So You Shall Reap

By Marilyn Pauline Donovan

She heard a car approaching. When she turned to look, she saw flashlights searching the sides of the road. There was nowhere to go along this stretch of the road but the ditch. She slid down into the gully and lay on her side. The car was moving slowly. She knew it was them! Oh, please, she whispered, please dont let them see me! There were several fallen branches near by. She reached for them and pulled them on top of her. She waited breathlessly as the car came slowly towards her. They were shining flashlights all around. The light went across her body as the car moved past her. When the car stopped a few feet in front of her, she almost panicked but relaxed when it moved on

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463422257

Marilyn Pauline Donovan

Marilyn Donovan lives in one of the many western suburbs of Chicago. She has four grown children and is enjoying the freedom of retirement. Among her many talents, she is an accomplished artist and has shown her work in several venues. Since Ms Donovan’s retirement, she has spent a great deal of her time writing. Her first printed work, "Honesty," is a compilation of her poetry. Her work has been used commercially. She has written four children's books, and three short stories. She decided that she would try a novel. The outcome is “So You Shall Reap.” The story is as relevant now as it was in the time it portrays.

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© 2011 Marilyn Pauline Donovan. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 07/08/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2225-7 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2223-3 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2226-4 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011910051

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

To my husband George,who encouraged me to keep writing.

And to my dear friend Eugene Woolcott, who helped me through the technical struggles, and the creative process.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 1

Ruth left Baker’s Bookstore, grousing silently about how poorly Mr. Baker had treated her today. But then, she thought, he’s not nice to me at any time.. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings as she walked.

The big, black Cadillac sped down the darkened streets. As it turned left and rounded a corner, the headlights fell on Ruth stepping off the curb. The sound of screeching brakes and the thud of something hitting the car was followed by a thin wail and then sudden silence that left the man behind the wheel stunned. It seemed an eternity before he could move.

Jon Malcolm opened the car door and stepped out. He walked slowly, afraid of what he might find. He saw a body on the ground and almost panicked. He had an almost uncontrollable desire to get back into the car and drive away but then the figure on the ground moved. A sense of relief surged through him, leaving him trembling. Jesus! he said when he heard the person moan. She’s alive! Jon quickly composed himself and knelt beside the young woman on the ground.

Please let me help you. Can you move? No, don’t get up! he exclaimed.

I’m all right, she said, just a little shaky.

I was so scared. I thought I’d killed you.

It was partly my fault, she said. I shouldn’t have stepped off the curb without looking. I think I walked into the side of your car just as it stopped moving.

He helped her to her feet but, when she tried to stand, her ankle buckled under her and she groaned at the sudden pain. He quickly swept her up into his arms to keep her from falling.

You are hurt, he said. I’d better take you to the hospital.

No, please. It’s not necessary. I’m all right, really I am. It’s my ankle. I must have turned it as I fell. Please, put me down.

He became aware of her nearness. She was so small and slender, like a feather in his arms. He couldn’t see clearly in the dimness of the streetlight, but what he did see was lovely. Her hair appeared dark and was very long. He was close enough to smell the clean, sweet, scent of it. He could only guess at its color. Her lips were full, her voice soft, and he wondered what color her eyes were.

I said put me down, please! she said adamantly.

He set her down gently. For a moment they faced each other and their eyes met and held. Startled, he realized he had been staring. She looked away first.

Well, at least let me drive you home, he said. I can’t just leave you here. He was sincere in his need to help this person.

I assure you I’m quite all right.

Please, for my sake, he said.

If you insist but you don’t know where I live, she replied.

You’re going to tell me, aren’t you? he said with a chuckle.

Jon opened the car door and helped her sit down before he walked around and sat behind the wheel. Now, where do you live? he asked, as he started the engine.

I really don’t want you to trouble yourself. I’m perfectly all right, really I am.

Look Miss… He paused and smiled. May I ask your name?

Lawson, Ruth Lawson.

Miss Lawson, I am prepared to sit here, all night if necessary, until you agree to let me see you safely home.

All right, you win. I guess that would be best. My ankle is throbbing a little. I live at 25 Station Street.

As the big car moved slowly forward, she relaxed a little. Her ankle was quite painful but she tried to conceal her discomfort.

By the way, my name is Jon. Jon Malcolm.

Pleased to meet you Mr. Malcolm, she said.

He looked at her, chuckled and shook his head.

Ruth didn’t understand. What’s so funny?

It takes a stretch of the imagination to consider this a pleasant meeting, Miss Lawson. I did almost run you down. I think you’re being courageous and I like that about you.

Oh, I see what you mean. Then, she was laughing too. The uneasiness she felt disappeared as she relaxed.

Ruth glanced around. Trying hard not to stare, using her peripheral vision, she studied the well-dressed young man beside her and the beautiful automobile. Instinctively, she assumed that he must live in Brandon Hill, the beautiful part of town with gorgeous homes and spacious grounds; a part of town inhabited exclusively by the wealthy. He didn’t seem to be at all snobbish, quite friendly in fact.

The big car turned a corner and, as it continued down the street, Ruth began to feel uncomfortable again. The houses began to show signs of neglect, becoming shabbier and shabbier as they approached her neighborhood. The streets became darker and in her mind seemed to get narrower until she felt everything was closing in on her.

Finally, Ruth told Jon to stop the car. They were in front of an old, brick, two-story building. It was just as shabby as the other houses on the block, with nothing to set it apart, except for the light in the hall tonight, which was very seldom lit because the light bulbs were always being stolen.

It had become a game with Ruth to see how long each bulb would last. Just once, the same bulb remained in its socket for two whole weeks. The only other light available was a street light on the corner, which was almost in front of the house. It wasn’t very bright and colored everything yellow, but it was enough to make coming home at night a little less scary.

As usual, feelings of depression surged through her the moment they reached the building where Ruth lived with her father. Tonight, the depression seemed much worse. Maybe it was the big beautiful automobile or the handsome man sitting beside her. He was so obviously used to the best of everything, to all the luxuries that life had to offer, things that Ruth could only dream about. Tonight, for a very short while, she had been in his world, at least in her mind. Now, Ruth was back in the world she despised, one in which she was ashamed to have to live.

Jon was about to get out of the car but Ruth put a restraining hand on his arm. There’s no need for you to get out. I can make it from here. Thank you for driving me home.

Before he could protest, she opened the door and climbed out as fast as she could. She limped quickly up the two steps leading to the front door and hurried into the hallway. She heard him call, Ruth! Ruth, wait!

She quickly switched off the hall light so he wouldn’t try to follow her and leaned against the door. She didn’t want Jon to see the horrible conditions in which she was forced to live. A minute later, she heard the car pull away.

Her ankle throbbed painfully as she slowly made her way up the stairs. Ruth opened the door to the flat and limped to her bedroom as quietly as possible. Her father was sleeping soundly now; she could hear his labored breathing. The least little noise could disturb him and hearing her move around would mean another long evening of talking and Ruth wasn’t in the mood to listen to another minute of redundant conversation. She didn’t even turn on the lights because that might awaken him, too.

The moonlight shining through her bedroom window gave enough light to keep the room from complete darkness. As she undressed, she tried to recall everything that had happened this evening, but she was very tired and the bed looked so inviting. I’ll think about it in the morning, she mumbled, climbing into bed. As her eyes closed, her father began to cough. She waited but he didn’t call her name as he’d done so often lately. He was still asleep.

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When she awoke, sunlight was streaming through the window. She stretched, adjusted the sheet and squinted at the light. She felt the sun’s warmth, magnified by its trip through the glass, on her face and slowly opened her eyes, blinking at the bright sunlight. Stretching lazily, she turned over and looked at the clock on her bedside table.

Oh, my goodness, she cried and jumped out of bed. It was eight o’clock and she had to be at the shop at nine. She hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, filled the basin with warm water, put her elbows in, soaped and rinsed under her arms. She dashed back to the bedroom for some clean clothes. While putting on her shoes, she remembered last night and looked at her ankle. It wasn’t the least bit swollen and the pain was completely gone. That’s a relief, she thought. It’s bad enough having to stand on my feet all day but, with a sore ankle, I know I wouldn’t have made it.

Ruth couldn’t afford to take a day off. Mr. Baker was such an old grouch that it might cost her the job if she did. It was a bitter struggle for her now, trying to pay the rent on this horrible flat and taking care of her father, whose life was ebbing away day by day.

The doctor had recommended her father enter a nursing home where he would get the professional care and attention that he needed. When Ruth told her father what the doctor said, he cried like a baby. That had been more than two months ago. Since then he’d done nothing but whine and beg her not to send him away. She always had to reassure him that she wouldn’t do that and would take care of him as long as he needed her. She never mentioned it again but he never let her forget her promise.

Her father was sitting at the table when she entered the kitchen.

Oh, Dad, she said, How long have you been up?

I don’t know. It’s so hot, Ruthie, I just couldn’t stay in bed.

Why didn’t you wake me? It’s after eight o’clock. If I’m late I could be fired!

I’m sorry, Ruthie. It’s so hot. I just couldn’t stay in bed. Don’t be mad at me, Ruthie, he whined.

Oh Pop, I’m not mad at you. It’s just that, as long as you were up, you shouldn’t have let me oversleep.

You won’t send me away, will you, Ruthie?

No, Pop, I won’t send you away.

It’s too hot for coffee, but I’ll make some if you want. Will you stay and have some coffee with me? He forced a toothless grin. His course, grey hair stuck out all over. Messy from restless sleep.

I’d like to, but I really can’t. Like you said, it’s too hot for coffee and… She was about to remind him that she had to go to work, but it wouldn’t have made any difference to him.

I wish it wasn’t so hot! He put his head down on the table. Why does it have to be so damned hot?

Ruth shook her head and sighed. It was warm but it was worse for her father since he was plagued with constant fever. Touching his shoulder, she left the room and quietly closed the door behind her. She hurried down the stairs as fast as she could, almost falling. She grabbed onto the banister just in time or she might have ended up at the bottom of the stairs with a broken arm or worse. Once outside, she practically ran down the street to reach the bus stop, praying all the time that she wouldn’t be late. Maybe something will happen to prevent Mr. Baker from arriving on time. She chuckled at the thought. That’s wishful thinking. The bus was coming when she reached the stop. Heaving a sigh of relief at not having to stand all the way downtown, she sat in the one empty place on the long bench behind the driver.

Can’t this bus go any faster? What am I doing here? She thought. Why should I care about that old man? He never cared about me. It was only when he was alone and dying that he remembered that he even had a daughter. Damn! When will I learn to think of myself first?

Even as she cursed her weakness, she knew she couldn’t change.

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Ruth was and always had been kind, a gentle and good person. She had remained that way despite her deprived childhood. Still unshaken in her determination to rise above a life of poverty, she told herself, again and again, to regard this time spent with her father as a temporary intrusion, an obligation that needed to be fulfilled.

Ruth’s mother died when Ruth was five years old. The five years following her mother’s death were one long, painful nightmare. Her father drank all the time. Ruth never saw him sober. If she had, he wouldn’t have seemed like the same man.

She remembered accepting handouts from friends and neighbors, going from one family to another. She would show up at a friend’s house around suppertime and ask if her friend could play. The answer was always no, of course, because it was time for dinner. Ruth would hang around for a while hoping they would invite her to eat with them, and most of the time they did. She never realized that everyone was on to her little game. No one had the heart to turn her away.

Finally, the neighbors got together and called the child welfare association. This was child neglect, they told them. At first, Ruth was terrified. Although she hated the life she was living, it was familiar and one to which she was accustomed. She remembered the ladies from the welfare office coming to look around the apartment and talking to her father. Evidently, they weren’t satisfied with the way things were and condemned the place an unfit environment in which to raise a child. Ruth ended up in an orphanage. She was ten years old and terrified at being ripped from her familiar routine.

She felt so alone at first, but it wasn’t long before she realized that being in the orphanage was the best thing that could have happened to her. She was well cared for and quickly made many friends. She had clean clothes and plenty of food. The nuns and the other ladies who worked in the home were very fond of her, as she was of them. They showed love and kindness to all the children while preparing them for a life on their own. They wanted all the children to be safe and happy. Ruth, with her endearing charms, developed a special place in their hearts. When Ruth turned eighteen, the sisters offered her a job in the home so she would have a place to stay while finishing her college education. They let her stay until she was twenty-two, until she’d saved enough money to start living independently.

Two weeks before Ruth was to leave, she got a call from a neighbor informing her of her father’s illness. The neighbor said, He keeps calling for you all the time and told me where to find you. Instinct told Ruth to run, run as fast as she could, to never see or care about her father again. But her heart and her conscience wouldn’t let her do that, so she finally went to see him.

Ruth knocked on the first floor door of the building.

When the landlady opened the door, she asked, Who are you? What do you want?

I’m Ruth Lawson. I’ve come to see my father.

You’re little Ruthie? The lady said with wide-eyed surprise. You sure grew up to be a pretty young lady.

Ruth didn’t remember the landlady but it would become obvious that the neighbors remembered her.

Your father is upstairs, Ruthie. He never goes anywhere. Do you want me to go up with you?

Yes, if you don’t mind.

The landlady opened the door to the upstairs flat, stood aside and motioned for Ruth to go in. Even before Ruth stepped inside, she was assailed by the stench emanating from her father’s apartment. A strong smell of urine and general decay caused her to take a step back.

Her father was sitting in a threadbare overstuffed chair, propped up by pillows. The odor of unwashed clothing competed with the fetid smell of the room. He had stopped shaving, washing and dental hygiene. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, spoiled milk and rotting food was overwhelming. The garbage had piled up everywhere. Paper plates and opened but empty food cans lay near his chair. The table by his side held a lamp and a large ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and ashes. There was a small radio on the table. The only sound was the constant hiss of static coming from the radio, making the scene all the more surreal.

Most of the light in the room would come from a flickering floor lamp in the corner. It was a bright afternoon. Why hadn’t he turned off the lamp?

Hello, Father, Ruth said after surveying the situation.

The dying man raised his head. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the person standing there. He didn’t recognize his own flesh and blood. Who is it? the old man asked. Who’s there?

It’s Ruth. You remember your daughter, don’t you?

The old man started to get out of the chair but fell back down as he gasped, Oh my God! Are you Ruthie? Is my little Ruthie really here?

Yes, it’s me. I’m here.

You’re going to stay, aren’t you, Ruthie? You won’t leave me? He started to cough.

When she saw this man, whom she barely knew, in such a pitiful condition, she knew she couldn’t leave him to die alone. She knew she had to stay and take care of him as long as she was needed.

Take it easy, Dad. That word didn’t come easily to her. As the coughing subsided, Ruth took a deep breath thought, why am I even here? I’ll stay, she finished.

The landlady was still standing there with a deep frown on her face, she said, I’m not at all happy with this situation, Ruth. You’re going to have to do something with the old man. If things aren’t cleaned up here immediately, he’ll have to go! I didn’t realize things were this bad until now. You got your work cut out for you, dearie. She walked away, leaving the door wide open.

Ruth didn’t know what to do first or where to start. She decided to do the most important thing first and that was to call a doctor to find out how badly off her father really was and what, if anything, could be done for him. She picked up most of the garbage before she made the call.

When the doctor arrived, Ruth watched him survey the room. Distaste was evident from his expression but he didn’t say a word about the apartment’s condition. His examination complete, Ruth had only to see the look on his face to have her suspicion confirmed; her father was dying.

I’m sorry, Ms. Lawson. Your father is seriously ill. His lungs are failing. He’s in the final stage of emphysema. His coughing spells will become more severe. He should be in a constant care facility, because recovery is not imminent. All you can do now is relieve most of his discomfort by giving him the medicine that I’ve prescribed. He handed her three prescriptions he’d written. There’s nothing else to be done for him now.

I understand, Ruth said. He’s been drinking and smoking for years and never cared about the toll it was taking on his health.

I wish there was more I could do, the doctor said with a sigh, "but you’ve waited far too long to call a doctor.’

I’ve been away for quite some time, Doctor, she replied. I didn’t know he was so ill. Why do I feel the need to make excuses? she thought. Why do I suddenly have this guilty feeling, even though I know there’s no reason to feel this way? Maybe it’s because the doctor is a stranger and has no way of knowing how selfish and irresponsible this man was, or what he put me through. I feel embarrassed for him now when I shouldn’t. I don’t even know if he has any way to pay for this, she finished.

I see. The doctor closed his bag and turned to leave, then turned back. Just so you know, he’ll soon be too much for you to take care of alone. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?

Yes, I understand. Thank you, Doctor.

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The bus bumped and rattled toward the stop where Ruth would be getting off. She continued her ruminations about the situation. It’s been almost six months since the doctor made that visit. The situation hasn’t changed and I’ve done my best to keep things going. I think the worst part about all this has been having to return to that horrible flat each night. It’s taken so much effort to get it back into some semblance of order. Ruth’s heart pounded faster as the bus rounded the last corner. Oh, God! I’m late!

As usual, Mr. Baker was already there. Ruth had never known him to be even one minute late. She ran into the shop, closed the door behind her and tried to catch her breath. Mr. Baker was behind the counter, busily looking over some books.

Well, Miss Lawson, you do realize it’s ten minutes past nine, don’t you? he said without raising his head.

I’m sorry, Mr. Baker, but you see I was in an accident last night and…

I’m not interested in excuses, Miss Lawson, he interrupted. Your work begins at nine o’clock and you will either be here at that time or not at all.

Yes, Mr. Baker.

Then we understand each other?

Yes, Mr. Baker.

Of course, I will have to deduct something from your wages.

Of course, Mr. Baker.

Miss Lawson, I’ll be gone most of the day. There is a new shipment of books at the distributor’s warehouse. I’m hoping that I can purchase some at bargain prices. He looked up from what he was doing and frowned more deeply. Well, are you going to get to work or just stand there?

Oh no, Mr. Baker. I’ll get right to work, and don’t worry about the shop while you’re gone. I’ll take good care of things. Ruth hurried to the back room and hung her purse on the coat rack.

Mr. Baker was a strange looking man. He had a mass of snow-white hair but his bushy eyebrows were dark. Not a bit good looking, he was short and plump but, just around the middle. He had spindly legs and arms, but his belly protruded like a big balloon. Ruth had had the funniest thought when she first looked at his belly. She’d imagined the belt that held up his trousers slipping right off that big expanse and leaving him standing there in his underwear. Somehow, it never happened.

She never could get used to his small beady eyes. Ruth was never sure in what direction he was looking. He wore old-fashioned metal-rimmed glasses and he seemed to always look over, under or around them but never through them. At least it seemed that way to her.

I’ll be back before closing time, Miss Lawson, Mr. Baker called from the front door. She heard the bell jingle as he left the store and then all was silent. Ruth heaved a sigh.

That was a close one, she thought and smiled. This is going to be one pleasant day without him peeking over my shoulder every minute. She started organizing the books that had been left in disarray by the customers from the day before.

The day passed quickly. Without Mr. Baker there, Ruth had to eat her lunch on the run. Whenever there were no customers, she went to the back room and took a few bites of her sandwich that she’d hurriedly thrown together before leaving the house. She didn’t mind though. Without Mr. Baker watching