She found Jackson's tools, some original to the car, in the shed behind the house in a rusty toolbox. It didn't look as if they received much use. Mechanically-minded it appeared he was not.
Eager but with a little trepidation too, she went up to the vehicle that was to be her salvation. She looked under the hood.
The battery was shot, the plugs were dirty, and it went without saying that it needed oil and no doubt gas.
One of the tires needed patching, she could see. She got inside the car and took out the floor mat and floorboards. The transmission bands would need adjusting too. She squealed as she came upon a nest of baby mice and jumped back out of the car.
She forced herself to take deep breath and found a long stick, a really long stick. She hoped their momma wasn't hiding in a tailpipe or something, waiting to surprise her. She knocked the mice out. They were old enough that they then went scurrying for cover.
It would take as much work as she expected, but she could do it. She wiped her hands on her pants, which was probably silly considering she was about to get her hands dirty.
The easy problem to tackle was the spark plugs, so she removed them with the spark plug wrench. She took a cleaning rag to them first and then she soaked them in some of Jackson's spirits that she poured out into a shallow bowl. With any luck, he'd never notice the liquor missing, but if he did, she could claim she'd drunk it.
That all took about an hour by the time she got the spark plugs dried and back in. She'd have to do a little bit at a time or Jackson would wonder why the work around the house wasn't getting done.
sss
"What is this?" Jackson demanded, holding up a pair of pants.
"It looks like britches to me," she said, full of sarcasm and knowing full well what he'd really meant. She'd plumb forgot to sew up the seat of his nice pants.
He threw the offending article at her. "What do you do all day? You haven't even started on them."
She'd caught the pants in her lap and threw them to the floor beside the chair. "I'll work on it when I get around to it. And for your information, I cook, I clean, I do laundry. You are wearing me out."
He was right in front of her and he took her by the wrist firmly and brought it down to the pants. "I need you to work on them tonight," he said through gritted teeth.
"You're hurting me."
He let go of her. "I have an important meeting with a man in the fur business tomorrow, looking for hand-crafted furs. He might mean the difference between us going a little hungry at dinnertime or being able to eat to our heart's content."
She rubbed her wrist, restoring blood flow. She could have cared less because she was going to be gone soon. "Ain't you some kind of mountain man? Don't you know how to survive on bark or something?"
"Sew them up," was his only reply.
She did it begrudgingly but satisfied in the knowledge that it would be the last thing she ever had to sew up for him.
sss
With time lost on Jackson's pants, not to mention the endless chores, she only had time enough for adjusting the transmission bands the next day.
The third day, she took care of the battery. With any luck, it just needed recharging. She hooked it up to the generator in Jackson's truck.
On the fourth day, she siphoned some of Jackson's oil and gas, using her mouth and the garden hose, just enough to do her until she was able to get to the gas station but not enough to be missed. Turning the key, he'd conveniently left in the ignition caused the car to roar to life like a mythical beast woken from its slumber.
Patching the tire, turned out to be a piece of cake thanks to the repair kit that was a part of the car. She had it patched and pumped before lunch on the fifth day.
She checked and double-checked that everything was perfect with the car inside, getting it as clean as a whistle on the inside for optimal performance. This plan had to be flawless. One mistake and she might never get this opportunity again.
She crawled out from under the car and a brown rabbit stared as if trying to decipher why she was messing around with the hunk of junk that had set unused for so long that it must have seemed a part of the landscape. Then it quietly hopped back into the woods.
The place had its charms. Or the animals did anyway. All except for the mangy bear she called husband and his vile dogs.
She turned the key in the ignition once more. The car was running like a dream, purring like a kitten. If she'd been a religious woman, she would've sent up a prayer of gratitude.
All that was left to do now was finding and creating the perfect moment for escaping, which she was planning already as she walked back towards the house.
She vigorously pumped the handle to the pump that set outside the house but only a few drops eased out. "Oh, come on!"
She pumped with renewed vigor and at last a stream of water came out, allowing her to wash the oil off her hands and face without a drop to spare.
Trying to get the oil stains out of her oldest dress wasn't worth the energy. She changed into a new dress right there in front of the house, knowing there was no one to see her. She folded the oil-stained garment and then walked out a ways into the woods, where she put it down in one of the bushes, hiding the evidence.
She practically skipped back to the house. She could feel the shackles around her feet loosening already. Could smell and taste the freedom in the crisp October air. She knew the first thing she would do with her newfound freedom too. She would dance, dance like a madwoman, like a fairy dancing across air.