From Pharaoh's Hand (17 page)

             
“Now hold on. Hold on, jus’ a minute. I can explain.”

     “
Oh you have plenty of ‘splainin’ to do, Lucy. Let’s get finished up here boys. It’s going to be a long night at the station.”  He shook his head in disgust. It appeared that more than just the drug trade had managed to infiltrate the sleepy hills of Perry County. He wondered if even he could protect the county’s children from the disgusting evil that had reared its ugly head tonight.

             
The three-car caravan made its way back into the town of Linden without incident. The town was quiet as they drove through except for a few teenagers gathered at the old Johnson Controls parking lot.   The teens looked up at the three squad cars passing through. It was the entire fleet of Perry County, and it was highly unusual that they were all together. Usually at least one deputy was patrolling the nearby town of Lobelville which was also part of Perry County. There had to be something extraordinary taking place for all three to be out tonight. All three cars appeared to have passengers. As they passed under the street lamps, one of the teens recognized a face.

     “
Hey, ain’t that Old Poke. Wonder what they got him for?”

             
“Aw probably just a bunch of old drunks got in a fist fight down at the chert pit. Happens from time to time. So my daddy says.”

     “
Your daddy ought ta know...bet he was in there with ‘em,” one of the  girls replied.

             
“Ha. Ha. That’s so funny,” the young boy said as he dropped his cigarette to the pavement and started to chase the girl across the lot.

             
Poke thought he recognized Pete’s eldest boy in the crowd, but he wasn’t sure.
I reckon there’s gonna be hell to pay for all of us. Especially Catfish when I lay it all out for the sheriff. I ain’t gonna spend the rest of my life in no cell at Turney Center...or worse. No way. If I’m going down, he’s going down too. Can’t help it if he does have a baby on the way. That was probably all wishful thinkin’ anyhow. Inetha’d be better off without him.
He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his cuffed hands.
She got kinfolk over Tullahoma way that’ll see about her. Crazy old coot oughta had more sense’n running drugs to start with. Now draggin’ us off to prison with him. And they think they are gonna stick me with child pornography charges? Ain’t no way...Yep, I’ll make a deal with the devil himself if it’ll get me out of this jam.

Chapter 20

Rattling the Chains

             
The fear that gripped Beth’s heart kept her bound.  Every time she tried to plan an escape her thoughts turned to poor Inetha lying in the field.  Did Inetha die a slow, painful death?  Visions of Inetha being butchered with the long knife that Catfish cleaned his nails with caused her to tremble violently at night.  And even though Catfish had long since quit tying her to the bed, she was bound just the same as if the actual cords were there. Maybe Catfish had grown weary of untying her every hour during the night for her to go to the bathroom.  Or maybe he had the crazy notion that Beth was actually growing fond of living here with him.  She knew had no choice but to comply.  She and her baby would die otherwise.

             
He had not acted upon his desires to consummate the relationship.  Something had stopped him from putting his hands on her. Beth wondered if he had started feeling sorry for her.  He had said that when the time came he would get Mama Lorraine to help with the birthing.  He was worried that she might have trouble, being so young and small.  But Mama Lorraine would know what to do.  He had wondered aloud when the baby was due, but Beth had feigned ignorance about the time of conception.  She had been with him six months now.  If she had gotten pregnant in January, they would only have a couple more months, he said. September, maybe.  Maybe late August.  Hard to say.  It was time they got the house in order.

             
“Liza.  I’m a thinkin’ it’s ‘bout time to get that other bedroom cleaned out, so little P.Jays will have somewheres to light.   Don’tcha reckon?”

             
“P.Jays?” 

     “
Phineas, Jr.  Kinda like the name myself.”

             
Beth closed her eyes and shuddered. 

          “
He’s been kicking an awful lot today.  I think he’s hot.  Maybe it will cool off after the sun goes down here in a bit.”

     “
Well, he better get used to it.  Until I get the new house built anyways.”

             
“New house?”

     “
Yep.  Been savin’ up to build me a regular box an’ strip cabin.  Won’t that be something.”

             
“You’ve been saving up?  But you don’t work.”

     “
Shut your smart mouth, Liza.  I got money.  You forgettin’ them crops out back?  You forgettin’ my little trip into the big city?  I made plenty of them before you came along.”             

             
“How could I forget,” Beth muttered dryly.

     “
I’m goin’ out to check on them crops.  They’s just about ready for harvest.  When I get back I want to see that bedroom cleaned out for Junior. I got big plans for that boy. Me ‘n him’s gonna spend our days a huntin’ and fishin’ and floatin’ the Buffalo.”

             
Before Beth had time to reply, the door slammed shut behind Catfish.

             
Left alone to her thoughts, Beth again felt a rush of panic.  Her heart quickened.  This was not the life she had intended for herself, much less the baby she carried and was soon to give birth to.  Catfish had her life all mapped out for her.  She would spend the rest of her days washing, gardening, and slaving for him and Junior.  And what life would Junior have with Catfish as a father?  The baby kicked hard against her ribs as if rebelling against the very idea of it all.  This sharp jolt awakened Beth’s senses.  At this moment there was no fear of what Catfish would do to her.  At this moment, all that mattered was the well being of her child.  Her maternal instincts were rising up in her.  Their need for survival was beginning to supersede any fear that Catfish had instilled in her.  She must find the courage to escape.  If she allowed her baby to be born here in captivity, then Catfish would win.  She would be under his rule forever.

             
“No, my sweet baby.  You will not grow up in this dump.  You will not be under his rule the rest of your life.  I will find a way, my sweet.  We will get out of here.  Soon, I promise.”

             
Beth waddled to the bathroom.  She wasn’t sure exactly how things were supposed to progress with the pregnancy.  Health class had taught her the simple facts--nine months gestation, and then labor.  They had even watched a video of a live birth.  It was not something she looked forward to going through. Being seven months along, she knew that time was a precious commodity. Who was this Mama Lorraine, and where did she live? Perhaps she was not far.  Maybe there were neighbors closer than she imagined.

Catfish’s trailer could not be seen from the road, so   Beth never saw the mailman. A couple of times the meter man’s truck had pulled into the yard, and he had gotten out and checked the meter.  Both times Catfish had been home and had threatened her with the knife if she made any noise from within the trailer.  Other than that and the occasional visit from Poke, which always took place down by the river, no one had ventured onto the property in six months.  She had naturally assumed there were no neighbors within walking distance, but maybe she was wrong.  Maybe she could walk away from it all.  Catfish had made her believe he would hunt her down and kill her in the most brutal of ways.  And besides the fear of death, where would she go if she escaped.  She could not go back home now with a child in tow and explain her absence.  How could she explain her choice to have an abortion?  How could she explain to her Daddy how she gotten in this predicament?  She could not go home.  But she could go somewhere.  Anywhere would beat this miserable trailer and the dirty old taskmaster. 

              Once Beth had decided this, the rest was easy.   Her actions were no longer the actions of a hesitant, fearful teenager, but that of a courageous mother tiger fighting for her unborn young.  She had to act quickly.  What would she need -- clothes, money, food?  She ran to the closet in the bedroom she and Catfish shared.  She flung open the door and began shoving boots and boxes out of the way.  She was looking for a suitcase, an overnight bag, something to put a few things in.  Something light enough to carry with her.  It was already hard to walk, given the thirty pounds she had gained on her tiny frame.   She rummaged through the items on the floor of the closet.  It was getting late in the afternoon toward dusky dark, and the light in the room had grown dim.  She stood up and reached for the cord to pull to turn the closet light on, and as it came on, above her head high on a shelf, a dark wooden box with gold trim caught her eye.

             
“I just wonder what that is,” she said out loud.  But she couldn’t reach the shelf.  She was too short.  There was a straight back chair with a woven seat sitting against a far wall.  Without the slightest hesitation, Beth threw the dirty clothes that were draped across it to the floor and drug it to the closet.  She placed the chair against the wall to the left of the doorway and with a great effort, pulled herself up and into the chair.  She was puffing when she stood up to reach for the box. 
What if he comes back? Beth, you’re crazy.  He will kill you both. 

             
Her hands were shaking as she reached for the smooth box and slid it off the shelf toward her.  She held it firmly against her belly with one hand as she steadied herself against the doorframe with the other and made her way to the floor.  She held her breath as she opened the wooden box, which resembled a t-shaped cross.  She closed her eyes and sighed with relief as she saw what lay inside, a roll of bills, the keys to the truck, and five golden rings lying against the backdrop of a purple silk lining. 

             
“Thank You, God,” she spoke aloud.  Now to find a bag for some clothing and food.  She could take the truck.  She couldn’t believe her great fortune.  There wasn’t time to look for a suitcase.  She wasn’t even sure Catfish owned one.  She went to the kitchen and got a plastic garbage bag.  She threw a box of crackers into the sack and four cans of Vienna sausages.  That would have to suffice.  Back to the bedroom she raced as fast as her body would allow.  She took the keys and the wad of bills and shoved them down into the deep pocket of her housedress.  Then she wrapped the walnut box in another dress and placed it in the bottom of the sack.  She could pawn the jewelry to survive.  The last thing she grabbed was her North Side Indians shirt  and jeans that she had long since outgrown, but they were hers-- the last vestiges that remained of who she once was.  She put the chair back in its original spot and closed the closet door.  She opened the blinds and peeked out toward the tree line.  He had not returned yet.  She had better take this chance.  It might be her last.

             
She slid her feet into a pair of Mrs. Jones’ old garden shoes and waddled into the living room.  Her eye landed on the hilt of the hunting knife lying casually on the table beside the ratty recliner.  Panic swept over her as she envisioned Catfish cutting her throat and throwing her in the river to die.  She made her decision.  The knife would no longer hold her prisoner.  She could use it to defend herself.  She grabbed the knife and shoved it down into the layers of the t-shirt that lay on top.  She then made her way out of the hot, dirty trailer with the garbage bag slung over one shoulder and the truck keys in hand.  Her heart was racing.  Could she get to that truck and race away before Catfish returned? 

             
Two steps, three steps, and then a quick run to the door of the GMC.  She yanked it open, threw the bag inside, and pulled herself up into the driver’s seat.  She fumbled with the keys, but finally was able to get them into the ignition.  She pulled the driver’s side door shut and turned the keys.  The engine sputtered.  It groaned.  It ground.  But it refused to come to life.  She pumped the gas pedal hard and tried again.  It sputtered, groaned, and ground. 

             
Out of the corner of her eye, Beth saw a flash of movement running toward the truck.  It was Catfish.  He was running from around the corner of the trailer.  His arm was raised.  He brandished the gardening hoe like a bat.  She pumped the gas.  She turned the key
.  Oh God, help me.  Help me.  He’s going to kill me
.  Beth locked the doors and kept trying to get the truck to start to no avail.  Catfish swung at the windshield, cracking it all the way across.  He was yelling obscenities at her.