Moonshine Hollow

Chapter Eleven

                  

It was later that night, long after the last patron had left that Forrest found Miss Rose down in the kitchen washing dishes. The windows were covered in condensation from the heat of the night and the hot water she had boiled over the fire. She was leaned over the sink, scrubbing at the glasses with such focus she didn't hear him come into the room. She was still wearing the purple dress but she had taken off the sweater and laid it carefully over the back of one of the chairs. Her skin was smooth and pale in the dim light. It occurred to him he had never seen her arms bare before.

As he walked into the room he realized why. Her upper arms and forearms were covered in bruises. Most were the deep green of an old bruise but some still dark purple. He slowed his approach, suddenly worried about spooking her. He had seen her flinch and back away from him, but he had always assumed she was just afraid because it was him. Everyone was afraid of him.  

"Miss Rose," he kept his voice as soft as possible, but still she jumped. The glass in her hand slipped to the floor and shattered as water sloshed out of the tub, down the front of her dress and onto the floor. 

"Forrest, I'm so sorry," she gasped and knelt to scoop up the pieces. "You startled me. I didn't mean to. I'll pay to replace it of course," she couldn't seem to stop herself from babbling. She hadn't heard him come into the room and she was normally so careful not to be cornered. 

Forrest hadn't meant to scare her, but for some reason his continued presence only seemed to increase her discomfort. She continued to babble and clean up the glass. He reached out and placed as gentle of a hand as he could on the top of hers, not restraining, but stilling her none the less. She instantly began to shake. He fought the urge to withdraw and tried to catch her eye.

"What happened to you?" he asked

"You just scared me is all," she assured him. She pretended not to know what he was talking about, but her eyes flitted behind him to where she had left her sweater.

"Miss Rose," he said in a quiet but firm voice. "What happened?" he asked again.

Her eyes flitted up to meet his, but she couldn't hold it, and instantly dropped them to her shaking hands. When she looked at them he withdrew his own hand, not wanting to scare her further. "No-nothing."

"You're stayin over in that boarding house. Someone do this to you there?" his voice rose at the end, he was trying hard to keep his anger at bay, knowing it would only scare her more.

She pulled back from him, dropping the broken pieces of the glass in her haste to get away. He was too big and too angry. She looked over his shoulder at the exit, and he realized she was trying to find a way to escape. The only way out of the kitchen was through Forrest.

"Miss Rose," he said again, trying to get her attention. When she still didn't respond he dropped his eyes, ashamed of himself for scaring her. He shuffled back dropping down onto his butt, so she was taller than he was since she was still crouching. That seemed to take some of the tension out of her, and he hung his head in an attempt to make himself appear even more harmless. "It would help if I knew your real name."

She sucked in some air, "how do you know it's not?" she asked suspiciously.

Forrest snorted but didn't look up. "You about flat out said it," he slowly began to gather the pieces of glass into a pile, piece by slow piece. Appearing busy with something else seemed to make her more at ease.

When Forrest had been a boy he had begged his father for a horse. They couldn't afford one so Forrest worked two summers straight, saving all his money and finally giving it to his father to buy him a good riding horse. His father took a small amount for that purpose and drank the rest away. Only instead of getting his son a horse he brought him a nag of a beast. An underfed filly, barely old enough to start riding. She had been abused too, a skittish little thing who would stand in the back corner with her head hung shaking like a leaf any time Forrest came near her. It had taken Forrest months to figure out how to get the filly to trust him.

Forrest stated with the glass closest to him, and worked on gathering it in an outward spiral until the tips of his fingers brushed hers. She jerked away from him as though he had slapped her but she met his gaze. "What's your name darlin?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Tears began running down her cheeks in earnest, but she answered. "Lorelei," she whispered, "my name is Lorelei."

Forrest nodded as though it were nothing and stood to throw the glass in the garbage. She didn't move when he stood and instead stayed crouched before him, her eyes on the ground. He tossed the glass and moved to the sink to finish the dishes.

She sat where she was for a long time, but with him at the wash tub it put her closer to the door. After a few minutes she stood and slinked past him. She seized her cardigan and stabbed her arms through the holes. Donning it gave her a small amount of confidence and she turned to face him. "I'm sorry," she all but whispered. "I'll leave now," and she turned to go.

"Lorelei," he called after her, turning to face her.

She froze, unable to move, but she met his eyes. "Who hurt you? Was it one of them boys at the boarding house?"

"No," she said too quickly. "It wasn't anyone over there," she assured him. 

Forrest stepped away from the sink and dried his hands on the towel. He approached her slowly, giving her every opportunity to move away. She didn't. When he was close enough he took her hand in his and pushed her cardigan back so he could see her wrists. They had thick, ugly purple bruises circling them. They were from handcuffs of some kind, and judging by the coloring, it had not been just one time. He fought to keep his hands gentle as his rage burned through him.

"Is this what you are running from?"

Miss Rose began to cry softly, her shoulders heaving as great heavy sobs were wrung from her body. She had never wanted them to know what had been done to her, never wanted them to look at her the same way Forrest was looking at her now. Like a wounded bird.

He exhaled in a way that made her look up at him. His mouth was set in a grim line. She was surprised to find she wasn't afraid of him in that moment. Wasn't afraid he would hurt her. It was freeing in a way she had never known.

"It's what I left." She said, her voice coming out stronger than she had thought possible. Tears still ran down her cheeks, but she didn't want him to see her as the victim she had been. Instead she wanted him to know that she had been strong. She had escaped. "Please don't tell Peter or Arthur."

Forrest nodded before turning back to the dishes. "Do you want to wash or dry?"

She sniffled one last time and walked back over to the sink. "I'll wash."