They call her Dana (7 page)

"They'd have the servants throw your ass out, girl. You wouldn't even get past the front foyer. Any wild notions you might have, you might as well put out of your mind here and now."

'*I—I don't even know where New Orleans w."

"And you ain't likely to find out," he told me.

Clem finished his coffee and set the cup down and rose slowly to his feet. He stood there looking at me for several moments, his eyes full of speculation again, and then he nodded to himself, a decision made. He flicked the tip of his tongue out and licked his full lower lip, and I could see the desire darkening in his eyes. I hated him, hated him, and that hatred was so strong now it left no room for fear. Nerves taut, body tightening, I braced myself like a cat, ready to spring.

"Yeah," he drawled, "you're just like your ma. Clarisse had that superior air about her, too, but I soon broke her of it. I'll break you, too. I've been patient with you this past week, girl, givin' you time to grieve, but now we're gonna settle things."

"There ain't nothing to settle. I—"

"I've had my eye on you for a long, long time. You're gonna be my woman. You're gonna cook for me and see to my needs and-"

"Like hell I will," I said coldly.

"You're still a minor, an' legally you're my responsibility. You'll do as I say, girl, and you'll like it."

"You ain't got no hold on me. You ain't even kin. I—I'm leavin' today, and—"

"You ain't goin' nowhere. We're gonna have us a real good time, an' when it's all over you ain't even gonna want to leave, girl. YouVe been holdin' on to that cherry far too long as it is. Ain't normal. Ain't healthy. I'm gonna take it. I'm gonna show you what life's all about."

"Stay away from me, Clem," I warned.

"What-ja gonna do? You gonna beat me up?"

"The little wildcat, they call ya. Me, I always like a bit of challenge. Fight me all you want, girl. That'll only make it more interestin'."

He moved slowly toward me with that loose, animal stride, his eyes gleaming darkly, his mouth curling in a grin of anticipation. A heavy aubum wave had fallen across his forehead. Closer and closer he came, huge and muscular and utterly confident, and I knew I couldn't possibly dart past him and reach the door. For a moment sheer panic threatened to overwhelm me. I felt weak, defenseless, at his mercy, and then something steely came to the fore. I wasn't going to let him do it. I'd kill him if necessary. Clem stopped a couple of feet from me—so close I could smell his hair, his skin, his sweat—and his eyes were alight with devilish amusement.

"Don't do it, Clem," I said.

"You're gonna love it," he murmured.

He reached for me. I moved back, stumbling slightly. Clem chuckled, enjoying himself immensely. The kitchen was hot, the air close and stuffy. The chickens were squabbling again. I was calm as could be on the surface, deliberately calculating each movement, but my heart was pounding, pounding, and I seemed to be having trouble catching my breath. I moved back another step, my thighs bumping against the counter. I was trapped, trapped, but I wasn't going to let him. I wasn't. I moved to one side and Clem chuckled again, taking his time, savoring my fear.

"I been waitin' for this," he told me. "I been waitin' for a long, long time. Seein-you bud, seein' you blossom, seein' you growin' up into the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on. Your ma was beautiful, too, but you got somethin' special about you, somethin' that makes a man's throat go dry, makes his palms sweat, makes him wanna—" He cut himself short, nodding, blue-black eyes agleam. "Yeah, I been waitin', girl, and now I'm gonna do what I've been wantin' to do since you was thirteen years old."

He moved quickly then, grabbing my arms, squeezing them tightly, slamming his body up against mine. He was as strong as an ox, his body rock-hard, solid muscle. His face was inches from my own, and his lips parted and he lowered his head, seeking my mouth. I struggled vigorously, shaking my head from side to side, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arms

with brutal force, his breath hot on my cheek, my neck, my shoulder. My heart pounding, I managed to take a deep breath and make myself go limp. Clem was startled, and he loosened his grip on my arms as I seemed to succumb to his authority.

"That's more like it," he murmured hoarsely. "Yeah, you're gonna enjoy it as much as I am. This body-a yours was made forlovin'."

He curled one strong arm around my waist and leaned forward, forcing me to lean backward. I yielded, lowering my eyelids and letting a soft moan escape from my parted lips. Clem chuckled again, prepared to plunder as I tightened my calf muscles and drew my leg back. I brought my knee up suddenly, violently, with all the force I could muster, and he let out a howl of anguish as it made contact. He released me abruptly, staggered backward, and as he did I raked my nails viciously across his cheek, drawing blood. Clem howled again, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I was stunned by the enormity of what I had done, so stunned I was unable to move. I leaned against the counter with my bosom heaving, my legs curiously weak and watery. I stared at him with horror. His face was ashen, stamped with pain, four bright red streaks dripping across his right cheek. He weaved to and fro on wobbly knees, doubling over and groaning. I knew I must flee immediately, but there didn't seem to be a bone in my body. I was as weak as an infant, breathing in short, shallow gasps. Temporarily immobilized by shock, I could only listen to the pounding of my own heart and pray for the strength to run before it was too late.

"You—you—" he cried hoarsely. "I—"

Clem cut himself short and stood up straight, still in terrible pain but beginning to recover. I tried to move. My knees threatened to fold under me. The color slowly returned to his face. His blue-black eyes glared at me with venomous intent.

"You little bitch! I'm gonna show you. I'm gonna take you right here on th' kitchen floor. I'm gonna have you momin', noon an' night till I've had my fill-a you, and when I get tired-a you I'm gonna turn you over to the boys and let them have a go at you. You're gonna pay—you're gonna pay deariy—"

He started toward me again and I was still immobile and in the middle of a nightmare, and in the nightmare I flung my arm back and my hand hit something hard and I winced and my

fingers instinctively curled around cold iron which I vaguely realized was the handle of the skillet I had set aside earlier. Clem grabbed for me, and I gripped the handle tightly and lifted my arm and slammed the skillet against the side of his head with such force that my wrist seemed to snap. There was a hideous crunching sound and his eyes and his mouth flew open and for perhaps one full second he stared at me with stunned incredulity and then his eyes rolled upward and his knees gave way and he folded, hitting the floor hard with his kneecaps, then flopping forward with his arms outslung. His fingertips slapped against my bare foot.

My God, I thought, I've killed him. I've killed him, and I don't feel a thing. I don't care. He sprawled there limply at my feet like some gigantic rag doll, absolutely still, the hair on the side of his head damp with blood, blood drip-drip-dripping onto the floor and making a tiny red pool. I caught my breath, dizzy for a moment, and then I cautiously examined his body. Yes, he was still breathing. Barely. He wasn't dead yet, but he could die at any minute. I straightened up and backed away from him, horrified now. He might die, and the authorities would . . . and when the boys came back this afternoon they ... I had to get away. Now. This minute.

I stepped into the hall, feeling dizzy again, feeling disoriented, and I paused there in the dim shadows for a moment, trying to think clearly. There was nothing to take with me, for I had nothing to take, no shoes, no clothes, no possessions. Where would I go? Mama Lou, I thought. Mama Lou will let me hide at her place, she'll help me get away, but. . .no, that would be the first place they would look for me. I couldn't go to town. I ... I had to hurry, hurry, the boys could come tromp-ing back at any time. I took another deep breath, acutely aware of that body sprawling on the floor in the kitchen, blood dripping onto the floor, and blind panic rose, almost overcoming me. I mustn't let it. I must stay calm. I must flee.

I rushed outside, the sunshine blindingly bright after the dimness of the hall. It splattered all around me in vivid yellow rays, and a bird was singing in a tree nearby. Everything was so peaceful, so normal, and inside the house Clem was ... He could be dying. He could be dead already. Still disoriented and shaken to the core, I looked around me as though for an answer to my dilemma, and I felt terribly exposed. First they would clap me

into jail, and then they'd hang me. The panic swept over me then, and I ran past the bam and the chicken coop and the pigsty, heading toward the moss-hung cypresses surrounding the prof)-erty. In moments I felt the soft, ghostly gray tendrils brushing my face and arms, and I plunged ahead, running as fast as I could.

The swamp seemed to welcome me, and the farther I penetrated into the fetid green and gray world, the safer I felt. I kept running until I felt sure my lungs would burst, and then, panting, I slackened my pace only a little, moving deeper and deeper into the swamp, circling streams, wading across tiny nvulets and careftilly avoiding the bogs. Mossy gray trunks surrounded me, huge roots exposed, tangled over the ground like great gnarled fingers. Spanish moss and vines dangled from the limbs overhead, some of the vines festooned with glossy purple and mauve blossoms. It was hot, hot, my dress plastered to my body, my face and arms glistening with perspiration, my hair damp, spilling to my shoulders in heavy waves as I forged on.

An hour passed, two, and finally I had to stop, I had to rest. I brushed damp waves from my cheeks and sat down on a log, breathing heavily, exhausted, still shaken by what had happened, what I had done. I couldn't rest long. I had to keep going. Jake and Randy might already have come home and found the body, might already have notified the authorities of my crime. Sometimes they turned the bloodhounds loose to track you down, and the bloodhounds often tore their prey to pieces before they could be stopped. I turned my head, listening intently, almost believing I could hear the bloodhounds' vicious bark. It was only a bird calling m the distance but, nevertheless, I was as frightened as I had ever been in my life. Pale with fear, I huddled there on the fallen log, trying my best to let common sense prevail.

I had hit Clem very, very hard with the skillet, true, but he had a very thick skull and he probably wasn't dead at all, despite the blood dripping onto the floor. He had been breathing when I-fled. And Jake and Randy were usually gone all day when fishing with the Andersons. Sometimes they left their catch at the Andersons' shanty and sauntered into town to find a girl willing to take on all four of them for the price of a shiny hair ribbon or a pair of stockings. Most likely the boys wouldn't get back home till after sunset, if then. Common sense told me this.

but fear prevailed. They could easily come home early today. The men could already be unleashing the bloodhounds, making them sniff one of my old handkerchiefs to pick up the scent.

I stood up. My lungs still hurt, and every bone in my body seemed to be aching. My wrist was sore from swinging the heavy skillet. My ragged pink skirt had caught on a thom when I was running, and there was a bad tear, revealing the shabby petticoat beneath. Dirty, sweaty, bruised, I felt utterly defenseless. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? I couldn't just wander around the swamps, waiting for them to catch me. I had to have a plan. I had to have a destination. New Orieans, I thought. Somehow I would get to New Orieans, and somehow I would find out who Ma's folks were and go to them. I had no idea where New Orieans was—it might be hundreds of miles away for all I knew—but someone would know where it was located and tell me how to get there.

Mama Lou had told me I had strength. Ma had, too. Some of that strength came to my aid now. I felt a steely resolve replacing the panic. I wasn't going to let them catch me. I wasn't going to give in, give up, let life defeat me. I was going to make something of myself. I was young and strong and healthy, and I could read and write, at least a little. I could woric from dawn to dusk without complaining, had done so most of my hfe. Maybe I could get some kind of job, maybe as a cook or maid. I would do anything I had to do to get away from the swamps and the desolate life I had known here. Somehow I would earn enough money to get me to New Orieans, and then ... I squared my shoulders, resolve strengthening inside.

Familiar with the swamp since early childhood, I had a keen sense of direction. West of the swamp, some thirty-five miles away, there was a town, I knew. I didn't know what it was called, had certainly never seen it myself, but I knew it was there, a proper town, situated on the river, with shops and houses and a busy waterfront. Clem had gone there once several years ago. I remembered him talking about it, complaining bitteriy because, he had to pay a whole dollar to spend the night at the waterfront inn. If I went west, I was bound to reach the town eventually, I reasoned, and maybe there I could find work and get some information about New Orleans.

Stepping over the log, moving around a gnarled gray cypress

draped with spooky moss, I headed west, moving with a purpose now, moving with hope. It would take me hours and hours to walk thirty-five miles. I wouldn't even be able to reach town before nightfall, I realized, and the thought of spending a night in the swamp wasn't at all cheering, but I would think about that later. Now I must make as good time as possible, get as many miles as possible between me and the farm. After a while familiar sights vanished and I was in a part of the swamp I had never seen before. I moved quickly but cautiously, avoiding the bogs, keeping my eye out for snakes and alligators, surrounded by the constant buzz of insects and a chorus of bird calls that echoed eerily among the treetops.

I wasn't afraid. Not a bit. I told myself that over and over again. I wasn't afraid and I wasn't lost, either. I was moving west and I was certain to reach the river eventually, and the town was on the other side of the river. There were far more streams and ponds in this part of the swamp, water everywhere, it seemed, trees as thick as ever, gray trunks coated with moss and lichen, limbs forming an impenetrable canopy overhead. The ground was damp and spongy beneath my bare feet. Once I stepped on a mossy rock and tumbled into a stream that was much deeper than I had judged it to be. An alligator sleeping on the bank opened its jaws and hissed nastily, slithering into the water. I climbed out quickly and, wet all over, moved down the bank until I found a spot narrow enough to leap across. Weak rays of sunlight wavered through the treetops, only intensifying the gloom as I moved on, and it seemed to me that the light was growing dimmer.