The Promises I Keep

By Eliza Sarah Graham

Set in 1856 Missouri, seventeen-year-old Mariah Rainey has lived with little hope that life will be any different for her than it has been for her motherliving in poverty with an abusive husband and five children. Upon the death of her mother at her fathers hand, Mariah is suddenly thrown into survival mode: charged with her mothers dying wish that she take the children to safety, far away to someplace green. She quickly must learn the skills of a man in order to protect her siblings from her father and to somehow make an escape to her mothers family in Kentucky via the old abandoned Wilderness Road out of Independence.

With her father sure to follow, Mariah and her younger sister, Lolly, disguise themselves as young men and take off with their baby brother, Trill, to face the treacherous journey to freedom. Able to handle any crisis along the trail, Mariah thrives as a man, but she can never escape the wrath of her father or the horrible retribution he will exact upon her and everyone she loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Feb 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504351034

Eliza Sarah Graham

Eliza Sarah Graham is a retired marriage and family therapist and the author of nine novels. Drawing on her psychology background and extensive world travels, Eliza explores the complicated, ambivalent emotional and spiritual lives of women. Growth through lifes challenges and intergenerational dynamics are her hallmark themes. Eliza lives in Newport Beach, California, with her husband.

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Also by Eliza Sarah Graham

Her Sense of Place

Blind Love

Forgivable Sins

The Book of Lena

Legacy of the Heart

Fallow Fields

All Things Possible

Gentle Spirits-Fragile Hearts

The Promises I Keep

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Eliza Sarah Graham

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Copyright

© 2016 Eliza Sarah Graham.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-5102-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-5103-4 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 03/10/2016

Contents

Acknowledgments

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2

3

4

5

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10

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26

For my granddaughters–future heroines all:

Hannah

Gabby

Charlie

Sydney

Acknowledgments

I want to thank Lynn Hightower, my mentor at the UCLA writing program, for prodding me to dig deep–and not look away from the pain on the page–as I wrote The Promises I Keep. For that I will always be grateful.

1856-Loose Creek, Missouri

1

I no sooner turned to go inside the cabin than I heard him—Pa, his silhouette framed against the night sky—swinging a big walking stick with each stride. Pa wasn’t a tall man but a big one, with arms the size of a fence post and legs so strong he could crush a man with their vice. His chest was big, but flabby and hung over his belt buckle. With his hat off, as it was now, his wiry hair stuck straight up like a russet flag.

We’d been sitting on the porch awaiting Ma’s return from town. Lolly, perched on the pine steps twisting her long hair up off her neck, Bounty next to her sharpening his pocket knife on a stone, and me bouncing baby Trill on my knee. Hawkins sat behind us playing with a few stones that rattled softly across the wood planks.

There’d been little relief from the oppressive summer heat, and with the setting sun the air had stopped moving at all, save for a small wisp of a high breeze that passed almost imperceptibly.

Lolly, quick. Take Bounty and go get Ma. Tell her Pa’s back.

Lolly froze, her hand clutching her hair, and Bounty reached over and gripped her shoulder, either to steady her or himself, which he’d never admit now he was a near man of thirteen.

I nudged her with my foot. Lolly, go.

Her head swiveled to look up at me with wide eyes, and her face was as pale as the moon above. She shot up like a bee had stung her, grabbed Bounty’s hand, and ran into the night. Hawkins would be fine hidden in the darkness of the porch, but I moved to block him from Pa’s view. I held Trill, mostly to calm myself, swaying him back and forth in my arms, all the while conjuring a tale I could tell Pa.

My knees were quaking till I feared I’d drop Trill, but I dare not show fear in front of Pa. He could smell it. Any good bounty hunter could, and Pa was the best in the territory.

Gathering cumulus clouds of bruised ochre lay low across a cobalt sky, suffocating what little air there was with their mass, and framing Pa in an eerie panorama.

Hi, Pa. You back?

What’s it look like? You blind girl?

You get your man this time?

I got ’em all right. Where’s your Ma?

It’s so hot she took Lolly and Bounty to town to get their minds off it.

Makes no damn sense, girl. Where’s my supper?

Pa expected Ma to just know when he’d return home after a long while away, and for supper to be on the table same as always.

It’s ready for you, Pa. I’ll get it. You stay on the porch where it’s cooler.

His eyes weren’t close enough for me to tell if he knew I was lying, but he sprawled on the porch step and leaned back on his elbows, swinging his stick back and forth.

The cabin was thick with odors. The muggy Missouri heat simmered our bodily juices into a rancid stew that reeked with the smell of babies’ nappies and pig fat tallow. It clung to the pine walls and low ceiling—hovered over the small cots banking each corner of the front room, and snaked into the darker recesses where Ma and Pa slept.

Trill was cranky. Didn’t want to be held, and didn’t want to be put down. He’d get like that at times, just plain perverse. Like it or not I put him down and gave him a piece of rock candy I’d kept hidden in my pillow case to shut him up. He scowled at me with Pa’s dark eyes. He was fearsome, too, or would be some day unless some preacher sprinkled holy water on him or something.

I never knew time could move so slow. Pa’s plate was ready and Ma was nowhere in sight. I stoked the fire and heated up the bannock, delaying in the only way I knew how. My eyes flitted from Pa to the path to town, my ear cocked to hear if they were coming and wondering how I’d let Ma know which lie I’d told.

Where’s that food, Rhy?

Just here, I said, balancing a cup of apple cider and the plate together. There’s honey for the bannock, and I heated it up for you.

When’d they leave? he growled, just like the bear he was.

Oh, not long ago. I was going to go, too, but Ma said to stay here in case you got home and were hungry. Another lie.

He shifted from one hip to the other, digging his dirty boots into the hard dirt. She best be back soon.

I have some water ready if you’d like a bath, Pa. Ma told me you might feel stiff from all that riding.

I don’t want no bath. Stop prattling. He whistled and called, Here, Hammer.

From somewhere in the far fields, Hammer, all ears flopping, galloped to Pa’s call. I swear that dog was the only living thing that Pa truly loved, and no one better take exception. He was the ugliest dog I’d ever laid eyes on―part basset hound and part beagle―with none of the good parts of either. He was Pa’s dog, all his mismatched self of him. Hammer bounded onto the porch and slathered Pa’s face, making him laugh. Good boy. What did ya find?

He grabbed the stick in Hammer’s mouth and, as they always did, tussled for it. Hammer lost. Big surprise. Pa threw the stick a few feet away, and the game began. You feed him proper while I was gone? Pa asked.

I hadn’t. That dog disappeared for days on end when Pa was gone. Yes, and he ate real well just a little while ago.

Pa tossed the dog a piece of bannock, which was inhaled before it hit the ground.

I slipped back into the cabin.

Trill was digging in my pillow case for more candy, and when I swept him up, he threw back his head and screamed as if I’d hit him. Stop it, Trill. Pa’s nerves are raw enough, I said, but he flailed at me–dropped his head into my shoulder–and bit it.

Then it was me who howled as I sat him down and rubbed my shoulder. No, Trill. Don’t bite.

Shut that kid up and do it now. Pa hollered into the cabin.

My hand instinctively covered Trill’s mouth. Hush, Trill. He jerked his head and let out a wail that made Hammer howl. His arm was small to my grip, and I hoisted him up and hurried to the kitchen.

If we’d had a back door I think I would have run for my life right then. I’d lived through the dread of the Missouri weather when the air was building up into a certain cyclone, and sure as Sunday, I knew now that Pa was building up for his own kind of storm.

I heard them then, Lolly chirping away like it was any other nighttime stroll and Ma’s soft voice answering more calmly than you’d think. When they saw Pa, they all stopped stone still.

Lolly dropped her head to her chest and slowed her pace behind Ma. Bounty edged forward, his thin arms hanging at his side like weak tree limbs. Even in this light I could see where bone connected elbow to arm, shoulder to neck. His knees jutted out even though he was trying to stand straight. Putting himself in front of Ma was taking all he had, and he lowered his head, opened his mouth, and grabbed the little bit of air he could. Ma gently pulled him back with Lolly and nodded for Lolly to keep him with her.

She seemed to inhale fully—straightened her back, smoothed her hair with her hands, then her skirt, and with her eyes focused squarely on Pa, she moved forward, toward the porch and toward her husband.

I glanced down at him. His left hand was rubbing beneath the large flap of Hammer’s ear. The bulk of his body uncoiled. The transition was startling as I beheld my father’s back become a rod. The veins in his neck pulsed as if there was something in there that wanted to get out.

Where you been? Pa said in a voice that could fell a tree.

I told you, Pa. They went to town to cool off. Did you find any ice, Ma?

The closer Ma got to the cabin and Pa sitting on the porch, the clearer it was that she’d been working hard. Her dress was dirty, and her face and hands smudged, too. The kerosene lamp illuminated her guilt.

Just getting some air. Did you get your man? she asked.

He didn’t answer, but even from where I was standing I saw his jaw tighten and his hands clench. He began to swing the stick he’d been scratching the earth with in little orbs, larger and larger. Hammer sat, poised to fetch. Ma stood perfectly still.

I fed Pa already. You were right. He got home early. My voice trembled, but Pa probably didn’t notice, as he was so intent on Ma.

Children, Ma started, why don’t you go back to town? Mariah, take them with you and the baby, too. It’s too hot to sleep.

But Ma, you just got back.

Take the children, Mariah, and go.

Bounty hung back, resistant to leave Ma alone with Pa, but I knew her signal, and she knew too, what was coming. It was like Pa had gotten a taste for blood after catching the runaway. God only knew what he’d done to that poor man, never mind what his crime was. No one deserved Pa’s punishment. Men in town talked about Pa’s unholy methods with a mixture of respect and disgust. Once he had the culprit stripped naked, and he’d had some fun with him using the heel of his boot, he attached the rowel from a spur to a leather strap and doused it with water. Some old Indian trick he’d heard about. As the leather dried, the straps shrank and drove the rowel into their skin. Word was, their hands weren’t the only parts secured this way. Pa used so many rowels in a year, the blacksmith in town made them special for him: extra small with extra sharp points. Pa walked his prisoners all the way back to Loose Creek, rain or snow, ten miles or a hundred. Some men never made the trek and arrived like mail sacks on the back of a mule.

Okay, I relented, picking up Trill. Come on Hawkins. We gotta go. He obediently rose, never looking up, and followed as we stepped around Pa, his stick now swinging enough that it made a whizzing sound in the night air. Hammer was kicking up dirt in excitement, going one way and then the other, following the end of the stick. I felt the breeze of it as I passed.

We could hear their voices even after we’d moved beyond their sight.

You been to town, Pa said. What are you doing in town at this time of night?

Just getting air.

Don’t lie to me, woman. You tell me you’re not catting around.

No. I’d never—

I don’t know what Pa did then, but next I heard he hollered, Give it over. Every cent, and then I knew she’d told him she’d been working.

We didn’t go into town. We got on our haunches just beyond our small patch of land and waited. The night muffled the hard sounds and Mother’s cries as if they were in the wind, not really happening. I was glad then that I hadn’t given the little bit of whisky we had to Pa to settle him down. Ma would need it later for her wounds. Hammer barked and barked, setting what was left of my nerves on edge. Please, shut up. Stop barking.

Behind us the cicadas chirped for what seemed like hours. Trill squirmed and kicked his feet trying to break free, and when that did no good, he gripped me around my waist, drove his head into my chest and whimpered. Lolly had crumbled to the ground with her arms around her knees and her head bowed. I looked at Bounty, the oldest boy, his eyes ablaze, but the strain of such surveillance was too much, and he finally just cried unabashedly. Hawk rocked some distance from us all as if he understood what was going on for a change.

Finally, when my legs had little pins in them and my feet were numb, Hammer yelped, Pa slammed the door, and he stomped off the porch. I saw him take the stick he’d been carrying and swing it into the night. Hammer tore out after it as it sailed like a raptor and dropped well past our vegetable garden. Bounty rose to get to Ma, but I held him back. No, wait. Even wiggly Trill had stilled at the sound of my command.

When I was certain he was out of distance, I rose and ran with all my strength to help Ma. The baby bounced in my arms, his head bobbing from one side to the other, but when I got through the doorway I nearly dropped him.

Stay here, I said.

I faltered briefly, my legs forsaking me. Perhaps this was unreal, a bad dream, and soon I’d awake to the smell of coffee and johnnycakes with chunks of hard honey and Ma’s soft voice humming to the rhythm of the butter churn. Bounty would vie to sprinkle salt on it, and for one fleeting moment we’d all smile, savoring the extravagant taste.

But there was no escaping the sight of carnage revealed in the dim lamplight. Ma’s face was displaced. I couldn’t see her in it. One arm screwed away from her body like a handle on the well pump. Blood dripped down her legs and puddled in, what looked like, a rag doll on the floor. Her dress had been torn off. Look away, I ordered the children.

Lolly, get water. Bounty get the honey and whiskey. Quick. Trill, go with Sister.

I got on my knees and crawled to Ma. I couldn’t see for the damnable tears in my eyes. This was the worst ever. I didn’t know how a person could live through such a beating. I swept my palm across my eyes enough to see the almost imperceptible movement of Ma’s finger.

When I touched her, she moaned.

I dare not try to lift her to the bed. I moved to rise, now seeing the bloody rags weren’t cloth at all but an unborn baby like I’d seen so many times over the years, still attached to the cord. Without thinking, I pulled the blanket from the bed and covered it.

Bounty. Are you brave enough to go get Doc Burns? You know where he lives?

He nodded, not looking sure or brave at all.

Then go. Run as fast as you can, and don’t come back without him. Tell him Ma’s bad hurt and can’t move.

He hesitated, looking first at me and then the doorway. I’ll get him, he said, and off he took.

Pa will kill her if you get the doctor, Lolly said, charging forward with the water in Ma’s wooden bowl. Water slopped over the sides, spilling at her bare feet.

He may have already, I said. He may have already.

There was nothing to do but wait through the interminable night. I was tormented with the terrifying thoughts repeating in my head. Did Bounty find the doctor? Were they coming? Would they get here in time? And if they didn’t get here in time? I changed positions, resettled, and it all started again.

At last we heard strong footsteps on the porch, and both Lolly and I bolted up and ran to the door to let the doctor in, although he moved right past us without greeting and said, You all wait outside. I’ll look after your mother. He reached her in two long strides and stopped. Dear God, who would do a thing like this? He went to his knees and leaned so far down that his ear was on Ma’s chest. Lolly and I watched, unable to divert our eyes until he said, more firmly this time, Go outside, girls.

Bounty hadn’t returned with the doctor. I looked into the night, called out to him, but all there was in answer was a hoot of an owl in the distance.

The doctor stitched Ma up the best he could, all the while muttering how a man who did this ought to be horse whipped.

I guess he didn’t feel like the rest of the men in town—that Ma was Pa’s property to do with what he would.

We all waited quietly on the porch, which was finally cool and then damp. The younger children fell asleep, and I covered them with blankets. I feared if I closed my eyes Ma would die, and I wouldn’t know it. If I stayed awake, I could will her to live. Pa was out there somewhere—a wild animal—and he might come back any time to beat her again for letting a doctor mend her wounds. Or he might even beat the doctor, for all I knew. Only Hammer was safe from Pa’s wrath. But Ma always forgave him. He might just as easily slink back in the morning, see the damage he’d done, and weep with self-pity. Lord knew he’d done that plenty of times.

It took a long time, but I heard Doc Burns say, I’ll be back, Lilly, tomorrow. Just lay still as best you can. I stood, my legs stiff, my back aching, when he came through the doorway. And I’ll take care of this. He indicated the small bucket we kept by the stove at his side. It had been covered by a towel.

Will she live, Doctor? I wrapped my arms around my chest to stop the shivering and swallowed back tears.

He patted my arm and looked up at the streak of light just peeking on the horizon.

Keep her in bed no matter what. Don’t let her get up. Feed her broth until she can keep food down. No need to do more than that. He sighed heavily. And then Mariah, it’s up to God to decide.

I’ll do my best, I vowed. Then I remembered. Where’s Bounty?

He shook his head sadly. That man looked like he’d aged a hundred years in just this one night.

He’s very weak. All the running made it so he couldn’t breathe. I had my wife take him in. Thought it best. I’ll see what I can do for him when I get home, Mariah, but that boy was never meant to live this long.

I watched him as he walked away, more slowly than he’d arrived, his feet barely clearing the ground, his back hunched and his head appearing to pull him forward. He’d given us all he had for one night, and it might not be enough—not for Bounty and not for Ma. During the hours that he was with us, I felt safe, and I hadn’t felt safe in a long time. I couldn’t even remember when that ever was. Hearing how he talked about Bounty made me trust that he had things under control, even if Bounty couldn’t breathe, couldn’t run and should have never lived this long. We needed a man bigger or smarter than Pa around, that much was certain. But where in the world would that man be?

2

M a thrashed through the night incoherently.

I looked up at Lolly as we both held a cool cloth to Ma’s head. Lolly’s eyes were red from lack of sleep, her hair hung limply and unkempt. A girl her age, only fifteen, shouldn’t look so pale and drawn. For all the pain Ma was in, her cries sounded outside herself, and when I took her hand it rested limply in mine.

Her nightdress was drenched with sweat, some of which had collected in the lines around her throat. I took the cloth to wipe it off and soothe her. Ma was broken. I