Chapter

Letters Make for a Broken Heart

What happened to Scotty on that day burned in Joe's mind but in lack of any real medical care, which Joe felt should have been necessary, Scotty recovered on his own accord.

It was this or die. Joe was starting to get that these were the only two options, Furthermore choices his younger companion might have had to make on more than one occasion throughout his life. Get better or die.

Choosing the former, Scotty did indeed recover, though this experience had taken it's toll on his strength.

~.~

I mentioned in the last chapter that two things of profound importance happened during this time. I did not tell of this before because even though it ran near concurrent with these other events it really stood out in it's own right in Joe's mind.

These were the days of the letters.

After a full day of labor, which he hardly felt up for, the day was coming to an end. Supper had been eaten and put away and the dishes washed. Joe was exiting the kitchen, ready to head upstairs to prepare for bed which was likely where Scotty was now. He was surprised to find Tom still at the table. He squashed his beating heart and made to scurry past.

"Sit." The boy gulped regret.

"I have something for you." The pater waited until he was back in his seat which he was weary to do but did so obediently.

He set something on the table before him but kept his hand on top of it possessively. It was a folded paper. An envelope, faced down.

"I received a letter from your pa today." Joe's heart skipped a beat. Was that what that was? Oh how he longed to hear from his pa. It was nearing the end of five weeks and his pa would be here soon to sweep him up and take him away from this awful place. He was writing to assure him just a few more days.

"He's not going to be here for another three weeks." His keeper avowed.

The boy's heart bottomed out. Impossible.

No. It's not true. He's got to be lying. His pa wouldn't do that to him.

Tomlinson picked the envelope up and twiddled it indifferently before finally relieving the boy of his apprehension and handing it over. Joe opened it up, slid the paper out unfolding it and read down the graph.

It was addressed to him.

We finished the drive sooner than anticipated. Well that was good news.

We decided to make a stop into California before heading home.

We're looking at a few weeks more away. Stay safe and be good for Mr. Tomlinson. We'll be there when we can.

He wanted to not believe it. Tom was known for playing cruel games but could he be capable of doing something like this? It would be quite elaborate, even for his taste. He examined the envelope. It was provided by the Virginia City telegraph office. Standard issue. He's seen them a hundred times before. The type print was theirs too. He had no choice but to believe in its authenticity. He sat back at read again, putting great weight on each line. What does this mean? His pa said 'just a few weeks' but then he said 'they'll be here when they can'. Was it three weeks or indefinitely?

The steadfast belief in his father which he had held onto so pertinaciously at that moment was beginning to crumble. For the first time he entertained that his pa might never come back for him. The first brick of fortitude fallen. Through all that had been said and done to him, there was doubt.'

Love. Your pa.'

Joe was deflated in pride and in spirit. He didn't want to be here anymore. Why would his pa just leave him? Maybe he really didn't love him. Maybe he did think that his youngest was out of control.

~.~

That night in bed, Joe stared out the window at the numerous stars, yearning for his pa so zealously that it made his chest ache and his stomach churn. He had to endure three more weeks, if not forever. He didn't think he had it in him to take three more weeks of this man, let alone forever. Where was his pa? Why won't he come back for him?

He turned over to stare at those numbers. Running his fingers along those imprints, feeling them. These dates had so much profound importance just yesterday. Tonight, and for the first time, there was a chance that those numbers didn't mean a thing. Their significance lost.

Was it really important to keep track of these dates anymore? Not if his family had meant for him to stay.

Why don't they love me?

"Come back for me pa. I'll be good. I promise." he bemoaned and silently he let the tears fall.

If only his father could hear his words now. But he was so far away. Too far to hear his suffering.

No. It couldn't be true. Was it? Was he really here because he was spoiled?

Had his family really stopped loving him?

~.~

The boy was weary. His eyes were swollen from a night of crying which he knew Tom took notice of right away. There was a subtle look of satisfaction in him. Joe was numb now. He didn't care anymore. He liked it better this way. How much more could he be hurt if he stopped caring?

That morning went by numbly. Mechanically he ate. Tom had the look as if he had more to say to Joe but he let him eat and still afterwards he let him clean up the meal.

In fact it wasn't until Joe was outside washing out the basin that he decided to approach the boy with whatever was on his mind.

"I have a confession to make Joe." He said, sitting next to him at the edge of the trough. "I have a secret." A small fraction wanted Tom to confess that yesterday's letter was a fake a forgery. But banking too earnestly in that could only lead to more heartache if he was wrong. "I think it unfair for me to keep it. I don't think it's doing you any favors. Do you know the reason why your pa isn't coming?" With a sigh, he let go the hope that his secret was in the letter.

"Joe?" He bid for a response.

The boy, who had become accustomed to keeping his head lowered raised his eyes to meet Tom's. "It's because I sent him a letter to inform him that you weren't quite ready to come home. I told him I would need more time with you.

You see, I've lied to you Joe, at your father's request of course. Your father didn't really want you to know the truth but I think it's time I come clean. I think the more you know the faster you can come to terms with it. You see, your family has been back for a week now. That's right." He said at Joe's dismay. "They got back when they were supposed to. But I told them not to come and get you. I told them, that you had yet to change your ways and that I needed more time with you."

"That's not true." He spoke out of turn, fighting the next brick from falling. This did not earn him a slap. Instead, Tom just asked. "You don't believe me? Why don't you think he hasn't come for you already?"

"He's not home." That's why. He said so in the letter. He's not really back. "He'll come."

"They were very receptive." He continued as if not hearing him. "They know the type of monster you are. They've spent many years knowing the type of monster you are. They knew it would take more time than just five weeks to break you. You're a disappointment to them. Not just a disappointed. He hates you." The way he emphasized hate. As much as he wanted to be numb to this, it cut into him. He couldn't allow himself to think that. Tom was making this up. He knew he was. "Despises you."

"No. It's not true." The boy sneered.

"Isn't it Joe?" He glared, reading his indecision. Scotty was just approaching from the trees. Tomlinson stood, looking over Joe swiping his upper lip and adjusting his waistline. "You've missed a spot."

Tom had done what he could to remind Joe of this throughout the day, which would roll into forcing Joe to repeat those words. "I'm bad. I'm rotten." If Joe hesitated, Tom would threaten the hole.

Whatever work he was being made to do was better than that hole. At least, with time, he had earned back the right to eat full meals.

~.~

The second morning after recieving the letter, when the food had been eaten and the table cleaned, Joe found Tom was still in his chair. How's he going to mess with me this time? He pondered.

"Come sit back down." Joe begrudgingly did as he was told, taking his spot in the chair provided.

"You still think I'm lying, don't you?" He started. "You think that I don't have influence over this." There was a fire in Joe's eyes as he stared back. His last ounce of will, reigniting. "I'm going by your place today. Taking your pa a letter. I have two written here." He put them both before Joe and unfolded them presenting them for the boy to read. They were both addressing his pa. Joe scanned down, first one and then the other. The one on the left praised Joe for his achievements and how far he has come.

Bewildering to think that words like these would ever come out of Tom's mouth about him, but endearment arose, thinking that he had finally done it. It was possible his father would be reading this letter. The promising words effectively causing his heart to swell.

The one on the right, took that all away. These were words of admonishment. Saying he would need more time with him. Crushing realism set in. This was more inline to Tom's true feelings.

"I would love the day I get to send him this one." He taunted, tapping at the one on the left. "But I'm afraid you haven't quite earned it." A wave of confliction came over Joe. Mr. Tomlinson picked up both from the table putting them together. Joe had forgotten himself.

"No!" He lunged across the table swiping for them, barely missing as Tom pulled back just out of the boy's reach.

He rewarded Joe with a backhanded slap which stunned the boy into docility.

"Don't you ever try to grab things out of my hand!" Joe faltered off the chair as Tom, chair scraping across the wooden planks, stood tall. His eyes dark. His lips taught. He came forward and Joe slunk back stopping when his back met the credenza across the room. He drew his arms up as Tom closed in.

"I'm sorr-" Another backhand knocked him to the floor. "Please." He could barely get out before a kick met his ribs. A slap to the back of his head followed. Joe curled in. The kicks and slaps continued to reign. "I'm sorry!" The boy cried out. A few strikes later, Tomlinson stayed his hand. Just as Joe entertained that the attack might be over and would begin to relax another strike came in. A slap to the back of Joe's head, forcing him to curl in tight, and then another. Joe laid curled up not really sure to expect more. He heard Tom's heavy footsteps walk away from him. He ventured to peer up through his shaky folded arm to watch Tom step out the threshold of the open door. Joe remained where he was, curled up on the floor.

Into the shed Tom went to return to his work. It was painful to move and the process of uncoiling himself slow. The shed door opened again and the dirt crunched under the weight of each step as Tom came back into view. He stood in the open doorway with a length of rope at his side.

"Oh no." He moaned. The assailant charged over and Joe fought passionately.

"No. No. Please don't put me back there." Through Joe's struggles Tom had difficulty taking in the boy's hands. He used the rope now to strike Joe, to make him docile. He swung down upon him. He yanked his hair up but took him nowhere. He just pulled his hair to further the assault and further Joe's feeling of powerlessness. Joe threw his hands up to shield his face which allowed Tom to grab ahold of his wrist.

"I'll teach you to keep your hands to yourself." Before he knew what was happening he felt the rope around his wrist where Tom's hand had just gripped him. "Give me your other hand." He heard but too lost in the assault did not comprehend. He felt himself being pulled, yanked outside. Joe's heart fell with dread.

"Oh no." He pulled against the man but Tom heaved him forward. To Joe's befuddlement, they did not go to the cellar. Instead Tom drug Joe across the courtyard and on into the shed.

"Give me your other hand." He commanded when they were inside. Slowly comprehending this time, Joe felt urgency in disobedience. Tom was trying to do something new with him. Hurt him in some new way. Probably in some worse way. Who knew what he was planning but whatever it was he couldn't submit to this man.

"No." He defied, gaining conviction.

The boy wasn't sure how much worse it could get for him, he feared with as bad as it's been for him already, anything more could kill him. Thinking of Scotty just days ago, Tom could end up killing him and not even know it. He had to fight back. He had to keep that from happening.

"Give me your other hand!" He demanded holding out his own to receive Joe's.

"No." Joe held it away. Paul reached for it but Joe flailed it out of his reach.

"Give it!" Joe twisted away when he went for it again. He grabbed Joe's chin and squeezed, putting his face in close. "You really think you're getting away with something, don't you." As he said this Joe instinctively grabbed the man's wrist. The man made a grab for his hand again but missed as Joe yanked it away. He made a couple more unsuccessful quick grabs but missed each time. "Fine. You want to do it like this. It's alright by me." He threw the other end over the rafters. Joe watched in sickening realization, when the end came back down. Joe feverishly grabbed the rope on his own wrist attempting to loosen it and slip his hand out. Tomlinson grabbed for the swinging rope and yanked pulling Joe upwards. Joe running on adrenaline now, yanked right back and worked on loosening the bind. Tomlinson yanked again. They played tug of war like this, but the game didn't last long. Tomlinson wrenched hard dragging the boy to the center making him lose his leverage. Before he could kick back again, one more pull got him off his heels. He was on his toes now, fighting to touch the dirt floor. Joe was panicked. He hung by one arm. His other arm cradling his outstretched burning ribcage. "You think you've won, huh? Tell me now, how does that suit you?"

It hurt. It hurt bad.