Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 33

            

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  SURPRISE!

TWITTER: @styles_orama

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Imagine a world where no music was playing
And think of a church with nobody praying
Have you ever looked up at a sky with no blue
Then you've seen a picture of me without you

              --George Jones

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FRANKIE:

Before I know it, Zayn has me up in the bench seat of his wagon and is tuckin' away my drenched suitcase in the back. While he's doin' that, I'm sayin' a Hail Mary and makin' the sign of the cross to pray for safety on this journey. After he pulls himself up in the covered seat next to me, he stows his umbrella away somewhere behind us. He rustles 'round a bit more, and pulls out a horse blanket from the back to spread across my lap.

"I know it's not much," he offers. "But it'll keep you warm for the rest of the trip, so tuck in," he signals. "It won't be long now."

He gives the reins a flick, and we're off.

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FRANKIE:

They say you can tell a man by his shoes. Mr. Malik has on some kinda fancy, city-folk shoes, not work boots like Harry wears. He musta pulled the wool over a lotta people's eyes to be able to afford shoes like that. Granted, he's been nothin' but kind to me so far, but somethin's been eatin' away at my insides ever since I climbed into his wagon.

After what seems like a month of Sundays, we finally make it to town. I'm still decidin' who I should talk to about this mess. Reverend Payne should be the obvious choice, but I have a naggin' feelin' that I might should go see Mr. Corden instead. I know Harry trusts him real good, and I for sure don't wanna go jumpin' out of the fryin' pan and into the fire.

Just as I'm settlin' on an answer, Mr. Malik blows by the mercantile faster than a fart in a windstorm.

"Could you let me off at the mercantile, if ya don't mind none?"

Then, out of nowhere – "You wouldn't happen to know a Reverend Payne, would ya, Miss?"

The blood in my veins runs cold at his question, partly cause of the subject matter, and partly cause of the tone of his voice – like he already knows my answer.

"Yes, but not very well. I know him from my hometown."  Before he can reply, "I can just walk back to the mercantile, that's fine. You were kind enough to bring me this far. If you'll just let me out here?"

Mr. Malik steers the wagon skillfully through the windy downpour. The rain is so loud, maybe he didn't hear me?

"Would you mind lettin' me out please, Mr. Malik?" I speak louder this time, and I'm relieved when he pulls up alongside the church, even though that isn't exactly where I want to go.

Before the wheels even come to a complete stop, I thank him and prepare to jump out, but Zayn grabs a-hold of my arm, causin' the horse's blanket that's on my lap to fall out into the mud. His fingertips dig into the flesh of my arm as he tightens his grip on me, and I can't hold my tears any longer. I knew better than this!

"I thought I'd seen you before." Zayn pulls me closer, lifts my chin and forces me to look at him. "You're that little one. I always had my eye on you, though they tried to keep you outta sight. No wonder Payne's in town."

"I don't know what the blazes you're talkin' 'bout! Let go of me right now!" I'm punchin' and kickin' at him tryin' to get away, and prayin' to God to help me. But not God nor anybody else is gonna hear me in this storm.

"Oh, I think you do know what I'm talkin' about, little girl. Don't you remember me?" He holds me tight with one hand and reaches inside his coat pocket with the other, and pulls out a piece of hard rock candy, the sight of which makes my stomach turn in slow recognition.

"I don't. I don't. I DON'T!" I lie outright, because I can't stand to hear him say it.

"Remember?" He persists. "I would give you a piece of candy before I went in the bedroom with your mama?"

My screams and kicks are futile as Zayn tugs at my skirts, and I am so broken that I consider just givin' up and acceptin' my fate. Maybe this is how my life is supposed to be. Just like mama. Maybe I was stupid to think I could ever have anything else.

Mr. Malik is no quitter. He pulls me to him and presses his lips to mine, coverin' my screams of disgust. I close my eyes as tight as I can and wish I was back home with Harry darnin' his socks. Harry.

Zayn tries to kiss me again, and it triggers the last bit of gumption I've got left. My eyes still closed, I bite him as hard as I can on his cheek, so hard I can taste the blood. When he recoils from the shock, I holler at the top of my lungs and use my last ounce of strength to try and break free from his grasp, which is surprisingly easy.

When I open my eyes, I see Harry with a hand 'round Mr. Malik's neck as he yanks him outta the wagon. Harry!

"You rat-faced son of a bitch!" Harry grunts as he throws Zayn in the mud, then sits straddlin' his waist and beats the tar outta him.

I climb my ass outta that hell-wagon lickety-split and run over to Harry, beggin' him to stop before he kills him.

"If I ever see you near her again – you won't live to tell about it!"

Leavin' Zayn in the mud bloody and half conscious, Harry turns to me in the rain, his eyes sweepin' over me and takin' inventory. He is not pleased.

"That piece of shit!" Harry turns to go beat on Zayn some more, but I stop him.

"Harry, please don't. Please."

I start bawlin' fresh tears all of a sudden, and Harry's there in two strides swoopin' me up in his arms, huggin' me so tight my feet don't even touch the ground.

After a minute, Harry sets me back down, walks 'round to the back of Malik's wagon and pulls out my suitcase. "We gotta get back home quick. A storm worse than this one is comin'."