Escape

Part 4

I woke up in the middle of the night, wrapped in blankets and in my own bed. I couldn't see the moon out my window, just the dark shapes of the trees around the farmhouse. My hair was damp, but not overly so. I had a vague recollection of being half carried from the lake by unseen hands, and more shouting, and then...

I sat bolt upright in bed and looked around, then groped on my bedside table for the lamp, only to have my fears confirmed.

The bookcase by the door was empty. All of my books, both the ones that belonged to me and the ones from the library, were gone. On my desk, all of my notebooks and papers for my studies were gone. I had no doubt that if he hadn't already, Dad would be sorting through them in the morning, and then meting out punishment accordingly.

It was a stupid thing to cry over, the loss of a few used paperbacks, but somehow that seemed to be the greatest insult of the evening. I clenched my fists in my quilt, drawing my knees to my chest as I sobbed, as quietly as possible, into the covers.

A soft click came from the door. I tensed, but it was only Momma. She looked over her shoulder, as though expecting Dad to follow her, but the house was silent save for the distant sound of his snores from down the hall.

Momma slipped into my room and sat down on the edge of the bed. I tensed, still angry that she hadn't helped me. I had a splitting headache and a sore throat, and my left ear still felt like there was water in it. I could have died, and she had done nothing.

"How are you, baby?" she asked, reaching for my hand.

I didn't respond.

She turned her head a little in the lamplight, and I saw the deep bruise on the side of her face. Guilt made me relax a little, but anger wasn't far behind.

"Why didn't you stop him? You could have run to the Johnstons to use their phone. He never would have seen you go out the back door."

But Momma only shook her head. "I have to do what he says. Trying to go against him only makes him angrier, and that only makes things worse."

I stared down at my quilt, picking at lint with the broken nails of my left hand. I'd torn the one on my index finger down low while trying to get out of the water, and there was a little semi-circle of blood around my fingertip.

"You know, your daddy and I met at Resurrection when I was just about your age," Momma said, looking almost wistful. "He was so handsome. There was a football game and a potluck one weekend, and he scored three touchdowns for his team. Pastor Pete was the preacher back then, and he said you daddy must have been flying on angels wings to make those touchdowns.

"After the game, he came over to me and introduced himself, and said I was the prettiest girl at the potluck, and ate dinner with me and my parents right there on the church lawn."

"You told me all of this before," I grumbled. Before, it had always seemed romantic, the way my parents fell in love at first sight. But tonight, it just seemed pathetic, somehow.

"Your daddy knew everyone in town. Still does. He was in church every Sunday, and always there to help out when anyone needed a hand. He left school when he was fourteen, after his daddy died, so he could work at the mill. He worked so hard, until he saved up a enough money to buy this place. We got married the day after I graduated high school, and moved in here a week later. It was so quiet and peaceful, a little slice of heaven." She sighed. "It took me a while to realize that for your daddy, it's something else entirely."

I looked up at her in askance. She stroked my hair, a sad little smile on my face.

"First time he laid a hand on me, I didn't say anything. I thought it was just a one-off, and he was sorry and wouldn't do it again. And the second time, and the third. And when I finally got up the nerve to call the Sheriff, Bill Stone told me I shouldn't go causing trouble. And Pastor Pete said I needed to obey my husband in all things. And then finally I stopped saying anything at all." Her eyes had gone misty, and she was staring at a point on my nightstand instead of at me.

The cold feeling came back to my limbs, and I wrapped my blankets a little tighter. "Momma, we should go. We should just get out of here--"

"No," she said firmly, giving her head a swift shake. She blinked and the tears were gone. "My place is right here, beside your father. I know he only wants what's best for you."

I stared at her in shock. How could she say the best thing was for me to drown? But before I could object to her flawed logic, she continued: "I just don't think he knows the right way to go about it. He says that those things you should be learning, the science and all that, he says it's witchcraft. It's above and beyond what they taught us when I was in school, but witchcraft? I think God has blessed you, Willow, blessed you so you can understand His mysteries and how His creations work. And that is a beautiful thing, not to be feared at all. And I think your daddy is holding up God's plan for you, because you can do so much more with your life than cook and clean and be a good wife for a man that don't treat you proper."

I didn't know what to say. Momma gave me the sternest look I'd ever seen from her. "I've known for a while now that your place ain't here. You gotta go, if you're gonna be safe. Ain't no one in town gonna help you, so you're gonna have to trust in God and make your own way, you hear me?"

I nodded slowly, though I wasn't sure I understood.

"You sure you're alright?" she asked. I nodded again. Momma patted my hand as she stood up. Something was different, but I wasn't sure what. She gave me a grim smile. Almost as an afterthought, she bent down for a quick hug and then slipped back out my door into the dark house. Down the hall, Dad was still snoring.

I sat awake until the sun came up, pondering my mother's message.

t-in@