Mill Creek

By Patrick John Donahoe

In Mill Creek, a gripping tale of survival, Michael Dunne learns to survive his mother's mental breakdown. His paternal grandmother and grandfather take him and his baby sister, Nina, in to raise. They move to Mill Creek hollow in West Virginia where Michael must learn another a set of survival skills to deal with a prisoner-of-war damaged ex-soldier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mill Creek Publishing
• Release date: Jul 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781944337148

Patrick John Donahoe

Pat Donahoe enjoyed his first career as an engineer, and now enjoys writing in Southern California, and traveling the world with his wife. The Honorable Knight is the first book in his Fellowship of the Ancient Covenant series.

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Mill Creek

Patrick John Donahoe

Mill Creek Publishing

San Diego

Mill Creek Publishing

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Patrick John Donahoe

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Published in the United States of America by Mill Creek Publishing, San Diego.

Visit Pat’s website on the World Wide Web at

www.patrickjohndonahoe.com

Cataloging in Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.

LCCN: 2018903134 

Mill Creek Publishing

ISBN-13: 978-1-944337-10-0

ISBN-10: 1-944337-10-5

First Edition

Acknowledgements

My thanks to my son, Jason, who encouraged me to take my writing seriously, and cofounded our company, Mill Creek Publishing. I thank my wife, Patty, for putting up with an author. I thank all those who read the manuscript and provided feedback; Melissa, Patty, Jason, Nancy and Cherie. I also thank Tim Kimble for our outstanding book cover.

Part 1 - Night on Bald Mountain

One

Cleveland, Ohio - October 20, 1950

MICHAEL DUNNE SNUGGLED against Ruby’s side for warmth but couldn’t stop shivering. The night air raised goose bumps on his bare seven-year-old chest and arms and cut through his Roy Rogers pajama bottoms. The stone-cold concrete sidewalk had already numbed the bottoms of his bare feet.

Michael looked around at the people who were watching the front door of the apartment house. When two policemen dragged Rita out of the building, a convulsive shudder ran through his thin frame. Rita looked like she was asleep, but the sight of her still frightened Michael, even without her angry eyes and mean voice, and the knife. He felt Ruby pull him closer and looked up into her kind face. The aroma of freshly baked bread in Ruby’s apron caused Michael to remember how hungry he was.

She smoothed his tousled hair. Don’t fret honey, it’s all over now.

Comforted by Ruby’s kind voice, tears welled up in his eyes as he watched the large policeman shove Rita into the back seat of the black and white patrol car and slam the door. He thought he saw blood on the short policeman’s shoulder, but the spot looked purple instead of red under the streetlight.

The ambulance driver, dressed in white, rushed to the short policeman. The short policeman winced in pain as the ambulance driver helped him remove his leather jacket. That crazy bitch wouldn’t come out of the apartment. When I tried to coax her out, she lunged and stabbed me with a kitchen knife.

The ambulance driver applied antiseptic to the wound, and said, You’re gonna need stitches.  He bandaged the wound. That will have to do until we get to the hospital.

All the time she kept howling like a banshee, the short policeman continued.

How did you get her out? the ambulance driver asked.

After she knifed me, my partner slugged her, and dragged her out!

Maybe I should sedate her.

With Rita locked in his patrol car, the large policeman approached the ambulance driver.

Yeah, but you'd better do it before she comes to.

The ambulance driver hesitated for a minute, and replied, I’m taking this man to the hospital. She’s not my problem.

The large policeman walked up to Ruby, then looked directly at Michael. Does anyone here know what might have caused her to do this? 

Michael shrank back from the unwanted attention, wrapped his arms around Ruby’s soft waist, and buried his face in her warm side. He remembered what happened, but the day seemed like a bad dream. Nina, his baby sister, made Rita turn into the Monster again. Nina was still too little to know about crying. The Monster screamed she couldn’t stand the crying any longer. She began pulling out all the kitchen drawers and throwing things. Michael heard the silverware drawer crash to the floor. She screamed something about a knife. His heart racing, he ran into Nina’s bedroom and lifted her, all wet and smelly, out of her crib. He made shushing sounds to quiet her until her cry turned into a whimper, then wrapped a blanket around her, cradled her in his arms, and quietly slipped out of the bedroom. He heard Rita still screaming and crashing about in the kitchen, so he hid with Nina in the bathroom with the light off, and the door slightly ajar.

The Monster ran past the bathroom door with a knife in her hand screaming horrible things. As she entered Nina's room, Michael ran to the kitchen, opened the apartment door, and quietly closed the door behind him. He descended the stairs as fast as he could while hugging Nina to his chest. Even though he was afraid he might fall down the stairs with Nina, he was more afraid the Monster would catch them. The only safe place he could think of to take Nina was Ruby’s. When he arrived at the first landing he heard noise at the top of the stairs.

Rita screamed, Come back here you little brats, or you’ll be sorry.

Michael continued down the stairs to the basement and knocked on Ruby’s apartment door. He heard the bolt slide back, and anxiously watched the door open to the end of the chain.

Ruby peeked out through the opening.

Michael blurted out, Rita was going to kill Nina with a knife.

Ruby unfastened the chain, let them in, closed, bolted, and rechained the door, then called the police.

Chantilly and Margaret, Ruby’s two little girls, asked Michael what happened.

Michael said, We’re running away from Rita.

Ruby’s husband, Joshua, returned from working on the apartment house furnace. Ruby told him what had happened.

Joshua led them all outside to wait for the police. After what seemed like an eternity to Michael, a Ford police car roared up to the curb with flashing red lights and wailing siren. Two policemen climbed out of the car, spoke to Joshua for a few minutes, then rushed into the apartment house. A green Packard ambulance screamed up to the curb, red and yellow lights flashing and siren wailing. More and more people came out of the neighboring apartment houses and stood on the sidewalk to see what was happening. 

The wailing sirens started Nina crying again. Michael always worried when Nina cried, because something might be wrong with her he couldn’t help with, since she was only a baby, and because the crying turned Rita into a Monster. Ruby rocked Nina in her arms and hummed a lullaby to calm her down.

Nina stopped crying. She was finally quiet. 

Michael relaxed slightly and released his grip on Ruby. He shuddered, a reaction to the memory of what had happened, and from the chill night air. Some of the people had returned to their homes. He tried but couldn’t stop shivering. He wanted to go inside where it was warm, so he tugged at Joshua’s sleeve.

Joshua placed his calloused hand on Michael’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. Don’t fret boy, your Papa will be along soon.

Nina was safe. The bad night was over. Michael realized how tired he was and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He felt his knees go wobbly and leaned against Ruby. As he sank to the sidewalk, everything went dark.

Two

Seven years earlier

DEE POLITO PAPPAZI held Michael in her arms and rocked back and forth. As Michael nursed on a bottle, Dee sang,

"Hush little baby, don’t say a word,

Daddy's gonna buy you a mockin’ bird.

If that mockin’ bird don’t sing,

Daddy's gonna buy you a di’mon’ ring."

As she rocked, Dee watched Rita fuss with the clothes in the closet. Rita pulled out one dress after another, rejecting each one with a look of disgust, and dropping it to the floor. Dee wondered how she could counsel her cousin about the baby without upsetting her. She had to say something, so she stopped rocking, and asked, Have you had his lip looked at?

What? Rita replied without looking up and continued rummaging through the jumble of shoes in the bottom of the closet.

I asked if you’ve had his lip looked at by a doctor.

No. Rita held out two pairs of pumps for Dee's inspection. Which pair do you think I should wear? The blue or the black?

It’s infected, Dee continued.

What’s infected?

I told you, his lip.

It’s probably a cold sore. Rita tossed the black pair of shoes back into the closet and the blue pair onto her bed.

It looks serious.

Rita went to her dresser, opened the middle drawer and picked through the lingerie, without responding.              

I said, it looks serious.

I heard you already! Rita snapped. Maybe Cyrus can take him to the doctor. I’m too busy.

Dee set the baby bottle on the end table, laid the burping towel on her right shoulder, shifted Michael to her shoulder, then patted his back with her left hand. I powdered his bottom. His diaper rash looks real sore.

Rita didn’t respond.

Dee watched Rita toss several pieces of lingerie onto the growing pile of clothes onto the bed. Michael burped, and Dee began rocking him again. He has a bad diaper rash.

He gets that all the time, Rita replied in an annoyed voice.

Frustration overcame her restraint. Taking a deep breath, Dee said, Maybe you should change him more often.

Are you telling me how to take care of my kid, Dee? Rita’s face flushed with anger.

No, but I worry.

Don’t get pushy. You sound like my mother! Rita yelled. She gathered up the pile of clothes from her bed and started to leave the room.

I’m only concerned, Dee said in her calmest voice, attempting to keep the situation from escalating out of control.

I’m going to take a quick shower. You keep your concern to yourself. I can take care of my own kid!

OK. OK. Don't get all worked up. Dee continued to rock the baby after Rita left the room and wished she could be more helpful.                     

Three

RITA ROLLED OVER and over on the bed, irritated at her inability to go to sleep. Her thoughts rambled, - he’s gone to sleep already. Snoring away like some old bear. He didn’t want to talk about going to New York. He said we can’t afford it, that we shouldn't be traveling with the war going on, and we have a baby to care for. He always has some excuse, but I still want to go. We never go anywhere anymore. He doesn’t know what it’s like. I’m stuck home with that baby to clean and cook and do dishes. He goes to work and gets out of the house every day. Mama warned me not to marry him, not to marry anyone . . . 

Tick, Tick, Tick, the alarm clock intruded on her thoughts. Rita stuck her fingertips in her ears.  Can’t you leave me alone? She warned him not to marry me. And I begged him to marry me. He was so handsome, like a good-looking Abraham Lincoln, tall and strong, and those gray-green eyes. Nobody else has eyes that color. ‘I’ll marry you if you ride Jack’s horse,’ he said. He thought I wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do it. I can do anything I want to do. So, why the hell ain’t I doing what I want?

The ache in her back interrupted Rita’s train of thought. She took her fingertips from her ears, sat up, fluffed her pillow, and lay back down on her right side. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her shins, as her thoughts drifted backward in time. Mama tried to make me be like her, dress like her, look like her, act like her, but I’m not her. I can’t be like her. I’m me. Her, and her silly beads, always praying for me. Looking at me like I was strange. I can’t be a good little Italian mother keeping house and making a kid every other year for the rest of my life.

Rita looked across the bed at Cyrus. In the dim light, she could see his head tilted back and his mouth open, dead asleep. He snores like a stuttering chainsaw. She turned over on to her left side with her back toward him and pulled a pillow over her exposed ear.  He sleeps like everything’s right with the world. Stupid man. He used to say I was exciting, that I was pretty. Maybe my nose is a little too big, but I’m tall. He called me his wild child. Dancing all night.  We dazzled. The life of the parties. I felt alive . . .

Rita realized her thoughts were disconnected. Had she drifted off to sleep for a while? She checked the time on the nightstand clock -- four o’clock in the morning. Rita adjusted the covers and rolled back over onto her right side.

In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother. Mama’s jealous of me because I’m taller than she is, and prettier too. I was born in America. I don’t have to endure that Old-World crap. She acted like there was something wrong with me because I wanted to have fun. Hell, everybody else did things she didn’t like, so what gave her the right to act as if there was something wrong with me? She made me go to that quack doctor. Lots of people get depressed. It’s a depressing world. She depresses me, with her perfect house, and Carmen, her perfect daughter. I had to get away. Cyrus never yelled at me. He didn’t make me feel like I was crazy when I told him about the voices, not like Mama did.

Cyrus snored louder, so Rita poked him in the ribs.

He made snuffling noises with his nose and mouth and turned facing away from her. His snoring subsided, and he breathed more evenly.

Rita withdrew into her thoughts, again - Why did he get me pregnant right away? I could’ve aborted it, but they were all so excited. Well, Mama said she was excited, but she kept giving me those looks. She didn’t want me to be a mother, but she wanted to be a grandmother. Her perfect Carmen kept telling me how wonderful it is to have a baby and be a mother, like that’s all life is about. Carmen. Mama’s favorite. She always did everything Mama wanted. But Dee, she’s the worst. Dee kept buying baby gifts. Dee can’t have babies of her own, and she divorced, too. No, Cousin Dee’s not so perfect either. Mama and her lectures about taking care of myself, no late nights, no drinking, quit smoking, learn how to take care of a baby. At least I had a baby.

Rita stretched out flat on her back and pulled the covers up to her neck. - That nosey priest. He would’ve had a fit if I would’ve aborted it. I didn’t want to have some quack insert his cold metal tools inside me anyway. Why do women have to get pregnant when they don’t want to? What does a priest know about having babies? Did a priest ever have morning sickness for weeks on end, and bloat up like a blimp for months, and go through hell with a bunch of doctors and nurses looking at his privates like he was a slab of meat. Hell no, he wants all the little mothers in his parish to get pregnant repeatedly until it kills them. He knows how to read a calendar, though. When Carmen had her first baby eight months after she was married, they all shook their heads. Eight pounds. Tell me that was a preemie, Carmen. No, she’s not so perfect, either. Why do I have to be perfect and she doesn't? It's not fair. I still can’t wear any of my nice clothes.

Rita fingered her stretch marked abdomen and winced in disgust.

The silence was broken by a baby’s cry.

Even more annoyed now, Rita thought, - Damn. I can’t get to sleep, and now that brat is going to keep me awake all night. Shut up!

Another cry. A little louder.

Rita pulled the pillow over her head again. - Maybe it’ll stop, she thought.

W--, a muffled cry, penetrated the pillow.

She could barely hear the cries now.  – That’s better. Rita felt a jab in her back. - What now?  Another jab. Stop poking me! Rita yelled.

Go see what’s wrong with Michael, Cyrus mumbled.

You go! I'm tired! Rita snapped back.

Cyrus stretched across Rita and held the clock in front of her face, so she could see the glow-in-the-dark radium hands. It’s four-thirty in the morning. I have to get up in an hour and go to work.

Being a mother is work, too.

The baby cried more insistently.

Go, Cyrus demanded.

It was all Rita could do to restrain her anger. She climbed out of bed and started toward the crib. I’m coming you little brat. Stop it, stop, she mumbled as the baby continued to cry. She thought, - Oh, hush up. Why can’t it sleep all night like a normal person, so I can get some rest? She reached into the crib in the semi-dark, and said, Pheeuw. You stink, and you’re all wet too. Where are those damn diapers?

Four

MICHAEL RAISED HIS 3-year-old arms to Mommy, and begged, Play with me.

Get out of here. Go outside and play! Mommy shouted.

He went to the front door and reached for the door knob. After a few tries, he turned the knob and the door opened. He walked into the hallway. There was no one there. He closed the door and walked to the top of the stairs. They looked too high for his short legs, and it looked like a long way down, even to the next landing. He walked back to the apartment door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Michael banged on the door with the palm of his hand. Mommy, Mommy.

The door opened, and Mommy yelled, Go play!

Michael stuck his hand out.

She slammed the door, almost smashing his hand. 

He walked back to the steps and looked down the long stairway. Holding on to the railing, he placed one foot on the step below, then brought the other foot down. Michael hadn’t gone down the stairs by himself before, but after a few steps his confidence grew. When he arrived on the next landing, there was no one there, so he kept going down many, many, steps for a long, long, time.

He saw Margaret sitting on the floor in the apartment’s entryway foyer. She was by herself cuddling a brown baby doll with black curly hair. She was pretending to nurse the doll with a plastic bottle.

Hi Mar’gret. Wanna play?

Alright.

What’s doll's name? Michael asked.

Chantilly. Margaret held up the doll, so Michael could see it better. My Mommy has a new baby. Her name is Chantilly, too.

Oh.    

Want to see baby? Margaret asked.

OK.

Follow me.

They walked down another flight of stairs to the basement. Margaret opened the basement door, and Michael followed her into the apartment. Margaret’s mother was holding a baby to her breast and singing a lullaby.

Hello, Margaret, honey. You brought a friend, I see.

Margaret nodded her head in agreement. Wants to see baby.

Margaret’s mother, Ruby, stopped rocking, looked straight at Michael, and asked, Little Michael, do your parents know you’re here?

Said, go play, Michael replied.

Michael watched Ruby take tender care of her baby. Ruby continued to feed, rock, and sing to the baby. Finally, she took the baby into the bedroom and gently placed her in the crib. Ruby walked back to the rocker and sat down. Such a sweet child, but she tires me out sometimes.

Michael walked over to the rocker and stood beside it.

What do you want, Honey?

Michael looked up at her, feeling kind of sad.

Do you want Ruby to hold you?

Michael held up his arms. Ruby lifted him up onto her lap. He hugged her waist and snuggled in close to her. She smelled like milk and soap and felt soft and warm.

Ruby wrapped Michael up in her ample arms and began to rock. She sang the same lullaby she sang to her baby.

He looked up into Ruby’s friendly face and she smiled down at him. Suddenly, he felt so sad that tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

Mercy child, you’re starving for some lovin.’ Any fool can see that. Sit still, and Ruby will rock you for a few more minutes, but then I have to get back to work.

She sang and rocked, and Michael drifted off to sleep.

. . . with that child on your lap? A man's voice woke Michael. It was Margaret's father.

I'm only lovin’ the child a little.

His Momma should be givin’ him some lovin.

You’ve heard her carryin’ on, Joshua. She can’t love nobody.

We don’t want to get into them folks’ business.

I ought to tell the welfare lady about that woman.

Don’t you do no such thing, Joshua replied.

Ruby looked down at Michael. You best get on home now, Honey. If you ever need me, just come a-running to Ruby. You hear?

Michael nodded his head, yes.

That’s right. Ruby set Michael down on the floor and walked him to the door. He held on to her dress. She bent down and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Be a good boy and go on up home now, you hear.

Michael stepped out into the hallway. Ruby waved goodbye as she closed the door. He looked up the stairs. It was a long climb to the top again. By the time he arrived at his apartment door he was good at climbing the stairs, but he was so tired. He tried turning the doorknob, but the door was still locked. Mommy would yell at him if he knocked on the door, so he sat down in the hallway. He waited, and waited, and became so sleepy he curled up into a ball and went to sleep.

Michael woke up in Pop's arms, but he pretended to still be asleep. Pop carried Michael into the apartment and put him to bed. Pop left the bedroom and closed the door. Michael could hear Pop’s voice and Mommy’s voice, but Michael couldn't understand what they were saying. Pop called Mommy, Rita. Rita’s voice was mean. Michael didn’t want Rita to be his Mommy anymore. Ruby was a nice Mommy; Rita was a mean Mommy, like a Monster. She must be somebody Pop met somewhere and brought home. Maybe his real Mommy died. Michael decided he was going to find his real Mommy someday when he grew up.

Michael fell asleep and dreamed he was in a cold dark place looking for Mommy. A glowing red face with cruel black eyes emerged out of the top of a mountain and yelled at him. Michael ran away from the mean face as fast as he could. He saw Mickey Mouse running next to him wearing the wizard’s pointy hat, chasing a broom that was carrying two buckets of water.

A kind face smiled at Michael. It was Ruby, but Ruby was not Michael’s Mommy. He felt sad that Ruby was not his Mommy. The mean face yelled at Ruby then at Michael. Ruby disappeared, and he felt scared again, so he ran. He looked for Mickey, but Mickey was gone too. A kind face smiled at him. It was Dee. Michael ran toward her. Dee held her arms out to Michael. Dee was not his Mommy. Michael wished Dee could be his Mommy.

The mean face chased him again. It was Rita, with cruel red eyes. He ran faster and faster, but she drew closer and closer. He couldn't run fast enough to escape. She was going to catch him. The broom ran up to Michael and threw a bucket of warm water on him, then disappeared. Rita disappeared. He felt cold and wet and alone. Michael didn’t have a Mommy. Michael started to cry.

He woke to being gently shaken. It’s OK, it’s OK, the voice said. Michael opened his eyes and blinked away the tears. It was Pop. Pop! He threw his arms around Pop’s neck.

It’s OK, Michael. You must’ve had a bad dream and wet yourself. Pop helped him change into dry pajamas, then held and rocked him. Michael felt safe in Pop’s arms until he dropped off to sleep again.

Five

Friley, Arkansas 

THE EARLY MORNING sun’s rays glowed through the barn walls’ gaps.

The mother cat yawned and stretched out on her side in the fresh straw. She presented herself to her litter, and they snuggled in to feed.

Abel Weiser sat, Buddha-like, next to the mother cat and her newborn kittens, in the horse stall. His countenance beamed with a faraway smile as he held one of the tiny kittens close to his chunky face and petted its soft fur. The kitten’s mewing delighted him, but he had to concentrate on holding the kitten without crushing it.

The kitten struggled harder to escape Abel’s gentle grip, so he placed it between its siblings. The kitten squirmed and pushed, and finally nosed its way in to an available teat.

Abel stroked the mother cat’s side. She raised her head, purred contentedly, then laid down again. Abel leaned back against the stall partition and watched his feline creatures in rapt fascination.

The cow in the end stall lowed. Anxious to be turned loose into the barnyard, she shivered her flanks and flicked the circling flies with her tail.

Beyond the barn door, the damp earth steamed from the heat of the early morning sun. Six hogs snoozed in their lean-to, while hummingbird size horseflies buzzed about the sour mash slop in the trough. The hog’s skins, coated in slimy mud, were impervious to the fly bites and the heat. The stink of the hog wallow and sour mash overpowered the sweet and sharp scents of nearby honeysuckle and pine.

The main house walls were gapped where the green wood used to build the house had aged, shrunk, and warped. The corrugated tarpaper and tin roof had buckled from the seasonal effects of heat and cold. Weeds overran the neglected flowerbed in front of the house. Two hound dogs dozed on the rickety front porch.

Inside the house, Abel’s older brother, Jed, short for Jedidiah, breakfasted on steaming hot grits with hot melted butter pooled in the center, and scrambled eggs spread over a slab of ham.

Lila, Jed’s mother, poured a large glass of fresh milk from a chipped crockery pitcher and handed the glass to him. Best hurry, she urged.

Jed took a long swallow of the rich butterfat laced milk, wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve, and replied, Sure Ma, without looking up.

Your Pa will be here any minute, she said, with increased anxiousness in her voice.

A truck rattled to a stop outside. The driver’s door opened and slammed shut. Heavy footsteps approached.

Ezra Weiser, dressed in a floppy-brimmed cloth hat, flannel shirt, bib overalls and brogans, burst through the open door, and stormed into the room. He strode over to where Jed sat at the wooden dining table and struck Jed across the back of the head with the palm of his hand. The boy’s head snapped forward with the impact.

I tol’ ya not to let the damn fire go out!

I didn’t, Pa!

Who did?! Ezra demanded, poised as if ready to strike Jed again.

Jed shrank back, and pleaded, Abel.

Don’ blame Abel.

I left him to tend --

He cain’t tend nothin’ boy. I beat him enough to know.

I can work him, Pa.

Ezra glared at Jed, kneading the bushy eyebrows that ran from one side of his forehead to the other like a large gray furry caterpillar. Ezra looked at Lila out of the corner of his eye, but she busied herself with her kitchen duties, as though she was unaware of Jed’s chastisement.

Jed swallowed hard, and said, I’ll work him, Pa.

Ezra shook the bony pointing finger of his gnarled right hand in Jed’s face. You’re the one I'll thump if the still ain’t tended properly. Understand?

Yep, Jed said, trying to appear self-assured.

Don’t ‘low that fire to go out again.

I won’t, Jed said, with a tad more confidence.

He’s your problem.

Sure, Pa.

Ezra turned his attention to Lila, and said, Scare up some vittles, woman, with a low growl in his voice. He took off his floppy brim hat and laid it on the table.

Ham’n eggs, Ezra? she asked, not looking directly at him.

He grunted.

'N grits?

And hot coffee. Now!

Seeing an opportunity to escape, when Ezra took a fresh cup of coffee from Lila, Jed pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. I’ll take care of the still now, Pa.

Best do that, Ezra said, between sips of steaming black coffee.

Jed scurried out of the house, relieved to get away from Ezra so easily. He had to find Abel. The old man had just returned from the still, so Abel wasn’t there. Jed strode across the yard to the barn, pushed the sagging barn door aside and entered. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-dark interior, he spotted Abel sitting cross-legged in the horse stall with the cats.

Abel!

Abel looked up, startled by the rude intrusion to his reverie, Hi . . .  Jed.

Don’t ‘hi’ me, ya ignorant lump, Jed snarled. He walked up to Abel and stood over him. Y’all was supposed to be minding the still.

I did. . . but mama c’cat, Abel stammered in confusion, had babies.

So, what’re y’all, their Papa?

Abel stood up, a full head taller than Jed. No . . .  but I worry ‘bout ‘em.

Y’all let the still fire go out. Did’ya worry about that?

Oh, Abel said. A dim recognition of doing something wrong crossed the chunky features of his distorted face.

Pa’s real sore. Says I’ve gotta punish ya. Jed bent down and snatched two of the kittens from their mother’s side. The kittens mewed and squirmed in protest.

Please . . . don’t hurt babies.

Ya need a lesson. Jed carried the mewing kittens to the cow stall.

Abel followed like a spanked puppy. Don’t hurt.

Jed held the kittens over the water trough.

No . . .  Please.

Jed plunged the kittens into the cold water. Don’t let the fire go out again.

I’ll take care of still . . . be good. Don’t, Abel pleaded, partially covering his eyes with his hands.

Jed held the kittens under while they wriggled and pawed at his hands. In desperation, Abel grabbed Jed’s left arm, but Jed stared him down, and snapped, Le’go a’me.

The tiny kittens became motionless. Jed pulled the lifeless bodies out of the water and showed them to Abel.

Nooo, Abel moaned, as his eyes filled with tears.

Jed threw the limp water-soaked creatures onto the ground in front of Abel. Ya better take care of your chores, or I’ll drown the lot of ‘em.

Abel dropped to his knees, picked up his precious playthings and held them to his face in his large thick hands. Ooooh no, poor babies, he wailed and rocked back and forth.

Hush up! Jed yelled, and started toward the mother cat.

Abel jumped to his feet, and stood over her, still holding the lifeless kittens. Leave mother alone. I g’go, he sobbed. Abel deposited the dead kittens in his bib overall pockets. You . . .  g’go first.

Jed walked to the barn door. Come on.

Abel, shoulders drooped in submission, shuffled up to Jed. Without warning, and with all the courage he could muster, Abel stood up almost straight and demanded, Leave mother cat . . . and rest of babies alone.

Jed stepped back half a step, stopped, raised his fist to Abel, and threatened, Ya better take care of the still, or else. Jed glared at Abel until Abel let his shoulders slump again, and nodded a submissive, yes.

They walked out of the barn into the barnyard together in silence and parted company near the hog pens. With Jed’s order, Go, Abel shuffled up the mountain toward the still hidden in the woods.

Jed headed back to the house, hesitating at the front door long enough to assure himself that Abel did not stray from his destination. 

Six

DESPITE THE WAY he felt, Cyrus smiled as he watched Michael lead the way in a run. He was worried about how to tell his mother what he had to say. Rita had said it was all right for Michael to visit his Gramma for a few days. Cyrus hoped his mother would be pleased when they showed up for an unannounced visit. Michael knocked on the front door.

Kathryn opened the door as Cyrus arrived. Well, look what the cat drug in. She reached down and hugged Michael, then stood on tiptoes to give Cyrus a peck on the cheek.

Hi, Ma. Cyrus returned the peck. As they stepped inside, he added, Rita’s sick. Can you entertain Michael for a few days?

Of course. What’s wrong with her now?

I'll tell you in a minute. He nodded in Michael’s direction. Where’s Pa?

I sent him to the A&P a little while ago for some bread and eggs.

Hmm. You have any apple pie?

You and your apple pie. Don’t I always? Kathryn led them to the kitchen table. Sit.

Cyrus hoped the apple pie would make it easier to tell his mother what was going on. She made the best apple pie he had ever eaten.

Kathryn took Michael's hand, and said, I bought a toy that I was going to give to you for Christmas, but you can have it now. It’s on the dresser in the bedroom.

Thank you, Gramma. Michael jumped down from the chair.

Kathryn grabbed Michael before he could get away, hugged him, then led him off to the bedroom.

Cyrus wished Rita would show as much affection for Michael as Kathryn did. Kathryn had a talent for loving her children and grandchildren. Cyrus knew he was loved when he was a child, and Kathryn still loved him today, even with all his faults. He took in the kitchen, as if for the first time. The walls were covered with family pictures and wall hangings. Every nook and cranny was filled with knick-knacks and artificial flowers. The room was cozy and warm, the way all the rooms of her apartment were cozy and warm.

Kathryn returned, cut a piece of freshly made oven warmed apple pie, and poured a steaming cup of black Maxwell House coffee. She set the pie and cup of coffee on the table in front of Cyrus. Holding out the cinnamon dispenser, she asked, Do you want to sprinkle the cinnamon, or do you want me to do it?

I’ll do it, Cyrus said.

Kathryn handed over the dispenser and took a chair at the table.

Sprinkling the cinnamon, Cyrus wondered how to break the news. After saturating the pie with cinnamon, he asked, Is he busy in there?

He’ll be fine for a while. He’s playing with his new firetruck. Now, tell me what's wrong.

Cyrus ate a large bite of the pie. The tart apples, the sweet flaky crust, and the tangy cinnamon complemented each other deliciously. Your pie is great, as always, Ma. Nice and tangy, the way I like it. Do you have any vanilla ice cream?

You’re not answering me.

I don’t know if I can. Cyrus took another large bite of pie and sip of coffee. He looked up from the pie and caught one of his mother’s, you'd better tell me what’s going on, stares. The same stare she gave Cyrus when he was in trouble as a boy.

Cyrus choked down the pie, took another sip of the almost too hot coffee, and whispered, Alright, alright, Rita’s going to have an abortion.

Oh, God! Kathryn said louder than she intended, How far along is she?    

More than one, less than two months, I guess. He shrugged his shoulders.

I see. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe it’s for the best if she does get an abortion, Kathryn whispered.

I guess so, Ma, but it scares me.

She scares me, son.

Cyrus noticed Michael pushing the firetruck into the room, and called out, Michael take the firetruck back into the bedroom and play for a few more minutes. We’re talking, OK?

Sure, Pop. Michael turned and pushed the firetruck back into the bedroom.

Cyrus turned back to his mother. Now, Ma, she’s a little high strung. A young boy can stress anybody out. You know that.

No amount of stress can justify her behavior, Kathryn said, and laid her hand on Cyrus’ arm.

Most of the time she’s OK.

She’s lazy and doesn’t take good care of Michael. Kathryn withdrew her hand. Does Rita’s mother know about this?

Of course not. It would kill her.

Now I see why she let Michael visit.

I’ll be back to pick Michael up in a few days, Cyrus said, and ate the last bite of the now room temperature pie.

Seven

RITA FOLLOWED CYRUS down the dimly lit hallway of the dilapidated Excelsior Hotel. Her thoughts rambled. It’s all Cyrus’ fault. If he’d left me alone I wouldn't have to go through this. I hope this quack knows what he’s doing. I’ve heard of women dying from abortions. They’re criminals, these abortionists. It’ll