Where the Wild Roses Grow

By Autumn Russell

A catastrophic event called The Great Depression hit the world and impacted many, sweeping through households and leaving despair in its wake. Jobs were lost and economic stability became a thing of the past. Spokane, Washington, like countless other cities and towns across America, had no shortage of families and displaced souls in desperate situations.
With a husband who is gone for days at a time, Sophie is left trying to care for their growing family on her own. She vows to put food in the mouths of her hungry children, and tirelessly spends entire days walking the city streets searching for employment, only to return home each night defeated and exhausted. She can think of nothing worse than watching her children perish from malnutrition and having to bury them, as the woman next door already had to do. The fear of starvation keeps her up at night, until one day she is forced to do the unthinkable in order to feed her family. And then one tragic day all her children, save for Charlotte, who is still an infant, are ripped away from her.
Years pass, and Charlotte is seventeen and in her last year of high school when she meets and falls in love with a young man. The two are wed in a simple ceremony right before Martin is called off to England to help with the Korean War. Charlotte meanwhile is taken in by his parents, and while staying in their house discovers something unsettling about the family she married into. Not long after moving in, she meets her brother in-law, Clarence, who comes to visit with his wife in tow. It’s during this first meeting with him, that Charlotte suspects that her brother-in-law’s intentions toward her are less than pure.
She’s relieved when Martin finally sends for her to come and stay with him in England for a short while, but the trip isn’t the restful respite she hoped it would be, and she soon finds herself unwittingly at the center of a mystery. Once back in the States, it’s not long before Martin is discharged, and the two are reunited. Basking in the stable environment and security she never had growing up, Charlotte couldn’t be happier, and easily settles into being a wife and mother. But her contented bliss is not to last, when Martin comes home one day from the machine shop where he works and announces his plans for a career change, starting up his own small timber felling business.
The two of them share an enduring love that spans many years, from young lovers, to newlyweds, to raising a family in Spokane, then making the move to the Olympic Peninsula in their later years, where they settle into the small logging community of Humptulips. Despite the poverty and hardships endured during her childhood, nothing can prepare Charlotte for what’s to come. Ultimately she and Martin are destined to a place where the wild roses grow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Autumn Russell
• Release date: Aug 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463764008

Autumn Russell

If I'm not writing I'm reading. I always enjoy a chilling fairytale or gripping suspense. I have a bookshelf at home full of my favorite authors and their stories.Mainly I write psychological thrillers and fairytales. If you're following or reading my stories, you'll find that I throw in the occasional comedy or drama.Mostly my stories center on a basic conflict that almost always end in a twist.In my writing I touch on the idea that all of us have secrets, some shocking, while yet others, terrifying. We all have the inherent need to believe that we're safe with those closest to us. But sometimes evil lurks just around the corner and hides in the most familiar face.Which now brings me to invite you to try out my books, listed here. FATAL OBSESSION, A WALK AROUND AUDUBON, LOST SOULS, THE BEAST OF ROGUE, THE QUEEN UNMASKED, WHERE THE WILD ROSES GROW, HOUSE OF HER DREAMS.GHOST FOREST Coming Fall/Winter 2023

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Children’s laughter filled the tall Victorian. The family of eight had recently moved to Spokane from living in a tent on the Elwauh River. Life in a house was much different and the children were still in a euphoric state of excitement. Instead of the wet, cold weather of the Washington coast and the bitter winds that sometimes came with the drizzling, often driving rain, they were surrounded by the tall, sturdy walls of the Victorian, and could sleep soundly in a real bedroom safely tucked away from the harsh outdoor elements of nature.

They’d only lived there less than a month and already it felt like a home, a place they never wanted to leave. Even their mother, they could tell, was glad to be there. The relief and happiness of having a house was evident in her soft blue eyes, and the way they’d light up whenever she watched them busy at play. And even though they had very little, what they lacked materially was made up for in the love they felt from their mother.

The cupboards and icebox were bare and all of their stomachs were just as empty. Ignoring the hunger pangs that by now were like a familiar, unwanted companion that never left their sides, the children kept themselves occupied by thinking up games. Toys were a luxury that couldn’t be afforded and their imagination was all they were left with. Dandelions that grew in the front and back took the place of dolls and often were picked by the children, and in their carefully structured world of make-believe, transformed from an ordinary weed into a great lady. Sticks and rocks became animals and often were also used to construct towns and mansions that housed the dandelion ladies.

Their father, William, had left days ago and still hadn’t returned, but their mother assured them that he would be back soon. And when he was, that he would have earned enough to afford them a real meal, and not just the meager flour and water they had been subsisting on. They were fortunate if they got this simple meal once a day but more often than not they had to ration it by eating only every other day. The world was in a great depression and food for most was scarce. Those who lived on farms were the most fortunate; they at least could grow their vegetables. The city dwellers had nothing, save for the soup lines that could be found in certain parts of town. It was as if the whole world had imploded in on itself. The starving and hungry were everywhere. The dismal plight Sophie and her family faced was echoed in many other American households throughout the country.

When it was evening the children sat with their mother in the living room. The children shared the same resemblance and had the same shade of brown hair and eyes that were so dark they often appeared black. They had inherited their looks that hinted at Native American blood from their father whereas their mother’s ancestry came from Sweden. Their empty stomachs ached but despite this there was an undercurrent of excitement as they anxiously waited for their father’s return. He was due back that day. Their small faces turned in the direction of the door at every creak and sound made by the large house as it settled.

After rocking her youngest to sleep, Sophie laid the unnamed infant girl down on a blanket that was spread out on the dusty hardwood floor.

How long before Dad’s here? asked six-year-old Willis. His two younger brothers, Harold and Alfred, only two years apart, sat down next to him.

Not too much longer, I’m sure. Sophie regarded her brood of children with a smile that hid her own anxiety and in an effort to lighten the already dimming mood of her hungry children, she motioned them closer until they were huddled around her, then said, And when he does get here, I’m going to make a big pot of stew. It’ll be the best meal any of you have ever had. We’ll sit down the way real families do, all together, and have supper with your father. And not one of us will go to bed hungry. In the meantime, are there any stories anyone would like to hear?

Tell us about the way it’s gonna taste, how the meat’ll just melt in our mouths, said Maureen.

"The meat will melt in our mouths. And the vegetables will have so much flavor you’ll have never tasted something so good."

What kind of vegetables and meat will Dad get?

I imagine whatever kind is available. Spam or hotdogs maybe, potatoes probably for sure, maybe even some onions or carrots.

It sounds so good, Momma. I can already imagine I can taste it, said Deloris.

You won’t have to imagine for long, because soon it’ll really be here, said Sophie.

When are we gonna name the baby? asked Maureen.

When the time is right. Sometimes it just takes a while to know.

But everyone has a name, so shouldn’t she? persisted Maureen.

And she will. Even though we may not know her name yet, God does. The way I see it is that her name is so special that it’s just waiting to be found out. And in the meantime we have to be patient.

The baby made a gurgling noise and had come awake and now watched her mother and five older siblings with large, shining brown eyes that were so dark they appeared black. Scooping up the baby, Maureen gently cradled her little sister in her arms and said, Tell us the story in the bible about Jesus and the loaves of bread.

Without wax or kerosene to burn, there was no light available to read by, so Sophie, having memorized the passage in the bible verse by verse, began recounting the story of Jesus. As she recited different bible stories the evening gradually progressed to night. Finishing up with the last story, Sophie roused her sleepy children and said, It’s time now that you all went on up to bed. I’ll stay down here with the baby and wait for your father.

With their stomachs growling, the children kissed their mother good night and made their way up the stairs to their bedrooms. Maureen still held the baby and was the last one of the children to follow her siblings upstairs. Placing the tiny infant that had already begun to fuss in her mother’s waiting arms, she said, Here, Momma, I think she’s hungry.

Thank you, Sugar. Sophie smiled up at her daughter through the darkness, darkness that hid the single tear that fell from her eye. Wiping it away, she placed a kiss on the little girl’s cheek and said, Now you run along and get up to bed.

All right, Momma. Leaning down to the small bundle nestled in her mother’s arms, Maureen touched her lips to the infant’s soft head. Good night, baby. She paused at the bottom of the steps. He’s not coming, is he, Momma?

With conviction she didn’t feel, Sophie said, He’ll be here. If not tonight then I’m sure your father will be home by morning. And by the time the sun comes up I’ll have something on the table for all of us to eat.

Seated in the straight-backed rocker, Sophie listened to the light pitter-patter of her little girl’s footsteps as she took the stairs up to bed. Undoing the first few buttons of her dress and staring into the blackness, she rocked the infant that suckled hungrily at her breast. Light from an outside streetlamp cast a white glow through the slats of the closed blinds. A single tear followed by many more spilled from her eyes, and hit the innocent face of her daughter who, oblivious to her mother’s emotional anguish, continued happily to feed.

Sophie focused on the small halo of muted light. Now that her children, save for the precious little one cradled in her arms, had gone to bed, she no longer had to hide the fear that mounted inside her. The threat of starvation and death lurked behind every corner. Its terrifying shadow could be seen in the gaunt faces of her children. She inwardly cursed her husband for not returning as he said he would. She tried telling herself that maybe he had gotten the food he’d promised to bring back to them, and perhaps something that was no fault of his own had prevented him from coming home that night.

But even this feeble attempt at reasoning out a plausible excuse for his prolonged absence was little comfort to her. Because no matter how she might try to tell herself otherwise, she knew where he was. It was the same place he always went whenever he had any money to spend and in turn it was she and their children who suffered from his selfishness. The nauseating ache of hunger filled her empty belly and was a reminder that if she didn’t eat at least a little, soon her body would no longer be capable of producing the milk necessary to keep her baby fed.

Her own hunger pangs weren’t what troubled her, but the anxiety of how she could keep her children fed preoccupied her every thought. She’d seen other mothers who had lost children to starvation, and she made a silent vow to herself that she wouldn’t be one of them. No matter what she had to do, her children would survive this hell they called The Great Depression.

The baby finished feeding and fell asleep at her breast. Laying the infant on her lap, she redid the top buttons of her dress, wincing against the pain caused by the fabric as it brushed up against her nipple that was dried and cracked from nursing. Gathering the infant back up into her arms, she took the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around them both.

Sophie left the home she shared with her children at daybreak, and spent yet another grueling day applying for work everywhere her two tired and blistered feet would carry her, and was ecstatic when she was hired at the last place she applied. It was right before closing time so the man who ultimately gave her the job didn’t have time to talk at length, but was sure to tell her to come back to his office the following day and that he would then go over all the details with her. Thrilled over the prospect, Sophie returned home to tell her children, who shared in her happiness. Hope, it seemed, had been put back into their lives, and made going to sleep with empty bellies somewhat easier.

The next day Sophie kissed her children goodbye and, leaving them in charge of caring for the little one, left early to start her first day of work.

She stood there gaping at the man who sat behind the desk, who only yesterday had hired her. Gone was the friendliness she thought she saw in him yesterday. There was a cold hardness in his ice-blue gaze that suggested he felt no compassion for her, or the many other women like her.

I don’t understand. Yesterday you said the job was mine, said Sophie, hating the note of desperation in her voice.

Looking up from the papers splayed out on his desk, he matter-of-factly said, I did, yes, but then things changed. Listen, I would like to help you, I really would, but in all good conscience I can’t give away a job to a woman—not when there are men out there who have families to support, children to feed.

And what about my children that I have to feed?! exclaimed Sophie.

You have a husband, don’t you?

I don’t know where he’s at right now, or when or whether he’s coming home. He has a gambling and drinking problem and isn’t reliable. Sometimes weeks pass before we see him again. Can’t you understand why this job is so important to me? You have a family of your own, don’t you? A wife and children? Sophie’s eyes drifted to the black and white photograph of a woman that sat on his desk.

Looking slightly uncomfortable, he followed her gaze with his. Like I said, I would help you if I could—

Just give me a chance, that’s all I ask.

Sighing, the man nodded to himself, folded his hands out in front of him, and said, All right. If that’s really what you want—

Does that mean I have the job then?

Sure does. Matter of fact, you can go out there and talk to the man who supervises all the work done here. He shrugged indifferently.

She started toward the door, thanking him profusely. I promise I’ll work hard for you, as hard as any man out there. You won’t regret this. She was about to open the door, but was stopped by his next words. There’s just one more thing. If you want the job as badly as you say you do then you’ll have to let one of them hardworking boys I have out there know that you’re taking away his job. Now I can’t guarantee your personal safety or how they’ll take to the idea of one of their kind losing his livelihood to a woman—

Sophie’s smile dropped and turning around, she said, I can’t do that!

See? You’re standing here asking me for a job, and yet I would have to do that very same thing.

There must be something I could do that hasn’t been filled yet? What about cleaning? I could scrub toilets, floors, anything—I’ll even take an extra cut in pay—

Chuckling unpleasantly, he said, The men who work here are used to grit and grime. I can’t squander the company’s money by employing a woman, whose place is, and always has been, in the home.

You don’t understand. My children—they’re weak and haven’t had a bite of food in two days. We ran out of flour and I haven’t the money for more.

Giving her an appraising once-over look, he said, What would you be willing to do to feed them?

Anything, anything at all.

I think I might have a need for you after all.

It didn’t take her long to know what need he referred to, so when she watched him rise up from his chair and walk around the desk to her, she endured the sour smell of his breath and the grotesque feel of his lips on hers. Once the act itself had come to a finish, he zipped his pants back up, then returned to his desk. Repulsed by the man and the feel of his touch, with trembling fingers Sophie hastily buttoned the front of her dress.

Addressing her formally as if nothing had occurred, he said, We’re done here, you need to leave.

Not until I get paid.

Now I don’t recall ever promising you anything.

You made me believe that if I—

Nothing happened here except for two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company.

That’s not how it was and you know it.

The way I remember it, you were offering, and like most any red-blooded male would, I accepted. Now I don’t know how many times or how many more ways I can tell you that I have no work for you. All available positions have already been filled.

He abruptly got up from behind his desk, opened the door and steering her through it said, Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run and men to pay.

Sophie tried to protest, but he’d already shut the door. The tears of frustration that burned behind her eyes distorted her vision as she was jostled by the crowd of men who walked past her in a discordant line. The anger she’d felt just seconds ago evaporated into despair.

She couldn’t let her children go hungry any longer than they already had. There had to be something she could do.

Her gaze connected with the familiar face of a woman who entered in through the doors with a flourish. Sophie stopped walking, and taking a step back stared at the woman. She was well dressed and had the look of money. Clad in the latest fashion that most couldn’t afford and with perfectly coiffed shiny hair, she would have been impossible not to notice. Her eyebrows were plucked into thin arches, and she gave the impression of someone who didn’t know what life was like beyond the privileged walls of her existence.

Sophie overhead one of the men call out to her.

Returning the greeting, the woman said, I’m here to see my husband, do you know if he’s still here?

Sure. He’s back in his office finishing up paying all the fellas right now. If you want I could take you to him.

Refusing the offer, she merrily said, That’s all right, I know the way. Besides, he isn’t expecting me and I want to surprise him.

Sophie recognized her as the woman in the portrait and followed her back down the crowded hall to where the line of workers had dwindled as each in turn was handed an envelope. The last of the men politely smiled and tipped their hat as she passed. Sophie briefly hesitated and watched the woman disappear into the office. Before the door could fall completely closed she entered in after her.

The couple had been in the middle of an embrace but came apart at the intrusion.

Who is she? demanded the woman.

Unease spread across the man’s face.

Answering for him, Sophie said, I’m here to collect my wages.

Turning to her husband who still looked stunned, the woman said, But we don’t have any women working here.

Once again interrupting, Sophie said, I provided a service that your husband requested. She refocused her attention back on him. Shall I explain to your wife what that was?

The woman shot her a reproachful glare, then said to her husband, What is this woman talking about?

Recovering from his shock, he ignored his wife’s question and hastily counted out payment, then placing it in Sophie’s hand, stiffly said, Your services will no longer be needed.

And I will no longer be offering them to you. Putting the money in her purse, Sophie burst from the closed office door. As she walked away, the raised voice of the woman questioning her husband followed her down the hall.

After purchasing what the two dollars would afford her at the market, Sophie hurried back home and cooked a pot of potatoes and corn with Spam on the side. That evening she and her children sat together at the table savoring each bite of food.

That night after saying a prayer full of thanks for the meal they’d had, Sophie tucked in the last of her children, and was about to go to her own bed when Maureen said, Now that you have a job, Momma, does that mean that we’ll always get suppers like the one we had tonight?

Her children thought she had a job and she hadn’t yet let them know any different. It pained her to hear the hope in her little girl’s voice.

Wanting to shield her from the truth, Sophie carefully chose her words and said, "I did have a job—"

What happened, Momma? Did someone take it from you?

Something like that, yes.

But why would they do that?

You see, Sugar, the person who hired me said that after today I wasn’t needed anymore. Her voice broke slightly as she said this.

Sophie felt warm tears fill her eyes when Maureen sat up in bed and wrapped her tiny arms around her. It’s all right, Momma. Don’t cry. You’ll always have me. I’ll never leave you. Don’t worry, I’m sure Daddy will be home soon. He always comes back. And when he does, he’ll bring us all something to eat. He’s been gone so long, why, he must’ve found some kind of work.

Yes, I’m sure he has.

She didn’t tell her little girl, nor any of her other children, that the last time he came home he’d come back with empty pockets and nothing for any of them. Nor had she told them about the terrible argument between them that had ensued, or how he’d stormed out before any of them had woken, and that she doubted he’d ever return. She didn’t want to take away the hope her little girl did have, because without hope a person had nothing.

Sitting down on the bed, Sophie cradled her daughter close and said, You have me, and that’s one thing you and your brothers and sisters always will be able to depend on. She lowered her back down onto the bed, and pressed her lips against the child’s forehead. Good night, precious one. Sophie got up and quietly left, pulling the door closed behind her. All of them slept soundly, their hunger for a short time finally satisfied.

In the days that followed, not wanting to have to resort to prostitution, Sophie tried to stave off the inevitable for as long as possible by carefully rationing out portions of the remaining food among her children, giving herself the lesser amount. Throughout this painful time of watching their meager supply of food gradually disappear, Sophie continued to tirelessly seek out employment, roaming the city streets from the early morning hours to well after dark each night, returning home to her children empty-handed, with sore, bloodied feet. Despite all her efforts, there was still no work to be had.

***

Humming softly, Sophie gazed down into the sleeping face of her infant daughter. Coming in from playing outside with her brothers and sister, Maureen walked over to where her mother sat rocking the baby.

She looks so tiny. Just like one of those dolls that sit in storefronts.

She certainly does, agreed Sophie. Here, why don’t you sit and hold her for a while? It’s time to give your little sister a name. What do you think about something pretty, like Daisy? Or maybe Rose?

No, Momma, we can’t name her that.

Why not?

Well, you see, because flowers die, and she can’t ever die, Momma! Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her small round face.

Clasping Maureen to her, Sophie fiercely kissed the top of her little girl’s head. Why would you think of something like that? She pulled back to study the tear-streaked face and dark brown eyes of her daughter. Has someone been saying something to you?

No, Momma. It’s just that the neighbor lady down the street, she lost her baby—

To starvation, yes, she remembered that.

Hiding her own doubts and insecurities, Sophie said, That won’t ever happen—I won’t ever let that happen.

Enfolding the girl’s small frame in a protective embrace, she breathed in the scent of her daughter, a mix of soil, grass, and wildflowers. The two of them held onto one another as if this were their last embrace, neither speaking, soaking up the nearness of the other, reluctant to let go. And Sophie had the strange feeling that if she were to let go, she might never hold her precious girl again. Sophie swallowed down the lump in her throat, knowing there was no way her eight-year-old daughter could have known that the fear of starvation was always with her, like a monster that lurked in the shadows threatening to emerge at every turn. After a time of this prolonged embrace they reluctantly pulled apart, and pushing back the long black strands of hair that had fallen around Maureen’s face, she said, Would you like to hold her?

All right, Momma. Trading places, Maureen gently scooped up her sister, who was now awake and staring up at her with dark, unblinking eyes.

Dust danced in the air and was caught in a stream of sunlight that poured in from the large living room window. Watching her daughters through the golden yellow glare, Sophie thought how they looked like two little angels, pure and innocent of the evils of the world. It was such a tender moment, that Sophie found herself overcome by the rush of love she felt for her children. Finding her voice, she said, Perhaps you would like to choose a name for her?

Without taking her eyes from her baby sister’s, Maureen said, I think she looks like she’ll be a real lady, sensible and all, when she grows up, and should have a name that fits. Something glamorous and enduring like, maybe—Charlotte.

I like that name, and by the smile on Charlotte’s face, I think she does too.

After a while longer of cradling her sister, Maureen said, She’s starting to get restless. I think she wants to lie down.

Taking the baby from her daughter, Sophie laid Charlotte on the spread-out blanket.

A series of sharp staccato raps on the door broke the peaceful stillness. The knock was much too loud for it to be of a friendly nature. Sophie briefly ran through the possibilities in her mind about who the unexpected caller could be. The thought of being visited by a bookie to whom William owed a gambling debt caused a queasy nervousness in the pit of her stomach. Taking a few moments to compose herself, Sophie crossed over to answer it.

She opened the door and found herself staring up at an official-looking giant of a man who towered well over six feet tall. But it wasn’t his size that caused the color to drain from her face, but rather the realization of who this stranger standing at her door was, and the obvious reason for his being there, made recognizable by the equally official vehicle with another well-dressed man that waited outside, his eyes on her other children who played happily and unknowingly in the front yard.

Maureen had scooped her sister back up in her arms, and continued to cradle Charlotte while casting curious glances over to where their mother stood at the door, and could hear her slightly raised voice along with the deeper voice of a man. She tried to hear what was being said between her mother and this stranger, but could only make out a few words, something about kids running wild, not properly cared for, and complaints. She placed Charlotte carefully back on the floor. Lying down beside her baby sister, Maureen rested the side of her face on the blanket close to Charlotte’s, who gurgled and watched her curiously. I’m glad Momma had you, I love you so much. You won’t ever have to worry about anything. I’ll never let anyone hurt you, and I’ll always take care of you. I’m your big sister, and that’s what big sisters do, they look out for their little sisters. Maureen placed a kiss on the baby’s soft cheek. Now don’t you go and start crying, I’ll be right back, promise—I just have to check and see who Momma’s talking to, that’s all.

The stranger’s voice had gotten louder; worse yet, there was a note of rising hysteria in the voice of their mother. Leaving her sister there on the floor, Maureen crept cautiously over to where their mother stood at the door, and catching sight of the stranger was filled with instant fear. She recognized the man. It was the same man who had followed her home from school all last week; she also remembered having seen him a few days earlier parked across the street, watching the house. He’d come to get her, she somehow knew it, sensed it.

Maureen was so petrified by the sight of him that she forgot to hide herself. The man’s piercing eyes collided with hers as he shoved his way into the house past her mother, charging right for her. Tripping and falling, she flew out of his reach and up the stairs with the heavy tread of his pursuing footsteps thundering after her. Dodging his grasping hands, Maureen raced down the hall into her brothers’ room and slipped underneath the bed where she lay trembling, listening to the sound of chaos from downstairs, and the menacing tread of the man’s footsteps as he went from room to room in search of her.

Maureen remained motionless hoping for him to go away. Her heart lurched at the groan of the door being pushed open followed by his footsteps that carried across the wood floor as he entered the room. Squeezing her eyes closed, Maureen held her breath focusing on the sound of his heavy tread. She waited, praying harder than she’d ever prayed in her life that she wouldn’t be found.

And then the footsteps came to an end, followed by silence. She hesitantly opened her eyes, and let her gaze travel the area of floor that was visible from where she lay beneath the bed, but saw no sign of him. A scream tore from her throat as she felt hands take hold of her ankles. She scratched and clawed at the hardwood floor as she was ripped from her hiding place. There looming over her stood the big man, his hulking figure reminding her of the monster from her nightmares. Before she had the chance to get to her feet and run, he had lunged down and grabbed hold of her. Leering, he said, Gotcha now, you little rascal!

Struggling and kicking, she tried to escape, but the big man had already thrown her over his shoulder and was carrying her from the room and down the stairs. The screams of her brothers and sisters filled her ears and the broken sobs of her mother mixed with the high-pitched, spiraling wails of the baby. Maureen reached out helplessly straining toward Charlotte who was still lying on the blanket where she’d left her.

Maureen caught one last glimpse of her baby sister, the small delicate