Flossie's Revenge

by Lubrican

Chapters : Foreword | 1-2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18 | 19-20 | 21-22
23-24 | 25-26 | 27-28 | 29-30 | 31-32 | 33-34 | 35-36 | 37-38 | 39-40 | 41-42 | 43-44

Chapter 25

The paint can in Nathan's hand was half full of Sherwin Williams eggshell white, mixed with a number three oil base. It weighed, at that moment in time, about five and a quarter pounds. It was swung by an arm that was virtually overflowing with adrenaline, a substance Nathan had been tested on in school, and knew the qualities of well, though he wasn't thinking about that at that moment. The can struck Harvey Wilson's head exactly two inches above his right eye, vertically speaking, and one inch to the right of that eye, horizontally speaking, where the forehead changes from front to side. Had the bottom rim of the can struck him there, it would have crushed his skull like the eggshells the paint was named after.

Fortunately, depending, of course on your point of view, what struck Harvey's head was the side of the can, which was about three thirty-seconds of an inch thick, and quite flexible, under these conditions. Figuring the exact foot pounds of pressure that was applied to Harvey's head is beyond the math skills of this writer. The can bent, and it gets all complicated. Let's just estimate it was a whole bunch of foot pounds.

For sure, it caused Harvey's skull to move, while his brain tried to stay perfectly still. They call that a 'coup injury' in the medical field, where the moving skull bruises the brain. Harvey then fell sideways at a rapid pace, aided by all those foot-pounds, whereupon his skull struck the dirt floor and stopped. By then, his brain was moving pretty rapidly, and tried to keep on moving. It slapped up against his skull, which didn't give, and bruised on that side too. They call that a 'contra-coup injury', just in case you're wondering.

Harvey Wilson, with two bruises on rougly opposite sides of his brain, became instantly and thoroughly unconscious. He would remain that way for two or three hours, depending on what outside forces intervened.

Nathan didn't care, at the moment, whether his father was alive or dead. The paint can had burst open upon impact, and as the side of the can compressed on Harvey's skull, the paint that was displaced shot out of the opening. Nathan was covered with paint.

He was aware of that on a shallow level, primarily because he had to wipe his eyes clear to see. His primary concern was for Flossie, though. He dropped the can, swiped his eyes clear, and knelt, hovering over her. She was splattered with paint too, and was sobbing and hugging herself.

Great heartrending sobs poured out of her in an unending stream. She didn't react in any way, shape, or form as Nathan pulled her up and cradled her in his arms. He was shushing her, using all the words and tones Annie had used on him when he cried, but nothing helped. He kept asking if she was all right. His father had hit her hard, and he was afraid something was broken inside her. He didn't want to leave her on the floor, and let go of her to pick her up. She had paint all over her, now, some of it from contact with him. Everywhere he had touched her, she was white with smears of paint. It was in her hair, on her face, all over her naked torso. Only what was left of her pants was free of paint, and when he carried her, that got painted too.

He started to lay her on the bed, and saw the beautiful quilt. He knew he'd ruin it. He tried to get her to help him, to pull at the quilt, but she only sobbed and lay limp in is arms. He finally put her in an old overstuffed chair, back in the living room. He didn't have anything to cover her, and his hands were a mess. He went back into her room, looking on the shelves, and saw a sheet folded up. He took that and wrapped it around her.

He was calming down a little now, and finally he checked his father. He was breathing. He couldn't leave his father here. If he woke up, he'd kill Flossie for sure. But Nathan knew he couldn't carry his father's bulk the six blocks back home. He remembered an old wheelbarrow, with a metal spoked wheel. It was around the side of the house, by the fish cleaning station. It had a flat bed on it, with an upright wall at the front. Running to get it, he parked it outside her door and dragged his father outside by his heels. When Harvey's head bumped over the threshold, Nathan didn't care.

It took all his strength to get his father's bulk up onto the wheelbarrow, lying on his back with his head between the handles and his lower legs hanging over the upright in the front. His arms flopped loosely beside the wheelbarrow. Nathan ran back inside. Flossie's sobs were softer now, and she was hiccuping. Now she looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. The whole left side of her face was swollen where Harvey had slapped her, and that eye wouldn't open completely. The stretching of her face as she bawled had reopened the lip, which was bleeding freely again.

"D-d-d-d-don't g-g-g-go," she stuttered, rocking in the chair.

"I have to go get help," he whispered. "I'll come back, but I have to go get help."

Her sobs of terror as he left wrenched at his heart, and he almost turned back. But getting his father away from there was more important. And help. He had to find someone to help.

It wasn't full dark yet. Nathan, straining to lift the wheelbarrow, half ran, until he was exhausted. The adrenaline had fled, leaving him feeling like he hadn't slept in a week. He was still two blocks from home when he had to set the wheelbarrow down to rest, dragging in agonized gasps. He wanted to sit down, but knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to get back up. He picked up the handles and staggered on. When he got to his front door he left his father there and crashed inside.

Marian had the television on, though she wasn't watching it. She was watching the front door, waiting for whatever Harvey was doing to be over so she could find out what was wrong. The girls had gotten up and looked out the window when he left. There was some whispering, and Bernadette's shouting whisper of "NO!" Marian had questioned them, but they didn't seem to know what was going on either. They finally sat back down, books in hand, but they didn't do much reading. When a large, strange and wild looking person with paint all over him suddenly burst in through the door, Marian screamed. Then the apparition spoke with Nathan's voice as the shaggy white-spattered face turned toward her daughters.

"Get down to Miss Flossie's now! She's hurt and she needs help!"

The girls shot out of their chairs, and without a how-do-you-do they dashed for the front door.

"Wait!" called Marian. "What's going on?!"

The ghostly person with Nathan's voice turned to her. "Daddy attacked Miss Flossie. He beat her. Then he tore her clothes off and said he was going to fuck her, and that I had to fuck her too."

He delivered the devastating information as if he were telling her that a neighbor had bought a new car and, while driving it home, had bumped into a fire plug. His voice, other than the panting, was steady and almost normal. But his almost casual use of the word "fuck" made it clear to his mother that he was almost out of control.

"Nathan Patrick Wilson! What kind of nonsense are you spouting!?" said his mother, standing up. "Where is your father?"

"Out front. I brought him home. I think he's alive. He was breathing when I left Miss Flossie's. I hit him with a can of paint while he was raping Miss Flossie." Again, it was delivered like it was no big deal ... just information she might be interested in having.

"Rape?" The word stuck in Marina’s throat. "Did you say rape?"

"Yes Ma'am, except that I'm not sure he actually raped her. He was trying to when I hit him."

"Where is he, Nathan?" Marian's voice was steady and calm now. She had kicked into competent Southern Wife mode. She might fall apart later, but right now she could deal with any contingency.

"I brought him home on her wheelbarrow," said Nathan. "I'll show you."

He hadn't re-dressed his father. Harvey's pants were down around his calves, and his boxers were still keeping his knees more or less together. His penis wasn't stiff any more. His head lolled to one side, almost falling off the floor of the wheelbarrow. His chest was rising and falling.

Marian looked at him, and then at Nathan. "Help me get him inside. Then we'll have a little talk about what happened."

"I have to go back," said Nathan stubbornly. "He hurt her bad, Mamma. She might need a doctor."

"Help me get him out of the public view, and I'll go back down there with you," said his mother.

She muttered about the paint all over everything, and Nathan explained about hitting him to knock him off Miss Flossie. She pulled the whole sordid story out of him, bit by bit, making him tell her everything he could remember about what Harvey did and said. He was like a recording machine. Marian could hear her husband's voice in Nathan's as he repeated all the horrible things he claimed were said. Once they had manhandled Harvey into bed, she examined his head, feeling for soft spots, and pulling his lips back to examine his teeth. He was out cold, but he didn't seem to have any serious external injuries. She'd have to call the doctor if he didn't wake up soon.

She stood up. Nathan was dancing in his impatience to leave and go back to that woman's house. Marian, feeling dread deep in her bones, told him to take her there. She left her husband lying, still half dressed, on top of the bed. He was breathing, and that was enough for now.

Flossie was still sitting in the chair, still wrapped in the sheet when they got there. She was moaning and rocking as Bernadette and Hilda Mae hovered over her.

"She won't say anything!" said Hilda Mae, relief flooding her face when she saw her mother.

Marian looked around. She was horrified by the conditions this woman lived in. Her eyes went to Flossie's blank stare and swollen face. Her jaw, where he had fisted her, was swollen three inches. That whole side of her face bulged as if something were trying to get out from under the skin.

"Make some coffee!" she snapped to her daughters. "Or tea if you can find it."

The girls darted to the kitchen and Bernadette opened a simple board, hung on hinges, that covered a cubby hole. She reached for a box and pulled it down. Hilda Sue, meanwhile had gone to the stove and gotten a battered teapot and was putting water in it. Both girls obviously were familiar with this place. Marian noted that, but filed it in the back of her mind for later evaluation.

"There's no fire in the stove," said Hilda Mae, lifting an iron plate with a wire-wrapped handle on it and looking inside.

"Use the gas stove!" said Marian as she stepped toward the moaning woman.

"She doesn't have one," said Hilda Mae, looking helpless.

Nathan moved to the kitchen and, with practiced movements, got kindling and some small branches from a box and built a fire in the fire box of the stove. It smoked a little until he fiddled with the damper and got the draft going. Marian filed that little bit of information away too. She had no idea her son knew how to fire up an old stove like that.

"Does she have an ice box?" asked Marian, getting down on her knees in front of Flossie.

When they answered that she did, she asked for ice, wrapped in a towel. She heard them pulling the handle of the ice cube trays and the cracking of the cubes as the metal grid they were in moved. Bernadette brought her a bundle of ice in a dish towel.

"I'm going to need a clean rag soaked in hot water too," she said to Bernadette. "Bring it to me as soon as it's almost too hot to touch."

She began to talk to the woman.

"Flossie? Is it Flossie? You're going to be all right now, dear. No one will hurt you again. Flossie? I need you to talk to me sweetheart." She cooed and laid her hands on the arms of the chair. She didn't touch the woman yet, but she put her face right in front of her. She kept talking softly, saying Flossie's name, but getting no response. One of the girls handed her a steaming rag. It was dripping, and Marian almost snarled. She took a breath and wrung the rag out. "Bring me a cup of that hot water before you make tea," she said, not looking up.

Very gently she applied the hot rag to the bleeding lip, barely touching it. The cup appeared and she told whoever had it to hold it there. She dipped the tip of the rag in the water and swabbed the lip carefully. The woman winced, and her eyes cleared, losing the blank stare. They went to Marian's face and she flinched.

"It's all right Flossie," she cooed. "No one will hurt you any more. I need you to tell me where it hurts, baby."

"Hurts," said Flossie thickly. She had bit the inside of her cheek when he slapped her, and it was swollen.

"Yes, dear, tell me where it hurts."

"Face hurts," came the soft voice.

Marian laid down the rag and picked up the ice. She tenderly arranged it against the swollen flesh on Flossie's face and asked her if she could hold it there. One shaking hand came up and Marian helped her press it against her face.

"Where else does it hurt?" asked Marian. "How are your arms and legs?"

"S'okay" slurred Flossie. Her other hand moved under the sheet and she winced.

Marian pulled the sheet off and almost vomited. The teethmarks on the breast were vivid, each individual tooth having almost torn the skin. They were far apart, and Marian knew from experience that he had closed his teeth as close together as he could, and had then moved his lower jaw back and forth. When done lightly, it was exquisitely painful. This had not been done lightly. This must have almost driven the poor woman mad. Her eyes took in the torn shirt, and the pants, half ripped from her body.

"We'll get you cleaned up and get some fresh clothes on you soon." said Marian, her voice calm. "Do you have any liniment, or balm?"

Flossie tried to look over her shoulder, and winced as strained muscles in her neck complained. She looked up and saw Hilda Mae standing beside them.

"In thu bwoo jahr on da bookshef" she mumbled. Hilda Mae apparently understood her clearly, because she went to a shelf covered with books and pulled down a beautiful stone jar, with a lid on it. She pulled the lid off and sniffed, wrinkling her nose. She brought the jar to her mother. Marian sniffed and nodded. Annie had used something like this, some local mixture of things that worked wonders. She dipped her fingers into it and pulled the sheet back again to apply it to the bite marks. Hilda Mae hissed.

Marian looked up and saw horror on her daughter's face. "Don't embarrass her by looking, dear. Where's that tea?" Hilda Mae fairly ran to the kitchen.

More of the balm went on Flossie's neck muscles as Marian smoothed her hand gently along the skin there. She had Flossie lift the bag of ice long enough to spread the balm all over the swollen flesh there too. The smell was strong, so Marian knew it was good stuff. Flossie sighed and relaxed a bit. She slowly stopped rocking too. Hilda Mae appeared with a cup that was steaming.

"Do you want sugar in your tea, dear?" asked Marian. Flossie's eyes stared, and she nodded fractionally. She licked her lips and winced. Hilda Mae disappeared with the tea. Marian dipped one finger into the balm and held it just over the split lip. "This is going to sting," she said. Flossie nodded and Marian pressed the stuff in the open cut. Other than tightening her jaw, Flossie showed no reaction.

Hilda Mae came back with the tea and Flossie took put the ice down and took the cup in both hands. They were trembling, and Marian reached forward to help stop them. The woman sipped, and then sipped again. She sipped a third time and Marian could see her swish the liquid around in her mouth. She swallowed and her voice was clearer.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Marian just smiled.

Flossie lifted the cup, and saw the paint smeared on her hands. She looked confused. She held up an arm and saw it was also smeared with paint.

"My son made rather a mess, I'm afraid," said Marian.

"Nathan!" said Flossie, sitting upright. The tea almost spilled and Marian took it from her.

"He's over there fiddling with the fire," said Marian. "Do you want me to send him away? Does he frighten you?"

"No!" said Flossie. "He ... I think he ... your husband was ..." She closed her eyes.

"Yes," said Marian heavily. "There is nothing I can say or do that will ever make up for what my husband did tonight. I believe Nathan helped you."

"Yes!" said Flossie. "He helped me!" Tears began to leak from her eyes.

Marian wanted to get the woman to bed. If she could sleep, that would help with the shock more than anything else she could think of. But she wouldn't get up. Finally Marian called Nathan. She looked at the crying woman.

"I'm going to have Nathan carry you to your bed. Is that all right?"

Flossie nodded. Nathan picked her up gently, sheet and all and her arms went around his neck. Flossie started sobbing again. In the bedroom, Marian pulled back the quilt and told Nathan to lay the woman down. She had to pry Flossie's arms from around his neck, and she started crying harder when he stepped back.

"You want Nathan to stay?" asked Marian. Flossie nodded her head. Nathan stood there uncertainly. "Get me something for her to wear while she sleeps," said his mother. Nathan went to the shelves that went along the wall and lifted things until he found what looked like a nightgown to him. He took it to his mother, who told him to turn around. Then she called Bernadette in and had Bernadette help her get the ruined clothes off of Flossie, and the nightgown on. Bernadette choked back a sob as she saw the bite mark on the breast.

"Who did this to her Mamma?" cried the girl.

Marian jerked. The girls hadn't heard the story. They had no idea who had attacked Flossie. The wheelbarrow, with their comatose father on it had been to one side of the walk, and they might not have seen it in the dark as they rushed by on their way out.

"Go help Hilda Mae," said Marian, trying just to get the girl out of the room. Bernadette backed out of the room, her eyes wild and full of fear.

Marian looked at Nathan, who was still facing away, his shoulders tight. She told him he could turn around again, but warned him to be quiet with one quick finger to her lips. She would deal with that later. Right now she wanted this woman asleep. She couldn't do anything about the paint. The hair would have to be cut away. It would grow back. They made things that the hardware store would have that would take the paint off her skin. That was of no consequence. This woman wasn't going anywhere for a day or two, at least. She'd be in too much pain. That brought to mind pain medication and she asked Flossie if she had anything. There was a shake of her head, but that was all.

Marian had to make a decision. Flossie was acting groggy. There could be broken bones under the swelling. Harvey was in enough trouble already. If the woman died ...

She called out to her daughters and told them to run to Miz Hopkins' house and find out where the doctor lived. They were to go get him, and bring him here, telling him only that a woman had been beaten and might have broken bones. If he balked, they were to find some way of convincing him to come without making a scene.

Marian spent the next twenty minutes wiping ineffectually at the paint on Flossie's arms, trying more to just touch her gently than actually do anything. She knew how soiled she felt when Harvey was rough with her, and that was when she had welcomed that kind of attention. For this woman, it must have been horror beyond reason.

She was surprised when the girls were back within twenty minutes. Hilda Mae rushed into the room, a short, fat man with her, who wore a straw hat and had a black bag in his hand. He stepped into the room and looked around in dismay. He saw Marian sitting next to Flossie. It was clear who the patient was.

"She's a Ni-gruh!" he said blinking. He looked at Hilda Mae. "You didn't tell me she was a Ni-gruh." He looked around. "Bo Tomkins takes care of the colored folk 'round here. You should have gotten him."

"She's hurt and she needs care," said Marian standing up.

"But she's colored!" said the man.

"She's been bleeding red!" snapped Marian. "Her bruises are starting to turn blue, just like mine would! Just see if anything is broken. Give her something for the pain. No one will ever know. She's groggy and I'm afraid she might even die!"

Hilda Mae and Bernadette gasped, and broke into tears.

The doctor looked around again. He saw Nathan, covered with paint, and looked at the patient again. She had paint smeared all over her.

"Did he do this?" he asked, pointing to Nathan.

Marian blanched. "Of course not! He drove the man off of her!"

Nathan stepped closer. "He hit her with his fist and knocked her three feet. I hit him with a can of paint."

The doctor looked around again. "Where's he?"

"Gone," said Marian. "Just see if anything's broken, and give her something for pain. That's all. Just that much ... please?"

The doctor sighed and went to the chair Marian had been sitting in. He sat down and pulled the quilt down. Flossie looked at him with a glitter in her eyes, but didn't say anything. He touched her face, gently at first, and then probing harder until she winced. He ordered her to open and close her mouth while he felt the hinge of her jaw. He wiped his finger through the balm on her cut lip, sniffed at it, and then wiped his finger on his pants.

"Nothing broken," he said. "What you've put on the cut is as good as anything I've got."

Instead of stopping, though, he went on. He examined her arms and hands, and, without saying a word, pulled her gown apart to look at her torso. He saw the balm in a circle around her breast and wiped it off. He stopped, frozen for a few seconds, when he saw the bite marks. He touched them, and Flossie winced. He went on, and found the abrasion where her skin was inflamed around her waist.

"She'll need some of that salve along here." He pointed to the white flaky line. "And more where I wiped it off there," He pointed to the bite mark and then looked at Marian. "Who did this to her?" His eyes were serious.

"Don't know," said Flossie suddenly. She looked at the doctor and he saw her eyes go to the two young girls who were standing nearby. "I went out to get some wood for the stove. It was dark. This boy here happened along and heard me scream."

Marian frowned. "Flossie, I don't think ..."

"It was dark," said Flossie.

The doctor looked at her. He nodded once, and then bent over to pick up his bag. He took out a brown glass bottle and shook two red pills into his palm. Then he got another bottle and shook out ten or fifteen tablets. He handed the medicine to Marian.

"The red ones will help her sleep tonight. They're Seconal. The others are aspirin, for tomorrow. I don't believe she's badly injured. Keep a close eye on the ..." He had been about to say "bite marks", but the two younger girls were standing there and he didn't want to shock them if they didn't already know. "this area here," he said, pointing to where he had covered the marks up with her nightgown. "If they get infected I need to know immediately. I think she'll look a lot better in a few days, and there shouldn't be any lasting damage."

He stood up, his bag in hand, and headed for the door. At the door he stopped.

"I didn't mind coming," he said, facing away from them. "That man needs to be found."

He walked out the door into the dark.

Marian coaxed Flossie into swallowing a Seconal and two aspirin, and then told her she had to go and do some things. She said her children would stay, and repeated several times that no one would hurt Flossie any more. When she promised to come back, Flossie finally relaxed, and closed her eyes.

Chapter 26

Marian went into the house carefully. Harvey was still unconscious on the bed. He was breathing regularly, though, and there was only a slight bruise where Nathan had hit him with the paint can.

She had no idea what to do now. What he had done to that poor woman was criminal, no doubt, but she couldn't report him. If he was arrested he'd be fired and everything would fall to pieces. She had nowhere to go - her parents were dead, and his parents were worse than he was. She had no skills. Women were beginning to enter the job market, very slowly, but she couldn't think of anything she could do to put bread on the table. Something had to be done, though. He had gone too far. He had gone WAY too far. That woman had every right to come looking for him with a gun in her hand. She gave a sigh of relief that the woman wasn't married. If she'd had a husband, he would have come looking for Harvey with a gun. All she could to was take care of the woman and offer her whatever support she could.

She thought back to the hovel the woman lived in. This woman was a teacher, for pity's sake! They paid her some kind of salary. Why would a teacher, or anybody else, for that matter, live in that dump. And how was it that her daughters seemed to know an awful lot about the inside of that place? There were too many questions, and not enough answers. Harvey seemed to be relatively healthy. He was on his own.

She went into the kitchen and began putting together the things she wanted to take back with her. She'd stay the night, just in case the woman had a relapse or something. If so, one of the children could be sent for the doctor. In the mean time, she wanted to be there if Flossie woke up. She wanted Flossie to see a friendly face if that happened. The poor woman had been through too much already.

Flossie did wake during the night. She woke screaming. Marian got the other Seconal in her, and sang softly to her, stroking her hair until she was asleep again.

In the morning, Marian built a fire in the old wood stove. She hadn't seen one since she was a girl, but the skills came back easily. She had learned to cook on such a stove. The utensils were mismatched, but well cared for, and she prepared breakfast with no trouble. Bernadette and Hilda Mae had gone into the other room and cleared boxes and piles of things off an antique feather bed. They had fallen asleep side by side, exhausted by the excitement of the evening. Nathan had pulled the chair Flossie had been sitting in into the bedroom, and lay draped across it, snoring lightly. Marian hadn't been able to sleep at all, thinking about all the trouble this was going to cause.

The smells woke everyone. She looked behind her in surprise as Flossie walked slowly into the living room, her feet bare on the dirt floor.

"Good morning," said Marian with false brightness in her voice. "I thought you might want to stay in bed."

Flossie shook her head. She stumbled. The Seconal did that to you. It made it hard to wake up completely. "You didn't have to do all this," she said.

"Nonsense," said Marian. "This is the least I could do. The very least."

The girls wandered out of the other bedroom, and sat down on rickety chairs at the huge old table. Marian served Flossie first, and then the girls. Nathan appeared at the door to Flossie's room, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He looked a sight, almost like some ghost come a-haunting. Marian sat down with a cup of coffee. When Nathan got to the table she pointed at the stove. He could serve himself.

"Do you have anything to take the paint off?" asked Marian.

Flossie looked at her paint spattered arms and shook her head.

"Miss Flossie?" said Hilda Mae. "Who did this to you?"

Flossie looked at Marian, who closed her eyes, and then opened them again to stare into the woman's dark brown ones. She had no right to ask this woman to remain silent.

"It's not something I want to talk about," said Flossie.

"Was it my Daddy?" Hilda Mae asked, not leaving it alone.

Marian closed her eyes again. Hilda Mae always had been very intelligent. Putting two and two together, what with Nathan coming home like that, carrying Harvey, and both of them covered in paint. She should have known they'd figure it out.

"Hilda Mae," said Flossie. "Don't argue with me."

"Yes Ma'am," said Hilda Mae, her voice subdued. Her voice bore clear respect for this colored woman. She picked at her food, but Marian didn't say anything to her about it.

Nathan sat down. There was nothing wrong with his appetite.

"I made a mess," he said, looking at where the dirt floor was covered with paint. He looked at his own arms. He hadn't changed clothes yet and Marian couldn't believe he could stand to still be in the paint-soaked ones.

"We'll clean it up," said Flossie. "Thank you for making that mess, Nathan."

"Yes Ma'am," he said. "You're welcome."

Marian was amazed at how quickly the woman recovered her equilibrium. If this had happened to her, she was quite sure she'd be a basket case for weeks.

"And thank you for being here with me," said Flossie to Marian. "I hope this doesn't strain things for you."

"Don't you worry about me," said Marian. She sipped her coffee. It tasted so much better than that stuff from the jar. "And don't you worry about him either. He'll be crossing the street to avoid you, I can promise you that, at a minimum. Regardless of what else happens, I'll personally make him pay for what he did for the rest of his life."

"Perhaps the children should go home and change clothes," suggested Flossie. It was a signal that she wanted to talk without them.

They didn't want to go, but Marian sent them anyway. She instructed them not to talk to their father, except to tell him they had been so instructed. If he persisted, they were to leave, and come back to Flossie's.

When they were gone, Marian set her cup down.

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

"There's not much I can do," said Flossie.

"You could press charges."

"No," she said softly.

"You must be joking. I'm his wife, but you have every right in the world to demand that he be put in jail."

"That would never happen," said Flossie. "And you'd know that, if you just thought about it. Not in this town. Not in this State."

"But if anyone saw you like I saw you, there would be no question!" said Marian. "Even the doctor said something should be done."

"They'd say I sassed him, or tried to steal from him or whatever they needed to say to make it all my fault. He called me a whore, Mrs. Wilson. And if I raise my voice others will call me that too. They'll say I led him on."

"But my son was here! He saw the whole thing! The doctor saw you. He could testify about that."

"And that doctor would never say a word. You heard him. He won't even treat a Negro, much less testify for one. To speak on behalf of a Negro is the kiss of death. You know that! And Nathan has a bright future ahead of him," said Flossie. "He's smart, and he has courage. He'll make a fine police officer, or whatever he ends up doing. But pitting him against his own father is not something I want to do. What happened was bad enough. Can you imagine your son, standing in front of the judge? Do you think that would make a big difference? They'd tell him that he didn't see what he thought he saw."

"I saw how Nathan reacted last night," said Marian. "He respects you a great deal. He would stand up for you in court if asked to."

"He's young. They're all young. Being mixed together in school has made them see each other as just other children. But we both know the adults in this town wouldn't be that way. Not yet. Maybe in fifty years, but not now."

"You're probably right," Marian sighed. "For the first time in my life I don't feel so good about that."

"You could learn a lot from your children," said Flossie. "Maybe you already have. Most women I know wouldn't have done what you did last night."

"It was only decent," said Marian. "My husband harmed you. I had a duty to try to undo that harm, if I could."

"Well, thank you," said Flossie. "I'll be fine from here on out, I imagine. You needn't trouble yourself any more."

"My children seem to be very familiar with the inside of your ... house." Marian let that hang.

Flossie sighed. "Nathan has been helping me paint on Saturdays, before they go fishing. The girls read books while we paint."

"I see," said Marian. "They did not inform me of this."

"I was afraid of that," said Flossie. "I suspect they thought they would have been forbidden."

"That is likely quite true - they would have," said Marian. "However, that will no longer be the case. I'll have them look in on you from time to time, if that's all right."

"They are wonderful children," said Flossie. "They are always welcome here ... as are you ... if you feel so inclined."

"Perhaps," said Marian. "One never knows when one may need to borrow a cup of sugar."

That was as far as it went. It was, under the circumstances, extraordinary, but that was as far as it could go at that point in time.

When Marian got home, Harvey was awake and surly. His head hurt, and he was still lying in bed.

There would obviously be no school that day. Marian sent Bernadette and Hilda Mae went back to Flossie's, in case she needed anything. For the first time in her life she didn't want her daughters to be around their father. She told Nathan to go to school to tell everyone to go back home.

She couldn't take Harvey to the doctor. He was covered in paint. She knew she should, because he might be injured too, but it would be too embarrassing. But if he didn't go to work, people might inquire. The paint could be explained as a simple accident. He needed to act normal.

"You need to go to work," she said, looking at the man who had done such horrible things.

She was leaving the room when he asked how he got home.

"Nathan brought you." she said. "He hit you with a can of paint."

"I don't remember that part," he said, looking angry.

"Do you remember the rest?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

He looked at her innocently. "I told that nigger woman to leave my son alone," he said. "He didn't have to hit me like that."

Marian stepped closer and looked down at Harvey.

"I saw what you did to that woman."

She turned around and left. She was back within thirty seconds, a towel in her hands. She went to stand beside the bed, put the towel down on the bed, and pulled the covers down off of him. He had taken off everything except his boxer shorts at some point. She stood back a little, and fixed him with hot eyes.

"You are never to so much as look at Flossie Pendergast again in your life, for any reason whatsoever. You have abused your freedom and I am withdrawing it. You will go nowhere without telling me first, and then only if I agree you may go there. Tonight, and until further notice, you will be sleeping on the couch. I will keep the car keys, and I will take you to, and pick you up from the bank. I will discipline the children and you will not. If this is not acceptable to you, you may file for divorce. There isn't a court in the land that will deny me full alimony if Nathan testifies ... and he will be happy to testify on my behalf. You are welcome to your opinions, but you will keep them to yourself."

She reached for the towel, and looked at him, eye to eye. "Remember this. If I ever find out you have touched Flossie Pendergast again, for any reason at all, I'll castrate you in your sleep."

With that, she pulled her very best carving knife from inside the towel, where she had wrapped it up. It was the one with the needle-sharp point. It flashed in the air as her hand raised it, and Harvey screamed as he saw it falling toward his groin. She drove it clear through the mattress, about two inches from his crotch.

She left it there, and stood up. "Now ... get dressed. When you're ready I'll take you to work."

When Nathan got to school and told the kids to go home, they were curious, especially since he was still mostly covered with paint. He had changed clothes, but he looked like he had some horrible disease. He said only that there had been some trouble, and that she had been hurt and had to take a few days off to heal up. The older kids wanted to go see her, but Nathan said he thought she'd rather not have visitors for a day or two.

Since there wasn't going to be any school, they then decided that this was the perfect opportunity to do some more work on the treehouse. A trip to the mansion was necessary, to obtain more building materials. Nathan, glad for the diversion, said he'd meet them there after he ran a couple of errands.

He went to the General Store, where everyone laughed at him. They had nothing to remove dried paint and sent him to the hardware store. The hardware man said he had just the thing, but that it had to be used sparingly because it would burn the skin if too much was applied. Nathan bought a quart, and then, on impulse, got a flashlight too, and two batteries. He took the paint remover to Flossie's. She was sleeping. Hilda Mae was keeping watch over her, and Bernadette was reading. He left the paint remover there, but didn't tell them where he was going, since he wanted them to stay there.

The others were at the mansion when he got there, and had separated out a nice pile of lumber. The hole around the steps had been cleared more too, and was slightly larger. Jesse wanted to make a torch so they could look inside.

"I can do you one better than that," said Nathan, pulling out the flashlight.

Jesse was the only one who could fit in the hole, really, or Johnnie Sue, but neither Curtis Lee nor Nathan would let her go. Before they'd let Jesse go in, they found more lumber that they could shore up the beam with that was hanging over the hole. Finally Nathan handed the flashlight to him.

"Don't go in very far," he said. "And keep talking to us so we know you're okay."

Jesse eagerly went towards the hole, going in head first on his hands and knees.

"Watch out for nails!" shouted Curtis Lee.

Jesse's feet stopped within a foot of the outside, and stayed there for thirty seconds or so. Then they disappeared and his face came to the entrance.

"It opens up pretty big. It goes under some of the house that's still standing. The tree trunk goes all the way down into it!"

"What did you see?" asked Moses.

"There's a bunch of old furniture and crates and such stacked all around, kind of piled up." he said. "There's kind of a pathway through it. I could go deeper pretty easy. It's got a board ceiling. I can stand up, but you'd have to duck."

Luthor said he was going to go pound on the floor of the dining room, and crawled up to do that. They all heard him stomping and Jesse's face disappeared. It came back and he was smiling. "Yup, I could see the dust falling from further back when he stomped. It's under wherever he was."

"Is it under the whole house?" asked Johnnie Sue.

Jessie shook his head. "No, it's long and narrow. I can't see how far back it goes, but it's not under you guys."

They decided to excavate more, and Jesse came out. It took them all day, but they finally cleared a pathway all the way from the steps to the tree. Now they could all go down in the cellar. They only had the one flashlight, but the hole they had opened up let in some light. The part of the room around the tree trunk was full of what had fallen into it from above when the floor burned through, and that was piled on top of what it had fallen on. They could see a crushed chair, and what looked like part of a desk. The rest of the room was about ten feet wide. Nathan went along the pathway between crates and old chairs and saw, with the light, that it was only fifteen feet long at the most.

There were a couple of trunks that, when opened, contained only rotted cloth ... all that was left of clothing, most likely. One crate contained some wooden toys. Another held five long brass tubes that had a glass plug in each end. They were smooth along their length, except for what looked like short legs, one at each end, about six inches from the glass plugs. None of them could figure out what they were until Luthor looked through one end, while he pointed the other end at the lighted entrance.

"Hey! It's like a telescope or something."

They took it outside and took turns looking through it. It brought far away things very close, but it covered only a small area. Though they couldn't figure out what they were for, it was the closest thing to treasure they'd found, and they returned.

It was in the last crate they uncovered, that they hit pay dirt. This crate was long, like the one that had held the brass tubes. It was heavy too, and the wood was stained and dark where it had gotten wet in past storms. It had a pile of broken furniture on top of it, and was in the far corner of the room. It was nailed shut, but the rotted wood gave easily to a couple of kicks from Nathan's foot.

Inside, wrapped in oil cloth, were rifles.

There were seven of them. The two on the bottom had gotten wet, and were rusty, the wooden stocks rotted. The others were thickly covered with a greasy substance of some kind, and looked brand new in the daylight outside. Luthor exclaimed about them at some length, pointing out they were muzzle loaders of the cap lock type. He was puzzled by the barrels, which were round on the outside, and hexagonal on the inside. He'd never seen anything like that before. A bag of bullets in the box were also six-sided, and obviously went with these barrels. Both barrels and bullets looked strange to all of them who were familiar with muzzle loading rifles. Johnnie Sue and Luthor still hunted with black powder rifles, but the shot they used was round.

The guns were almost as long as Jesse was tall. Nathan, who had never held a rifle in his life, lifted one and was amazed to find that it felt "right" in his hands. He examined it, finding the word "Whitworth" on the lockplate, along with what looked like an engraved hammer and crown. On one side of the barrel near the front sight was a stamp that said "Parker Hale LTD Birmingham England" and on the other side were the words "Sir Joseph Whitworths Rifling .451"

"What does this mean?" he asked Luthor, pointing to some numbers on the rear sight.

"The rear sight elevates!" said Luthor, moving the metal that made up the sight. "Those numbers are for distance. It's marked to a thousand!"

"Is that a lot?" asked Nathan.

Luthor nodded, his eyes wide.

It was Moses who figured out the relationship of the brass tubes to the rifles. He saw how the legs on the tubes would fit into slots on the left side of the barrel, and could be attached there. Once they puzzled out how it went, it was obvious that the brass tubes were telescopic sights.

"Wow!" said Johnnie Sue. "I bet these are worth something. This is real treasure!"

"Hold on," said Nathan. "If you show up with one of these, people are going to want to know where you got it. When they find out they'll just take it away from you. Adults won't let you keep it, and they won't give you anything for it either. They'll just take it."

Johnnie Sue looked dejected. "But what'll we do with them?"

"Put them back," he said. "They've done fine down there all these years ... well, most of them anyway. Let's give it some thought. Maybe we can find a way to get them to someone who will pay something for them, and maybe not. But if we can, then they'll be there."

"We'll have to cover the hole back up," said Luthor. "In case anybody else comes along."

That was agreed to, though there were a couple of groans. They had worked hard to un-cover the hole.

Nathan had ruined one whole side of the crate by kicking it in. The box that the brass sights had been in was in better shape, so they decided to put it in the back. As they pulled out the last pieces of the rifle crate, to make room for the other one, Johnnie Sue said: "Hey, wait! There's something else back there in the corner." She reached in and grunted. "It's too heavy for me."

Nathan shone the flashlight on a rusted metal box that was about a eighteen inches long and a foot high and wide. It had metal handles on either end. When he grasped them, he thought the thing was stuck to the floor at first. Then, with a rasp, it moved. Grunting, he picked it up and stepped backwards.

"Must have more musket balls in it," he panted. "It weighs a ton!"

The lid comprised the upper two inches of the top of the box. They could see that the box was made of strips of thick metal, heavily rusted , but still sturdy, and held together with rivets. There was a huge old padlock on the hasp that held the lid closed. The key hole looked like it would take a skeleton key, though it was full of rust.

They tried everything they could think of to get the lock open. The pried at it with pieces of wood, which broke. The hammered at it with a stone, which broke. Luthor hadn't brought his hatchet this time, but even so he was sure the box would have just dulled it. In the end they were frustrated. It was too heavy to carry far, and they certainly didn't want some adult to see them and take it away, even if they didn't know what was in it. Nathan said there would be no school the next day either, and that they could come back with tools.

They put the box next to the rifles, covered it with every piece of broken furniture in the cellar, piled the other crates and trunks in front of that, and headed for the tree house with their lumber. This time, Johnnie Sue ran ahead, looking to see if there was anyone to see them. When the coast was clear, she waved her arms, and they advanced at a run. Doing that the whole way, they got the entire load to the treehouse in one trip.

Harvey was at his desk, planning his revenge, instead of paying attention to business. The bitch would pay. His son would pay too. Marian thought she was in charge, but she wasn't. Oh, he'd play her game for a while, but sooner or later she'd pay too. He liked their game, when she took charge, but this was no game. His son had embarrassed him in front of a nigger, and he would not stand for that. He heard his secretary's voice rising outside and looked up.

The constable walked into the office, trailed by Harvey's distraught looking secretary. He had warned her not to just let people walk into his office. He would pick and choose who he spent his valuable time with.

"I tried to stop him sir," the woman whined.

He waved her out.

"Why do you suppose she'd even want to stop me?" asked the constable.

"What do you want?" asked Harvey.

The constable sat down in the good leather chair. Harvey scowled. The constable, like most others around here, wore overalls. He looked ridiculous with that pistol strapped around his bulging waist, like some cartoon character. Why the town fathers spent the money to hire the buffoon was beyond him. The man just looked at him for perhaps half a minute.

"Seems like we got us a little problem here, Mister Wilson." The man spoke casually.

Harvey felt a twinge of worry. He knew Marian hadn't turned him in. The nigger knew better than to open her mouth. It was his word against hers. Nathan couldn't say anything. He had assaulted his own father. Nobody would take that boy's word over a grown man's. Besides, nobody knew. He was sure of that. His own family wouldn't turn traitor.

"Since I don't have any idea what you're talking about, I'd say you have a little problem, Constable." He said it with confidence. He was good at projecting confidence. Confidence was his profession.

"I see," said the man, looking around. "You're sure about that?"

"Look, I'm a busy man. I have work to do and don't have time to chat with every Tom, Dick and Harry who decides to drop by and talk in riddles. If you've got something to say, then say it. If not, get out. Go find someone jaywalking, or whatever it is you do." Harvey didn't stand up. This man didn't deserve it.

The man didn't move. He pulled out a twist of tobacco and bit off a hunk. He chewed it slowly, his cheek bulging like a chipmunk’s.

"All right," he said finally. But he didn't leave. "You read the news pretty regular?" he asked.

Harvey was losing his patience. He did stand up, pointing at the door and took a breath to berate the bumpkin. The bumpkin, however, kept talking, and raised his voice a bit.

"Unless you want me to haul you out of here, and to jail, in front of all those fine customers you have out there, you'd better sit your fat ass down in that chair of yours ... right now."

Harvey couldn't believe the man's tone of voice. He sounded so serious, that Harvey froze. There was something in his voice that promised he would do exactly as he said. He sat.

"Now, do you read the news? Watch it on television?"

"Yes, of course," said Harvey tightly.

"Then you know there's a whole slew of troublemakers from up North that are messing around in business that ain't theirs. I'm talking about the 'En Ay Ay Cee Pee' I think it is they call themselves. You familiar with that bunch?"

"Bunch of nigger lovers," said Harvey, his eyes narrowing.

The man smiled. His teeth were stained with tobacco juice. "Them's the ones. They do love to poke their noses where they ain't welcome, don't they?"

Harvey tried one of his winning smiles. "You are correct. They've even got the courts all turned upside down."

"Yes, they do," agreed the man affably. He rooted around in his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He unfolded it and looked at it, shaking his head. Then he stood and put the paper in front of Harvey. "You know what that there is?" he asked.

Harvey looked at it. It was a drawing of some sort. It looked like an oval, made up of dotted lines. Harvey looked closer and saw that the dotted lines were actually small, flat ovals too. There was a line of them that went up and back down in an arc. There was another line that went down and back up in another arc, with maybe half an inch between the ends of the two arcs. Together, though, they made up large oval. There was a circle in the middle of the whole thing. Harvey looked up.

"What's this all about?" he asked, confused.

"That there is a drawing of something Doc saw last night. See that little circle in the middle? That's a nipple. Like on a woman's titty." He winked. "And them other lines? Doc says those are teeth marks ... from where a man bit that titty ... real hard."

Harvey felt the floor try to fall away. A doctor? She had called a doctor? Still, she couldn't have said anything. She'd have to know he'd come after her. And niggers had their own nigger doctor. His word wouldn't stand against Harvey's. He could just bluff.

"Well, now," he said, peering at the drawing. "That's kind of odd, don't you think?" He looked at what passed for the law in this town. "Did you get a chance to actually see these teeth marks? I mean ... are they real? I've seen that old nigger that does his Voodoo or whatever it is, on the Ni-gruhs in this town. I know they call him a doctor, but I don't reckon he'd know teeth marks from some kind of rash. Looks like ringworm, if you ask me. Niggers don't wash. Ringworm's common."

"I don't believe I ever said this was on a nigger titty," said the constable, taking the drawing back. He looked at Harvey. "And I said Doc drew this ... not Bo."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harvey, fear clutching his gut.

"This is a small town," said the constable, looking for a place to spit. When he didn't find one, he got up, walked to Harvey's wastebasket, and spat a stream of juice into it. Harvey blanched. "There isn't much goes on here I don't hear about, one way or t'other." The man smiled. "Like fer instance, three differ'nt people were wagging their tongues this mornin' 'bout how your boy took you home last night, all passed out, on a wheelbarrow. I was a mite surprised 'bout that ... you being a banker and all. Figured you'd do better at holdin' your whiskey than that." He winked again. "Then this morning Doc comes a yammerin' on 'bout how they's a dangerous crazy man who attacked that school teacher and pert near bit her titty clean off."

He sat back down. "Lot happened last night, don't you know."

"She had it coming!" hissed Harvey, irate that he was being toyed with. "She needed to be taught a lesson!"

"Don't doubt it a bit," said the man. "She does have some strange ideas, that one."

"Then why are you here?" asked Harvey in a loud whisper. "Surely you're not going to arrest me."

"Nope." The man smiled again. "That is not why I am here."

Harvey felt relief. Maybe the man was Klan. Harvey had always wanted an invitation to join ... a Hunting Club.

"What do you want?" asked Harvey.

"Well, now, Mister Wilson, you see it ain't so much what I want, as it is what I don't want. And others in this town too. It's more important what we don't want." He stood again and spit in the wastebasket. "And what we DON'T want, Mister banker man, is to have the 'En Ay Ay Cee Pee' finding anything of even the slightest interest in this town. What we con't want is for Doc to feel like there is a dangerous man in our midst, and feel like he might have to talk to a State Trooper about it. What we don't want is for any God damned nigger-lovers to come snooping around because they's a court case just beggin' to be filed that will bring all kinds of outsiders snooping around here that don't fuckin' belong here!"

Harvey was crushed. The man couldn't be Klan. If the man was Klan then that bitch that had caused all this trouble would just disappear. And, if the man wasn't Klan, then Harvey would just have to find some Klan, and arrange for his problem to be taken care of. With that in mind he smiled.

"You don't need to worry. I understand. The lesson has been taught. There is no crazy man, and nothing for you to worry about." Harvey kept smiling and stood to indicate that the ... interview ... was over.

The constable stood too, and smiled widely. "I'm not so sure you really understand. We like our town uncomplicated and quiet. Things is changing, and niggers are causing lots and lots of problems ... in some places. We don't have none of them problems in this town, and we don't want none. We don't want them so bad, in fact, that anybody who does things that would bring that kind of trouble to this town is real likely to have a terrible accident ... a fatal accident. It would be a real shame if we had to find another banker just because you had an ... accident."

Harvey blanched again. "Are you threatening me, Sir?"

"Now that wouldn't be neighborly, would it?" The man smiled, and showed brown-stained teeth. "Let's just say I'm passin' along vital information that will help you increase the odds that you won't have any accidents."

"I'm a white man!" gasped Harvey. "She's a nigger! How can you take her side in this?"

The constable was no longer smiling. His hick accent was also strangely missing when he spoke. "She may be a nigger, but she's made this town better than it was before she got here. I can't think of a single person who would say the same about you. You may be white, but you're also a mean, perverted son-of-a-bitch who's ruined the lives of several good men and their families just in the last year." He took a step closer, and his voice became almost soothing in tone, but with an undercurrent that sent chills down Harvey's spine. "But you're on the straight and narrow now, mister banker-man, and if you step off it just one more time I'll personally make sure they never find your body."

He stepped back, smiling widely again. "Now, I 'spect, seeing as how busy you are, and all, that I have taken enough of your valuable time. You have a nice day, hear? And say hello for me to that pretty wife of yours."

He spat in to Harvey's wastebasket one last time, tipped his hat, and strolled out of the office. Harvey's knees failed him, and he sat heavily as he heard the constable greet several of the bank employees by name.

He sounded like he didn't have a care in the world.

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