Where the Wild Roses Grow/The Beast of Rogue

By Autumn Russell

Where the Wild Roses Grow:

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.

The Beast of Rogue:

In an effort to work on his relationship with his self-involved wife, Joanie, Curt takes their son Tommy to visit his grandmother in Rogue, Montana. Tommy is taken on a fantastical adventure when his grandmother tells him a story about Rogue many moons ago. It starts in the eighteen-twenties with Lucinda, the unhappy wife of an impoverished fisherman, who more than anything wants a child of her own, and will do the unthinkable to get her wish—even kill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Autumn Russell
• Release date: Sep 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463687390

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 features of her face a mask of confusion and fear, her dark eyes wide and searching as they locked on her own in those last fleeting seconds before the big scary man who had her swept outside where Momma stood on the porch.

Desperate screams that had grown louder at the sight of her mother wrenched from Maureen as she was carried right past where she stood unmoving on the porch. Her hands reached out to grasp at her mother, but it was no use, and she looked on terrified as her abductor started down the stairs of the porch with her still hoisted over his shoulder.

Why was Momma letting this happen? Why wasn’t she doing something to stop this?

From her vantage point, she could see her three younger brothers running to Momma, their little hands clasped tightly onto her skirts, pleading just as she also did now, for her to save them, but all Momma continued to do was stand there, as more strangers like the one who had her ripped them away from her skirts, and forcibly took them, just as she too was being taken.

But it was what she saw in their mother’s face that scared her the most. Never before had she seen a person look as heartbroken as Momma. Maureen knew then with a horrified certainty that their mother was helpless to stop what was happening.

As she and her other siblings were carried away from everything they ever knew and loved, the image of Momma, tears pouring from her eyes, her features a mask of torment was the worst sight ever. Somehow even in her eight young years of life she knew it would stay with her forever.

William eventually returned home, and when he did it was only to make the startling discovery that all his family, save for his wife and infant daughter, were gone. After their children were taken, Sophie started drinking more and more often, to dull the pain losing them had caused her.

She and William stayed married despite his prolonged absences and the drunken, often violent, fights they would get into with each other. They moved around a lot, mostly within Spokane, living for a short while in one house before having to find another when it came time for their rent and they weren’t able to pay. A few times they briefly stayed in Wallace, Idaho, for some work William had found, and when that job ended, they returned to Spokane.

He did whatever was available for him to make money on, mostly it was something illegal like bootlegging, and when he didn’t gamble it away or spend all of it on the whores he liked to visit, he would earn enough to buy a little food for his family. Throughout the years that were to come they had three more children together. Charlotte was a year and a half old when her mother gave birth to her younger sister, Esther, followed soon after by a son, Max, and then two years after that had the last and final child, a girl, Christine. William continued to be undependable, staying home for a week or two before taking off and leaving his family again. During these times Sophie was forced to try and provide for herself and their children any way she could, and often that meant bringing strange men into her bedroom.

CHAPTER ONE

High-pitched laughter from the two little girls rang out in the streets, elevating if just for a moment the somber quiet of the poverty-ridden neighborhood they called home. With a fistful of pebbles and rocks in their small hands, the two girls crept forward toward the tent and the inebriated homeless man who rested inside it.

When they’d gotten as close as either of them dared, the raven-haired girl shared a mischievous smile with the blonde girl and in a lowered voice full of anticipation, said, Just a little closer, and we’ll let him have it!

Her friend returned this with a toothy grin. The two children took a few short paces closer, then launched the surprise attack, pelting the tent with rocks and pebbles. A man’s startled cry and the fearful moaning that came from inside the tent only encouraged the youngsters, who scooped up another handful of rocks and continued the attack.

With his hands held out shielding his face, the man cried out as he half-stumbled, half-crawled from the tent. Then at the sight of the two small tormentors, he shouted, Get outta here, ya little hellions! I shoulda known it was you two brats again. Jest you wait till I tell yer folks ’bout what their miserable little minions have been up to.

Shouting back at him, the raven-haired girl said, You aint gonna do that! You’re so drunk you can’t even talk right. And besides, I’ll bet you don’t even know who our folks are.

Now look here, Missy don’t you go sassing me. Aint your momma taught ya any respect for yer elders?

You aint no elder to me! Why, you’re just a dirty, drunk old man, said the raven-haired girl, narrowing her eyes.

The man waved a dismissive hand at them. Git outta here, ya little devils and leave me in peace. Go on now! You heard me! Git! When they made no move to leave he paused, and said, What ya waitin for? Santa Claus? Well don’t bother! I can guarantee there won’t be any presents for you two troublemakers.

What do you know ’bout Santa anyway? sneered the blonde girl.

I know that he don’t like little brats like you two.

We don’t need no Santa anyway, said the raven-haired girl.

Oh, is that so? And why is that, little Missy?

Because my daddy’s gonna buy me and my friend here all the presents in the world!

Giving out a wheezing chortle, the homeless man broke out into fitful laughter.

Just what’s so funny? The raven-haired girl took a challenging step toward him.

Yer daddy’s as poor as the rest of us, that’s what! Neither one of yer girls’ folks got any money. You two ragamuffins wouldn’t be dressed in tattered clothes like ya are if they did.

Bunching up her fists and with her small features pinched in anger, the raven-haired girl took an advancing step toward the homeless man, and scooping another handful of rocks from the ground, said, You take that back!

Speaking of yer folks—don’t I know yer momma? Nodding to himself, his smile widened. Yes sireee. Oh yeah. I know yer momma. We all know her.

You shut up about my momma! You filthy, gross old troll!

The man moaned and hunched over in an effort to shield himself from the rocks the two girls threw at him.

Erupting into fitful giggling bursts of laughter, the two friends took off running.

Balancing on wobbly feet, he stumbled forward and tried to chase after them, but in his inebriated state, they were much too fast for him and were already well out of reach, their tiny figures disappearing into the distance, merging together then separating into duplicates of four. Blinking and rubbing at his tired eyes that were now seeing double, triple, and quadruple, the man crawled back into his tent, grateful to be rid of the little terrors.

Still giggling, the two little girls ran all the way back home.

Charlotte waved goodbye to her friend who lived just across the street from her, then skipped the rest of the way down the block to her own home. She’d scarcely stepped through the front door when she was confronted by her mother, who was clad in the single nice dress she owned, and was clearly on her way out.

There you are! I didn’t think you would ever come home. Where were you all this time? Did you forget about what we had planned today?

I’m awfully sorry, Momma. I got so busy playing that I didn’t think about it.

That’s what I thought. Sophie softened her tone. No harm’s done. You were only acting as any child would. Come along. If we leave now we’ll still get there plenty early to work.

She followed her mother out of the house. The pair walked for what felt like an eternity to Charlotte, whose small feet had begun to ache. She looked on in wonderment at the homes that gradually changed from the chipped, forlorn clapboard structures she was used to, to whitewashed homes surrounded by beautiful gardens and well-maintained, manicured lawns.

This, her mother had told her, was where the fortunate few lived. As she walked with her mother down the sidewalk, Charlotte was in awe of the grand structures, but especially of the flowers and their heady scent. She thought about how wonderful it would be to own one of those great floral gardens. The people who got to live in these homes truly were blessed. Charlotte thought about the leisure lives they must live, never knowing what it was like to go hungry, never missing a meal. She imagined sweet-filled pantries brimming with every type of treat imaginable. The thought caused her mouth to water.

Following her mother up the front walk of one of the immaculate homes, Charlotte admired the dainty flowers that lined the walkway. One day she wanted flowers just like these in her own yard. Holding onto her mother’s hand she climbed the large porch steps. Before knocking on the stately door her mother leaned down and cradling her face between her hands, said, It’s very important that you’re on your best behavior. Understand?

Charlotte stared into her mother’s tired but hopeful face, and nodded.

Good. Her mother placed a kiss on her cheek. I knew you would.

Wanting to please her mother by making a good impression, Charlotte stood as straight and tall as possible, keeping her eyes fixed on the immense door. As they waited for it to open she wondered what the person on the other side might look like. A plump, middle-aged woman with round, rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes came into her mind. But when the door opened, the rigid creature with piercing, cold eyes etched into the harsh, unforgiving features of a narrow face was far different from her expectations.

The woman took in the ragged appearance of both mother and daughter with a single sweep of her eyes. You and the child look tired; you might as well come in and have a seat.

Thank you, you’re so kind, said Sophie, who then looked at Charlotte. What do you say?

At her mother’s prompting, she said shyly, Thank you, ma’am.

They entered past the front door and walked into a large foyer, then sat down on the ornate sofa the woman had indicated. She was about to sit opposite them when she got to her feet. I almost forgot. She disappeared into the kitchen and came out carrying a plate of strawberry shortcake.

Charlotte couldn’t take her eyes off it and for a brief hopeful moment thought maybe the woman was going to offer them some. She felt her heart sink when instead she set the plate with the tempting dessert out on the ledge of a counter, then coming back to sit across from them, said, Before you tell me why you’ve come here, I’ll warn you right now that I’m not giving out charity. I don’t believe in it. People need to work for their money—even the poor. She cast a disdainful glance at them, already showing her disapproval.

The cushions were the softest Charlotte had ever sat on, but her thoughts weren’t on the opulent furnishings or on what her mother was saying. All she could think about was the strawberry shortcake that seemed to beckon to her. Her insides twisted painfully and she imagined herself racing over and devouring it.

We are in desperate need, began Sophie, but a handout isn’t what I’ve come here for. I hoped that perhaps you might be in need of some help with chores, maybe washing clothes, cleaning the house, scrubbing floors and walls. My daughter, Charlotte, is a good girl and she would work just as hard as I would—

No, thank you, cut in the woman briskly, an edge of finality to her voice. I already employ a cleaning lady and am in no way interested in what you or your daughter have to offer.

I understand, said Sophie quietly.

Is there anything else? asked the woman pointedly.

No, I’m afraid not. We won’t take up any more of your time. Come along, Charlotte, let’s go.

The woman watched as they got up to leave, an ill-concealed smirk on her face.

As Charlotte followed her mother out, she was unable to take her gaze from the bright red strawberries drizzled over a cake the color of yellow gold, topped with a generous amount of whipped cream.

Finding it impossible to resist the tantalizing treat when she passed by it, Charlotte swiped her finger through the whipped cream and stuffed it in her mouth. She closed her eyes, relishing the sweetness. In that split-second nothing mattered but the rich cream with the slight tart sweetness of strawberries. Neither the shrill outraged cry from the woman, nor her mother’s profuse apologies could steal away that single brief moment of tasting something so divine that it was like taking a bite right out of heaven.

I made that strawberry shortcake for my husband! Now it’s ruined!

I’m so, so sorry, said Momma, continuing to apologize.

The fact that she’d done something wrong hadn’t occurred to Charlotte until with her finger still in her mouth trying to soak up every last bit of heavy cream that had been on it, she looked up to the angry face of the woman and the disapproving expression of her mother.

Charlotte? asked her mother, What do you have to say for yourself?

Feeling suddenly very guilty, in a small voice, she said, I’m sorry.

Her guilt only worsened at having said this, because deep down she didn’t really feel sorry no matter how much she knew she should. That single swipe of cream had been the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted in her life. And being sorry for that—well, it just didn’t make a whole lot of sense. It was like someone going up to heaven to sing with the angels and returning to earth, and then being sorry for it.

Take that girl of yours and go, and never come back.

Charlotte hurried out with her mother. The woman slammed the door shut behind them. On the long walk back home her guilt worsened. Momma didn’t speak and the silence hung heavy over them, and when she saw a glimmer of tears in her mother’s eyes, she did feel truly sorry. She’d never meant any harm, the consequences hadn’t occurred to her. All she could think of at the time was the decadent dessert and her own hunger. And still even as she was feeling regretful the delicious taste lingered in her mouth for the rest of the day and night.

The next evening her mother had a stern talk with her.

What happened at that woman’s house mustn’t ever happen again. We might not have much, but what we do still have is our pride. And no one can take that from you, if you don’t let them. What you did was wrong, plain and simple. You took something that wasn’t yours to take, and when a person does that it’s called stealing-

Charlotte burst into tears. I didn’t mean any harm, I swear I didn’t! I promise never to do that again. Even if we went to a house that had a dozen sweets set out, I wouldn’t touch a single one of them. I promise I wouldn’t.

I know. Sophie folded her daughter in her arms, and rocked her fragile, thin body till she fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWO

Not wanting any of the younger children to walk alone to the rickety outhouse that was located toward the back of their home, Charlotte always made sure to go with them, even if she didn’t need to use it herself. She’d come to dread these routine trips. The man next door repulsed her. She thought of him as The Watcher because he was always watching her and her siblings. He never seemed to leave his house, and was constantly home peering out at them from a window, or at other times he would sit out on his front porch just staring.

As she left the house on this particular morning with her brother and two sisters, Charlotte could already sense his eyes on them, and when she dared a glance over, felt queasy to her stomach at the way he watched her, as if he were undressing her with his lustful eyes. Shooting him a look full of disgust, Charlotte quickened her pace, hurrying her three younger siblings along.

At last when all of them had taken turns using the outhouse, and were on their way back to the house, Charlotte’s gaze fell on a cigarette butt lying on the grass beneath one of their windows. She automatically turned in the direction of The Watcher. Catching her eye, almost as if he knew she’d spotted the discarded cigarette, a pleased look came into his face and his lips twisted into a grin that was pure evil, as evil as the devil himself.

Breaking eye contact, Charlotte rushed into the house with the younger children, closing and locking the door behind them. Walking into the kitchen, she opened the cabinet, and taking out what was left of the flour, the only food there was in the house, Charlotte poured some into a bowl and stirred in a small amount of water, then ladled out equal portions for herself and her siblings. They were all ravenous and had soon licked their bowls clean.

Wishing there were more to eat, Charlotte did one more thorough check of the cupboards, but found them bare, save for the thick layer of dust that had gathered on the surface of empty shelves. It would be their only meal for the day, and she regretted not waiting till later to dish it up. Now there would be nothing to look forward to, no promise of something to put into their empty bellies for even a brief reprieve. She gathered up the dishes from their meager meal and placed them in the sink, then came out into the living room where her mother was fast asleep, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey dangling precariously from her hand. Before it had a chance to drop and break, sending jagged pieces of glass everywhere, Charlotte gently took it from her hand and set it down on the floor.

She debated whether she should mention her discovery of the cigarette to her mother when she woke up, but then not wanting to burden her with more worries than she already had, Charlotte decided to keep her suspicions regarding the neighbor to herself. All that night she lay in bed unable to sleep. The growling of her stomach competed with thoughts of the dreadful man lurking outside. Finally when she did doze off she was so tired that even the sound of their dad coming home later in the night didn’t wake her, nor did the drunken brawl that ensued between her parents disturb her from her deep but troubled sleep the way it usually did.

In the morning Charlotte and her younger siblings came down the stairs to find their dad in unusually high spirits, dancing the Irish jig with their mother, their fight during the night already forgotten. The two were laughing and having a good time together, and Charlotte could almost picture them as they must have been when they first met back east in New York at a hockey game when they were young and in love before life had changed them. She could smell the alcohol on them, and knew they’d already begun drinking. But then another smell wafted through the air, the smell of food cooking. Now she understood the reason for the celebratory mood. Their dad had brought home something for them to eat.

Following him into the kitchen, she watched as he flipped the pancake that sizzled in the cast iron pan, and had to bite back the disappointment she felt at the prospect of sourdough again. But her own ravenous hunger overrode her disappointment, and as she bit into the warm hotcake all that mattered was that she had something to put in her mouth. Her dad had brought back enough flour to last and feed all of them for a while. Once breakfast was finished, Charlotte and her younger brother and sisters made their daily morning trip to the outhouse. On the short walk through the yard, Charlotte cast a furtive glance toward the house next door, and was relieved to see that The Watcher was nowhere in sight. Feeling somewhat more at ease than she normally did, Charlotte waited by the door of the outhouse with her brother and Esther while the youngest sister, Christine, went in to use it first.

Her sister had scarcely gone inside when she came back out, her eyes round as saucers and her face pale with fright.

What’s wrong? Why didn’t you use the bathroom? demanded Charlotte.

In a tremulous voice, her sister said, I can’t—there’s a man in there.

Quit playing. There’s nobody in here, said Charlotte as she opened up the door to prove it. See? You’re being ridiculous. And if you’re not going to use it then I will.

But, protested her sister in an urgent, hushed voice, he’s not where you can see him, he’s in—

Ignoring the earnest whispers of her sister, Charlotte stepped into the small space, and when she crossed to the makeshift toilet seat where she was about to sit, there in the putrid sewagy darkness below appeared two eyes that glimmered up at her. The rest of the man’s face slowly took shape from the blackness. It was the man next door. Somehow The Watcher had managed to tunnel an underground passage from his basement into their outhouse. Giving a thin, high-pitched scream, Charlotte grabbed her brother’s and sisters’ hands, and the three of them ran inside the house, where they told their parents. Their father’s face darkened with rage. Wordlessly he went over to The Watcher’s. Charlotte and her brother and sisters stayed inside with their mother and from the window saw their dad kick in the front door.

William burst through the living room and into the kitchen; going straight to the open basement door he soundlessly took the stairs down. No sooner had he stepped onto the level dirt floor when he spotted the man emerging out from behind a false wall. He gave a startled jump at the sight of the intruder. Before he could escape back into the tunneled-out passage, William flew the short distance between himself and the other man, his hand already wrapped around his throat.

The man’s eyes bulged with fear as William’s murderous stare bored into his own.

If I ever catch you using that passage again or find out that you so much as looked at my pups, I’ll bury you so far underground the rats won’t even find you. I’ve killed men before in war, but you would be the first that I would take pleasure in watching die. Don’t ever come near my pups again. Do you understand me?

He tried to nod, then slid to the ground coughing and gagging when William released his grip on him and left.

Charlotte never did know exactly what had transpired that day between The Watcher and their father. All she knew was that from that moment on The Watcher never bothered them again. Their dad had frightened the devil away.

***

Coming to a stop, Charlotte closed her eyes and breathed in the aroma of hamburgers cooking. She remembered back to when her dad had moved them all up to Wallace, Idaho, for temporary work, and it was there that she tasted her first hamburger.

It was a memory that stayed in her mind, much the same way that something amazing, like getting to meet the real Santa Claus and visiting his distant residence at the North Pole might stay embedded in another child’s mind. Every year her Christmas wish was always same—to have regular meals that she and her family could eat instead of the water and flour they often relied on.

After a while more of lingering on the street corner, Charlotte resumed walking but at a slower pace than before, still taking in the delicious smells coming from the restaurant that was always cooking up something good at the end of the day when she got off school. She imagined a great big hamburger, a slice of sweet crisp onion and fresh tomato on top of a patty smothered in melted cheese. As she made her way down the street, she pretended that a delicious hamburger like the one she imagined would be waiting for her when she got home.

When she walked through the front door she was met by her mother. Her usual sad and tired blue eyes were aglow with happiness. Rushing over to Charlotte, she wrapped her in an embrace, then said, Something wonderful happened today. Come with me. There’s someone you need to meet.

Charlotte followed her mother into the kitchen and saw a girl in her early teens. She was sitting at the table, but stood up when she saw Charlotte.

This is your older sister, Maureen, said Momma on a sob.

Even if Momma had said nothing, the pretty, brown-skinned girl who shared the same complexion and near-black eyes as her own was so similar to herself and her other siblings that looking at her was like staring into a mirror at an older version of herself.

Maureen crossed over to her, and said, You probably don’t remember me—

Momma talked about you all the time every day since I could remember. Sometimes when you hear about someone enough, you know them without ever having met them, said Charlotte.

Maureen’s dark eyes brimmed with tears as she clasped Charlotte to her. Sophie wept right alongside her daughters for the joy that filled her.

Then once their tears of joy had dried, Sophie said, I’ll fix up something for you two to eat.

She opened up cabinets that were empty save for a sack of flour. Sophie mixed up a small amount of water into the flour, then after fixing up two bowls, set them out on the table, and with a hint of shame, said to Maureen, I’m afraid things have been hard for us financially and, well, this is all we have.

Covering Sophie’s hand with her own, Maureen said, That’s all right, Momma. I don’t mind.

Sophie broke into a wide smile, and beaming at her daughters, sat down at the table. It feels so good to have you back home with us. Where were you for all this time?

They sent me to an orphanage in North Dakota. I stayed there till I was old enough to get a job, then saved every penny I made, and the day I turned fourteen I bought myself a train ticket. Once I got back here to Spokane it took a bit of asking around, but then I guess I just got lucky when I met up with a fella who knew Dad. He gave me this address, and now here I am.

Getting up, Sophie wrapped Maureen in a hug for the second time, and kissing the top of her head, said, No one’s ever going to take you from me again. I won’t let them.

Charlotte left her place at the table to come over to them, and said, Neither will I. She wrapped her arms around her mother and sister joining them in the hug.

Their house was filled with warmth, love, and laughter that even hunger couldn’t rob them of. William too shared in the happiness, when upon his return he was reunited with his daughter.

Eventually two of the older boys, Willis and Harold, who had been taken away as small children, returned home while still in their teens. Sadly, when they finally got in contact with their sister Deloris and brother Alfred, who had been placed in separate but good homes, neither was interested in getting to know their biological family and made it known that they didn’t wish to have any further contact. This devastated Sophie all over again, but she was grateful for the children she did still have.

Charlotte’s sixteenth year was marked by her dad, William’s, sudden passing. The constant drinking had slowly robbed him of his health and eventually his life. The cathedral ceiling and high-reaching walls of the church felt suffocating. As Charlotte made her way down the long aisle she thought about how strange it was that she and her family were now all together in this place of worship. Normally their mother read to them from the worn bible at home, unable to pay tithings. Church was a luxury they couldn’t afford but today was different, and the occasion that brought them there was far from happy.

Rows of pews spread out on either side of her making the walkway look that much narrower, but her gaze was fixed straight ahead on the coffin that held the body of her father. In single file Charlotte followed her siblings and mother to the front to view her dad or as her mother had phrased it earlier to pay their last respects. As she got closer to where the open casket lay she