скачать книгу бесплатно
Jack finished his coffee, set the mug on the ground and marched toward the carriage house. He swung open the wooden gate that led from the backyard to the gravel drive. The closer each step took him to the side door of the carriage house, the louder and faster his heart beat. The last time his stepfather had beaten him, he had been a sophomore in high school and had just turned sixteen. He had stood there and taken the punishment Nolan Reaves administered with such deliberate pleasure. A strap across Jack’s back, butt and legs. That time, the beating was not to atone for a mistake Nolan believed Jack had made, but one he thought Maleah had made. Three years earlier, after the first time Jack saw the bloody stripes across his eight-year-old sister’s legs, he had made a bargain with the devil—from that day forward, he would take his own punishment and Maleah’s, too. The deal had seemed to please Nolan, who took a sick delight in beating the daylights out of Jack on a regular basis.
Jack’s hand trembled—actually shook like he had palsy—when he grasped the doorknob. Son of a bitch! Old demons died hard. He was a trained soldier, an Army Ranger, one of the best of the best, and yet here he was acting like a scared kid.
The boogeyman is dead. Remember? And even if he were still alive, there would be no reason to fear him.
He tightened his grip on the doorknob, turned it and opened the door. Nolan had always kept the door locked. Jack had no idea where the key was or even if there was a key. Neither he nor Maleah had mentioned the carriage house when they had discussed the possibility of him living here.
Leaving the door wide open, Jack entered the dark, dank interior of his teenage hell. In the shadowy darkness, he could make out the workbench, the rows of waist-high toolboxes, the table saw, the push mower, the Weed Eater and various other yard-work devices. His gaze crawled over the dirt floor, around the filthy windows and cobweb-infested walls, to the triangular wooden ceiling. He stopped and stared at the row of menacing leather straps that hung across the back wall. He counted them. Six. At one time or another, Jack had felt the painful sting of each strap.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Lorie Hammonds poured herself a second cup of coffee, laced it liberally with sugar and cream and set the purple mug on the bar that separated the kitchen from the den.
Cathy glanced at a silk-nightgown-clad Lorie as she hoisted herself up on the bronze metal barstool, picked up her cup and took a sip. Lorie was thirty-five, a year older than Cathy, and sophisticated and worldly-wise. She was also beautiful in a voluptuous, sultry way that drew men to her like bears to honey. Her long, auburn hair hung freely over her bare shoulders, streaks of strawberry-blond highlights framing her oval face. She stared pensively at Cathy, a concerned look in her chocolate-brown eyes.
“Call your mother and tell her to bring Seth over here this afternoon,” Lorie said. “Just because J.B. and Mona demanded a command performance doesn’t mean you have to oblige them.”
Cathy sighed. “They expected me to show up for services this morning, with Mother. I’m surprised she hasn’t called me by now.” Cathy glanced at the kitchen wall-clock. “Church probably let out about fifteen minutes ago.”
“If you weren’t ready to make an appearance at church today, what makes you think you’re ready for a family dinner?”
“I have to be ready. I want to see Seth. I need to talk to him. And by agreeing to dinner with my in-laws and my mother, I’m showing all of them that I am more than willing to meet them halfway. The last thing I want is to alienate Mona and J.B.”
Her mother was another matter entirely. There had been a time when she had jumped through hoops to please her mother. But after a year of therapy, Cathy had come to realize that pleasing Elaine Nelson was impossible. Pleasing her in-laws might be just as impossible, but she felt she at least had to try because they were her son’s legal guardians, something she intended to change as soon as possible. And for Seth’s sake and in honor of Mark’s memory, she intended to remain on good terms with the Cantrells.
“Want some advice?” Lorie asked.
“Something tells me that you’re giving it to me whether I want it or not.”
“Just come right out and tell Mark’s parents that you plan to find a house soon, and, when you do, you expect Seth to live with you.”
“What if Seth doesn’t want to leave his grandparents? After all, he’s been living with them for a year now and—”
“You’re his mother. He loves you. He’ll want to live with you.”
“I’m a mother who had a nervous breakdown and fell apart in front of him. Every time he came to see me at Haven Home, I could tell how nervous he was just being around me, as if he was afraid I’d go loco at any minute.”
“The more time you spend with Seth, the more he’s going to see that you’re the wonderful mother who raised him.” Lorie took another sip of coffee.
“But that’s just it,” Cathy said. “I’m not that same person. I’m different.”
“Yeah, I know, but you’re still Seth’s mother. You still love him. He’s still the most important person in your life. None of that has changed.” Grinning, Lorie cupped the purple mug in her hands. “Besides that, you’re different in a good way.”
Cathy nodded agreement. The changes in her were good changes. She had no doubts about that fact. She was stronger, more confident, more independent and absolutely determined to never, under any circumstances, allow anyone or anything to undermine her new, hard-won self-confidence. Gone forever was the meek, subordinate pleaser who had deliberately buried the real Cathy Nelson Cantrell deep inside her.
“You’re right.” Cathy straightened the Peter Pan collar on her simple, navy blue shirtwaist dress, touched the single strand of pearls resting on her chest and smoothed the pleated shirt. “How do I look?”
Lorie inspected her from head to toe. “We need to go shopping and buy you a new wardrobe. God, honey, that dress is awful. It screams dowdy housewife.”
Cathy smiled. “Mark liked this dress. It’s suitable attire for a minister’s wife. J.B. and Mona will approve.”
Lorie shook her head. “I thought trying to please other people is no longer on your agenda.”
“It’s not, but just for today I don’t want to do anything to antagonize my in-laws. I want them to turn Seth over to me without a fight, and if that means placating them, at least temporarily, I’m willing to make that compromise.”
“And if they’re not willing to meet you halfway, just remind them that your wicked friend, Lorie, has Elliott Floyd’s phone number on speed dial. Everyone in North Alabama knows Elliott is a top-notch attorney who hasn’t lost a case in the past fifteen years.”
Mona and J.B. Cantrell had lived in the same house since they were newlyweds. The house had belonged to J.B.’s parents, with whom the couple had lived their entire married life, until his father died eighteen years ago and his mother had moved to an assisted-living facility. The elder Mrs. Cantrell had died four years ago at the age of eighty-nine. Mark’s paternal grandmother had disliked Cathy on sight and had made her disapproval abundantly clear to everyone. J.B. had always been cordial to Cathy, but she suspected he shared his mother’s opinion of her as an unsuitable mate for “our Mark.” On the other hand, Mona had been friendly and had accepted her from the moment Mark announced their engagement.
“I’ve always wanted a daughter,” Mona had said as she’d placed a kiss on Cathy’s cheek.
From that day forward, Cathy had used her mother-in-law as a role model, hoping to please Mark, his father and his grandmother in the same way Mona did. And over the years, that was exactly what she had done—proven herself to be a supportive, agreeable, above-reproach helpmate. In retrospect, she now realized that what she had become was an almost robotic doormat.
She parked Lorie’s Edge in the driveway, but after killing the motor, she sat there for a few minutes, garnering her courage.
She could do this. She had to do this!
While giving herself a pep talk, she ran her gaze over the 1940s bungalow. The original wood-shingled exterior had been covered with red brick sometime in the sixties. Black shutters and a black architectural roof added to the traditional appearance of the house, as did the six-foot-high white picket fence surrounding the backyard. Mona’s green thumb was evident in the beauty of her late-blooming azaleas and various springtime flowers dotting the flower beds.
Cathy got out of the SUV, squared her shoulders and marched confidently to the front porch. When she reached out to ring the doorbell, the front door swung open and her mother shoved her backward as she came out onto the porch and closed the storm door behind her.
“Why weren’t you at church this morning?” Elaine demanded, her hazel-blue eyes filled with condemnation.
“Hello, Mother. Nice to see you, too.”
Elaine Nelson was a petite brunette who had allowed her hair to go salt-and-pepper in her late forties. Neat and attractive, she always looked her best.
“Do not be sarcastic with me, Catherine Amelia. I have your best interests at heart, as I always have.” Elaine frowned, deepening the soft age lines around her eyes and mouth. “People asked about you. You were expected. If you have any hopes of returning to your old life, you have to prove to everyone that you aren’t a raving lunatic just because you spent a year in that awful place.” The last half of her sentence came out in a soft, embarrassed whisper.
Cathy knew her mother was ashamed of the fact that she had checked herself into Haven Home, horribly ashamed that the good people of Dunmore knew Mark Cantrell’s widow had suffered a nervous breakdown. Nothing was more important to Elaine Nelson than keeping up appearances. The motto by which she lived was What will people think?
“I will probably be at church next Sunday.” Cathy looked directly at her mother, a sympathetic smile on her lips but solid-steel determination in her heart. Her mother had bullied her for the last time. “But if or when I go to church, it will be my decision, not yours.” She slipped her hand around and behind her mother and reached for the storm-door handle.
Elaine clutched Cathy’s shoulder, but before she could utter another chastising word, the door opened and Seth looked outside at the two of them.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, his azure-blue eyes searching her face for a truthful answer.
“Everything is fine,” Cathy lied. “Grandmother was just welcoming me home.”
The tension in her son’s handsome face relaxed, and he smiled as he held open the door. Cathy paused when she entered the house and hesitantly lifted her hand to caress Seth’s face. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“I’m glad you’re okay now,” he said. She heard the unasked question: You are all right now, aren’t you, Mom? “Nana and Granddad thought you’d be at church this morning. I looked for you.”
More than anything, Cathy wanted to wrap her arms around Seth and hug him. He might be six feet tall and have to shave every day, but he was still her baby. Her heart ached with love for him.
“I wasn’t quite ready to see everyone at church. Maybe next Sunday.”
“Or you could try Wednesday night services,” Seth suggested. “Fewer people.”
How very wise her almost sixteen-year-old son was. “You’re right. I think Wednesday night would be a better time.”
Only after Seth reached down and took her hand did she realize how truly nervous she was. Undoubtedly her astute son had realized she was trembling ever so slightly and wanted to give her his support. He led her into the living room, where J.B. and Mona stood side by side in front of the fireplace, and by the expressions on their faces she could tell that they were as uncertain about this first meeting as she was. Her plump, blond mother-in-law could be extremely attractive if she wore a little makeup, dressed in something other than polyester and didn’t wear her hair in a neat little bun at the nape of her neck. On the other hand, J.B. was a good-looking silver-haired man who dressed fit to kill; he was a strutting peacock, the exact opposite of his brown-hen wife.
Cathy caught a glimpse of her mother as Elaine eased up alongside her.
“Cathy overslept this morning,” Elaine said. “The trip from Birmingham—”
“I didn’t oversleep,” Cathy corrected. “I’m sorry if I disappointed all of you by not showing up for church this morning, but the truth is that I simply wasn’t ready to see anyone other than Lorie and the four of you.”
Mona looked pleadingly at her husband.
J.B. cleared his throat and then said, “There’s always next Sunday.”
“Of course there is.” Mona rushed toward Cathy, opened her arms and hugged her. When she released Cathy, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “It is so good to have you home where you belong. We’ve missed you, each of us, but Seth most of all.”
Cathy breathed a tentative sigh of relief. Maybe Lorie was wrong. Maybe everything was going to be all right. Maybe her in-laws understood that Seth belonged with her.
I hate him. He is such a fake, pretending to be a man of God, acting the part of a priest. Father Brian is young and handsome and charming—and a pedophile. At these interfaith Sunday afternoon socials, I’ve noticed how friendly he is with all the children, but especially the boys. Those poor babies being molested by that monster. It is up to me to put a stop to his evil.
He thinks no one suspects, that because none of the children have told anyone about what he’s doing, he is safe. He’s not safe. Not from me. I am God’s instrument of punishment. I have been appointed to be judge, jury and executioner. It is my duty to seek out and destroy evil, the kind of evil that hides behind a priest’s robes, a minister’s white collar and a preacher’s holier-than-thou façade.
No one understands why Mark Cantrell and Charles Randolph had to be punished. Mark Cantrell. Good Saint Mark. No one knew about his secret sin. But I knew. I saw him with that woman—a woman who was not his wife—stroking her, caressing her. He knew I saw him, and he even tried to explain, but I didn’t believe his lies. He claimed he was merely comforting her when she fell apart in his arms because she had miscarried for the third time in less than two years. And Charles Randolph had stolen money from his church, but instead of being sent to prison, he was going to be allowed to resign from the ministry and simply repay what he had taken. Couldn’t they see that he deserved God’s wrath?
Mark Cantrell had been a liar. A fornicator. A sinner. Charles Randolph had been a liar and a thief. A sinner. And Father Brian is pure evil, a monster disguised as a kind and caring priest.
You’re next. I’m coming for you. Soon.
“And I will punish the world for their evil, and the wicked for their iniquity.” Isaiah 13:11.
God’s wrath will rain down on you, Father Brian, and you will burn in Hell’s fire.
Chapter Three (#ulink_8ddc2fb3-1c2e-5c42-955c-9ae619867578)
Meaningful conversation at the dinner table had been nonexistent. Idle chitchat was minimal, even though Mona had done her best to keep the mood light and cheerful. Despite her best efforts to defuse the tension in the room, Mona had received little cooperation from J.B. and Elaine. Seth had commented a couple of times in response to questions Cathy had asked him, but he was a bright boy and quickly realized the less said the better. In this household, everyone had learned to take their cues from J.B. And Cathy’s father-in-law was not in a talkative mood this Sunday.
When Cathy offered to help clear away the table and clean up in the kitchen, Mona smiled and said, “Don’t bother, dear. Elaine will help me. I know you want to spend some time with Seth.” Mona glanced at J.B., silently pleading with him.
A tiny frisson of foreboding jangled along Cathy’s nerve endings. Reading between the lines of her mother-in-law’s statement, she wondered if this had been Mona’s subtle way of saying You can visit him here, but J.B. will not allow you to take him away from us.
“Thank you,” Cathy replied, her voice strong and even, not indicating the unease she felt. “Seth, why don’t you and I take a walk? It’s a lovely afternoon.”
Seth stopped midstride on his way out of the dining room and glanced back at his grandfather, obviously seeking permission. Damn it, I’m your mother, she wanted to scream. You don’t have to ask him if you can take a walk with me.
J.B. nodded. “Don’t be long. Remember you need to go over your song a few times before tonight’s services.”
“I remember, Granddad,” Seth said. “We’ll just walk a few blocks.”
Cathy felt the immediate release of tension that permeated the room, as if everyone had been holding their breaths, waiting for J.B.’s decision. Her father-in-law was not a bad man, not evil or cruel, but he adhered to the old biblical teachings that a man ruled his household, his wife and his children. His word was law.
Mark had been reared in a home where his mother had been subservient to his father, and although he had tended to be more modern in his thinking, on occasion Cathy had seen glimpses of J.B. in Mark. For the most part, he had inherited his mother’s gentle, sweet nature, but Cathy had learned early on in their marriage that when they did things Mark’s way, it made life easier for all of them.
As soon as Cathy and Seth left the house, she asked, “What was that about your going over a song for tonight’s services?”
“Don’t you remember, Mom? Once a month, on Sunday night, the teenage guys take turns acting as the song leader.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. If I’d known you were going to be doing that this evening, I’d have made plans to be there.”
He shrugged as they left the porch. “It’s no big deal. Besides, we’ll do it again next month.”
“I’ll be there then.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They walked side by side, heading west toward the center of town, which was only four blocks away. A couple of times, neighbors sitting on their front porches or out in their front yards gawked as they passed, as if they were shocked to see the crazy widow walking the streets with her son. A couple of neighbors threw up a hand, waved and spoke. Seth returned their greetings.
One block passed and then another, neither she nor her son speaking to each other again. Cathy hated the awkward silence. It was as if she and her own child were strangers. Just make conversation, she told herself. Nothing heavy.
“School’s out in a couple of weeks, huh?”
“Ten days,” he said. “Exams are next Thursday and Friday.”
“I can hardly believe that my baby boy will be a junior in high school this fall. It seems like only a few years ago that you were in kindergarten.”
“Yeah, that’s what Nana says all the time.”
“Your nana is a wonderful lady,” Cathy told him, completely sincere. She loved Mona, who had in many ways been more of a mother to her in the past sixteen years than her own mother had ever been. “I’m grateful that she’s been here for you while I’ve been gone.”
Seth didn’t respond. He just kept walking at a slow, steady pace, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.
They crossed the intersection at Mulberry and Fifth without encountering even one vehicle. Dunmore was quiet and peaceful on Sunday midafternoons. After church, people either went home or out to eat. By now everyone had reached their destination.
“What are your plans for the summer?” she asked. “Are you doing anything special? Playing ball or—”
Seth stopped abruptly. “Mom, I play baseball and football. Have you forgotten that, too?” He stared at her, studying her with his intense, narrowed gaze.
“No, of course I didn’t forget. I just…The question came out before I thought. I’ve been trying so hard to think of something to say, to come up with casual conversation.” She looked him square in the eye. “I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry. I’m not sick anymore. I’m completely well.”
His gaze hardened. His brow wrinkled.
She could tell that he desperately wanted to believe her. But Seth had been there that day, when she had run down the hall, alternately laughing and crying hysterically before locking herself in her bedroom and refusing to come out. He had stood outside the door, beating on it, begging her to open up and let him come in. He had listened to the sounds of her emotional meltdown, the laughing and crying that she could not control. She had known she was losing it, but she had been unable to stop.
She vaguely remembered that sometime later, her mother had knocked on the door, called her name and demanded she stop all the nonsense and come out immediately.
“Catherine, you’re frightening your son.” When she hadn’t responded, her mother had continued calling her name over and over. “Cathy? Cathy, can you hear me? Cathy!”
They would never forget what she had said to her mother that day before she fell across the bed in a fit of uncontrollable, manic laughter.
“Cathy’s not here. Cathy’s dead.”
That had been a year ago. A year of therapy. A year of healing. A year of learning to accept herself as she was, to acknowledge her true feelings and to come into her own as a grown woman. And most importantly, to forgive herself for not being perfect. Her words that day had been prophetic. The old Cathy was dead.
