Unto These Hills (7 page)

She swallowed hard, then nodded.

“What? Tell me.”

Sheila’s gaze dropped to stare at her fingers, now doing their dance in her lap. She snuffled. “Uncle Charlie…” she began, then stopped, the fingers moving faster, faster.

“Uncle Charlie
what?”
I asked, dread slithering like a copperhead through me. Nana usually took Sheila with her to Uncle Charlie’s while she cleaned and cooked for him.

“He,” her gaze lifted and linked with mine. She whispered, “He
touches me
.”

My gut knotted.
Oh God.
“Where does Uncle Charlie touch you?” I asked quietly, dreading her reply as I would an atomic blast.

Her gaze slid downward again. “You know,” she whispered, “down
there.
Between my legs. He pulled me in his bed while Nanny was hanging out laundry.”

“Oh, Sheila,” I groaned. Oh God, ohGodohGod. Mama and Daddy, where are you?

“Was that the only time?”
Please God
. I gathered her in my arms.

“No. He’s done it lots of times and he told me I better not tell anybody or he’d throw me in the river,” she spoke against my chest, clutching me to her, and, in her embrace, I heard her cry for help. “I
hate it
, Sunny. Please make ‘im stop.” She burst into turbulent tears. I realized my cheeks, too, were wet.

“Well, he won’t do it again,” I said and snuffled.

With God’s help, I meant to keep that promise.

~~~~~

“She’s lying!” Uncle Charlie insisted.

I’d shared Sheila’s accusations with an extremely skeptical Nana, who’d immediately marched us into the cold December temperatures and over to her brother’s house to confront him. She’d awakened him and now, mid-afternoon, he sat on the side of his bed in rumpled pajamas, bleary-eyed and indignant.

“Why’d you wanna go and tell somethin’ like that, Sheila? Huh?” He scratched his near bald head, his lined face a marquee of sorrow and disappointment. “Hadn’t I always been good to you? And saying I threatened to throw you in the river, of all things?”

He rolled his head back, closed his eyes, and expelled a huff of woeful air.

Sheila, at my elbow, shrank even farther behind me, trembling. Nana scowled at her now. “She’s been lying ‘bout lots of things,” Nana punctuated his denial with substantiation.

My head swam with uncertainty. Uncle Charlie was so convincing…. Sheila
had
been dreaming up lots of things in that little head of hers. She’d heard Aunt Tina’s threats to throw me in the river that night — could that have given her the idea? Her fabrications had been rampant and indiscriminate. She’d hurt each of us, her siblings, with her unquenchable obsession for attention. Now, Uncle Charlie stood before her pointing finger. Was he, too, a victim?

“I’d hide, too, if I was you. You li’l liar. I’d better never hear another word of this
trash.
Y’hear?” Nana glowered at Sheila’s outline protruding from behind me. “Get her outta here, Sunny, ‘fore I cut loose on ‘er.”

My heart turned icy as I grabbed my little sister and ushered her out the door and across the frozen back yard. Whether liar or victim — I had no way of knowing for certain — Sheila was my sibling.

What if she
was
telling the truth? I was perhaps the only one willing to give her the benefit of a doubt. ‘Course, I knew I could count on Daniel.

I also knew it was left up to me to protect her.

~~~~~

“Hey.” Daniel’s strong hands gently steadied me. Concern painted his features. “What’s goin’ on?”

I burrowed my face into his chest, breathing comfort and calm from him. Sheila and I had collided with him in the alley as we rushed home

I quietly relayed the story to him, there with my cheek pressed to his down-filled bomber jacket, inhaling his male scent mingled with soap and wintry air, feeling his muscles tauten as rage built in him. When I’d finished, I lifted my head to gauge his reaction. His eyes blazed like simmering coals, so dilated were his pupils, and, in a voice whispery furious, he asked, “Would you like for me to go beat the hell out of ‘im? Cause that’s what he’s full of. “

“
Nonono
— see, Nana doesn’t
believe
Sheila. It would only make things worse.”

“But —”

“
Heavens, no!
Look, Daniel — look, I have to live with Nana.”

He deliberately reined in his temper and took a deep, steadying breath, looking at the sky as if he wanted to pummel it. Of all people, Daniel understood my helplessness at not being able to fight back.

“Hey, sugar, “ his finger captured Sheila’s wobbly chin, “let me know if he ever lays his filthy hands on you again. Y’hear?”

Sheila nodded, her features pathetically grateful. Daniel gazed into my eyes. “See you later, doll.” He gave me that slow grin of his and planted a quick, solid kiss on my lips, leaving behind his signature of strength and goodness and unconditional love as he loped off toward home.

Home.
Entering my own front door, I wanted to pull in her warm walls to embrace me, to shield me and my siblings from all the harshness out there in the world. A world that propelled my little sister to fabricate and embellish, that blasted Francine from one adrenaline rush to another, that altered Timmy’s demeanor to that of an old man who carried on his small shoulders the weight of generations.

A world in which men’s lusting eyes raked my flesh, that turned me into my mother, that made me squirm with shame and an overwhelming urge to run away and hide forever.

The warped little Christmas tree Francine, Timmy, Sheila, Daniel and I had found in the woods, chopped down, and decorated with Mama’s box of ornaments, drew my gaze and I found myself calming before its simple rustic beauty and symbolism. I inhaled its pungent pine fragrance. Yuletide visions from years gone by, ones mingled with both joy and pain, assailed me. I opened my eyes.
I’ve got to start celebrating the good rather than grieving the lost.

I would see Daddy briefly when he came bearing us gifts. I would cling to that.

I hugged Sheila to me, willing comfort to spill from these walls. Fortification.
Please God, help us.
I felt a warm touch. Just that. And the room suddenly felt...

Like home again. I sagged with relief.

Daddy would come soon. For now, that was enough.

Chapter Four

While Tack Turner’s worship of Francine was earthy and sensual, Daniel’s esteem for me held almost a holy hush. His restraint, so binding of his emotions, carried over into our courtship enticements.

Nana liked Daniel. She trusted him and that made me happy. He earned her trust, actually, because Nana had this sixth-sense about innocence and integrity. Like Gladys, she seemed to
know
.

“It’s up t’the girl to say no,” Nana steadfastly contended. Not that she ever provided me a birds-and-bees education.
Shoot no
. Her only concession to such talk was disdain for any female “hot tail” who “rolled over on her back.”

Such was my view of sex. So, I was extra careful to shut down those appalling urges. And if Nana’s opinion of females was less than charitable, her contempt for the male of the species was merciless.

“A man don’t think with the head on his shoulders but the one in his pants,” she disparaged when on the subject of Grandpa Dexter.

And each time, I’d think it’s true: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

~~~~~

Walter occasionally loaned Daniel his car for short evening outings. Our secluded dates laid plowed-ground for temptation. We’d drive to the Super Grill on Highway 290, and park in the copse of trees behind the concession bar, a cement-block structure shaped like a giant milk shake.

For a long, long time, Daniel and I both practiced restraint when alone.

Then, in my seventeenth year, something happened that shook my faith in myself.

One night, parked in our favorite dark spot behind the Super Grill, Daniel kissed me more passionately than usual. My skin tingled as he moved his hand up my back , then around to cup my chin as his lips softly plundered mine. When the kiss deepened and our tongues tangled, my senses went crazy. Desire exploded in me like a raging bonfire

As usual, Daniel kept tight rein on his urges. I was shocked as mine loped ahead, embarrassing,
condemning
me as I squirmed beneath him, arching myself at him like a she dog in heat, my breath coming in short spurts, punctuated by keening animal noises as my hands clutched at his hips, pulling him in to me with the force of a bulldozer. That burning inside me took over.

I was no longer me.

“Sunny,” he rasped, slowly disentangling, wriggling loose, gazing into my face with tortured eyes, his breathing as labored as mine. “
Sunny.”
And I realized I still moaned and strained toward him.

“We
can’t,
honey.” His hands, gentle yet firm, stayed me. How he garnered the strength to stop, I’ll never know because even now, years later, I’m convinced he wanted me as desperately as I wanted him.

I scrambled upright, scooted to my corner, and covered my face to hide my frustration and shame. Nana hadn’t told me a girl could get carried away. I
frightened
myself in that moment.
How could I act so disgracefully?

Is this how Mama feels? Ohgodohgod.

His arms came around me and his lips kissed my temples, my cheeks, then the palm of my hand that he turned ever so gently to his own cheek. “I love you so, Sunny.” His words were a hoarse whisper.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Daniel.” I shrugged elaborately, still buzzing from shock and self-contempt and passion. “Maybe I
am
like Mama. Maybe —”

“
No
.” Daniel’s voice turned harsh as his fingers covered my lips. “You are
not
like your mama. Or mine. You’re my sweet Sunny — good through and through.” He took my face tenderly between his big, gentle hands and turned it up to his. “Sunny, it means so much to me — you,
us
being the first with each other and all — getting a fresh clean start in marriage.” His lips touched mine, as soft as baby’s breath. Then his eyes darkened. “It’s too important for us to let a moment’s craziness drag us down to the level of our no-account mothers.
”

The fierce note in his voice caused my breath to hitch. “You don’t think I’m —”

He pulled me to him, almost roughly, turning my face into the hollow of his neck. “I think you’re the sweetest,
purest
girl in the world. That’s why I love you so.”

I closed my eyes, inhaled his wonderful Aqua Velva fragrance, relaxed and felt my world turn right side up again.

Nearly thirty years would pass before I figured out that my estrogen had, that night, simply caught up with me.

~~~~~

The next day, I lit out across the village on foot to deliver a dress I’d sewn for Thelma Bond. She was Ruthie’s mama and grandma to little Sally, the village’s illegitimate child. As I set out the sky suddenly grew overcast.

Uh oh.
Huge April showers in the making
. I’d crossed the river bridge when a clap of thunder parted the skies and rain began pelting me. I figured I was as near Thelma’s as I was to home so I commenced running, holding my small handbag over my head in a ridiculously vain attempt to ward off some of the deluge. I clutched the plastic garment bag under my arm, hoping Thelma’s new dress wouldn’t get soaked.

The blast of a horn halted and swiveled me about to squint curiously as the village ice truck rumbled up alongside me, tires screeching to a halt. “
Daniel!”
I quickly opened the door and scrambled up into the passenger seat, dripping wet, rolled up jeans and blouse plastered to me.

“Gosh! I’m glad —” My words died. “Mr. Melton — I thought you were Daniel.”

“Daniel’s working in the ice house part of the afternoon. Where you headed in this downpour?” He pulled away from the curb and up the road running parallel to the river.

“Uh, Thelma Bond’s house. I appreciate the ride, Mr. Melton.”

“You’re welcome, Sunny. I hope you don’t mind me making a couple of ice drop-offs along the way.”

“Not at all.” I relaxed, glad Mr. Melton had come along. I didn’t know him all that well, except to occasionally see him at Emaline’s house. But I liked him and found him easy to talk to. It was raining so hard I couldn’t see out the windshield during the stop at the Cantrell’s house. I tugged at my soaked blouse, hoping it didn’t show too much. Though not nearly as lush as Francine’s, they weren’t flat anymore.

I thought of how lucky Emaline was to have a nice grandpa. At that moment, I’d have given almost anything for a caring grandfather.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he hopped back in the driver’s seat, rain sliding off his yellow slicker. He was white-haired, like Nana, but I could tell he’d once been a nice-looking man, with his lanky build and pleasant smile. His hands, I noticed, showed his years with their heavy veins and age spots. I thought how old age is unfair.

“One more stop before Ruth’s house.”

I stared at him a moment, wondering at his alluding to it being
Ruth’s
house. Then I shrugged and asked about his wife. He and his wife attended Tucapau Baptist Church quite regularly, according to Emaline. I didn’t notice that we’d turned off the road into the secluded wooded stretch of river shore until we suddenly rocked to a stop.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” I asked, peering through the rain, freezing at the sight of the rushing river, now muddied from the fresh downpour. My breath hitched painfully and I felt as though I were sinking in its murky depths. Something felt terribly wrong.

“Mr. Melton —”

In the next heartbeat, his hands were all over me, groping, probing, squeezing. I froze for several heartbeats, in shock.
Emaline’s grandpa! Ohgodohgodohgod!

I heard an endless, blood-curdling scream. “
Sto-o-op!”
From nightmare murkiness, I recognized it as my voice. I cut loose clawing and scratching and shoving him away with all my might. I was bawling, crying my heart out and plastering myself to the corner farthest from him. “
Please, stop!”
I sobbed, holding my hands out as a shield, “How
could
you? Emaline a-adores you! She thinks you’re the b-best grandpa in the whole world!”
How wrong she is. Poor Emaline.

At Emaline’s name, the old man froze for a long moment, then slumped back against the door. “You’re just so —
enticing
, Sunny. Your laugh and your smile make a man feel—.” He frowned, then blinked as if dispelling a mist. “ I suppose a girl
can
make up her mind to be nice, against all odds —” he said hoarsely,
incredulously,
swiping his weathered hand across dazed eyes.

I snuffled and glared at him. “Why did you think I wasn’t?” I’d never given him any reason to think otherwise.

Or had I?
Apprehension paralyzed me for that long moment before he spoke.

“What with you bein’ friends with Ruth Bond and all. And your sister. And your Mama ….” He shook his head and looked unseeing out into the rain, grasping the steering wheel so hard his body trembled.

Anger turned everything red in that moment. It shot out my fingers, my toes, and flared out my mouth and nose.”
I’m…not…my…maa-maaaaa
!” I shrieked until my breath ran out, then burst into fresh sobs. “
I-I’m not!”
My fists clenched as my head moved from side to side. “
I’m not
,” I finished in a hoarse whisper, snuffling like a year-old.

He reached out to pat me but withdrew his hand when I shrank away. “ Don’t, Sunny,” he said quietly, cranked the truck and drove to the Bond dwelling. There, I wrenched open the door and jumped out.

“Sunny?”

I turned to look at him, on the verge of retching to hear my name spill from his disgusting mouth. “You ain’t gonna tell Emaline, are you?” His voice quavered with desperation and I saw his hands tremble. I didn’t feel sympathy for him. Only repulsion.

I felt faint and fluttery, icy with outrage and principle.

“No.” My reply was flat. “You see — I couldn’t stand to see her hurt.”

I slammed the door and didn’t look back as the truck swiftly rumbled away.

~~~~~

Miraculously, the new dress wasn’t wet. My hands still trembled as I placed it on the kitchen table while Ruthie Bond poured us coffee. I’d whiffed the inimitable aroma of rich coffee upon entering the sparkling clean Bond house.

The linoleum rug gleamed and smelled of Johnson’s Wax. In the living room, little Sally sat on the floor, playing with empty thread spools I’d just given her. Using Sheila’s half-used-up water paint set Daddy had given her for Christmas, I’d shaded them different colors.

Ruth reminded me of Eva Marie Saint, the leading lady in the new movie, “On the Waterfront
.”
Sandy-colored, shoulder-length hair curled under in a neat pageboy. Her face, nearly devoid of makeup, transformed when she smiled shyly from one demure and unassuming to one warm and approachable. She was slight in stature, and her walk was graceful and purposeful.

If Ruth had noticed my shaken, tearful appearance when I arrived, she hadn’t let on. Of course, with it raining buckets and me drenched I don’t suppose tear-streaks were that evident. Her mama was off visiting relatives across the village this afternoon.

Ruth set steaming cups on the glass-topped coffee table and motioned me to sit on the sofa facing her. Her obvious loneliness pulled at my heart. Despite her notoriety, she was known as being tight-lipped about herself. So when she began to talk up a blue streak I was touched.

“Sally’s already talkin’ like a five-year-old,” she stated with obvious pride. The three-year-old, playing near my feet, looked up at me and I saw the crystal blue of Harly Kale’s eyes, yet these were innocent and sweet. I smiled at her and was rewarded by a full, dimpled grin and a red spool she held up to share with me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking it from her chubby fingers, my eyes inexplicably moist.

“You welcome,” she said clearly. Startled, I began to laugh.

“She really is bright,” I said. “You’re blessed.” The expectancy of someday having Daniel’s child lay nestled inside me.

Ruth looked thoughtful before answering. “At one time, I didn’t think so.”

How thoughtless of me to bring it up. “You don’t have to talk about —”

“No,” Ruth shook her head, “I want to. I’ve kept it in too long as it is. And I know you won’t talk. Most folks round here do. You see,” she dropped her voice to a whisper so Sally wouldn’t hear, “Harly raped me.”

I gasped. “Ruth —”

She nodded solemnly. “It was when I went visiting my Uncle Clarence. Him and Harly are drinking buddies, y’know? Well, Uncle Clarence had gone somewhere and left Harly there to sleep off a drunk. I happened in and —”

“My Lord, Ruth. Why didn’t you tell somebody?”

“I thought at first if I didn’t say anything, nobody would ever know. And by the time I realized — you know, I was already —” she was trying not to distract Sally from her play. “Harly was all apologies and all. Uncle Clarence knew. He’d come in just as I was crawling from the bed and tore through the house looking for his shotgun. Harly begged Uncle Clarence not to shoot ‘im. Bein’ his buddy and all, Uncle Clarence didn’t have the heart to follow through.” She sighed and fidgeted with a piece of stray thread. “Harly
was
drunk and didn’t really know what —”

“Hogwash! He
did
so know what he was doing. Folks should have been told that he — well, that he violated you. At least that way you wouldn’t —”

“That way,” Ruth lowered her voice again, “my daughter would know she was a product of darkness…well, you know. I just couldn’t do that to ‘er, Sunny.”

“Still…you shouldn’t have to carry such a stigma of something over which you had no control.”

“Well,” Ruth shook her head sadly, resigned, “the harm was done. I thought the world had ended.” She lowered her voice again, “To make matters worse, Uncle Charlie runs his mouth when he’s drinking. Let it out that Harly was the one who —” She shrugged. “You and ever’body on the hill knows what I did…the river and all.” She dropped her head, shamed.

‘What did you do, Mama?” piped Sally, whose astute, curious blue eyes remained trained on her hands stacking the spools.