Beneath the Apple Leaves(89)

“Now, Lilith, I don’t like it any better than you do, but it got to be done.”

“No.” The woods became walls that twisted and warped, made her dizzy, and her chest contracted until she drowned. “I won’t do it. I won’t do it again.” The memory of a rough hand between her legs made her whimper. She shook her head, the smell of a man’s breath pungent in her nose.

Frank reached to her kindly—reached to her like he held a pillow for her head, even as he pressed it against her face. “This is the last time. I swear.”

“That’s what you said the last time!” she screamed, the tears streaming from her eyes now. The memory of that day poisoned her, nearly broke her to her knees.

“I know it. I know what I said.” He put his hands on his hips, his patience waning. “But had some trouble again. Just need it cleaned up.”

Cleaned up? Cleaned up! A mop across a dirty floor. The filth submerged everything around her. Her lungs ached for air. This couldn’t be happening again. Again. She moved away from the damp wall, the back of her wet dress sticking to her skin. “I won’t do it!” She inched farther away, readied her muscles to run. “You can’t make me!”

He grabbed her wrist hard, jerked her to him. “So help me, you’ll do what I say.”

She struggled against his pull, slapped his face hard with her free hand, hardly reddening the cheek. But the cold, cruel, cruel look came over him and she instantly regretted hitting him. Terror lashed. “Andrew!” she screamed.

But he pulled her arm behind her back and covered her mouth with his big hand. She couldn’t breathe between her sobs and his fingers.

“You will do this!” he seethed into her ear. “You’ll do this or I’ll take the belt to your sister—to your mama—so hard she won’t be moving till Christmas.” He jerked her arm higher and she screamed out, the sound muffled under his palm. “What? You going to sit by and let her get the crap beat outta her like when you were a kid? You going to let her take the beating for you again just because you’re too proud, think you’re so special?” He let go and pushed her away. “Well, you ain’t special, Lilith. Not a thing special about you.” He spit on the ground. “Not a damn thing.”

Life fell away, disintegrated into the words and the darkness. The black closed in, the knowing of what she would have to do, what she was going to do, and it broke her in pieces, whole and standing, yet broken and splintered. She tilted forward, weakened and soft as a dying willow.

Frank gave a long sigh, took off his hat and wiped his brow. His work done. “Claire’s been there for you her whole life,” he pointed out calmly. “Aren’t you going to do one thing for her?” He stepped away as if opening a door for her to pass through, an open gate to Hell. “Besides, you do it and it’s done. Last time. A promise is a promise.”

*

Andrew waited for hours at the spring. He rolled the ring in his palm, played with the metal. He touched the water and replayed the words that he would say. He recited the number of ways he could tell her that he loved her.

Andrew waited. He waited for his Lily girl to keep her promise. He waited until the dark shade of twilight leadened the leaves and made it clear she wouldn’t come. Yet he still waited.

Now his mind took away the sentiments of the heart. His body turned cold against the flutters of her touch and her lips. His mind told him he was a fool and that she did not love him, never had. His mind made up stories that told him he was only half a man and she knew this and could never share her life with half a man. His mind told him that she was only drawn to him because there was no one else. He was a distraction, a plaything. And with each ticking moment, the insult grew, seemed to crush the life out of him, one mortared brick at a time.

Shut up, Andrew, his father ordered but gave no more advice. Perhaps Frank had kept her home. Andrew squeezed the ring tightly, forced the insecurities at bay. Perhaps she did love him after all and he wasn’t a fool. Perhaps.

But he didn’t know. In the darkening forest, he glanced at his arm. Thought again of his mother’s curt letter. Thought of the jabs and insults and glances that hovered around his form. And he wasn’t sure if he understood anything at all.





CHAPTER 43

The splintered bread wagon slowed to a halt at the end of the Kiser lane. “Good morning,” Eveline greeted them.

Bob nodded. Bernice kept her head low. Eveline’s smile vanished, the uncustomary blandness of the couple knocking her sideways.

The old man leaned to the back and pulled out the bread bag, handed it to her. Eveline juggled the weight of it in her hands, felt the difference. “There’s a double order in here, Mr. Stevens.” She raised the bundle back toward the wagon.

He shook his head. “Keep it.”

“Much as I’d like to, we can’t afford it. Need to conserve these days.” She raised the bundle again. “Better just take out the extra.”

Bernice looked at her now. “You keep it, Mrs. Kiser. Ain’t no charge. Ain’t no charge for any of it.”

Her mouth fell agape and she looked at one Stevens and then another. “That’s very kind of you, but I can’t . . .”

Bob let out a long, drawn sigh and rubbed his worn pant leg. “We just come from town. Hearin’ things. Been hearin’ things for a while. This war got everybody clawin’ at each other.” He met her eyes. “We know that Campbell cut off your credit. Know the butcher ain’t been givin’ you nothin’ but the gristly meat that been hangin’ on the shelf too long. Know your mail’s been getting opened and read before it’s delivered.