pain from the other side of the room, where she saw a group of men standing in a circle around the sparring mats. The men crowded each other like hungry vultures trying to get close to a carcass. The image in her head made Joy choke back a wail. Billie was in the middle of those men, she knew it and she was terrified of what she would see.
She forced her way through the crush of men and stared as Billie lashed out with a foot sweep to knock one opponent down as the other came at him from behind. Appalled, she took a step forward, only to be yanked back by the arm. She turned and slapped the man holding her. It was Marcus, Billie’s trainer. She bit off what she wanted to scream at him and turned back to the fight as she heard the loud snap of breaking bone and a high pitched scream of pain.
Billie stood in the center of the mats, looking down at the man writhing in pain at his feet. Across from him was his second assailant, glaring at him and circling around his wounded companion. The men watching the fight backed away to give the men room to move, and when they had circled far enough away, a couple of the medical staff stepped in to take the other man away, still cradling his arm while lying on the stretcher.
Billie leaped at the heavily muscled man facing him. He jabbed hard and fast, grunting each time he connected with his broken hand. The other man ducked and weaved, desperately trying to stay ahead of the lightning fast punches being thrown. Joy watched the spectators and realized they weren’t just watching the fight. They were each waiting for their turn to join in. Distraught, she looked for some way to help Billie. Then, as he landed a solid left to his opponent’s solar plexus, someone moved up from
behind him aiming a sucker punch toward the back of Billie’s head. Another spectator swiftly moved in, blocking the blow and sending the new attacker flying backward, then stepping back into his place at the edge of the circle.
Billie fought like Joy had never seen before. Not limited by ringside judges, he switched up his fighting style and kicked out hard and fast, catching his opponent in the back of the knee and driving him to the mat. The man struggled to get up and managed a fist to Billie’s groin, causing Billie to gasp and double over. The other man took advantage and attacked hard, aiming for Billie’s face over and over. Billie struggled, barely blocking the blows to his face, and backed upright to the edge of the circle of men to escape the barrage. The men behind him held him steady, and he pushed off from their supporting hands for one final offensive.
He pulled his arms in and tucked his elbows in tight, then struck out, fast and efficient, not wasting a single millimeter on unnecessary movement. He split the bigger man’s eye open when he connected with his right, the metal splint tearing the guy open, even as Billie stifled a howl of pain from his broken hand connecting with sold bone. His struck out repeatedly with his left, driving the man into the circle of bodies hemming them in, then kicked out with his foot in a judo sweep and knocked the man flat on his back.
Wordlessly, the gathered men declared the fight over and surrounded each of the fighters, blocking them from one another. Joy pushed her way to Billie past the men and sank to her knees, throwing her arms around his neck as he sat on the floor, half-dazed.
“Hey,” he finally croaked through his split and bleeding lips, “I told you not to come down here.” He tried to stroke her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder.
“I couldn’t leave you here alone. I thought you might be killed.” She stammered through her tears. Billie let her hold him while he recovered some energy.
“You know how fighting is.” He finally responded. “It’s like a gang. If you want to get out, or disobey orders, you gotta get jumped out, just like you were jumped in.” He looked down into her tear-filled eyes. “I came clean to the guys. Slade didn’t like it. He told them to beat me like a dog, and a couple of them tried.” She pulled away enough to see his face. His left eye was swollen shut and blood oozed down the side of his face, mingling with sweat and trailing down his neck to his chest. His bottom lip was split and bleeding, and his nose looked broken and bent at a bad angle. She sniffed back new tears as she looked at down at his right hand, the bandages that she’d painstakingly applied hours before were now dirty and blood-soaked.
“What will you do now?” she asked, as the men around them went back to their own workouts, ignoring the injured fighter and young woman sitting on the floor. Billie tried to stand, and as Joy moved to assist him, a second set of hands slid under him and propped him up. Marcus slid Billie’s arm over his shoulder and nodded to Joy.
“He can’t stay here now.” Marcus looked sad, but proud. “He’s going to need a place to hole-up for a while, and recover. Then we have to find him a new gym, if that right hand ain’t busted for good.” Joy bit her lip in concern.
“He’s staying with me.” She declared, as Marcus stooped to grab Billie’s bag on the way past it. She watched the other fighters ignore them, as thought they were being shunned. “Why aren’t they helping him?” She asked Marcus.
“They help him, they’re out too.” He replied. “Not everyone is brave enough to go against the establishment.” He muttered. “Damn near thought Billie was going to sell his soul to the devil.” He glanced at the woman supporting his protégé physically, (and he suspected emotionally as well).
“He’s staying with me.” Joy said to no one in particular. She remembered the day she’d asked her father to watch out for him. It had always been Billie that she cared about, more concerned for his well-being than anyone else in her life. Marcus helped Joy get Billie into the cab and waved as they drove off. He took Billie’s duffle bag and put it in the trunk of his beat up Buick. He figured Billie could get it later, there was nothing in there he’d need while he recovered from the broken bones and bruises.
Billie woke up with sunlight streaming in on his face. Disoriented, he looked around the sterile white décor of a hospital room. There, curled up in a chair not made to sit in comfortably, let alone sleep in, was Joy, wrapped in her sweater and resting. He looked at her face, lit softly by the sunlight filtered through the gauze curtains. It had always been her, he realized. Always been the idea of her that had driven him to protect, to be a hero for. He gingerly pushed himself up to a sitting position in the mechanical hospital bed. The squeaking made Joy start, and she blinked owlishly and looked at him, smiling.
Billie could feel every injury, every bruise on his body, from broken ribs to the cuts on his face. As he looked at the woman of his dreams, who had once been the girl next door, he felt the weight of the world lift off him. Even lying in a hospital bed, bruised and broken, he felt like he was finally alive. In the weight of her gaze was all the promise he needed. He motioned for her to come closer and she slipped up onto the bed, curling up gently beside him. As her body gently warmed him, he held her close and knew. He was home.
THE END
Estelle’s Christmas Gift
Chapter One
November, 1865, Virginia
“I think we should stop here for a couple of days, mother. Please. Your health is worrying me, and the weather is not favorable for such a long journey,” Estelle said to her mother. Isabella was resting on the recliner with her eyes closed. She looked frailer than she had in the morning and that was worrying Estelle.
“I am fine, sweetheart. You can go and tell the coachman that we’ll be ready in half hour to depart. We must not delay. The journey is long and there isn’t much time to rest. I want to reach Lincoln as soon as possible.” Isabella opened her eyes briefly to look at her daughter.
“Mother, you have declined my every request in regard to this trip, but now I am insisting. Please, you need rest. Nothing is more important than your health. You were already ill when we left Lancaster, but still you insisted on travelling. Now your condition is only worsening.”
Estelle tried not to let her mind wander toward too many negative possibilities but she was constantly on edge. Her mother was all she had left. Everything else she’d once treasured: her home, her family, her possessions, were gone.
“Oh nonsense. I know myself better than you, Estelle. I am still your mother and you are to do what I am telling you to do. We are still more than half way from our destination. I want to try to reach Lincoln by tomorrow morning,” Isabella said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Estelle walked out of the room they’d rented at a small lodge in a small town of Virginia. She passed the windows and noticed that the sky was grayer than it had been the evening before. Thick, dark clouds were hung like a shroud threatening to unleash a downpour at any moment.
She knocked at the smaller quarters where their coachman, William, was staying.
“We’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes, William. Please get the buggy ready,” she informed him. William had been her late father’s coachman and had been loyal to their family for several years. He had grown considerably grayer in the past year with their family. He looked over Estelle’s shoulder for a moment before turning his wise blue eyes to her.
“The weather doesn’t look very good, Miss. Estelle. Are you sure we should continue with the journey?” he asked her. Estelle sighed. She wanted to do what she thought was right, but going against her mother’s wishes had never been something she did easily...
“Mother wants to get on the road, William. She was already against spending too many hours here tonight. She is not going to take kindly to me pushing her to stay longer.”
William nodded in understanding.
“Very well, Miss. Estelle. I’ll get the buggy ready and then come up to take your luggage.”
“There is no need of it. Just bring the buggy around. I’ll bri
ng mother and our luggage. There isn’t much we have anyway,” Estelle said.
She turned and walked back to her room. The window panes were now glistening with small droplets of rain. She hoped that the rain didn’t fall any harder. She didn’t want any further complications in this journey.
Isabella was still on the recliner when Estelle entered the room. Estelle closed the distance and stared at her mother’s frail body. Until a couple of weeks ago, she had always seen her mother as a stubborn woman who did what she wanted and made others do her bidding as well. Isabella was a strong woman who took her stand and held firmly to her opinions. She never bent before anyone except God.
Before their life in Lancaster had turned upside down, Estelle had lived a completely sheltered life under the protection of her father and brother. When things turned upside down, her mother had taken control of their lives and made decisions that were typically uncommon for a woman to make. Estelle knew that they had nothing left in Lancaster and it was better to leave the bitter memories buried in the same ground as her father and brother. It had been a bold decision, but her mother wasn’t to be underestimated. Only now was Estelle understanding the truth of Isabella’s nature and it awed her. She was proud to be her daughter. Except, at times like these, Estelle wanted to knock some sense into her.
The weather wasn’t good, Isabella’s health wasn’t favorable, and still they were travelling. She didn’t know why her mother was refusing rest for just one night.
“Mother,” she called softly. Isabella didn’t stir. “Mother, wake up. It’s time,” she called again, putting her hand over Isabella’s. Her skin was ice cold despite the warm, heavy clothing she wore to fend off the chill.
“What? What is it?” Isabella woke up.
“You are so cold, mother,” Estelle said with a worried frown. “I’ll be fine once we are in Lincoln. Is William ready?” Isabella brushed off her daughter’s concerns. Estelle let it go as well, there was no use arguing.