Cruel Harvest (22 page)

Chapter 17
In the Arms of Angels

I woke, choking
and coughing up dirt. Mud was in my throat, and I couldn't breathe. My body screamed out in pain each time I coughed. I opened my eyes, but there was dirt blocking my sight. Blinking again and again, I could see the front of our car. It must have struck a wall of earth and was sticking up in the air with the headlights glowing upward. The entire back bumper had been buried in the wet dirt. The back half of the car had been swallowed, and only the front door and headlights were visible. The inside of the car was filled up as if a bulldozer had pushed the earth right inside.

I tried to lift my head, but each move was like a hot poker searing my flesh. My body was caught between the remains of the barbed-wire fence and the muddy ground. The barbs wrapped around my body, cutting into my legs, hips, and back.

“Frances.”

It was Nellie, sounding as if she was calling to me from a great distance. Then I saw her stumbling up the hill toward me in the light of the headlights.

“Oh, Frances!” She put her small hand up to her face.

That's when I saw that her cheek had been nearly torn in half. It was split open from her cheek bone down to her mouth.

Her hand passed over the open flap of skin on her face. The darkness fell over me as I passed out again.

When I came
to the second time, I could feel every place where the barbs had gouged my flesh. I moved an inch, and it was as if a knife pierced me in a thousand places at once. I remember hearing my voice screaming in agony. I kept blacking out from the pain. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself in a man's arms, cradled liked a baby. The rain had stopped, and the air smelled fresh and new.

At first, I thought the man was Daddy. But there was such a kindness to the way the man held me, as if he wanted to be sure not to hurt me in the least. It couldn't be Daddy. This man was much larger and very gentle. He carefully stepped down the muddy slope with me in his arms. He carried me to a car parked beside the road. The inside lights were on. The light was golden; it looked like no light I had ever seen before or since.

A young woman appeared as well. She was helping Nellie climb down the muddy embankment.

“Nellie, are you okay?” I tried to shout, but it only came out a rough whisper.

She did not say anything. I noticed that the woman held a bright-white handkerchief to Nellie's face. My mind flashed back to the barbed wire. The man must have carefully cut me free. I tried to look up and see his face, but it always seemed to be turned just enough that I could not make out his features.

The man gently placed me down on the backseat of his car. I expected Daddy to come raging up and tell this man to get away from me, but he never did. I am sure Daddy must have been somewhere in the man's car, but I did not see him. Nellie was helped in beside me, and we drove off to get medical treatment.

This was a lonely stretch of highway, with no lighting except the moon and stars. It was about three in the morning, and the chances of someone passing our wrecked car must have been near zero. I will always believe that God sent his angels in the form of that young man and his wife.

Amazingly, I do not remember being in any more pain after I was placed in the car. The barbed wire had torn away a good portion of my dress, so the lady covered me with a beautiful, soft, pale-blue blanket. This kind couple, who just happened to be driving along on a deserted road at the exact time we needed help, also happened to have everything they needed to free me from the barbed wire and give us comfort.

I tried hard not to get their nice, clean car dirty. I lay very still and tried to push the soft blue blanket away from my bloody, mud-caked body, but I was too weak. Each time I made an effort, the woman gently covered me back up again. I looked into her warm eyes.

“I don't want to get it dirty.”

“It's all right,” she whispered, touching my hand. “It
belongs
to
you
.”

I drifted in and out of consciousness. I sensed the woman fussing over me, rearranging the blanket or patting my hand. The soft golden light remained on in the car all the way to the hospital. It was that light, more than anything else, that offered me peace and comfort on the long ride to the emergency room. It was strange that I never did see my daddy or feel his terrifying presence, but I know he must have been in the car with us. After arriving at the hospital, the man and woman vanished. I never did see them again. The golden light went with them, along with the peace I'd felt. The pain returned. I asked the nurse later if I could have my blue blanket, but she didn't know what I was talking about.

The nurses took me and Nellie to separate rooms. A doctor came in and gave me a shot for the pain and went to work stitching up what seemed like every inch of my small body. Later, I learned I received over a hundred and fifty stitches that night! I was terrified at the thought of leaving the hospital and getting back into an automobile.

After I was stitched up, the doctor stepped out of the room and left me alone sitting on a gurney. A minute later, a nurse brought Nellie in to join me. I broke into tears when I saw Nellie's face bandaged from her chin all the way up to her swollen eye. Once the nurse stepped out, Nellie turned to me.

“Don't you say anything about Daddy drinking,” she warned.

I was a little confused. Her face was stitched up and her eyes looked tired and unfocused. Her words, however, were sharp and sure. When the door opened again, the doctor came in leading two police officers. I understood. Being the younger, I decided to let Nellie do all the talking. I still felt as though I was caught in some horrible dream.

One officer took the lead. He was a heavy man and very tall. His face looked as hard as concrete. I was scared of men, so seeing him made Nellie's instructions to stay quiet all the easier to follow.

“What are your names?” he asked.

“Nellie, and this is Frances.”

The officer narrowed his eyes. “Who are Brenda and Susie?”

“That's our older sisters. They are grown.” Nellie seemed to have an answer for everything. I didn't understand how she could be so unemotional. But she was just being Nellie.

“Hmm. Has your father been drinking alcohol tonight?”

Nellie did not say anything. I glanced at her when the officer looked at me.

“Listen, we can help you. All you have to say is yes, and we'll take care of you. You don't have to go back with him if he's hurting you.”

Nellie sat up straighter. For a second I thought it was all over. I thought she'd tell them everything, just as Brenda had years before. We'd be taken right back to Connie Maxwell. Everything would be okay. But then I saw the fear behind Nellie's eyes. I knew that fear. It coursed through me at the same time. It was as if Daddy stood right there before us, his eyes screaming murder if we said anything at all.

“No, he ain't been drinking,” Nellie said.

I looked down at the floor.

“You know, you almost died out there,” the officer said, losing patience with us. “That accident should have killed you. Not to mention you should still be out there on the road.” He turned to look at the doctor. “How
did
those people come by them, anyway? Did you speak with the couple when they brought the girls in? Be sure and keep them both here. We need to talk to the witnesses before they leave.”

The doctor shook his head. “They're gone.”

“I think they were angels,” I whispered.

The officer paid me no mind. He went back to drilling us about Daddy. It was a lost cause though. Daddy's murderous grip was stronger than it had ever been before. That officer had no chance of breaking our silence. Had he been kinder, like the man who cut me from the barbed wire, maybe we would have opened up. But his harsh manner and rough voice silenced any secret we might have told him. I relived that night so often that I wrote a poem about it, hoping that if I put my feelings on paper, the nightmares would go away.

T
HE
C
RASH

Speeding down a dark black road,

father drinking as he drives,

Two frightened little children,

softly praying for their lives.

He yells and screams in anger,

the whiskey has him in its hold,

He does not see or think or feel,

the anger drowns his soul.

Arms wound around each other,

the children cower in the car,

The lines upon the highway,

flying by like shooting stars.

He doesn't see the light pole,

nor does he really care,

Off the road at ninety,

children flying through the air.

But saving little children

is what Jesus likes to do,

He caught us safely in His arms

and protected me and you.

Chapter 18
On the Run Again

The police questioned
me and Nellie for hours. At one point they said that Daddy's car had been towed, and they found beer bottles inside. I knew that wasn't true because he only drank cheap home-brew stored in quart-sized mason jars, or whiskey if he could get it.

The police gave up on gaining information and left us alone. When we thought they were not coming back, we whispered to each other.

“Do you think they believed you?” I asked Nellie.

She shook her head. “No, they knew he was drunk, but they can't get him. Nobody can touch him. And we can't ever tell. Not ever.”

When Daddy came into the recovery room to take us back to the cabin with him, he seemed so penitent that the doctors and nurses believed him. He was so convincing with the hospital staff that even I thought he might be sorry for the whole thing. Surprisingly, the old car was still drivable. Since there were no charges filed, it was returned to him.

Before leaving, the doctor pulled him aside.

“Your children need rest while they recover. This was a traumatic experience, and they need special care. In two weeks, bring them back to get their stitches out.”

“Of course,” Daddy said. “I'll take good care of them.”

I wanted so much to go to sleep and not wake up. Sleep was wonderfully peaceful, and I was so tired. When Daddy got me to the car, though, my body started to shake uncontrollably. I did not want to get inside that thing, especially not with him driving.

Daddy pushed me in, and I shivered in the backseat as he drove home. Dawn was just breaking when we pulled up in front of the little shack. Neither Nellie nor I could work. Her face was swollen to twice its size, and I had dozens of bandages over the many deep gash wounds caused by the barbed wire. I had lost a good deal of blood and was still so weak that I could barely walk. The doctor had prescribed medication for us both, but Daddy did not get the prescriptions filled.

Amazingly, Daddy did not have a scratch on him after the accident. Luckily for us, he knew just how close he'd come to going back to prison. So he didn't bother us and allowed us to sleep alone and heal.

The days passed in a blur. I remained in shock after the accident. The wreck alone was a horrible experience, but on top of that I knew Daddy had done it on purpose. Daddy had tried to kill me, and he made no attempt to apologize. I knew it would not take much for him to try again. Along with the abuse that soon continued, I survived a constant threat of death at Daddy's hands. Every noise made me jump two feet off the ground, and I was plagued with paralyzing nightmares.

Night and day mingled as I slept on the floor of the cabin. We were allowed to lie on the pallet until he thought we had recovered. His drinking never stopped, though, and he still liked to fight. He fought everybody.

A few nights
after we were out of the hospital, I awoke to curses and loud, raging male voices. When I opened my eyes, I stared up over my head in wonder and amazement at a strange man sailing like a bird through the air right above my face. It was a surreal sight to wake up to, and I remember thinking,
I hope he doesn't land on me or my sister
because we're hurt enough already and it would tear our stitches out
.

I could not move, and I gazed without emotion as he struck the wall a few feet away and crashed to the cabin floor. Daddy was right on top of him in an instant. He reached down and grabbed a handful of the other man's shirt and hair, dragging him around Nellie and me and out the front door of the shack.

Angry shouts filtered in from outside for another few minutes until they were replaced by silence. I still did not move, but I listened as footsteps approached the door. I half expected the other man, who had seemed much larger than Daddy, to come walking into the cabin. Who knows what he might have done to us, but it probably could not be worse than what we were living with daily.