Children of Saul

By Lady Writes

In 1969, Kelly sat in the Powell church, hearing the
preaching of Saul, her father who abused her.
She might have told Paul, but in a dream she saw it was no use.

She didnt expect Saul in Los Angeles.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> One more abuse and shed end her life.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> But David rushed her to Doc, who deduced
Saul was guilty. Doc and Saul became
enemies forever.

When Kelly married David, Saul got rid of him.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Doc was mad enough to tell David the abuse
story shed tried to hide. David didnt
return, but her brother Jonathan kept up the friendship.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Kelly joined Beverly Models, disgusted with
religion.

When Mother became deathly ill, she admitted knowing of the
abuse. And with her death, a healing
for Kelly. She even let Paul talk her
into marriage. They were happy until
Saul well, he got crazier. As hed
eliminated David, so he hounded Paul, until Paul committed suicide.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Kelly, devastated and enraged, told an
astounded Jonathan of the abuse. And
she hated Saul even more.

Meanwhile, David had married Lila. When Kelly learned Lila was divorcing David, she introduced her
to Saul. Revenge at last?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 19, 2004
• ISBN: 9781418460501

Lady Writes

The author’s professional background includes reporting on legal, investment, and personality profile issues.  She has a Bachelor of Arts degree in a humanities combination of English, music, and religion as well as a Master of Science degree in human relations and business.  Her research focus has been in the area of spiritual psychology.

Book preview

I

Payday is coming! It’s at the door already. These evil Sixties have debauched our nation. The whole West Coast is tainted with the sex and moral decay of Sodom. Soon it’s coming to a screeching halt. Payday is just around the corner.

The sermon thunderstormed out of Brother Saul’s sweat-beaded face, heading for an audience with faces filled with wonderment. The forty-two of them soaked up his frenzy—all except the children sleeping on their quilts down on the hard plank floor, and the one willow-slim young blonde with blueberry eyes that glanced with agitated indecision toward the doorway.

Mikele! Aloma Powers shot a scathing whisper at her, but she wasn’t listening. Instead, she slid out of the school desk that enclosed her like a barely-open trap. Not stopping, she half-tiptoed and half-ran from the sultry school room out into the freshness of the night. She had heard her mother’s blaring whisper. Everybody always heard her mother.

The girl’s pursed lips whistled with relief as soon as she was out the door. Out there, her frustrated sigh could blend into the blackness blanketing the pickups and old cars parked beside the school. In that darkness lay the dusty two-mile road to the edge of Powell’s main-street drag.

As she rushed past the crossroads corner where the school house stood, she glanced back at the building’s wall with light from three long windows outlining tree trunks standing guard around the children’s swings and slides. Oh, God in Heaven, are you out here? I’m asking you again if you’re ever gonna hear my prayers. Please don’t listen to my preacher dad in there—unless you’re listening to me, too. Even though you know I’m in an awful battle with him.

Consternation tightened in her as two bouncing headlights appeared on the road in front of her, with dust clouds dimming them. She turned her head sideways from the light and walked in the weedy grass above the ditch that cut its dark way down beside the narrow road. Please, Father, her prayer persisted, help me get away from him before my life is ruined. But maybe it already is.

She felt her face flush hot with panic as she saw the car slowing down. Her steps edged closer to the ditch as she kept hurrying. The car stopped in the road beside her. Dusty weeds scratched at her legs beneath the gathered skirt as she walked faster, almost stumbling, and not looking at the car.

Hey, Kelly— A male voice called from the open window on the driver’s side. ‘It’s me, Paul Teller. I’ve been helping out at the mailing office, you know."

She halted, bending to slap her lower legs free from the crawly, itchy things that seemed to be all over them.

You recognize me, don’t you? he asked, opening the door and taking three steps toward her, while the motor droned and headlights beamed through a fog of dust. Can I take you where you’re going? I hate to see you walking out here at night.

Thanks, Father, her lips said silently in the direction of the stars. Just help me. Don’t forget me.

Thanks, Paul, she said as his car made its way to the edge of town and stopped beneath a streetlight casting its doleful beam toward a house bereft of paint. Her thoughts raced ahead of her, to the bedroom where she had a few things packed. Remembering Paul again, she blurted, But now you’ve missed Dad’s preaching out at Hopewell School.

Well, we’ll hear another sermon at the hall downtown this weekend, won’t we? His voice was halting and solicitous.

I guess, she said. She slid outside as soon as her hand could find the handle on the door. It took two slams to shut the door so the too-kind voice inside would go away.

Back in the school house, Aloma Powers fanned her neck above the collar of her faded brown dress, clutching a mimeographed World of Powers pamphlet to fan with. She gave another glance at the school desk that her daughter had been sitting in, before turning back toward the man behind the pulpit on the stage. She sterned her lips with a flexless look that matched the graying hair bun riding on her neck.

As Brother Saul called forth a string of prophecies from the Bible on the pulpit, he drove the words into his audience as though he were hammering nails. The somber people watched his gray hypnotic eyes glare from a granite face. They listened with rapt eyes and enduring bodies sacrificing comfort in the hard, unyielding desks designed for smaller-bodied students. They ignored the bugs that flew through the open windows and headed for the light bulbs near the ceiling. They ignored the hoots of night owls and the far-off barks and howls. They forgot at times to fan themselves with their copies of Brother Saul’s Sex and Moral Decay tracts.

After preaching till his sweaty back had turned his gray suit jacket into a binding blanket, Saul Powers stood on the stage beside his stack of literature. He busied himself with the task of packing notes and Bible into a bulging leather bag. He tried to ignore the tired, slow-moving country folks as they picked their sleeping children up and shuffled out into the night. He forced himself to smile and shake the hands of those who were determined to approach him with a show of support. Then he grabbed his cardboard box of Bible articles and headed for the door, leaving Aloma to carry out his leather bag and gab at length with the women while he disappeared into the darkness of his car.

By the time his car lights led a wordless Saul and Aloma down the dusty road to the paintless house, Kelley was not there. Aloma noted the absence of a light in any of the windows with her judgment-sounding huff as they entered the house.

It took the early light of a summer morning to stir life inside the Powers’ half of Bessie Poore’s unpainted house. Cool air ventured in across the windowsills, waving past curtains that no amount of washing would make white again. It drifted across the sheets on Saul and Aloma’s sagging bed.

Saul reached beside him, feeling Aloma’s worn-thin flannel gown. He wadded a handful of it in his fist, then tossed it back onto the bed. By then he was awake enough to know she was not going to spend any time alone with him that morning.

He found her and Jonathan at the yellow oilcloth-covered kitchen table, with her spooning oatmeal into a plastic bowl while Jonathan sat with both hands clasped atop his head, a habit he had started lately in an effort to flatten the sissy waves out of his hair. That’s all I want of that sticky stuff, he told Aloma. He tried to keep his voice in a deep male tone, but it kept slipping into his boyish chirp.

Saul rinsed his coffee cup at the pock-marked sink, poured coffee in it at a stove with broken handles, and sat down across from his baby-faced sixteen-year-old. His face was hard as a clenched fist as he surveyed the kitchen scene. We’ve got to get out of this sorry dump, he said, directing the words more to himself than to his wife or son. Every time I come back from L.A., I hate this place just that much more.

Why can’t we get a better place right here in Powell? Jonathan protested, rolling his eyes and looking wounded. I’ve already got all the teachers apple-polished here. And all my friends—

Saul frowned at his son’s unceasing folly. Because it’s what’s best for us, that’s why.

Across town, Kelly stood at baby Leslie’s highchair and waved a half-spoonful of mashed banana. One, two, three, open your moufey, she sang as Leslie watched with delight-filled eyes.

You see why Al calls you Aunt Silly? Older sister Margie paused to watch, her wiry body enveloped in a checkered smock down to her knees. Her hands stayed busy arranging good-smelling things on the breakfast table—cheesy omelet with cinnamon toast, steaming coffee and orange juice. Then she twirled halfway around on bare feet, shoved her hands against her sides and shot a bossy look at Kelly’s playful face. You have fun playing mommy, don’t you? Too bad you can’t change places with some poor tired woman.

Kelly’s smile appeared, that glorious, automatic flash of smile that neither Margie nor her parents could explain or copy. What do you hear of David?

David who?

David you-know-who Kelly’s smile gave a touch of whimsy to her whispery voice.

Same as I hear from every other you-know-who since Al came into my life—nothing. What do you hear of him?

Why, I barely met David. Kelly answered with a shrug, to keep from getting the swoony look that wanted to play across her face. She never could say David without her mouth forming a pout as if a kiss were being planted there. Because he only had eyes for you, she added, lowering her lashes and focusing on Leslie’s highchair tray.

Margie frowned. That’s really not the way it was. David has roving eyes, if you but knew. That’s why I settled for Al. Why do you always get us on the subject of my old boyfriends?

Just one, Kelly answered in a voice incapable of Margie’s brashness. Instead of saying David again, she just uncontrollably peeked into her storehouse of secrets and viewed the handsome David, tall and full of life. And utterly unaware of her existence. Don’t you have a picture of him somewhere that you don’t need? The graduation picture?

You sure you’re interested in David? Or just in getting away from home? Since he left Powell, his Uncle Jesse has convinced him that he’s better than us. Oh, never mind. Margie sat down in a kitchen chair by Leslie and propped her elbow on the table and her hand against her chin. Her search into a forgotten past seemed to take forever.

I know you’ve got that picture, Margie. Just let me have it.

She held the picture as she sat in the back seat of Saul’s car on the long trip to Los Angeles. It lay inside her hands as she laced her fingers together and held them in her lap inside the gathered folds of her cotton skirt, as though her hands were empty and she were just staring at nothing in particular.

The picture showed a face looking almost too good to be real, beaming above the dark gown falling off his shoulders in open pleats, and beneath the cap with its flat, squared-off top and tassel hanging on one side. His hand was drawn close to his chest to show the college ring. There was an exultant smile showing even, perfect teeth inside full lips. Beneath the resolute dark eyebrows were eyes of velvet brown. Her eyes yearned at David’s picture in a helpless melt.

Whatcha got? Jonathan shot a teasing hand over the back of the seat in front of her, snatching the picture from her fingers; he only threw it back at her when she grabbed his prize-winning music composition and was about to throw it out the back window. She could not yell at her bratty brother. They had to keep their battles quiet when they were with Saul, their foolishness-condemning father.

She flipped through the pictures housed in plastic windows in her billfold, deciding where to insert the David picture. Her fingers stopped as a young girl’s face stared up at her. The girl was sitting on a brocade chaise longue, dressed in satin underneath a ruffled pinafore. Light beamed from a heart-shaped locket dangling from a dainty chain around her neck.

She stared at the little girl with the trusting smile. Her round, blueberry eyes bespoke a different life—a time of ballet and music lessons, long ago when she had no comprehension of a Sixties world tainted with the sex and moral decay of Sodom. The girl’s hair was in Shirley Temple curls. At least that part of her had hardly changed since the taking of that picture. Why must I carry this old picture of somebody that’s not me anymore?

Kelly did not look on the back of the picture where the words Daddy’s girl would glare at her in their black-inked scrawl. Instead, she pulled the plastic holder open, inserted the David picture on top of daddy’s girl, yawned with disinterest at the sight of traffic and buildings, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the car had slowed to turn into a driveway with two white pillars on each side, topped with lamps that looked like the streetlights in an old-time movie. She rubbed her eyes as the car stopped at the front of Dr. Jesse Abrams’ ivy-walled estate. Soon they were inside the marvelous old mansion, shaking Doc’s hand. And in no time at all, Saul had marched outside to check out the exterior.

Saul’s forced smile tried to add a convincing touch to his dark-suited, successful look as he walked with Jesse Abrams on the sloping grounds around the aging building. He ignored the rounded tops of the shadowy mountains in the distance, keeping his squint directed toward the gray of the outer walls as they rose three stories high, like a Tudor monarch housed in thick-leaved shrubs and beds of flowers.

Doc Abrams’ smile was molded like dusty clay in a tan, lined face, with his silver hair creating a handsome contrast. In his casual sport shirt, he only lacked a golf club to complete his sporty image. I’m glad you’re still interested in moving here, he said to Saul. There’s no one I would rather see acquire this property, and use it as a positive influence in this area.

The most positive influence possible, Saul answered. I’m doing the most important work on earth. I’ve outgrown the facilities at my Powell headquarters.

They walked together back into the house and entered the music room as Jonathan and Kelly were trying out Jonathan’s piano composition on Doc’s mellow-toned piano. Her clear soprano added hums and trills from beside him on the piano bench as he bobbed his head along, half-frowning with his practiced critic look.

Nice to have somebody making music in this big house, Doc’s voice enthused. His thick hands clapped when the music ended. Such a pleasant phenomenon scarcely happens here, except when David comes. And, incidentally, David’s going to be here tonight. He’s on his way here now, probably.

Oh, boy! Jonathan’s voice crackled with excitement.

Doc held his hands together as he said, You know, I think it would be great for all of you young people to stay and visit here tonight. There’s plenty of room for everyone. Yes, my nephew is coming here to talk to some lawyers tomorrow. My friends at the Waterman firm are interested in him, now that he’s getting his law degree at Stanford. Doc’s black-brown eyes had the look of a proud old eagle as he looked at Jonathan and Kelly, and then at Saul. And, oh yes, Miss Shirley Temple, I could even call there and recommend they interview you for a job, since all of you will be living here.

That would be nice of you, Jesse, Saul answered before Kelly had a chance. He did not look at Doc. His eyes were busy studying the rosewood paneling, the ceiling beams, the doorway leading to the curving stairs in the hall beyond. His gray look focused in a narrow glint on the window wall with squares of steel-framed panes beyond the piano bench where his son and daughter sat in silence. His eyes reached out and took possession of the place.

Well, then, I’ll call the firm first thing tomorrow, Doc told Kelly. No, I can try right now, and see if someone is still there. He headed for the telephone in the adjoining room.

Kelly said nothing as she sat beside her brother. She winced, but not so anyone could see. She locked her gaze on Jonathan while his half-turned head bent toward the piano keys. She heard his fingers testing, changing the full, round chords of his composition into haunting minor tones. She felt the dismal sound play across her face, remembering her white-and-navy outfit and her white dress shoes packed in Mother’s scuffed blue overnight case in the car. She saw herself doing homework for her business classes, paid for with the earnings from her futureless jobs in Powell. She saw the words on her resume, which nobody on earth would be impressed with. She knew she had to get a job, but nobody had told her when or how.

In Doc’s absence, Saul paced off the length of the music room, counting his steps. He grabbed some note paper from his inside jacket pocket, punched the top of his World of Powers pen to expose the writing tip, and scribbled numbers with it as he cupped the paper in his hand. Wonder if he’ll be gone long enough, Saul muttered, for me to check out things upstairs, where my new studio’s gonna be. I want to get some measurements.

I just caught Wilson Bird, Doc said, grinning as he reappeared behind Kelly. He said the firm has an immediate need for an organized young lady to straighten out their file room. He can interview you tomorrow morning if you want to do that.

She wants to do it, Saul answered.

Well, then, Doc went on, I guess David can take you there as he goes, in the morning.

No, Saul said. It’s not proper for her to stay all night here with only males present.

There’s a housekeeper— Doc began.

Can I stay here, Dad? Jonathan began to whine. I want to be with David. He’s a fun guy. Please?

I’ve already invited you, either or both, Doc said. He shrugged and kept his smile.

Well, all right, son, Kelly heard her father say from behind the piano bench. Son was the word she heard most clearly. In that word the Saul Powers thunder seemed to match the fierce-eagle pride in Doc’s voice whenever he said My nephew David. But when Saul said Son, it meant that Jonathan could have his way without twisting up his face and squeezing his eyes into their pleading look.

Now, son, remember David’s older than you. Be on your best behavior. At least act your age. Saul’s look at Jonathan was stern and proper as he straightened his dark jacket as a sign he was about to leave. He shot a commanding glance in Kelly’s direction to make sure that she was going to follow him out the door.

It was an angry sigh that erupted from Saul’s narrow lips as he snapped on the bedside lamp inside the door of the motel efficiency. Kelly could tell it was more of a huff than a sigh. Huffs were more threatening and disturbing sounds than sighs.

He took his jacket off and hung it on the metal pole across the doorless closet. It’s disgusting, he said in the jacket’s direction, biting off each word, how I have to butter up Jesse Abrams, while he acts so high and mighty. I bet he’ll try to cheat me on that property deal, if he can find a way. He stood and slapped the shoulders and lapels, banishing lint and dandruff with a scowling vehemence.

Kelly did not answer. She stood at the room’s sole window and stared at truck lights searching their way along the freeway. She stared at two gray-striped cats on the pavement parking outside the window, their whiskers wiggling at her hamburger leavings which they had just dragged from the garbage. She stared at anything she could see, as darkness gathered.

As she stood looking out, Saul walked to the window near her and jerked the cords that made the brown drapes with their faded edges go swinging shut in front of her. You’re not going to see the road to Powell out there anywhere, his deep voice stated in their grim reminder of the disapproval she had earned by rushing out of his school house preaching.

She stood unmoving until he turned away and sat down on the Hide-a-Bed. He opened his briefcase, spreading Bible, papers and concordance on a sofa cover with garish orange-brown flowers. She turned her gaze across the room and saw the chair with a matching cover, on which Aloma’s overnight case sat.

Saul ignored her. It’s bad enough, he said, his hand separating letters from loose sheets of notes in nervous jerks, to have to answer these atheists and evolutionists, without having everybody else against me, too. His grumble hung in the prison-like room, daring her to make an acceptable response.

Kelly made no response. She hid her anxious feelings behind a face as expressionless as cardboard, while her feet pulled her toward a closet-sized bathroom across the room from the window she could no longer look out of. Then, with the lock clicked shut as soundlessly as possible, her worried eyes asked the bathroom mirror how long she dared to stay in there.

She let the shower water beat a trail down her back as she looked at greenish stuff that failed to stick to the wall around the top and corners of the shower. After that, she put on her terry cloth cover-up and peered into an unclear medicine chest mirror above the sink. The eyes looked back with blue frustration. The mouth was a troubled rosebud, one always unable to have a serious talk with Aloma Powers, regardless of how much she wanted to.

When she emerged from the steamy bathroom, Saul had moved to the chair. His open, soft-bound Bible curved along the chair’s round arm while he looked through his bifocals at it and then back to the papers lying on the briefcase he was using for a table on his lap.

He was shirtless. His white chest had a sprinkling of gray hairs down to where it sloped into the folds of midriff flab. His almost shapeless arms gave not the slightest indication of the wiry strength that could rush into them when summoned by his iron will. He looked too obviously cramped and crowded, working in the chair.

I moved so you can go to bed, he told her with a wave.

I’d rather sleep there in the chair, she blurted.

He raised a stiff forefinger and pointed toward the bed in a directive that would tolerate no disobedience.

She did as she was told and lay on the bed’s far edge, turned away from him so as not to watch Saul staring past the Bible instead of down onto its pages. She heard him clear his throat. God above, are you in here? If you are, then help me now.

When Saul was finished staring past the Bible, she heard him close it with a snapping sound. She heard him get undressed, with his pants pockets making a coin-jingling noise. She listened to the click that turned the room to hopeless black. She opened her eyes just enough to see the sliver of light that peeped in from outside, at the window where the drapes did not quite close.

She felt the bed dip behind her back as he got into it. And with no further warning, she felt the weight of his forearm on her side as his fingers grabbed her stomach like iron claws. Her stomach jerked into a knot. She almost jumped out of her skin.

What’s wrong with you? he growled. The last person I want rejection from is daddy’s girl.

Bitterness and fear stung in her eyes. Nothing, she whispered, knowing she had to give an answer.

Then touch me, he said.

I can’t. Trembling spread through her.

Why not?

I’m just not supposed to be here with you, like this, she whispered, waiting for the next harsh words or else a slap on her face or back or front.

With his hand, he grasped her shoulder and pulled it toward the bed so she would have to lie on her back instead of turned away from him. Who told you that? Who have you been talking to?

No one. She cringed, ready to feel the cutting slap.

There’s nothing wrong with you being here. He spit the words down on the cringe he knew was etched into her face. In Bible times the children slept with their fathers. You know it says ‘my children are with me in bed,’ and it calls Lot a righteous man. This modern world has everything all backwards, like those priests’ collars.

He took her hand and dragged it down his abdomen, past hairiness, and down to feel a flabby piece of flesh. He forced her fingers around soft flab. See what you can do for me, he said. He took his hand away f rom hers.

Tears swelled and drizzled down both sides of her eyes. She swiped the back of her free hand across her eyes. She dared not move the other hand, dared not tighten her fingers on him, dared not take her hand away. She stayed frozen, her brain racing and going nowhere.

His hand unzipped her terry cover-up and roved across her chest with the brusqueness she had seen in his steel-wire fingers as they had pawed down the front of Kitty Calico at home when Mother had complained of finding fleas in Jonathan’s bed. As she felt his loveless hand race down her front, she also felt the sticky, almost shapeless flesh that touched the inside of her hand.

She had to jerk her hand away from him the instant she felt his fingernails make a dig into her genital flesh. She tried to writhe away from the hated hand without invoking his fearsome fury. Her silent crying turned to sobbing gasps.

Don’t put on that sniffling act, he reacted with a grumble close to her ear. See if you can do any better with your mouth.

No! She shuddered.

Don’t be afraid of it, he snapped. It’s the stuff you’re made out of.

Fear thundered through her head on a lumpy pillow cushion, until he gave up with an accusing huff. Long, petrifying moments later, a tense relief crept into her ears along with the fitful snores that buzzed through his nose and bubbled from his mouth.

Kelly stared into the room’s sick blackness and listened to the trucks that made their way along the freeway in the distance. She ached with tiredness but could not sleep. She wanted to take another shower, but dared not move. And she was afraid to face the morning.

Before morning came, she inch-wormed her way from off the bed and crawled to Aloma’s overnight case. Her fingers found the underwear and slip and hose to put on a nerve-taut