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Author: LolaLane
Title: Tangled
She ran through the field faster and more frantically. It felt as if
they were still seconds behind her, but she knew they would never have
followed her into the cotton. They were afraid of the spiders, she knew;
the big, yellow crab spiders with tiny black knots all over their
abdomens like knitted afghans. She wasn’t afraid of the spiders. She
thought their webs were like small tokens of protection, charms against
those boys who would have harmed her if given the chance. She knew it
was her own fault. She knew that one day, if she continued to take the
risks, she would not be so lucky. But the pond had been so cool today
and the summer heat had blistered her fair, freckled skin something
awful. She had snuck towards Harbors’ Hole only intending to feel the
sweet breeze on her face, maybe a trickle over her toes. No one had been
around. No one had seen her, she was sure. She stripped quickly of her
apron and simple brown dress with its high, choking neck and short,
capped sleeves. She had stood before the devilish sun in her bloomers
and camisole as the searing rays licked over her shoulders and legs; she
didn’t realize that she had plunged full in until her head broke the
mossy surface and sunk deeper into the green depths. She held her breath
until her chest burned like her skin and only then, she surged back
toward the hot, vibrant air reluctantly. She languished in the shadowed
hole for hours, her chores forgotten as she was purged of the miserable
heat. She might not have heard them at all, if it weren’t for the
youngest boy’s allergy to the summer weeds. He sneezed.
She started, and then became still as the grasses before a storm,
upright and alarmed. She heard him gasp and then roll into a thicket
just beyond her vision. They were shushing him, the older two, cruelly
thumping him for near-ruining their fun. They knew she was there, but
they couldn’t see that she knew about them. She splashed and, heart
pounding, continued to wade toward the nearest edge. They were mean,
these Harbors boys, and she had once before been caught by them deep in
the woods where no one could hear her scream. Well, nearly no one.
She had been checking traps along the wooded borders of her papa’s
property when she stumbled on Jesse Harbors and his younger brother,
Abe. Jesse was nearly a man at eighteen and mean as a Sunday pig in a
poke; he had been in more brawls than she could count and smelled like
his daddy’s ‘shine before church picnics. Abe was no better at fifteen
and it seemed that even little Charlie was fitting right into the
Harbors reputation. It was said that Jesse and Abe started the fire at
the lumber yard last winter, on purpose. No one could prove anything and
so the whispers only resurfaced when new trouble had their name on it;
like the time they set Mr. Batcher’s young bull loose at the barn dance
or the time they broke all the windows on the school house. Jesse
Harbors, though, was getting too old for his brothers’ practical jokes
and had set his mind on three things in order: liquor, gambling, and the
ladies in the fancy saloon. Jesse never kept a job very long and spent
whatever money he both earned and stole at the card table. Abe still had
the youngest in tow, but met up with his brother at every opportunity he
could shake Charlie off. She remembered that on that particular
afternoon, Jesse had caught her off guard, wrestling with a frightened
fox. He had grabbed her from behind, making her fumble with the trap and
let the poor animal flee back into the heavy brush. “Well, well. Lookee
what I’ve caught,” Jesse sneered, holding her tightly around the waist.
His dark, greasy hair was always too long and he had a habit of
constantly flicking it back from his coal-colored eyes. He smelled of
bad habits and bad company. She jerked, abruptly, and turned to face
him. “Jesse Harbors, you leave me be,” she commanded, her voice cool and
calm. She backed away from him, “This is my property and you are
trespassing. When I tell my papa about this, he’ll—” “He’ll what?” came
a voice behind her. She had nearly backed into Abe, whose two jagged
front teeth jutted prominently toward her as he smiled, “What’ll he do,
Emma Lee?” “He’ll have you both arrested, is what,” she returned, her
composure faltering just a bit, as her eyes darted between the two boys.
Abe’s skinny frame belied the scrappy strength he possessed though Jesse
could certainly overtake her without a second thought. If she had to,
she thought, she’d run at Abe. The boys inched closer with smugness
buttoned into the corners of their mouths. “I’m warning you two,” she
insisted, as they neared her. They were markedly unimpressed and Emma’s
hand closed instinctually around the trap’s handle. She shut her eyes
and swung it at Abe’s head, smacking him in his ugly, notched mouth.
They were both stunned. Abe grabbed his jaw and wailed, pathetically as
blood sprayed from his split lip. Emma recovered first and ran at him
full speed, hurling him to the dirty ground and tearing off, still
clutching the trap. She ran hard, but Jesse ran harder. He caught her on
the edge of the cotton fields and yanked her down on the prickly plants,
pinning her arms above her head and crushing her body with his own. The
trap rolled away from her and she cried out. Abe was just behind them.
“Stupid cow,” he spluttered blood onto his ratty collar and wiped at his
mouth with the back of his hands, “She broke my tooth, Jess.” “Let me
go,” she shrieked, thrashing wildly at Jesse’s limbs. He rolled her onto
her stomach and held her under him, shoving his tongue wickedly into her
ear. “You ass,” she cursed, bucking as he laughed. “Oh, a wild one, Abie,”
he grinned, holding her tightly, “Think she’ll have to be broken, this
filly.” Jesse continued to clench her around the middle as she exhausted
herself fighting against him. He was too heavy and she was unable to
reach around to properly hit him. She settled. “I’m gonna let you up,
girlie,” he said, tucking her wrists into one of his hands, “I think my
brother here’s got something he wants to say to you after you right
broke one of them front teeth of his.” He pulled her up, still grasping
her around the waist and holding her hands securely. She kicked him in
the shin and he yelped an obscenity. “She’s a vile piece, ain’t she?”
Abe scoffed, leaning over and spitting blood onto the damp ground. Jesse
nodded and kicked her to her knees, pulling a short, sharp knife out of
his pocket and holding it to her pretty throat. She went still as a
grave when she felt the point against her jaw. Jesse grabbed one of her
long, blonde braids and with a flick of his wrist, cut off half of it.
She screeched, big tears sliding down her freckled face. “You try
something like that again and it won’t be your hair,” he promised,
snatching up the braid in his grimy paw. She nodded, subdued on her
knees with the blade inches between her and her maker. “Go on,” Jesse
instructed his brother who was still drooling scarlet and glaring at
her. He nodded and stood, pacing toward her warily. Without a word, he
lifted his slender palm and cracked her in the face. She was thrown to
the ground by the force of his fury, whimpering. “That’s for my tooth,
you worthless girl,” he spat angrily at her. Jesse laughed and dragged
her back up to her knees. She was terrified and her jaw was throbbing.
There was no way out with her brother and mama so far away. Behind her
though, the laughing stopped and she could hear Jesse fidgeting. “Get it
off me,” he whispered, hopping hysterically, his twitching getting more
vigorous and insistent. Abe’s eyes were round skillets as he saw the
source of his brother’s panic; Jesse had backed into a gigantic, sticky
web. Emma turned and realized that it was not one web, but the many webs
of the many crab spiders that populated the cotton field. She nearly
laughed at how frightened the boys were; they had no idea whether the
spiders were harmful or not and Jesse was thrashing violently against
the thin, translucent lacing. Tangling himself further, he began to
shout and run free of the fields. Emma saw her chance and leaped to her
feet, dashing right into the sea of webs. She pushed her short legs hard
and her lungs harder until she ran smack into her older brother, Dean.
Dean pitched forward, and Emma landed on top of him frenzied and out of
breath. She told him everything as he quietly churned with rage. She
held up her braid which was coming quickly undone and cried, violently.
Dean helped her into the house to her mother’s arms and left without a
word, tucking their hunting rifle into his elbow. Emma cried harder and
waited for him by the window. Her father had been away, working for his
family on the new railroad and had left Dean to tend the farm. Dean had
grown up with the Harbors and was the same age as Jesse; Dean knew
exactly what Jesse was capable of and was pretty sure he knew what Jesse
had had in mind for Emma that afternoon. Dean filed all the paper work
with the county sheriff and went to see about Jesse and Abe, himself.
Emma never did know what Dean said or did that evening, but when he came
home he explicitly instructed Emma not to go near those Harbors boys or
their property ever again. Jesse and the other two had pretty much left
her alone after that, as well, but she knew that the courtesy would not
endure should they find her alone on their property, like she now was.
Emma did not glance back and she did not head toward her clothes. She
hummed steadily as she neared the edge of the pond. Before the boys knew
what was happening, she was up from the water and sprinting wildly
across the meadow in her underclothes. Her hair, shorter now and
bleached from the tenacious sun, was fanning out behind her as she raced
away from them. They were startled, and by the time they realized that
she was no longer prey in the pool, the gap between them was wide. They
chased her across the meadow, down the high grass and over the hill, but
when she secreted into the cotton field, they knew they wouldn’t catch
her. Emma reached the cabin panting and nearly dry. Dean was working the
vegetable garden and had watched her last fifty yards from the slightly
inclined beds. He rested his arm on the rake and waited for her to catch
her breath. She was in her bloomers and he wondered why. He considered
calling his mama from the front line where she was taking down the
laundry and preparing to clean the rugs. Emma stood and glanced back
toward the field, as if she were looking for something, someone.
“Where’ve you been?” he called when she turned back around. She was
startled and jumped a little. “Oh,” she called back, heading toward him,
“It’s only you.” “Only me?” he asked, scratching his shoulder and
peering closely at her, “What’s that mean? Of course it’s me. I’ve been
here all day doing chores.” She didn’t answer, just happened a glance
back toward the field. “Well, I think a few answers are in order,” he
said, setting the rake down against the fence and putting his hands on
his hips. He squinted into the sun, trying to read her face. “I don’t
owe you anything, Dean Michael,” she said huffily, turning to breeze
past him. He caught her arm and yanked her back. “Don’t you get lippy
with me,” he reprimanded her, giving her arm a squeeze, “In the first
place, you are five whole years younger than I am. In the second place,
you know papa expects me to look after you while he’s gone. In the third
place, you just came out that cotton field in your britches like a—” He
stopped short, remembering the last time she’d plowed out of that field.
He narrowed his eyes and held her arm tighter. “Emma Lee, did those boys
do anything to you?” he asked sharply, surveying her partially clad
body. She scowled, not liking feeling so exposed or the tone he was
taking with her, and shook his arm off. “In the first place, Dean,” she
mocked, poking him in the chest, “You are my brother, not my papa and
you are only five years older than me. And in the second place, mind
your own business.” She started for the house. He was a step behind her
and grabbed her again, spinning her around. She huffed and squealed at
him. He took her in both arms and gave her a little shake. “Emma Lee,
you keep that up and I’m going to cut a switch right now.” She rolled
her eyes and he shook her again. “You’re going to tell me where your
clothes are,” he continued slowly, bringing his face closer to hers,
“And you’re going to tell me why you’ve left all your chores to mama and
me again. So, help me, girl…if you’ve been to that swimming hole again…”
He turned her and gave her a sharp slap on the rear end to show her he
meant business. She fumed and tucked her lip between her teeth, sealing
her secret inside her mouth. He gave an exasperated snort and dragged
her to the front of the house, where their mama, a pretty woman with a
slight build, was beating a rug. “My goodness, child,” she said when she
saw Emma’s state of dress, “Where’re your clothes at?” “Mama,” she
whined, slapping at Dean’s rough hand, “Dean’s trying to boss me! Tell
him he ain’t daddy.” Their mother sighed and looked at Dean. “I know
she’s been at Harbors Hole, Mama,” he said, quietly. The woman gasped;
Dean hated to talk about those boys in front of her but he couldn’t
believe Emma’d been so stupid. Their mama crossed the yard quickly,
still carrying the wicker paddle she used to beat the rugs; she turned
Emma and laid the paddle down over her backside twice. Emma yelped and
grabbed at her rump. “Mama!” “You been to that pond, Ms. Emma Lee?” her
mother inquired, eyes flashing. “But Mama,” Emma began, stomping her
foot. The older woman brought the paddle down harshly twice more, then
grabbed her daughter’s freckled face between her fingers. “Answer me and
don’t you lie to me, Emma Lee. The Lord Jesus can see into your heart,”
she said, looking deep into her child’s eyes. Emma nodded, frightened.
Her mother let go of her face and shook her head, troubled. “You causing
a lot of trouble over there, Emma Lee. For yourself and for your
brother. You’re a bad girl. Dean Michael,” she turned to her son and
looked up at him, “You go cut a switch and tan her backside like her
daddy would.” Emma fussed and whined, instantly. Her mama smacked her
butt and told her to hush and that she was lucky it wasn’t the strap.
Quieting, Emma glared at Dean. Dean went of to fetch a switch and Emma
stomped around the yard scaring the chickens. Dean returned, swinging
the switch he’d found. Emma watched him out the window, thinking how
much she would love to see him married off. He was a handsome boy and
smart too. Her best friend, MaryAnn, always talked about how
attractively broad his shoulders were and how sweet his shaggy, brown
hair was over his bright blue eyes. He had courted both Priscilla Majors
and Belle Simon, the prettiest girls in town. Emma thought that married,
she wouldn’t have to worry about that switch on her poor backside. She
sighed and went to the door. “Come on,” Dean called, seeming neither
particularly pleased nor angry, “Get out here, Emma Lee.” She stepped
through the doorway and across the porch, leaning over the rail and
cocking her head to one side. “Get out here,” he repeated, getting
louder and more agitated. “Fine,” she huffed, slumping slowly down the
porch steps and following him to the shed, kicking her feet the whole
way. She hadn’t put another dress on because of both the heat and the
fact that she was about to have to remove more clothes. He walked
purposefully to the shed out back, carrying the length of slender wood
and waited for her behind the door. It was cool in the shed; the little
room was filled with tools, and seeds, and machinery for farming. He
left the door open behind her and pointed to the long, ashy wood bench.
She glanced at it and then back to him. “Come on, Dean,” she tried,
giving him an endearing smile, “It was so hot and—” “Stop,” he demanded,
his face darkening immediately, “Do you know what they would have done
to you if they had caught you there?” Emma dipped her head slightly. “I
can’t even think about it, Emma. They aren’t good boys and you aren’t
safe with them. If I have to beat you black and blue, so help me I will,
because whatever I do to you is nothing compared to what they’d do. And
I couldn’t live with myself knowing I let that happen.” She nodded,
slightly, tearing up. She’d known it was stupid. She made a promise to
herself right then and there to stay away from those boys. Dean Michael
didn’t need any more trouble from them because of her. “Now, pull those
bloomers down and bend over. This is going to hurt,” he said, “A lot.”
She nodded and turned, tears escaping her eyes before it had even begun.
She pulled down her drawers and glanced back at him. His face was severe
as he waited. She bent over and placed her palms on the bench, waiting
to feel the crisp slash of the switch. She didn’t have to wait long; the
thin branch bore down on her plump, white cheeks with a vengeance. She
cried out quickly, grabbing tighter to the bench. He whipped her
furiously, peeling her skin with the solid bough in arcs of fire. “Oh,
Dean, owwwwwww,” she yelled, grimacing through the scathing onslaught.
She was crying fat tears before his anger began to subside and he
crisscrossed her bottom until it was a lacy web of glowing heat. She
leaned down and rested her face on the rough bench, weak with ache. He
continued to slash her taut behind ruthlessly until her knees buckled
and she begged him to wait, please wait. He stopped and dropped the limb
to his side, as she sobbed into the old wood. He paused, his face and
heart unmoved by her pitiful wails; he continued to remember who else
would be indifferent to those tears. “Please, Dean,” she pleaded, not
remembering a whipping this excruciating, “I’ve learned my lesson.
Really I have.” Dean shrugged and motioned for her to bend over
properly. Her tears erupted deeply from her body until she was
breathless. When she wouldn’t stand, he jerked her bottom higher and
started to switch her again, feverishly. There were deep purple hatches
along her thighs and where they met her cheeks. He continued until her
knees buckled a second time. “P-P-Please, p-please,” she choked out,
covering her backside. He sat beside her and pulled her over his lap,
where she collapsed, her hair skimming the dirt floor and her hands wet
with tears. She cried and cried. He smacked her brutally with his wide
palm, scorching her bottom while she kicked and struggled. “Deeeeeeeeean,”
she cried, flailing against his unsympathetic smacking. He spanked her
until she could only cough and sob. When she went limp over his lap, he
stopped, lifting her easily and laying her on the bench, her bottom at
hot lace of switch marks and deep, raspberry blush. She sniffled and
cried into her crooked elbows, miserably. She was silent and so was he.
He glanced at her backside and nodded, approvingly. “I told you before
to stay away from those boys and their property, Emma Lee,” he said,
concentrating on his hands. She whimpered. “You try something like that
again and you’ll wish for a bottom as comfortable as you have now,” he
promised, softly. She nodded and he looked at her, her eyes stormy with
sorrow. He sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to see about getting your dress
back then.”
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