Toys In The Attic

By David Cleinman

Sara Stewart suffers three years of hell with an alcoholic and abusive father who treats her as a domestic slave and housekeeper, as well as making her work their family farm almost by herself. When he finally loses his mind and sexually assaults her she is forced to defend herself and kills him.

Shortly after Sara discovers, at seventeen, that she is pregnant with her father's child. What follows is a lengthy period of time where Sara is forced to raise a child who is an ever present reminder of that horrible day. Through it all she manages to rebuild her life, turn her farm into a first class breeding operation, and make a small fortune. She even manages to reconcile with her child and her hideous past.

When she meets a man named Shep all seems well, until Shep turns out to be not very much different than her original abuser and attacker. Things come to a head all at once, out of the blue, and Sara is forced to make the most difficult decisions she has ever faced and hope that she and her son come out of the situation unharmed. Scary at times, challenging to the soul at some moments, entertaining and fun to read in places, and erotic to a T in others, Toys In The Attic is a gripping and thought provoking story!

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Cleinman
• Release date: May 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465794208

David Cleinman

David A. Cleinman was born in 1964 in upstate New York and grew up in the small village of Gilbertsville. Surrounded by the natural beauty of the rolling Butternut Valley hills and its rivers, forests, and streams, he began writing at age 13. A fan of classics, Tolkien-style fantasy, and literature of all kinds, his writing encompasses many genres and ideas. Characters are his favorite part of a story, both when reading and writing. His first novel, Principle Destiny, is a treatise on political and personal struggles where deadly consequences meet the heroine's desires head on.

Book preview

Toys In The Attic

A Novel by

David A. Cleinman

Toys In The Attic ©2011 David A. Cleinman

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The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

Published in the United States of America

Cover Art designed and produced by Christine DeMaio Rice

Chapters

Chapter 1. The Impossible Goodbye

Chapter 2. Sara’s Time In Hell

Chapter 3. Soul Death

Chapter 4. Conner

Chapter 5. Differing Directions

Chapter 6. Loneliness Wins

Chapter 7. Resolution and Disillusion

Chapter 8. Reconciliation

Chapter 9. Shep

Chapter 10. Conner’s Chance

Chapter 11. Leap Of Faith

Chapter 12. Getting To Know You

Chapter 13. Shep's Artistry

Chapter 14. Not Again

Chapter 15. The Book of Revelations

Chapter 16. Conner's Had Enough

Chapter 17. Self Preservation

Author's Note

For The Young Women Who Survived and Conquered

And For Those Still Seeking Freedom and Peace

Hope Truly Does Spring Eternal

And

For All of The Children Who Found Their Way

Through The Night to Daylight

Would you understand me?

Would you try?

Peace in the struggle to find peace;

Comfort on the way to comfort

Who will bring you back from where there is no return?

- Sarah McLachlan

Chapter 1: The Impossible Goodbye

It was so difficult for Sara to keep from crying that she simply decided to let it out. Her best friend and the most loving person in the world lay in that mahogany coffin, and she wasn’t ready to part with her. The doctors had told her that her mother had suffered a coronary event. Translation: heart attack. Sara had accepted this with grace, but she had a difficult time with the notion. Her mother was just barely thirty seven and had always taken good care of herself. Now, just on the edge of fifteen, Sara found herself alone with her father, the most hated man in all of New York State, and the scourge of Oneida county. How she would manage 4 years alone with him, before she could get away to college, she was forced to consider. And that was a large part of her tears as well.

The funeral ended, finally. Sara took her place at the door while her father shuffled downstairs to use the church restroom. Sara, with as much grace and courage as she could muster, greeted and thanked the eighty or so people who had come. Her friend Liz was there by her side. She held Sara’s hand trying to impart as much energy to her friend as she could, and more than once had let Sara cry on her shoulder. When the last person had finally departed, Sara tearfully accepted a hug and thanked Reverend Johnson. She left the church and slowly walked with Liz through the village and towards Sara’s house. Her father had never reappeared from the restroom, which meant he had probably left via the back door and was already in a bar somewhere.

Sara was openly sobbing as she walked and Liz held her close. I’m so sorry, Sara. Your mom was such a wonderful lady. She had plenty of tears in her eyes as well. You look exhausted. I think you should come to my house and rest for a while.

I can’t, Sara said through a deep breath and sobs. I have to fix supper for him. He’ll beat me to death if I don’t.

Liz didn’t know what to say so she decided to go home with Sara. I’m staying with you, then. I won’t let you be alone today, at least.

Sara nodded and they walked hand in hand. Sara was barely able to see the streets through her tears. It was only a twenty minute walk back to the small farm that had belonged to her grandfather, who had unwisely willed it to his only son. Although she had lived there nearly all her life, her grandfather had only passed away two years before, at the ripe old age of seventy six. Her grandmother passed away not long after, lost and lonely with the passing of her husband. Sara’s father had been so devoted to the both of them that he hadn’t bothered to attend either funeral, but had greedily pocketed the small amount of cash that was willed to him, and had taken full advantage of the business write-off from suddenly owning a farm. Perhaps the only reason that her grandfather had willed the farm to his son was because he had promised that he would keep it nice and productive. It was an easy promise to keep. He made Sara do most of the work.

They reached the farm, a small white barn with an attached milkhouse, and a small brick house on a large rectangular piece of land, and Sara slowed down. A winding dirt road led down a small hill into the fields below, and she was listening for a tractor or truck in the fields. Either might have meant her father was working. But she heard nothing and she wasn’t surprised. She looked at the house, as though trying to see through the walls and sun-black windows. Getting closer she could see that her father’s rusty F-150 wasn’t around and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was almost four, though, and he would be home for dinner at five without fail. She breathed out the last of her sobs, wiped her eyes, and walking hand in hand she and Liz approached the empty house.

Sara wiped her feet on the mat, and made sure Liz did the same. Her father was a slob, but he refused to have a dirty house, and Sara spent a good part of every day cleaning up after him. She didn’t dare leave even the tiniest of messes around. Her mother had been a superb housekeeper and Sara was grateful that she had been taught so well how to keep a house. It had saved her many a sore bottom or bruised face over the three months that her mom had been sick or in the hospital.

She pulled a steak out of the fridge that had been marinating in salad dressing for a day, and began to chop a fresh head of broccoli. Liz kindly peeled a few potatoes and diced them for boiling. They worked quickly, efficiently, and had everything ready to cook in about five minutes. Sara then went upstairs and changed into her work clothes. She took a few minutes to sit on her bed and tried to relax. Her mother had been her savior for almost fifteen years, and had kept her father from being significantly meaner to her than he was already. Though she felt guilty for her mother being caught in the middle, she had to admit to herself that she wouldn’t have survived without it. Now, with her mother gone, there was no protective barrier any longer and she was scared. She forced herself to not think about it. Liz could tell what was going through her mind and didn’t need to ask.

Sara put socks on, finally, and slippers, and returned to start the burners and cook the food she and Liz had prepped. Liz changed into a pair of Sara’s overalls and went down to be with her friend.

Sara had everything cooking and was just finishing frying the steak with onions when she heard her father’s truck approach. It had a hole in the crossover pipe that made the truck sound like a race car with a bad engine, and it could be heard a long way off. She drained the broccoli and added butter while Liz mashed the potatoes. Sara had everything plated for her father not half a minute before he shuffled through the door. She popped a can of beer and poured it for him as he sat down. He ignored her completely. He just cut his steak and shoved about a quarter of it into his smelly mouth.

He took a gulp of beer, swallowed hard, and turned to Liz. What the hell are you doing here? he asked, followed by a loud burp.

Liz was not afraid of this little man at all. She was a black belt in Kung Fu, and could deck him without even trying. But for Sara’s sake she responded kindly. Sorry. Just helping my best friend through a really difficult time, you know?

Sara, during the whole time her father had been eating, had been standing at attention against the wall of the kitchen as though she were a guard and slave all in one. Liz stood by her, but she was disgusted by the whole scene.

The man didn’t say anything more. He finished his meal and all of the leftovers, finished his beer in one long draught, and then shuffled off to his first floor bedroom. Better get milking, he said to Sara without bothering to look at her.

As Sara broke into fresh tears, Liz bristled and nearly threw his beer glass at him. She managed to control herself, somehow, so very much against her desires.

Sara grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge, gave one to Liz, and they ate it on their way to the barn, stopping just to put on boots. Sara was still crying as she pushed open the main doors and whistled for the cows to come in from pasture. Like clockwork they slowly filed in and took their places, having been trained one by one by Sara and her grandfather. The younger cows had all been Sara’s doing. Her father didn’t care where they went. But Sara, having been taught better, knew that having them all in a designated spot made things like proper medicating, corrective diet, and milk counts much easier.

Okay. I’m not really a farm-girl, Sara. What do I do? Liz’s parents had a bigger farm and hired hands.

Sara smiled. It was the first one she had managed that seemed real to Liz. Better start by chaining them off. They can get antsy when we hook’em up to the milkers.

There were only about forty full milkers, and it took less than two minutes to hook them all up to their chains. Sara was glad to be working again and she took to her job with some relish. Being busy was better than sitting around sad and dreary. She was still weepy but being productive helped. As she hooked the first milking unit to cow number one, and helped Liz with number two, she steadied a bit and got into her groove. Milking the forty cows took about two hours, but it wasn’t as physically demanding as a lot of other jobs around the farm, and anything beat slaving for her father who apparently had decided that Liz was all the help Sara needed. Sara figured that this was her father’s way of punishing Liz for being there and she shared that with her friend.

Liz laughed. I figured that out already.

Sara smiled again. I can’t thank you enough for being here, Liz. You’ve made this day bearable for me. It would have been hell without you here.

That’s what friends are for, Sara, and you deserve it more than anyone.

Sara smiled briefly, but a wave of sadness took her again, and she began to cry. Liz just let her friend get it out and continued to finish her work. She pulled the cups off the last cow as Sara put away one milker. She helped Liz put the other one on the rack, closed off the feed to the bulk tank, and started the cleaning system. Then, less teary eyed again but still sad, Sara started to feed the cows. She had Liz spread hay while she measured out nutrient rich corn and spread it before the cows in their required amounts.

She heard her father’s truck start at about 8:30, just as she and Liz were finishing the last of the chores. She knew that he was going off to drink at one of the bars where he had been smart enough not to get kicked out of permanently, unlike so many others. She breathed a visible sigh of relief.

Finished with the night chores and exhausted from a long day of work, pain, and sadness, Sara let Liz go through the door into the milkhouse, shut the barn door, then killed the main barn lights. She closed and barred the door into the milkhouse just in case a cow broke loose and decided to take a walk.

She and Liz washed up in the big sink and then Sara poured a half gallon of milk from the bulk tank.

They made sure they weren’t carrying any debris, wiped their feet, and went back into the house. Sara, although still weepy and sad, was truly exhausted and she took just a few minutes to brush her teeth and set her alarm. She and Liz shared her big bed and Sara was asleep very quickly.

The air was frigid and she was colder than she had ever been in her life, and she was also completely alone. There was light, but not much, and it was ridiculously foggy for such cold, which wasn’t even possible in such frigid air, which was always dry. But there was mist all over. Mama? she cried. Mama? Where are you? She stumbled over something as she walked along and looked. It was a tree root, large and growing deeply. She was confused by this. How could she have tripped over the deep part of a tree root? Mama, she cried. I need you mama. Mommy! Please, talk to me. Where are you? But there was no response. She kept walking, randomly tripping over stones, or tree roots, and occasionally she would find herself shaking dirt out of her pretty blonde hair.

After what seemed like hours of searching it began to get darker. She grew afraid. Mama, are you there? Please mama. Can’t you talk to me? Suddenly her father’s face loomed before her, huge and leering. NO. He snarled. Then he growled at her like a rabid dog.

Sara sat up, terrified back to full wakefulness, and she screeched loud enough to scare Liz out of the bed. She picked herself up and returned to her friend.

Sara was sobbing, shaking her head, and moaning, No Noooo. No No No, over and over again.

Liz took her into her arms with little resistance. Sara, it’s okay It was just a bad dream. Come on. Try to put it out of your mind. She just held Sara tightly as the poor girl sobbed into her shoulder.

Then the real thing made its presence known. From the base of the stairs they heard her father gripe. What the hell’s going on up there? Shut the fuck up or I’ll get my belt, you hear?

Yessir, Liz replied politely, while internally gripped by intense fury and the urge to upgrade from beer glass to baseball bat.

Apparently Sara’s father was satisfied with that because he said nothing more and they heard his bedroom door slam shut.

Sara quieted her sobs but they didn’t stop for a very long time. Finally, sobbed out and gasping for air through a parched throat, she stopped crying. Liz got her a glass of water from the small bathroom off Sara’s bedroom. Sara emptied it and then two more just as quickly. She was breathing heavily, trying to calm down, but it was very difficult.

Finally she collapsed onto her bed shaking with a cold chill. Liz grew concerned.

Are you ok? Do you need me to get a doctor?

Sara shook her head. I’ll be okay Just give me a minute. She finally got her breathing under control and was able to stop shaking. Finally, with Liz holding her tightly, Sara managed to fall back to sleep.

There was a bright sun rising above the barn. It was shining on a patch of leaves as a cool breeze blew through a beautiful fall day. Sara was busy building a leaf house and the crowning glory was a pile of leaves as tall as she was. Directly above the pile was a low hanging branch of a maple tree that had been tapped for sap every spring for years. She had spent year after year swinging from that branch and now she had the ultimate plan. She finished raking the leaf house. She had lines of leaves outlining large empty spaces. A living room, a large formal dining room, two bedrooms with leaf piles for beds, a bathroom with a leaf toilet (which she had decided she would not use since the house was so close), and a large kitchen with leaf table, chairs, and sink. The doorways were perfectly sized and she could walk from room to room with ease. Now was the time.

She climbed onto her low branch and called to her mom who was hanging laundry to watch. Then, having her mom’s attention, she proceeded to jump off the low branch into her leaf pile. Suddenly she came up crying as her landing had been awkward, and she had sprained her tiny ankle. Her mother rushed over to her, and picked her up, just as her father appeared from the barn.

What’s going on? He asked. His words were gentle but his tone was menacing.

She just fell and had a little bit of an accident. That’s all. She’s fine.

Fell how? What’d you do?

Her mother started to reply but her father stopped her. Let her answer.

Her mother knew the difference between her husband’s commands and his suggestions and she gently nodded to Sara.

Sara spoke softly, filled with fear. She was just seven and didn’t like it when her daddy got angry. I jumped out of the tree into the leaves and hurt my leg.

Genius, aren’t you, her father said with a sneer. What’s next? Gonna try the barn roof? Maybe you’d like to jump from the top of the silo into the muck pit.

Sara had stopped crying, as the pain in her leg had lessened, but now she started to cry again. Her father was scaring her.

Go ahead and ball your eyes out. You deserve it for being so stupid.

Reese, stop talking to her like that. For crying out loud. She’s just a little girl and we did worse when we were her age.

Suddenly her father bristled at this and slugged her mother right in the mouth. You’re not gonna talk to me like that, woman. If I told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. I’ll say what I want when I want. It’s my fucking land and house. You got that?

Her mother nodded, and wiped her bleeding mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding Sara. Sorry, she said, demurely.

Yep, sorry. Never again. He hit her mother again, harder this time, and the woman evaporated into thin air as though she had turned to a cloud of ash and dust. Sara fell to the ground, landing awkwardly on her sore foot, and began to scream with pain.

Sara woke once more, with a yelp, and again she started to sob. She held her screams in check because she knew that her father would be up here with his belt and would go after Liz instead of her just to be mean and make her feel guilty.

She just laid there, Liz holding her again, and cried.

The next morning, after a third nightmare in which she was lost in hell searching for her mother again, she forced herself to get up with her alarm and fix breakfast for her father. He had come out of the bathroom wearing just boxers and proceeded to eat the pancakes and sausages that Sara had fixed in about four large mouthfuls. He didn’t say a word to either Sara or Liz, until he started to shuffle back to bed. Then he uttered the same words as the night before. Better get milking.

Liz bristled and walked out of the house before she could act on her renewed urges to be violent. Again they went through a repeat of the milking and feeding process from the night before. After they finished, and Sara had let the cows out to pasture, she and Liz fed the calves and heifers and then swept the barn. They put down fresh bedding for the cows and Sara called in for the vet as she had found a calf with an infected foot. After getting a time confirmation she and Liz returned to Sara’s room for awhile and tried to sleep for a few more hours.

They were jolted awake after about an hour by Sara’s father. What the hell are you doing girl? He shouted up the stairs. Get your ass to field one and mow it.

Sara forced herself out of bed, dreary with exhaustion, and proceeded downstairs too tired to say anything. Her father was waiting by the stairs and he smacked her in the back of her head as she passed.

She just kept going. Nothing she said or did would change his intentions and would only make things worse.

Liz, however, wanted to stay behind and confront him but Sara pulled her by the arm. The man didn’t follow and for once had made his own lunch: a tuna sandwich and a glass of beer. A baseball game was on and he returned to his chair to eat and watch the game.

Sara mowed the field with Liz riding shotgun on the seat that was built into the right rear fender. She was so exhausted that she missed several spots and had to go back over them, nearly doubling the time to complete what should have taken less than an hour. She hoped that it would rain later so she would have some extra time before having to rake and bale.

She drove tractor and mower back to the shed, unhooked the mower, and drove back up the road and parked the tractor by the barn. Liz hopped down and then helped Sara down, who’s exhaustion was clearly showing.

You done? her father asked with a snarl, standing right behind them. Sara jumped with a startle. She hadn’t known he was there.

She nodded. Yessir.

Good, he said. I’m going off to Dallas’s place for a couple of days. I called Mitch to come over and help you. I want the fields mowed and raked before I get back. Understand?

Sara nodded, but had to force herself to meet her father’s eyes. She hated to do it but he demanded it. I understand.

Glad you do, he said with a sneer and wiped his nose with his palm. I’ll be back in three or four days. Make sure the house is clean when I get back, too.

Sara nodded and tried very hard not to cry. She was so exhausted that she just wanted to fall over and die. But she forced herself to thank this hateful man. Thank you for calling Mitch. I appreciate it.

He nodded, grunted, then without another word shuffled over to his truck got in and started the engine. Better get milking, he said with a sneer as he drove off.

Sara fell to the ground in a faint.

Liz helped her up, slowly, and walked her into the house. She made Sara sit in a chair in the living room and cooked her a big meal. Sara was grateful, and she ate all of it, glad to have a decent meal for the first time in almost a full day. Liz joined her and together they ate and talked. Liz figured that Sara would have a lot to get out.

Is he always like that? Liz asked. Doesn’t he ever let up?

Sara nodded. Always. Unless he manages to find some stupid floozy who’ll sleep with him. He shoots his wad and she ends up with a bloody nose or something. Afterwards he returns home feeling triumphant and the next day he’s less mean. High on his conquest, I guess.

Liz shuddered. Sara, I hate to ask this, but what are you going to do? Alone with him for all that time until you can get away to college? What can I do?

Sara pushed her empty plate away and sipped her milk slowly and deliberately. She shook her head, fresh tears starting.

Oh Sara, Liz said feeling wretched. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you more upset.

Sara shook her head. No, it’s not you. I miss my mom, I’m totally wiped out, and I’ve been thinking that same thing for months now, ever since I learned that mama’s heart was failing and she wasn’t going to make it. She paused and wiped her eyes with her napkin. To be honest, Liz, I just don’t know.

I’ll be around. I’ll even move in with you if you need.

Sara shook her head. He won’t let you. The only reason he hasn’t kicked you out of the house yet is ’cause he knows I’ll leave if he does. He knows I’m in a fragile state of mind, so he’s being nice.

Liz shuddered. Nice? That’s his version of nice?

Sara half-nodded. For my father, actually, that’s his version of super nice and loving. That whack to the back of my head, earlier? That was just a love pat. He’s hit me so hard that I’ve spun completely around. He burst my ear drum last summer. He broke one of my fingers a couple years ago. He broke mama’s nose once, and also knocked one of her back teeth loose.

Oh my god, Liz cried. How come he’s never been arrested?

Because my mother, God rest her gentle soul, believed firmly that a man’s place was as head of the household and that his word was law. When he hit me, or her, she passed it off as justice and vowed to work harder to behave better.

A pained look passed across Liz’s face. I’ve heard about that sort of thing, but didn’t know it really existed in 1997. It sure didn’t do her, or you, much good.

Sara nodded. You can say that again. But I think more of it was that she was just so shy and gentle. She hated confrontation and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. Even if it meant she needed to lose a tooth.

Liz shuddered. Wow, Sara. I’m really worried. I wish I could do something.

Sara smiled and squeezed her friend’s hand. You do, Liz, all the time. You are the best friend that I could have and I’m glad you are around. I don’t need anything more than that.

Sara finished her milk while Liz cleaned up, making Sara sit instead of getting up to help.

Mitch Miller was tall, almost seventeen years old with dark hair and a friendly and honest face. His father owned the farm that was adjacent to Sara’s. Although her father and his father were just barely on speaking terms, her father paid Mitch to help sometimes when the workload was higher than he wanted to deal with. Mitch and Sara would then knock out the chores together and she was always glad for his help. He could do three times the work her father could, or would, and he never complained. He was nice to be around too. He was muscular and good looking, and he had these iridescent green eyes that seemed to pierce her soul and make her feel different somehow. She knew enough about sex and its related emotions to think that maybe she had something of the hots for him, but he was much older than she was. Still, though, she would be fifteen in just a week, and she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Maybe something would happen between them. She was still on that thought as Liz finished the dishes and Mitch knocked at the door. Liz let him in.

Your dad called me, Sara. So here I am. Hey Liz, how are you? He was smiling, and talking in his fast pace. He didn’t bother to sit down. He just stood by the door and smiled.

I’m fine, Liz responded.

I know he called, Sara said. He told me. He’s gone off to a buddy’s house and I have 150 acres of field to mow and rake in three days. I’m really glad you’re here. Thanks for coming.

No problem, Mitch said. So how are you. You know, after yesterday and all?

"I’m okay Having my old man leave for a