Bartered

Chapter Six

Two Sundays in a row, I fake sick to avoid Eddie Cullen at church, an I ain't seen hide nor hair of him since that day at the train station.

I'm beginnin' to git a handle on why my Pa's so angry all the time, if his heart's as cold an dead as mine.

Every menial task I perform is done in anger: plowin' the pitiful fields, sloppin' the hogs, scrubbin' the laundry on the rub board. My hands are sore an blister-red from all the cleanin' an labor I've done, but I could wash a thousand dishes an his memory still wouldn't drift away.

I'm hurt.

I'm hurt from believin' a man like him would be sweet on a gal like me. I'm 'shamed of myself fer tellin' him thangs I ain't never told nobody 'fore. I'm disgusted with myself fer allowin' a feller who's engaged to touch me so intimately.

When I'm not hurtin', 'shamed, an angry; I'm detached, wanderin' around as lifeless as my sister.

When Pa finally asks what's wrong with me, I tell him the truth.

"I'm in love with Eddie Cullen."

Pa's quiet fer a moment, lettin' them words sink in. I spot Ma standin' nearby, hangin' clothes on the line. She heard what I said, but she's pretendin' not to. Sometimes in families it's best just to pretend some thangs ain't been said, nor did.

Pa only has to say one word, one word that trembles my bones an causes my shoulders to quake. It's a word Alice an I have heard constantly over the years, but we never once git immune to. The simple syllables evoke such great fear in us when we've done somethin' wrong.

"Woodshed."

I reckon fallin' in love is wrong in Pa's book.

I nod my head an walk silently across the yard, my hardened feet pad across equally hardened soil. Ma never looks my way as I pass her right on by. She starts coughin' up a fuss, blood splatterin' 'gainst the white bed sheet she's hangin' from the line.

The woodshed sits directly behind the house, the boards warped an faded over time. The tin roof's done rusted over into a woeful brown. I slip through the door an begin the same routine as I'd done many times 'fore, shamefully raisin' my dress above my hips, exposin' my white slip-ons.

The first blow with Pa's strap's always the worst. It's always shockin', even though the inevitable sting of it is embedded in my brain, an long-healed scars are visible on my flesh. Pa hits hard, too.

Relentlessly hard.

My skin burns with the crack of the strap, the leather takin' my hide with it as it leaves the soft flesh of my bottom. I wince, but make no other sound, forcin' my tears back. Pa never speaks when he whips us, not unless we sob. Pa says he didn't raise a bunch of pussies, even if we did raise a house full of split-tails.

He hits me over an over, his ragged breaths intertwinin' with the sound of leather slappin' 'gainst my skin. He works my bottom real good 'fore he starts in on my thighs.

A familiar ticklin' sensation trails down my legs an I know he's done cut me so deep I's bleedin'. I bite my lip till I taste my own blood, forcin' my thoughts out of that old woodshed filled with the scent of freshly, cut logs an pain.

I think 'bout lots of thangs as he beats me like a mule. I thank 'bout church an the good Lord, how He was crucified in such an evil manner. I thank 'bout the strength He showed while He was beaten an humiliated. I thank 'bout food, how hungry I always am, how hungry I am right now, how good Ma's biscuits taste after she pulls 'em out of the oven.

Then I thank 'bout Eddie.

I thank of his kind, green eyes, his teasin' smile, how he bartered with me over an ole biddy of a hen fer a kiss. I dwell in the memory of the day he follered me back from the doctor's house on that big, purdy mare, the way he touched me as the horse trotted down that old dirt road, an how wonderful he makes me feel when we make love.

I reckon I git so caught up in my thoughts of Eddie that I'm grinnin' like a possum. Through the blindin' pain I smile. That's when Pa gits real mad, kickin' me in my rear-end, an shovin' me to the ground.

Unprepared fer the fall, I cry out, my jaw slammin' into the packed, red earth below. He screams at me fer smilin', then accuses me of bein' sassy. Pa tells me I ain't never leavin' home fer some man, some man who's spoken fer, how he can't afford to lose a good farm hand.

My stomach heaves over an over, but nothin' comes up. They ain't nothin' to come up. My tears mix with the red dust, smearin' across my cheek as I press my face 'gainst the cruel, cruel ground.

Pa whips me harder, kickin' me, an even spittin' on me. I reckon that's all I remember after that, the pain an the words.

My vision leaves me.

I drift into darkness.

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