Authors: Cassandra Cole
She grinned and pulled away from him, raising her hands up and curling her fingers just slightly, creeping along the edge of the crib.
“I want to paint a snake like Kaa from The Jungle Book. Something goofy looking.” She said with a grin, putting her hands at the head of the crib and pulling herself up to grin at Jason. Jason laughed and shook his head.
“Don’t you think a snake is a little too scary for a baby?”
Katie looked down at the pale yellow mattress and put her hand against it. It was already warm from the sunlight and the it felt good against her skin.
“Maybe...But I want my baby to be strong and brave,” She said, running her fingers over the jersey sheet before looking up at Jason. “I think that...When you’re exposed to something it makes you stronger,” She paused a moment, her eyes searching the diamond patterned sheets before looking back up into Jason’s golden gaze. “I used to be so mad at you and so angry that you left me in that house for so long. I didn’t think I was going to ever forgive you and I never thought I’d ever forgive Michael.” She smiled a little and stepped away from the crib, moving over to Jason and wrapping her arms around him.
“I kinda feel sorry for him, you know? He was such a sad man that he needed to put me down in order to feel good about himself. I bet he’s still sad.” She smiled up at Jason and kissed his nose.
“But you aren’t right?” He asked, putting his hands on her belly. She grinned and leaned up, standing on her toes in order to kiss him full on the mouth. Katie pulled away and shook her head, brushing her fingers through his long hair.
“I’ve never been happier in my life.” She said, pulling away in order to start cleaning up her art supplies.
She was silent for a moment and then leaned over, dipping her fingers in the paint and brushing them across her cheeks. The red smear looked like war paint and when she turned around she adorned Jason with the same markings.
“I used to think I was a fighter. I mean...I still am, you know? If he ever found us, I’d take care of him with my bare hands, but I also know that I’m a survivor. I’m stronger because of my suffering and I know I’ll never let anyone put me down like that ever again and that’s why I can forgive you.”
He smiled and kissed her nose. “Well, I’m glad you aren’t angry at me anymore. I’d rather see you smile.”
There were many moments before that one that she knew she was in love but standing in the sunlight with his hands on her belly and him telling her sweet nothings was probably the most perfect moment in her entire life. She always thought she’d just make it through life but here she was, thriving and happy and she knew that as long as Jason was by her side it would always be this wonderful.
The End
VIRGIN BLOOD by Ella Hart
The Loose Cannon was full. It was still early in the evening, but it seemed that every possible male inhabitant of this sleepy little town was out to drown their sorrows in the smelly embrace of the town's best and only saloon. There was a cigar in every ashtray that lay on the tables, ready to be picked up as a possible weapon, should any trouble start brewing, which it usually would. The barkeep knew it was just a matter of time before he'd have to dig out his trusty old shooter from underneath the bar and settle the matter by sending the biggest drunkard of the night home, leaving others to their sorrow drowning, uninterrupted.
The music from the mechanical piano was as loud as ever, but nobody seemed to mind. Rowdy voices were filling the room with their tall tales of perfect shots, amazing amounts of liquor drunk and visions of enchanting women from faraway lands. Old Man Bennett however, wasn't really in the mood for such tales. Not this evening anyway. He'd usually sit with his friends, who were perched along the bar, shaking their hands in a "just keep 'em coming" way. Their voices were gaudy and hoarse, just like their faces. Upon seeing Bennett, they were inclined to join him, but then one of them, Harrison, shook his head in a sympathetic way, signaling something that not all of them understood completely, but knew not to get involved in.
Old Man Bennett also wanted to keep 'em coming, but for a completely different reason. He had no desire, no reason to celebrate. His head was hanging low, little tears of sweat dripping from his sunburnt face right into his half-empty glass. The yellow liquid inside was dissipating slowly but surely, as if evaporating into thin air. Soon, there would be none left. He heard nothing, he saw nothing. He was nothing and he didn't care.
"Pa!" He heard a loud yell, coming from a familiar voice. "Pa! 'Ya hear?" A warm, soft hand was placed gently on Old Man Bennett's shoulder. It made him shudder, but not enough to raise his head. "Pa! Ma's worried about ya. Lemme take ya home, pa." The hand that rested on his shoulder gently slid under it, in an effort to help him up. Bennett wouldn't budge. He swung his arm, as if trying to ward off a fly.
Esther saw that there was no point in trying to make her father come home. This wasn't like any of the other times before, when her mother would send her to the saloon to get her father back, before he got into a fight. While it was rarely Old Man Bennett's instigation, somehow, trouble always seemed to follow him. Like that one time when they stole his trusty old horse, Gunpowder. Bennett proved himself to be a better shot (even after 5 glasses of whiskey), but sore losers would always be sore losers, and this was how Bennett lost Gunpowder. The old man was in mourning for days and there was no other horse he loved as much since.
Esther sat down, ordered a lemon water and decided that the best thing to do was just be there, where she could keep an eye on her father. She knew that no one would dare get him into a fight with her around. Many of the people there had known her since she was very little, and as men of the Old West would do, they showed (or at least tried to show) their most gallant behavior in the presence of a lady. Seeing this was a saloon however, made it a little difficult. But, Esther didn't mind. She had a strong mind on her and an even bolder heart, and she knew exactly how to deal with the distinct cowboys of this wild, wooly West she was born into.
Ever since she was a little girl, it was plain that Old Man Bennett would have his pick of the litter when it came to marrying her off, because Esther was unlike any other girl in the entire town. And they all knew it. Her beauty was effortless and fresh, like blossoming spring time. Her hair was always tied in a braid, but the fire of her soul shone through the kindling strands, caressed by the morning sun. Her eyes, dark like charcoal, hid a spark of eternal essence behind a dark veil. Tall and lean, she would walk the streets not as if she owned them, but as if she considered herself fortunate enough to step on the dry ground that took so much effort to grow anything.
At this point, surrounded by smoke, rowdy laughter and masculine voices exerting their dominance, and with a father unwilling to return home, she knew something bad was happening. When she started from home, she asked her mother if she knew anything, but got no reply. Not that she expected anything else. Her father was a good provider, but he kept his affairs his own. He believed that as the man of the house, it was up to him to take care of the family, and the women of his house had to comply. Esther's mother was already used to this, being married to the man, sometimes happily sometimes less, for 19 years, and Esther’s younger siblings, all three of them, were still too young to know much of the ways of the world, especially the complex relationships between men and women. But Esther had a different kind of head on her shoulders. She felt the need to help, to be a part of things and to be acknowledged as someone whose opinion matters.
"I'm sorry," she suddenly heard her father speak. It startled her, because despite all the clamor hitting her from all sides, she managed to hear her father loud and clear. To hear him say something he had never said before. He lifted his bleak gaze from the seventh empty glass, and placed his calloused hand on hers. "I'm sorry, little one..." He slowly stood up, and motioned her to head on home.
She swallowed heavily as she followed this mountain of a man, who had always protected her from all harm. But, now, something had changed. The protection was no longer complete. No longer available. Her fingers trembled as she helped her father on his horse, and then leaned against hers. The horse's heartbeat calmed her down, but what she was afraid of was that she might not be able to feel it for much longer.
*****
Esther slowly opened the door and helped her father inside. The house was barely lit, and she knew that the kids would already be in their beds. She was looking for a sign of her mother, but so far, the house was as quiet as a bone orchard. Even the old squeaky boards knew not to make a sound when her father’s slouching body pressed its weight upon them, one aided step at a time, enshrouding his daughter’s aching presence beneath. Esther kept as quiet, aware that anything she said at this point would be just empty words knocked into a cocked hat. Her eyes were avoiding her father’s glance as she helped him onto the sofa. Old Man Bennett’s body slumped down, like a heavy bag of last year’s potatoes.
“He already half seas over?” This was usually the greeting her mother would give them every time Esther would bring her father back from the saloon. She knew that Bennett was drunk, but couldn’t judge how much just from looking at him. From the image that lay before her now, she could sense that this wasn’t one of those every day kind of deals. “Quite a Fandango you attended tonight, mister, didn’t ya?” She kept talking to her husband, barely even looking at Esther, simply gesturing with her fingers to run to the kitchen and fetch a pail of cold water. “Yes, sirrey! You full as a tick tonight! Esther! Where’s that water?”
Esther rushed from the kitchen and handed her mother the pail. “Good girl,” her mother smiled in the darkness. “I’ll take care o’him, you just go on and get to bed. It’ll be fine, my child…” She was about to say something else, to let her daughter know how much she appreciated all she did for the family in these dire times, but was interrupted mid-sentence by her husband.
“It’s all gone… dog gone… we’re… finished… I… “ He grabbed his wife by the shoulders, firmly, as if he had the intention of shaking some crucial information out of her, but she didn’t budge. Her eyes pierced him through the darkness, not with love and sympathy as she usually did when he would return home hammered, but with a rekindled animosity towards someone who made a whole lot of promises without fulfilling them.
“You said you’re gonna get the money, Bennett and pay the man. Where’s the money?” She jolted away from him, like thunder, emphasizing every single word. “You said we’re gonna be fine! You said not to worry! What are ya saying now, Bennett? What!?”
Esther understood immediately. This was the third time her father went to Jeremiah, and she knew exactly what this meant. Jeremiah’s patience was running out, because the money her father owed was an insane sum. It had to be, because their house, their farm, their land, all their cattle vouched for Old Man Bennett’s word that the money would be repaid. It was a dry season and there was very little return from their parched land. Bennett, and his entire family, each and every one of them, were in a heap of trouble. There was no way that they could repay the money this year. Esther remembered seeing burned corn crops, and land that crumbled beneath her heels. So dry, so unforgiving. But, Jeremiah didn’t care. Why should he?
Suddenly, without replying to his wife’s questionings, Bennett turned towards his daughter and fell to his knees in front of her. His hardened hands grabbed her ankles and he pressed his hard, sweaty face against the seams of her dress. Esther wasn’t sure if the sobbing noises came from him or from her. She dared not touch him, for a touch would mean forgiveness and she wasn’t sure she could give it right now. “I’m so sorry… so very sorry…”
“Come nah…” His wife’s facial expression changed, though no one could see it in the dark. There was no point in yelling, in arguing, in blaming. She took him underneath his shoulders and propelled him upward. “Let’s get you to bed, and we’ll see if there’s anything to do tomorra.” Bennett was as quiet as a puppy, obedient, allowing himself to be led away into the darkness by the now firm hand of his wife.
Esther was left alone. Wordless, surrounded by barren silence, she moved slowly towards the place which held the hunching figure of her father just a few minutes before. When she was little, she loved sitting on this sofa, on the exact spot which had an indentation in the shape of her father’s body. The sofa was old, and her mother was constantly pestering him to get a new one, without luck. And Esther had to admit that after all these years, the sofa had inhaled parts of her father’s own personality, his own body, and every time she nestled in the old and trusty hole on the left, she felt protected, she felt the warmth of her family’s love and knew that no matter what, things were going to get better.
This is what usually happened, but not tonight. Tonight, that spot didn’t do. It wasn’t as dependable, as comfortable, as willing to offer protection and assurance of better times to come. The darkness offered no answer to her silent plea for help, and neither did the old house. She knew that this time, for the first time ever, she needed to take matters into her own hands and straighten out this tangle of thorns she and her family had fallen into.
There was only one way out. No one close to her must ever find out. Especially not her family. Because if they did, it would all be for nothing.
Esther closed her eyes and crawled helplessly into a warm blanket. Her eyes were giving up, and her body followed suit. She needed to rest. There was a slight but noticeable tingle going along her spine, reminding her that the worst was yet to come.
*****
It was about 9 in the evening, when Esther found herself standing under the dark Western sky. It brought promises of nasty weather and downpours that could last for days. But, she didn’t care much for that right now. Anyone who might have seen her walking the dusty streets, all covered up in the veil of darkness, could guess with certainty that something was brewing.
She rushed passed familiar faces, too drunk or too disinterested to notice anything apart from their own rumbling desires for the night, whether they be for booze or for skirt. Walking briskly on the silvery outskirts bathed in moonshine, she was like a hound on a trail, though she wasn’t too eager to reach her final destination. But eventually, her frantic walking was put to an end, right in front of what used to be known as The Old Westbury Gardens. It was a lofty manor house, with some of its royal past still sticking to the present, reflecting a pleasing combination of elegant symmetry and gracious proportions. Tucked safely on the outskirts of the town, its soaring columned porch would welcome all those who were looking for anything other than family-friendly fun, be they locals or just those passing through and in need of a nightly woman’s touch.
Mere days ago, Esther wouldn’t be caught dead standing on this porch, pressing the bell for the infamous Madame Claude. Her actual name was Claudette, but for business purposes, she preferred the androgynous version. Her place had no name, no name by which people knew it anyway, other than Madame Claude’s. And in her reign of the nightly passions of both men and women, she had witnessed many similar places come and go. But somehow, she was never worried about her own business. “They only think they know what their clients want,” she’d say knowingly. “I know and I provide that very same thing,” she’d continue, fearless and certain of her invisible reign in this small, dust bitten town in the middle of nowhere.
As soon as Esther pressed the button, a short, stubby man urged her to come in. “I’m here to see Madame…” She was led into Madame’s private room, where the latter used to conduct business and then sign the invisible contract with a clinking of two glasses, containing the finest scotch Tennessee had to offer. The room was surprisingly modest and bare. Apart from a big dark, mahogany bureau right in the middle of the room, a few comfortable looking chairs surrounding it, a few paintings, much more modest than the ones outside, it really wasn’t much of what Esther imagined a Madame’s private room to be.
“Why, hello there! You must be Esther!” A loud cry was heard from behind the mahogany bureau and a thin, bird-like woman emerged from it. With her high forehead, slick hair tied in a bun and a somewhat Romanesque nose, Madame Claude had all the semblance of royal propriety and warm-heartedness. If Esther had seen her somewhere in the street, in her regal black lace dress and courtly demeanor, she would never take this thunderbolt of a woman to do the kind of a job that she was doing. She wouldn’t expect her to do any kind of a job, for that matter.