Trapped

Thomas

Thomas Lynde was a proud man. Proud of his farm, proud of his status in the community. He examined himself in the mirror one warm morning still wet from the shower, a fresh white towel around his waist. The sharp delineation of his tan made him smile; the pure white of his shoulders contrasted with his mahogany brown arms. As he did every morning, he tensed his biceps admiringly, even in middle age he believed he cut a fine figure of a man. He dunked his shaving brush in the soapy slurry and lathered up. The razor felt nice and sharp across his dark whiskers, drawing the razor across his cheek he enjoyed the sensation of the slick blade across his skin. Stroke, rinse, stroke, rinse. Sometimes he had Rach shave him though she shook so hard he feared for his life sometimes, stupid fat cow. He had to take it a bit more slowly around his upper lip, but otherwise he shaved in quick brisk strokes, rinsing his face off with a splash of cold water and wiping it all over with a clean cloth afterwards. At least the cloth was supposed to be clean, he sniffed it each morning to be sure. It was one of Rach's jobs each day to ensure it met his standards. It wasn't too much to ask surely, a man liked to have things just so. Sniff, sniff sniff, yes he supposed it was alright. Just as well…

It was exhausting keeping Rach in line. Still as head of the household it was just one of his many responsibilities. He examined his knuckles, flexing the stiffness out. Just the other day he had had to chastise Rach when he'd found finger prints smeared on the living room glass. He had held her by her hair scrunched close to her head and forced her to her knees commanding her to pray for forgiveness not from him of course, but from the Lord. Didn't the Bible say Cleanliness was next to Godliness? Rach was as far from God as it was possible to be, it was his job to see that she repented. She was not quite as fallen as that harridan Marilla Cuthbert. He'd seen her in town recently, swaggering around, an unmarried woman had no right to be so conceited. Funny it was Rachel who was barren in the Bible no mention of any Marilla. He'd like to show Marilla who was boss. But he guessed her brother, timid Matthew might have something to say about that.

Rach wasn't his first choice of wife, truth to tell she wasn't his second or even third. What was it attracted women to men in uniform anyway? Surely farming was a noble profession too, someone had to feed the population. Rach caught his eye one day in a diner, her arm stretched out as she poured his coffee, with her tits hanging so far over the table he could see right down her cleavage. She wasn't pretty exactly with her thick set body, but she looked like she had good child-bearing hips. She'd been keen enough when he took her in the alleyway behind the diner. But shit if she didn't get pregnant. He could have walked away, probably should have walked away. But she trapped him, the bitch. He wasn't even that religious back then, but well he wanted a wife and Rachel Lynde was as good as anyone he guessed and after all she was carrying his baby. They got married shortly after, while she could still fit in a dress. Her parents sitting in the registry office looking on, his mother in law wearing her sad excuse for a best hat. He wanted Harmon Andrews for a best man, but Harmon was off to war fighting for king and country, gaining all the honour; while Thomas languished at home, sowing crops, forgotten.

He gave himself a quick look in the mirror and satisfied went back to the bedroom to get dressed. His clothes were neatly laid out on the bed, his wife-beater, shirt and trousers all looked fine, but his socks. Shit they were still rolled up unironed. Dressing quickly, he strode out into the kitchen to confront Rach with them. "What do you call this?" he said aggressively.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Thomas. I ran out of time. I thought you'd be cross if I didn't get your breakfast on," she staggered as he backhanded her. He watched her fall impassively then added, "don't let it happen again." Sitting down he lit a cigarette and waited while she got herself off the floor and turned to ladle some oatmeal into his bowl. "Wash your hands, Rach," he commanded. "You've been crawling around on that filthy floor you don't want to make me sick do ya?"

"No, of course not," she said.

"Of course not," he put on a falsetto voice to mimic her. Shit, she disgusted him.

Rachel

How excited Rachel had been to attract the notice of such a handsome man as Thomas Lynde. She'd seen him from afar, noticing his strong jawline and his bright blue eyes which flashed so handsomely in her direction on occasion, though not at her she expected. Short, overweight and homely, Rachel never imagined she'd find such a striking suitor. They'd chatted that day in the diner as she served him his coffee. She'd watched his Adam's apple bounce as he swallowed it down in a few long gulps, thinking how handsome he was. It was true she flirted with him, answering his comments somewhat cheekily. He'd grabbed her forearm and dragged her out to the laneway behind the diner. She'd giggled with her friends about losing her virginity and to be honest she'd hoped it would be in more salubrious circumstances, but there was something terribly exciting about it nevertheless; to feel the rush of passion overtake them and to have him thrusting at her so urgently as the rough wall dug into her back.

If only it hadn't turned out that she was quite so fertile; when her monthly never arrived she worried. It became apparent a few months later that their quickie down the back of the alley had been more than a bit of fun. She told him as soon as she knew and cried when he swore. She knew that he resented her for it, for falling pregnant as if it were all her fault. Her parents were furious telling her they would disown her if she did not marry the boy. The next thing she knew Rachel was standing in the registry office, their parents' faces firm and unyielding, her best friend Marilla by her side offering support; facing her husband to be. His bright eyes no longer looked as friendly, but the baby kicked at that moment and she knew she had no choice. Perhaps married life would not be so bad?

Unfortunately, her hopes that day were not born out by reality. Their wedding night was a far cry from the way she imagined it when she and Marilla giggled together as school girls. "He'll put his thing in you, and you'll cry with the wonder," Marilla said, wishing for it to happen to her one day. As it turned out neither of them got their wish. Marilla quarrelled with her boyfriend and much to everyone's shock he left her. Rachel gingerly held her while she wept; she was in a different sort of pain that day. Marilla was so upset she didn't notice how Rachel held herself, how she winced when Marilla clutched her in her mental anguish. Something broke a little inside Rachel, she always thought she could rely on Marilla and when she did not appreciate how it was for her that day, Rachel realised that in the end she was on her own. If she were to survive, she had to do it herself.

It was not easy. Thomas was a hard task master with exacting standards and if she did not meet them, she would soon know the pain of his fists. The first time he hit her, Rachel was more stunned than anything at first. That is until the pain reached her brain and she staggered away, clutching her side. At first, he made sure to only hit her where it could not be seen by prying eyes, but he became lazy and arrogant and soon took to hitting her wherever his fists landed, without care. As painful as his fists were, his words were almost as damaging. Broken ribs could heal, bruises faded but it was hard to ignore his constant belittling. He called her fat, stupid, lazy. He never called her by her full name, preferring the more childlike Rach which she hated. The one time she'd asked him not to he'd ground her face into the dirt, stamping on her fingers so that she found it hard to do the housework for a fortnight afterwards.

Perhaps the worst thing was that he refused to use contraception. Initially because he said he didn't like the feeling, but later when he found God; because it upset the covenant between him and the Lord. Rachel had been quite religious before he had found his mission as he liked to call it. But when all it seemed to mean was that he found a higher calling to bully her, she could no longer see the point. If this God granted him permission to hit her, what sort of God was he?

And oh Lord how fertile a couple they were. As soon as she'd give birth he'd clamber over her in the night sometimes before she even had a chance to leave hospital. Afterwards she'd creep out to the bathroom as silently as possible and wash herself down. She used to pray he would have an affair, if only to give her a break. But that was against the Bible, he would never do that. He'd blame her too when she fell pregnant as if it were all her fault. In the end, she thought it was her fault; he had her so bamboozled.

Ironically enough it was Marilla who introduced them to Church in a vain hope that he would repent his ways. Instead the Bible offered Thomas justification when it turned out he was rather more a first than second testament man. They went to the church in town, but the Minister's sermons were too tame so he took to sermonising at home. The whole family trapped kneeling down in the sitting room as he railed at them for their thoughtlessness; the way the devil entered their collective souls and how attentive they all had to be. If they were not, he would do it for them as the keeper of his flock. Rachel listened to him with bent head, he did not like them looking up at him in full flight, but when she did grab a glimpse his face would be red, as spittle flew from his mouth in his fervour. Sex took on a new urgency as if by that act he could drive the devil away from her womb.

She kept having babies, one after the other trapping her. Marilla would whisper to her to leave, but she knew he'd insist on keeping the children. She may not have loved the way they were created though she began to believe that it was a man's right, but she did love them. One saving grace was that he would never hit them. They were the fruit of his loins and to be protected, even if as their mother she was not. He was never loving towards them, but at least he was not violent either.

Sometimes he would lull her into a false sense of security. Months would go by and he wouldn't react violently to any mistakes she made. She'd drop something and freeze expecting him to hit her, he'd laugh and joke that she looked so scared, "you look like a deer in the headlights, Rach", he'd say. "I love you so much. Hell, you don't deserve me." Then just as she started to relax around him, he'd be at her again. One time after almost a year of peace he hit her so hard she cracked a rib. The children grew up with his abuse and thought it was normal that fathers belittled or hit mothers, regardless they escaped the unhappy household as soon as they got the chance.

Walking out to the kitchen Thomas scowled as he waited while Rach served his bacon and eggs, he lifted his limp bacon with his fork, and muttered, "how many times?" How he hated the way Rach's body had turned to fat, she jiggled next to him now. The children sat at the table waiting for him to say grace, then silently they commenced to eat. The only sound the clinking of knives and forks against plates. Thomas despised talking at the breakfast table, he was not a morning person.

Fat cow he called her it often enough. Rachel looked at the bag of chips in grocery store aisle. Fat cow. She glanced down at herself, she wasn't that big, was she? Fat cow. If he wanted a fat cow, she could be that for him. Sitting in the truck a few minutes later she enjoyed the delicious salty crispness of the first chip as she crunched it between her teeth, ate the next daintily too. Then took a handful and smashed the whole lot in her mouth, a swig of coke to wash it all down. The packet was empty all too soon, dessert was a chocolate bar she ate in two bites, creamy chocolate smearing her lips. She felt full, a bit sick even but in control. Housekeeping money was frugal, but now Rachel made sure she looked after herself. Thomas noticed her expanding waistline eventually and bought a set of scales to mock her. Perversely, despite his weekly beatings Rachel felt in control as if it were she who was calling the shots. A strange feeling came over her when he sunk his fists into her soft stomach, a little mantra in her head, control, control, I'm in control. Her growing layer of fat her suit of armour.

"When did it start?"

They were sitting side by side on the rug one winter's day in the Green Gables sitting room, the snow drifted up against the side of the house. Marilla had lit a fire and the room was nice and cosy. Rachel shot a look at Marilla in amazement, did she really not know? "Well I suppose the first time we met but I was so naive I took his violence for passion. I was upset you know," she said changing the subject abruptly.

"Upset when?" Marilla said wonderingly. There were so many occasions.

"With you," whispered Rachel. This took a great deal of courage, if she lost Marilla she could lose everything.

"Oh, my dear when?"

"That time you, you and John broke up."

"Why?" Marilla was mystified.

"It's nothing," Rachel looked into the middle distance unable to stop the tears as the memory came flooding back.

"No look at me, why? What did I do? That time is a bit of a blur to me."

Rachel couldn't look her in the eye. This was hard, she wasn't used to defending herself. Very quietly she whispered so low Marilla had to strain to hear her, "you were hurting but I was hurting too." She paused, sighed as Marilla waited and continued her voice quavering, "you didn't even notice me," it was too much, Rachel broke down in sobs, tears and snot streaming down her face. Marilla gently gathered her in her arms, Rachel was almost always bruised somewhere. She didn't speak, didn't try to defend her actions. If she had hurt poor Rachel she was abjectly sorry. They sat there on the rug together for what felt like a long time; Rachel resting her head in Marilla's lap not asleep eyes open, just - away somewhere safe for a time. The clock struck the hour and as the last notes died away Rachel came to with a start. "Oh no. Nonono," she clambered to her feet and rushed out. There would be hell to pay, quite literally hell, if dinner were not on the table by 6.30. Marilla watched her go sadly, wishing there were more she could do to help. She did not see Rachel for some time, and when she emerged again Marilla asked no questions, Rachel would tell her when she felt strong enough. They continued where they left off, no mention of their lost weeks.

Marilla rushed over one day in '68 brandishing a newspaper. "Look look," she cried stabbing the paper with her forefinger. "You can leave anytime you want, they've seen sense finally, no fault divorce. Rachel you could you know."

Rachel looked jubilant for a second until reality caught up with her. "No. No I can't."

"But there's nothing stopping you, even the law's on your side." Rachel tenderly lowered herself onto the kitchen chair wincing when she reached the seat the last night had been rough. Breathlessly she panted through her teeth, "can you fetch the tea Marilla?" Marilla put the case to Rachel once again, calmly pointing out her argument.

The front door slammed and Thomas' stout boots could be heard stomping into the house. Rachel was up in a flash bustling in the kitchen to get him his afternoon tea, though she tried to hide it she was unable to mask the pain. "What are you snivelling about, Rach?" Marilla gave an involuntary shiver as she watched him spin Rachel around smacking a rough kiss on her lips, forcing her mouth open and groping her. Rachel gave a short scream when he got too brutal. Marilla cleared her throat but it was some moments before Thomas stopped his attack turning around eventually and snarling, "what are you looking at, you old bitch. You want some?" He laughed evilly and made a derogatory sign, "you prefer this don't you, not..." and he thrust his waist forward in a jerking motion towards her.

"I'll take my leave Rachel," said Marilla coolly, ignoring Thomas completely. The man was not worth her breath.

"What's she on about?" Thomas said in a quiet voice which made the hair on Rachel's neck stand up.

"Oh, she was just telling me how Anne was going at school," Rachel lied easily.

"The little red-haired witch," said Thomas evilly. "Well where's my cake, Rach?"

It was when he turned his attention away that something finally snapped in down-beaten Rachel. She was older now, and barren he complained; as if a woman could keep bearing children for all her years. He forgot that unlike a man a woman changed along the way. She caught him looking at their youngest daughter Lucy one day, the last one left at home; his hard-on evident as it strained under his tight trousers. Rachel looked at him sternly for once in his life, he looked sheepish initially before snarling, "what you looking at?" At least he did look away momentarily, even if he assaulted Rachel bed that night as brutal as ever. Rachel didn't enjoy it, she never enjoyed it, but it did keep her Lucy safe, so it was more than worth it.

The problem was she couldn't stay home all the time and Thomas had taken to sending her out on wild errands, anything to get her away from the place. One day she came home from the store, legs of lamb had been on sale, they would all enjoy a nice roast she thought. The kitchen was quiet as she placed the lamb in a dish and started chopping the potatoes. From the back of the house she thought she heard a noise, putting the knife down and wiping her hands on her apron she made her way through the house to Lucy's bedroom. From there the distinct sound of sobbing could be heard through the door. She knocked gently and opened the door. "Daddy," was all Lucy had to say, and Rachel headed out to find him unsure of what to do.

Thomas was in the kitchen looking at the meat on the counter. "You know I'm not much of a fan of lamb," he said to her lowly. He should have been in a good mood, she thought. Maybe his conscience got the better of him. But no, he brought his two hands firmly down on the cream Formica countertop; the smack so loud she was sure he must have hurt himself by mistake. He turned to her then, his face red and full of anger.

Rachel couldn't take it anymore, "you don't like it?" She screamed at him, "then you don't have to eat it" and with that she grabbed the lamb and swung it at him the wet meat meeting his jaw with a dull thwack. He staggered, and went down on one knee, stunned in more ways than one. "Whaa?" For such an eloquent man it was a shame really that whaa was his last word Rachel thought later, for before he had a chance to say anything more, Rachel swung it back and caught him on the temple. He was thrown sideways by the force and hit his head on the coffee table the glass breaking under his fall, but not before she heard the slight click of his neck breaking, though he was already dead by then.