Coldwater Revival: A Novel (28 page)

It seemed I viewed the scene from a dreamworld, seeing the struggling girl on the floor, but not knowing how to help her. My senses returned soon enough, my make-believe world vanishing when Gavin raised the hem of my gown and ran his hand between my thighs … and higher.

He lifted the lower part of his body and fumbled with his trouser opening; lifted it high enough for me to yank my knee upward, striking him between the legs. He bellowed and rolled free; doubled over in pain, grunting, cursing, and hissing out words I’d not heard … even from Elo’s lips. It bothered me not at all—the pain I had inflicted upon Gavin. For no matter how much he hurt, it could not compare to the pain his betrayal had cost me this night.

I stumbled to the workbench and grabbed the rifle, pumping a bullet into the chamber as I whirled around and aimed the barrel at Gavin. My hands shook as never before, for in that instant I was ready to kill the man I had once loved.

“Get out … of here … now! Before I blow your head off!” I whipped my head about, wrangling hair from my eyes as I kept Gavin in the target area of my rifle.

He rose to his knees, shaking and glaring at me, bright eyes filled with torment. The sight of his drooling lust offended me, for it drew me into a realm of evil I’d heard about only in whispered secrets.

“Ye … ye belong t’me … I’ll … not be lettin’ another have ye …” Gavin gasped and wheezed, his eyes streaming water; tears of pure, stabbing possessiveness. “… as long as I draw breath …”

“That won’t be long if you don’t leave—now! Don’t
ever
come back, Gavin. I was wrong about you. I thought we could be friends, but you just killed everything in my heart that once loved you.”

Bent over and clutching himself, Gavin opened the door and pushed himself through. I walked behind, my rifle unsteady as it pointed at his back. A swarm of Eveready flashlight beams flooded the entrance, aiming at Gavin’s heart like arrows in the night. We walked out the door into the storm, and into the angry presence of Papa and my brothers.

They rushed to my side like fierce, victorious warriors; tall, blond Vikings who couldn’t wait to get their hands on the miscreant of my humiliation. Elo and Nathan dragged Gavin through the mud, and then lifted him as though his weight was of little consequence. His feet cycled the air as they carried him past the reach of light—and out of my life. Elo would pound his own wrathful retribution into Gavin, along with the fear of eternal damnation. ’Twas a fact. Gavin would not dare come near me again, the little that was left of him after Elo’s powerful paws proved who was king of the jungle. Elo had not uttered an idle threat in his life. Most of the 535 people in Coldwater could attest to this truth firsthand—or knew someone who could.

Odd how my mind heeded unspectacular occurrences during those moments of angry relief: Papa’s flashlight shining through a sheet of rain, magnifying each drop as it traveled a slow-motion path to earth; the way Papa directed my brothers with mute signals; the way they obeyed his silent commands.

“We heard you scream, Emma Grace. Did the filthy rotter hurt you, sweetheart?”

Papa’s rough tenderness snapped me out of my brave posturing. He caught the rifle as it fell from my hands, the shakes coming in waves now. I vaulted into his arms. He carried the rifle and me up to the porch, out of the storm’s bluster.

“Did he hurt you, Emma Grace? You’ve got to tell me the truth. If that skunk laid one finger on—”

“No, Papa. I’m okay … truly, I’m all right.” The last thing I wanted Papa to do was call the constable, who would blab the news all over our township. “Why did you think I screamed, Papa? I never hollered once. Maybe you heard the wind, or …”

“Yeah, you did, honey. You just don’t remember.”

No, Papa. I didn’t scream. But maybe one of God’s angels did.

Thirty-six

Though I hadn’t confessed the truth of Gavin’s savagery to anyone, Mama hovered over me like a mother bird, cooing and soothing my ruffled feathers with hugs and promises that everything would be all right. She would spend the night worrying over me. I knew she would.

After a hot bath and hair scrub, I climbed wearily into bed and waited for the sandman to come calling. But he never showed up. Memories of the near rape and Gavin’s treachery combined with my wistful thoughts about Tate and the love I had lost years back. They consumed every remaining moment of the dark, unsettling night. Though I knew relief at having severed the cord between Gavin and myself, ’twas not relief I felt when I thought about living the single life; a lifetime of unfulfilled plans and dreams. As I contemplated the future, I saw only emptiness before me.

We Falins were a visionary family whose dreams waxed abundant. Elo had his heart set on being the best farmer, hunter, angler, and horseman in Texas. Actually, he expected to be best at whatever he attempted to do. Nathan’s dreams included college, where he planned to earn degrees in a wide range of academia, including agriculture, for his heart held special feelings for the land. He thought to prosper our farm, and had recorded his strategies to do so in stacks of thin-lined notebooks from which he never ventured far. My dream was simple. I had latched onto it at an early age, and I clutched it to my bosom even now for the beauty and joy it pumped into my heart. I wanted to be a wife and mother. Now that dream seemed as far removed as the plans Gavin and I once made to get married on October 27, 1933.

It’s not that I disliked the eligible men in Coldwater. I had known most of them since grade school and we got along fine. But not one made my heart putter like a trawling engine the way it had when Gavin first arrived from Ireland, eight months earlier. And, to my knowledge, I had not caused accelerated heart rates among the small, select group of bachelors we maidens referred to as stags. As Papa would say, “The pickings are mighty slim around Coldwater.”

The emptiness loomed before me, but I would fill it. With Sundays full of the old hymns and heartfelt worship. With family get-togethers, babies bouncing atop my knee while nephews tormented my braid. Only—it wouldn’t be my babes who cuddled to sleep in the hollow of my shoulder or my toddler whose toothless gums teethed my little finger raw. And when the cars pulled from our driveway at eventide, my arms would be just as empty as when my sisters first arrived. Oh, there’d be summers of canning, where my busy hands joined those of The Ollys and Mama; pickling cucumbers and beets, boiling fruit we’d later spread over the bread we baked. There’d be cows to milk and new colts to adore. Still, my arms would be void and unadorned of the one thing I desired above all others.

At dawn’s light, I slipped from bed and changed into traveling clothes. In the bathroom, I washed my face, brushed my teeth and hair, and tidied up the sink. I tiptoed down the hallway, lifting the old cardboard suitcase from the top shelf of the closet. I carried it to my room and packed it with sufficient clothing and necessities to last a few weeks.

“What in the world are you doing Emma Grace?”

I hadn’t heard Mama’s soft approach. Nor had I detected her morning humming that signaled the household awake. Mama had sneaked up on me.

“I’m going to Granny’s for a while. I’ve thought it through, Mama. You can’t shake me from my plans.” I watched her eyes—the window to her soul. She smiled and walked to the bed, refolding one of the skirts I had thrown into the case. Her smile confused me a bit, being that I thought she would try to dissuade me.

“What a good idea, sweetie. I’ll help you pack.”

“But—what about Polly? I’ll miss seeing the baby … and her.” The thought of not holding Polly’s nine-month-old baby boy had ushered the only real doubt to my mind. Our family hadn’t seen Polly since she moved to Arkansas with her husband, Hank. I sat down on the bed, heavyhearted.

“I called them yesterday, sweetheart. Told them the wedding was off. They’ve already made plans to come at Christmas instead of now.” Mama tilted her head, a half-smile cambering the curves of her cheeks. She knew me so well.

“Thanks, Mama.”

Mama’s eyes held me with a steady stare. I wondered if she could see my heart pumping with the sadness of lost hopes and dreams. She smiled and stretched her hand to my head, stroking the fullness of my hair. “What’s wrong, dear? Are you thinking you’ll never find another man to love? A husband to build a home and life with?”

“More like I’ll never find a man who’ll love
me
. I do come with a few warts, you know.”

“Whatever are you talking about, sweet girl? Surely not your leg. It’s totally unnoticeable, unless someone happens to be studying your shoes. Don’t you still beat Caleb every time the two of you race?”

I giggled, for I truly was a thorn in Caleb’s side when it came to footraces. I knew Mama was right. I no longer thought of myself as an oddity, as I had earlier in my life. Still—after eighteen and a half years of being different from everyone else, I still felt like an outsider at times.

“You have the most beautiful heart of all my children, Emma Grace. It has always spilled over with love—for babies and children, and every one of God’s creatures you could get your hands on. You don’t think God will let all that love go to waste, do you?”

Mama sat on the bed beside me and pulled me close. I guessed I needed a good cry, for the next thing I knew, I was bawling into her shoulder like a two-year-old.

“You know I love all of my children equally, but you have been special to your papa and me since the day we first held you—out in that itchy old cotton field. God spared you for a purpose, Emma Grace, and that purpose wasn’t to grow old in this house alongside your papa and me.

“What we need to do is thank the good Lord you found out in time that you and Gavin don’t belong together. Thank goodness, you
didn’t
get married.” Mama pulled us apart and brushed her hand over my brow, smoothing pesky curls from my face as she’d done a thousand times before. “There’s a man out there, somewhere, just waiting for you to show up. And a mighty fortunate fellow he is.” She cupped my chin with her fingers and turned my head, persuading me to meet her gaze. “He’ll come along, sweetheart. You’ll see. One day you’ll open your eyes, and there he’ll be.”

The day was brisk, with sassy winds making a pigeon-nest of my hair as I stepped from the train in Galveston. I set my suitcase on the platform and looked around. Red-capped porters and blue-coated baggage men bustled down the walkway, transporting luggage and assisting travelers in one way or another.

I glanced at the sky. Cloudbanks brooded overhead, gathering, it seemed, for a squalling downpour. The scent of sea brine had me wishing my toes were wriggling through slippery gray sand right now. From behind my closed lids, I pictured murky-green seawater, distant whitecaps rolling toward shore, foamy curls being swallowed up by choppy breakers.

“Hey, lady. You sick or somethin’?”

I opened my eyes to a scruffy-haired boy of eight or nine who studied my face with intensity. His hand clutched the handle of a dusty wagon, and his baggy breeches were so long they cuffed his ankles instead of his knees. I smiled inwardly at smudges of brown that streaked his hands and face. He pinched the bill of his cap, doffed it, and bowed to me.

Someone must have trained you well.

“I’ll tote your suitcase for a nickel, ma’am. Whadda’ya say?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as the twins used to do when they were in need of bathroom facilities.

“What’s your name, kind sir?” My greeting seemed to catch him off guard. His brows closed together and he puckered his lips as though he’d been sucking on a green persimmon. His griminess didn’t bother me a bit, for I’d already spotted a noble knight behind that ruffled frown of his.

“Nobie.”

The child’s gaze was steadfast, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, it seemed to me. Did he think I made sport of him? Because of his shabbiness? I prayed not.

“Nobie …?”

“Nobie Percher.” He slid a hand beneath his nose as though he were playing a harmonica. Without thinking, I handed him my handkerchief.

“Nobie … Per …?”

“Percher—like the fish. Ain’t you never heard of a perch before?” He blew into my hanky several times, wiping his nose with hardy strokes. When he rammed the cloth into my hand, I dropped its wetness into my skirt pocket and smiled broadly. The lad had knowing gray eyes. I’d not reveal a speck of distaste to Master Percher.

“Of course I’ve heard of perch. In fact, I’ve caught more perch than there are stars in the sky.”

Nobie narrowed his eyes again, studying me as if I were a prized tiger-eye marble. Then he grinned, satisfied my teasing was harmless. At least, I hoped that was the reason for his wide-gapped smile, from which several baby teeth had gone missing.

“How far’re you going?”

“I’m afraid it’s a very long walk, Nobie. All the way to the east end of Winnie Street.”

“Never heard of it.” He stared at me, unsmiling, as though anxious to get this transaction settled so he could move on to more pleasant adventures.

“It’s about twenty-five blocks from here.” I could almost see his head calculating the fifty blocks it would take him to go to Granny’s house and return.

“What say I cart your suitcase a nickel’s worth, then you can carry it the rest of the way?”

“Fair enough, Nobie.”

He tossed my suitcase into his rickety wagon, and down the road he flew. I galloped behind.

“Nobie!” I hollered. He turned, tapering his stride, allowing me to catch up. “Slow down a bit, okay? Hey, why aren’t you in school today? Is this a holiday or something?”

“No ma’am. Needed the money.” He looked straight ahead, reminding me of a proud Elo who despised charity above all else.

“Well—you just let me know when my nickel is up. I’m used to hard work, Nobie. I can carry it just …” I looked at Nobie’s proud face, hoping I had caught my blunder in time. “I’m more than grateful that a strong lad, such as you, turned up at just the right time. It surely would have tuckered me out to carry my suitcase all the way to Granny’s house.” For dramatic effect, I ran a hand across my brow, wiping away imaginary sweat.

“Glad I happen’t along. Girls ain’t known much for their strength, you know.”

Right then, I knew that Nobie and I could be great friends, if happenstance allowed such a bizarre pairing. He sounded and even acted a bit like Falin boys. In my heart, I started thinking of him as another little brother.

I dug as much information out of Nobie as was possible in ten blocks’ time. He lived with his mother and five siblings near the wharf area. His papa had died two years earlier: killed aboard an oil derrick when a boom broke loose and crushed him to death. Or, as Nobie so ably put it—“got kill’t deader’n a turkey with his head blown off.”

“Does your mama work too?”

Nobie seemed pleased that I counted him as one of the main providers for his family. “No, ma’am. She’s got them babies to tend.”

Babies? What’s this? Oh, Father—help me not jump ahead—but are you about to guide my feet to a path I never dreamed I’d be taking?

“How many babies, Nobie?” My heart beat with wildness as I awaited his answer.

“Hannah and Rosalie had their first birthday, oh … I dunno … maybe two or three months back. Mama was carrying ’em in her pouch when Pa got kill’t.”

“Do you think I might meet your family some day? You and I have a lot in common, you know. I have a lot of brothers and sisters too.”

Nobie shrugged. Most likely he knew not to invite near strangers to his house without getting permission first.

“I tell you what—if you give me your address, Granny and I will stop by some day and see if your ma’s up to visiting. How’s that sound?”

He shrugged again, but shared his home address with me. He lived on Avenue C. I rummaged in my purse, locating one of the few dollar bills I had in my collection of egg money. Mostly, I had coins. Mostly, I had pennies. “Here are your wages, kind sir, and a mighty fine job you did.” I winked at him as I handed him the dollar. “And—if you’re ever in need of a referral, just let me know. I’ll be glad to recommend you.”