Rosalind

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people for their support and editing prowess. Christina Williams, Olivia Diamond and Darcy Troville.

While this fictional book deals in dark, difficult subject matter relating to children and sexual abuse, the threat to millions of children is real. If you or anyone you know is a victim of this horrible crime, please contact one of the various organizations (which are too many to list here) listed in a simple Google™ search.

- Stephen
Paden

©
Stephen C. Paden, 2013. All rights reserved.

Cover: Anika Hennes

Please visit my blog at: http://www.thebusinessofbeingbirds.wordpress.com

The right of Stephen Christopher Paden to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

Prologue

"What kind of question is that?" Paul asked.

"Do you?"
Henrietta asked again.

He sighed then smiled. "Yeah I love you, now come on."

She laid down on the blanket and he climbed on top of her; spreading her legs and putting his tongue in her mouth. She wasn't exactly new to this routine, so she accommodated and kissed him back. When he moved his mouth down to her neck, she let out a whimper. She had never felt this good before and she could feel her panties getting wet.

"Does that make you happy?" he asked.

Without hesitation she nodded.

He continued to kiss her neck and started to slide his hand
inside of her blouse. Normally she would have made him go slower, but the combination of his tongue on her neck and her imagination of their perfect life together made her want him to keep going.

Three babies
, she said to herself. They would grow up to be lawyers or doctors and war heroes. She didn't care. His rough, farm-weathered hands felt good against her smooth skin. She whimpered again, and he pushed his hands under her bra and onto her breast. His fingers pressed down on her nipples and she wanted to scream, but she held it back. His tongue returned to her mouth and the sensation was something of a mystery—on one hand she was trying her best not to cry out in pleasure, but on the other, she wondered how he could balance all of this handiwork at the same time.

No.

No, no.

She
suddenly became frightened, but not of his advances and how good they felt on her body. It was where this was leading. Her mother had skirted around the topic of sex, mostly out of her own repression, but Henrietta's friends, Betty Miller and Joan Combs, had filled in the gaps on what to expect, what boys liked, what boys wanted from girls.

She pushed him away, but he only lifted his head and smiled down on her, then resumed. His kisses
grew less passionate and he started biting, gently at first, but then she became concerned that he was going to leave a mark. She pushed him back again, but he came back this time and put his face in hers.

"What's wrong, Henri?"

"I don't wanna go too far," she replied. "You know…get pregnant?"

"Would I do that to you? Come on Henri, I already told you I loved you." The left corner of his mouth raised slightly higher than the right, and she melted beneath him. His hands wandered from her breasts to her thighs as he continued to work on her neck. She didn't care about him leaving marks anymore. He reached between her legs and
pushed her slip up around her waist, pulled her underwear down, and undid his pants.

She felt a jolt of pain as he entered her, but her reflexes caused her to grab his back and pull him closer. The pain increased
, but far beneath it was a hint of pleasure.

The pain
…

She moaned. Tears
streaked the sides of her head as he moved faster and faster. Suddenly he stopped and let out a grunt. He collapsed on her and breathed heavily. She tried to breathe, but found it difficult underneath his bulky frame. He pushed himself up suddenly and rolled over against a few stalks of corn. She slowly caught her breath and turned over to him.

"You promise I won't get pregnant?"

"So what if you do, Henri? We love each other, right? My Pa was as young as me when he married my mother."

"What about school?" she asked.

"Dammit, Henri. Why you gotta ruin a beautiful moment?" He propped himself up on one elbow and turned to her. "What if I don't wanna go to school?"

"
But you said—"

"
I don't care what I said. And what's wrong with just gettin' married and havin' kids and just workin'?"

Henrietta saw her dreams crash down from Heaven into a field of corn, most of the wreckage landing right between her legs. She felt squishy
between her legs and reached down to pull up her underwear. She pulled her slip down.

How did things change so quickly?

They had talked about the future on several occasions and their vision was always the same—three children, white house, green yard, dinner on the table when he got home—but what was he saying now? She needed an answer.

"
I don't want nothin' to change. We talked about our life together. We had it all worked out. Don't you still want that?" she asked.

"
Yeah, I guess. I just don't think school is the answer to nobody's problems. It's too far away, for one. I wouldn't see you but every Summer. And think of it this way, we can get a head start on our family now."

"But you said I wouldn't get pregnant.
I don't want no babies."

"Don't tell me you don't know about the birds and bees. And you wanted it as bad as I did," he said, pulling up his trousers.

"I'm not dumb. I know about them," she said, turning away from him and laying on her side. "It hurts."

"Don't be a sissy. Come on, it's gettin' late," said Paul. He stood up and stretched his arms toward the sky. He put on one suspender at a time and then stretched one hand out to Henrietta. "Your dad'll kill me if I don't get you home."

"My dad would kill you if he knew what you just did to me," she said, smiling at him.

He looked at her and laughed.
"He sure would."

He grabbed the blanket and folded it across his shoulder. They took their time walking back to her house, gazing at the stars and holding hands the entire way.

***

Henrietta's life
gave way to routine; the same, uneventful day repeating itself. Four years after Rosalind was born, she finally gave up the dream that she and Paul would have any of the things they talked about in cornfields on those Summer nights in Leaks Field, and by the time Rosalind turned ten, she'd resigned herself to the that fact that she was just waiting for something to happen, and she wasn't too upset at the idea that that something would be death.

Paul had introduced her to
something that helped her cope; a weed that made you feel good when you smoked it and sometimes it even gave you the giggles. In 1957, a new pick-me-up found its way into the Stump household called Codeine. The hospitals used it to help patients recover from surgery and to relax them, and when Paul started spending half of his paycheck from Tom Garrison's Auto on the pills, Henrietta was hooked and so was he. By 1959, they were full blown addicts.

Paul would never go to college for mechanical engineering, and nine months
later, Rosalind was born.

***

Henrietta's friends, Betty and Joan, had gone off to college or married men who had, and they were now living the dream that Henrietta had long ago forsaken. They came back to town to visit a few times, but when Joan whispered to Betty once when they both sat on a couch in Henrietta's small trailer, they both nodded and agreed that Henrietta had become something foreign to them, like a picture of something familiar that was faded and torn with time. They had, at length, talked about the first time they visited her when Rosalind was around six years old. Joan had even remarked that Henrietta was a great mother and Rosalind was a spectacular child, even though they didn't have much in the way of anything. But that last visit, Henrietta, Joan had told Betty on the drive back, was no longer worth their time. And Rosalind was nothing more than a ghost who never looked up or smiled or did anything that her six-year-old self had done.

Neither Joan nor Betty would ever see Henrietta again, but in
the stagnant pool of Henrietta's life, she would never notice.

So life went on for Henrietta and Paul, and while her friends had moved on and experienced the forwardness, the progression
that life had to offer, Henrietta and Paul were locked in time. And so was Rosalind.