Bound by Blood and Brimstone (3 page)

party. Setting her sights on a boy two rows over, she glanced down at her roll sheet and called

out sharply, “Caleb Jacobs! Come to the front of the class, now!”

An uneasy hush fell on the room, a collective intake of breath, as a straw-haired youth in

oversized boots and grimy overalls shuffled up to the chalkboard, his hands shoved in his

pockets. A head taller than the rest of us, he had stony, rough-hewn features and a huge,

oversized head. Glaring at us with eyes the color of gunmetal, his glance caught briefly on Lorrie

Beth’s flushed face. I saw a tiny smile quirk her lips.

Somewhere in the back of the room, an audible gasp was heard. I had an intuitive flash of

impending disaster.
Not him, Lorrie Beth
.
He’s not safe!
Naturally outgoing, my sister saw

potential friends in every face, including those of skunks and hedgehogs.

Meanwhile, Miss Hacker honed in on her prey. Whipping out a wooden ruler from thin

air, she grabbed one of his hands, bent it down by the fingers, and whacked the palm sharply

about a dozen times. “You will remain quiet in my classroom until called on!” she demanded.

Caleb Jacobs never flinched or even acknowledged his teacher. His eyes remained on his

classmates. Suddenly, a lazy grin split his homely face, exposing a mouthful of rotten teeth.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he drawled, his voice too coarse to be childish. Then, to my amazement,

he raised his hand, saluted smartly, and clumped back to his seat. The remainder of the morning

was a haze of numbers, reciting, and copying letters from the chalkboard as Miss Hacker

patrolled the rows with her ruler. She attempted to walk softly in her squishy shoes as if to sneak

up on us.

I thought her efforts at espionage were pretty silly, considering the fact that Miss Hacker

was impossible to miss. She had a tremendous bosom, like she’d stuffed one big pillow under the

front of her blouse, and tiny black whiskers on her chin that bobbed up and down when she

talked. I was distracted by those whiskers and kept imagining myself touching them or maybe

shaving them. That screaming scarlet lipstick she wore didn’t help matters either.

During the noon break Lorrie Beth sought me out under an oak tree where I sat with my

sack lunch, desiring nothing more for the moment than to be left alone. “Ember Mae, I want to

go home. I don’t like it here.” Her voice held a tremor and her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

“Well, that’s just too bad. We can’t.” I knew my words could start those tears spilling

over, but I didn’t seem to be able to stop myself. I looked into her troubled face and tried to resist

the urge to reach for her hand.

I knew what was on her mind. We were like that with each other. She was wishing she

could disappear. Miss Hacker, in her infinite wisdom, had thought to encourage Lorrie Beth by

allowing her to pass out pencils to the students. She hadn’t realized the error of her decision,

putting Lorrie Beth on display to limp up and down the aisles with everyone snickering and

pointing.

Worst of all, it had embarrassed me, too, and had left me grappling with a queasy sense

of shame. By the time my sister approached me under the oak tree, I was in a foul snit.

“Hey!” yelled a rough, familiar voice. We glanced up to see Caleb Jacobs stomping

toward us with a tall, stringy-haired girl in tow. One look at the matted, yellow hair and piggish

eyes, and I knew she was his sister.

“Hey, Gimpy,” he said mildly, his flinty gaze on Lorrie Beth. Stringy-Hair snickered, a

harsh, grating sound on the autumn air. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? Somebody cut off

your leg with a hatchet, Gimpy?” My lunch forgotten, I stepped closer to Lorrie Beth and

reached for her hand.

Caleb looked at Stringy-Hair and grinned, showing his black teeth. “What do you think,

Sue Lee? You ever see anything like this freaky, sawed-off little gimp?” From a distant corner of

the schoolyard, raucous laughter rang out where the older boys played marbles.

“No, I don’t believe I ever saw nothing like that,” Sue Lee agreed, a malicious gleam

lighting her gray eyes. “I bet it’s not even real!” She smirked and turned her pale, rabbit-face to

Caleb, jabbing him with a bony elbow. Desperately, I prayed for the bell to ring as Lorrie Beth’s

hand chilled in mine.

Together, they took a step closer. Caleb eyed Lorrie Beth’s rigid frame and stroked his

chin as though deep in thought. “Maybe she’s got one of them fake wooden legs under that fancy

dress,” he said, his steely gaze boring into Lorrie Beth’s widening eyes. They were close enough

for me to smell the stench of their stale sweat and fetid breath, making me slightly dizzy in the

noonday heat.

Drawing myself up, squeezing my sister’s icy hand, I found my voice and was surprised

at the force behind it. “There’s no call for you all to be mean. We haven’t done anything to

bother you.”

Ignoring me, Caleb flashed a wicked grin and leaned even closer. “I think I’ll just take

me a look and see what’s under there.” To my horror, Lorrie Beth’s lip began to quiver. Before I

realized what was about to happen, Caleb bent and reached a grimy hand to the hem of Lorrie

Beth’s dress.

“You leave my sister alone,” I said. Without thinking, I stepped in front of Lorrie Beth

and smacked his hand away. What happened next has been a source of infinite mystery to me. I

never knew for sure if Lorrie Beth grasped what she was dealing with or if she was just too naive

to understand the likes of Caleb Jacobs.

She stepped out from behind the shelter of my body and turned earnest eyes to Caleb’s

face. “Sure, my leg is real, same as yours. It’s not made of wood. God made it this way, same as

he made your head to look like a big fat pumpkin.” Those words were spoken in the softest of

voices, as though insult was the last thing in the world she intended, like she was trying to

explain the simplest concept to a toddler.

One second of utter silence ensued. Caleb blanched. Then his bellowing rage exploded

onto the autumn air. “YOU TAKE THAT BACK, YOU LITTLE FREAK!” Somehow, both his

hands were around Lorrie Beth’s slender neck, shoving her slight body into the tree behind us.

His knuckles whitened with the force of his death grip, and she gagged and flailed, clawing at his

fingers.

I was yelling, kicking at his legs, pummeling his back with both fists. I punched at his

arms, trying to break their hold, but it was like battering a brick. My vision blurred, dimming at

the edges, and my face burned in a fever of terror.

I launched myself at his back, attempting to straddle him. By now, Lorrie Beth’s

struggles had slowed, and her eyes had started to bulge. With vicious glee, Sue Lee grabbed a

handful of my hair and yanked hard enough to shoot stars across my field of vision. I drove my

elbow backward, making solid contact with her chin, and whirled to face her, both fists up.

Through a haze of sweat and fury, I spotted a large rock not far from my feet. I didn’t

remember snatching it, but there it was, in my hand. Staggering like a drunkard, I heaved upward

and slammed it down with all my might on Caleb’s forearm. I heard a small crackle, like that of

an ice-laden twig giving way. Caleb yelped and backed off Lorrie Beth at last, his features

twisted with pain.

Out of nowhere, Miss Hacker appeared, chin whiskers bobbing fiercely, voice shrill, as

she commanded us to “Stop this instant!” She wielded a yardstick which she brought down fast

and furiously across Caleb’s back.

“That will cost you sorely, Mr. Jacobs! Two weeks of detention!” Cradling his bleeding

arm, breathing raggedly, he cut his eyes at an ashen-faced Lorrie Beth, who bore the visible

prints of his brutality on her throat. Coughing and sputtering for air, her cheeks tear-stained and

mottled, she struggled fiercely for composure.

“This isn’t over, Gimpy,” he whispered.

At home, though Lorrie Beth and I recounted a sanitized version of the day’s events, the

bruises on her neck spoke volumes. Momma nearly went into a swoon at the sight of them.

“I hope you broke that thug’s arm, Ember Mae,” she said grimly, as she applied one of

Wonnie’s ointments to Lorrie Beth’s wounds. When Daddy caught sight of the damage,

something cold and dangerous flashed in his dark eyes. Daddy was a peaceful soul, but I

could’ve sworn I saw murder on his face before he stalked out of the room.

Later, while Mamma was heating water for her bath, and Lorrie Beth had gone to bed,

promptly soothed and full of cake, Daddy called me in by the fire where we normally had our

reading lessons. “Now, start at the beginning and leave nothing out this time,” he said, pulling

his rolling papers out of his shirt pocket. I loved watching Daddy roll his cigarettes.

He had it down to an art form, tapping the tobacco out of the Prince Albert tin into the

paper, rolling the paper into a round tube, and swiping it with his tongue. It took about five

seconds. He leaned back in his chair and inhaled deeply, blowing smoke rings.

I drew in a breath, let it out, and began to talk. I withheld nothing, including my own

turmoil of shame and fear. Immediately, he wanted to know how Miss Hacker had reacted to

Caleb’s outburst.

“She whipped him with a yardstick and gave him detention, but I don’t think it was

enough to keep him off us for good,” I said with a sigh of misery. One glance at his face,

shadowed in firelight, and I knew my story was upsetting him again. His gaze on my face was

intent, the lean line of his jaw tight.

“And what did your teacher do afterwards? To help your sister, I mean.” Suddenly, I

wanted to erase the pinched set of his features.

“Oh, she was real sweet to Lorrie Beth the rest of the day. She gave her lots of attention

and cleaned her up. She even let her put her head down on her desk until the last bell.”

He let that sink in, still watching my face as the intensity of his gaze softened. “Did

Lorrie Beth seem to be afraid of him before you went outside for lunch?” he asked.

“Daddy, Lorrie Beth never saw it coming. She even smiled at him in class, like she didn’t know

what he was about. How could she not know? I knew he was trouble the minute I laid eyes on

him.”

I waited while he blew a couple more smoke rings, staring thoughtfully into the fire.

Down the hall, faint splashing sounds could be heard as Momma filled the galvanized bathtub.

Daddy pitched the rest of his cigarette into the fire and drew me onto his lap, where the lingering

scents of tobacco and coal dust mingled with those of clean flannel.

“Your sister’s different,” he finally said, resting his chin on the top of my head. “She’s

cut from a different cloth than most folks. She may never be able to recognize that the world’s

full of bad people or that evil exits.” I considered what that might mean for the rest of our school

career.

“Do you think Caleb Jacobs is evil, Daddy?” From the rigid set of his body and the

thoughtful way he stroked his chin, I knew I’d asked a difficult question.

“I’m not sure it’s my place to answer that, Honey,” he mused, the tiny vertical line

between his eyes deepening. “I’m pretty sure his father is, though.”

“His father?” Never in my wildest imaginings had I considered the novel idea of parents

for Caleb Jacobs. It made more sense to believe he’d been hatched.

“He was one of the sorriest excuses for a father I’ve ever seen,” Daddy said, raking his

hair back from his forehead before laying his cheek against mine. “Always drunk. Never struck a

lick at honest work in his life.” He lowered his voice as if his next words were best kept between

us.

“He beat his wife and kids like there was no tomorrow. One day, he hit one of his little

boys hard enough to kill him. He’s in prison to this day for murder.”

For several minutes, I pondered killer daddies. Then, lulled by exhaustion and the

security of Daddy’s lap, I stared into the hearth’s leaping flames. “Daddy, if Caleb Jacobs

bothers Lorrie Beth again, what should I do?”

He sighed and tightened his arms around me. When he spoke, his voice had an odd

tremor. “Do everything you can to keep her away from him. Ignore him, if possible. Run, if you

can. If you can’t run, if you’re ever cornered and have no way out, fight to kill.”

If Caleb Jacobs was fate’s catalyst in the events that led us to calamity, it might also be

said that someone else held the key to my destruction. The key holder in question was Aunt

Celeste, Momma’s only sister, the keeper of deadly secrets. It was during her last visit, the

summer following third grade, when I learned that secrets have the power to haunt your dreams.

It was when I also learned that I had a mean streak.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to conclude there was bad blood between Momma and her