Sparked (6 page)

Bethany had so many friends and would miss them terribly if they left. But staying was looking increasingly difficult. Cora imagined all the days ahead of her—days of cooking and cleaning and working so hard that she was left with nothing when she went to sleep at night. Maybe it would be better to go now, this summer, before Bethany started high school in the fall. Maybe that would give her a chance to make new friends in a new place.

Her mind churned through all the old worries as she considered her options, dumping the laundry into the old tin tub at the back of the house. Would her father even allow her to take Bethany before she was of age? Cora may be nineteen and able to do what she liked, but Bethany was still a minor and Huck was legally responsible for her. 

But Huck didn’t love Bethany. He rarely even talked to the poor child. As far as Huck was concerned, Bethany was the one responsible for killing their mother. Not that he’d seemed to care much about their mother until she was gone. 

Cora suspected her father would continue to ignore Bethany until they tried to leave. The minute he saw her as a bargaining chip, he’d squeeze Cora for every penny. But she had no extra pennies to spare.

She supposed there was always the option of taking her without his permission, though the thought of what he might do if he caught them made her nervous. Huck was a lazy, good-for-nothing drunk, but he had a mean streak and a habit of rallying when he was angry. If they ran, they’d have to run far, and that took money too.

She added soap and filled the laundry tub with water while she considered the possibility. For many years, Cora had been earning extra money doing laundry for some of the ladies in town—those who were wealthy enough to pay her but not quite wealthy enough to hire a full-time maid. But recently many of those same women had been buying automatic washers and Cora’s services were in less demand than ever.

Which was another consideration in leaving town. The money seemed to be coming even slower these days. She’d only managed to save $88.67 so far, but would need at least $200 for bus tickets and renting a room, plus a little extra to see them through until she managed to find regular work. Maybe at a bakery, if she was lucky. Though she’d be willing to do just about anything as long as it meant she wouldn’t have to deal with Butch and her father ever again.

The fact was, $88 just wasn’t enough to safely leave. Maybe they could do it on $150, but she was nowhere near even that. How long would it take to earn the rest? If she picked up an extra odd job or two and tried to cut back on their expenses it might go faster. She could mend her dresses to make them last longer, and let the hem out on Bethany’s for at least another year. They didn’t really need bologna every week, did they? Butch would complain, but she could cut that back to once a month and can some jelly from the berries this summer for sandwiches. It wasn’t him paying for it.

And perhaps she’d have better luck finding more work in town now that a few people had trusted her with some of their mending and baking. When she’d first tried after graduation, almost no one would even speak to her—not with her father’s reputation staining her last name. Those who hadn’t slammed the door in her face had laughed in it instead. But now … perhaps it was worth trying again. If she had steady work, her savings would grow so much faster.

She couldn’t concentrate any longer. Cora stood and wiped her wet hands down the front of her dress. She needed to feel the money in her hands, to verify the exact amount. It was a ritual that always comforted her when she was feeling anxious about her plans. She glanced around the yard to be sure no one was watching, then went to the east corner of the house and knelt down. There was a loose board at the back where she had been stashing all her treasures since she was a child.

The money would be safer in a bank, but that wasn’t possible. The day Cora had turned eighteen, she’d foolishly put on her best dress and walked into Briggs Bank—the only bank in town—hoping to set up an account for herself, but they refused to do business with her. In fact, they’d threatened to call the police if she didn’t leave the premises. Cora’s face still grew hot at the shame of the memory.

She pulled the board aside from the house and reached for her tin. Right away, she knew something was wrong. It felt too light. There was no clink of coins inside at all. She tore the lid back.

It was empty. 

Her stomach went weak. 

No. Please, please, no.

That was all she had. That was everything. Without it, they’d be stuck here forever. Who had taken it? How had they even known where it was?

Just then, the three men sauntered out of the house. She straightened quickly out of habit, trying to conceal the hiding spot. Then she realized she was looking at the most likely culprit.

She marched toward Butch. “Where’s my money? What did you do with it?”

Butch grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cora could see the lie in that smile. Sure as day, he was the one who had stolen from her.

“You
do
know. Give it back. Or so help me God, I’ll—”

Butch grabbed her arm. “You’ll what?”

Cora punched at him, but his fist was quicker than hers. Before she made contact, he had both of her wrists held tightly in just one of his meaty fists.

Tears stung her eyes as she struggled against him, but her efforts were useless. He was built strong, just like their father—bull-chested and over six feet tall to her scrawny five-foot-six. “You can’t just take it. You can’t. That’s everything I had.”

“It’s stealing from the family is what it is,” Huck said. 

Ralph stood at Butch’s side, gawping at them all.

“It wasn’t stealing. I earned every penny of that money.”

“And who owns the roof over your head? Who put the clothes on your back?” 

Clothes from five years ago, Cora wanted to say. And a house my mother inherited from her grandparents. Huck hadn’t had much to contribute to the family coffers for a very long time. And since he’d been saddled with paying restitution for the Briggs memorial, it had become nothing at all. 

“You should be grateful I don’t throw your sorry ass out onto the street. From now on, if you want to live here, you’ll pay your fair share in rent.”

Cora couldn’t believe what he was saying. The anger in her heart bubbled over. “I do everything for you. I cook and clean and buy all the groceries. I take care of Bethany and work myself sick trying to make ends meet. I’m not paying you a dime for rent. It’s you who should be paying me.”

Huck turned to Butch, still holding Cora by the wrists. “I think she needs to learn a little lesson, don’t you?”

Butch smirked. He dragged Cora over to the laundry tub and shoved her head into the water.

Cora gasped for air as he pulled her back up, dripping and soapy and humiliated. 

“You don’t steal from your family,” Huck said.

“I didn’t steal,” Cora spat back at him.

“Again,” Huck said, and Butch dunked her again.

When Cora surfaced, she saw Bethany running toward her from the wild field behind the house, chokecherries bouncing from her apron.

“Cora!” Bethany screamed.

“Go away,” Cora ordered, barely able to speak but terrified Bethany would get involved.

Bethany hesitated where she stood.

“Scoot!” Huck yelled, and she ran back into the brush, tears running down her cheeks. Cora let out a sigh of relief. 

“You ready to admit to what you did?” Huck asked.

“I did nothing wrong. And unless you want to cook your own dinner and clean your own sheets, I suggest you tell your empty-headed goon to let me go.”

Butch shoved her head under water without being told. And this time he held her there. 

Cora wasn’t prepared for it. There was no air in her lungs. But no matter how hard she thrashed, Butch held her under. It was everything she could do not to inhale. 

She wished with all her might she had the strength to fight him. Wished she could take the tub and toss the water in his face and show him what soap tasted like.

All of a sudden there was a
whoosh
and the water in the laundry tub flew past her face. 

Backward. 

Behind her. 

Onto Butch.

He released her wrists with a howl. “What the—how did …,” he sputtered. “What the hell did you just do?”

Cora didn’t know. 

All she knew was that she wanted it to happen. She wanted it to happen and it did happen.

She stood in front of Butch, shivering and tongue-tied. Ralph’s laughter broke the silence.

“Looks to me like she got one over on you, Butch,” Ralph said. “Your sister’s a spunky one. I like that in a woman.”

“Shut the hell up, Ralph. This ain’t about you.”

A shiny black ’49 Mercury drove up in front of the house, and they all turned to look. Danny sat behind the wheel. He was Butch’s age, a mechanic and a greaser that had been hanging out with Butch and Ralph since they were kids. His little sister, Ella, was Bethany’s best friend. He honked the horn in irritation. 

“You guys comin’ to the bar or what?” Danny asked.

Huck spit on the ground, then met Cora’s eye and patted his pocket. “First round’s on me, boys. What do you say?”

“Hell yes,” Ralph said, and turned to the car with Huck.

Butch looked from Cora to the car and back.

“This ain’t over,” Butch said before turning away. “I promise you that.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Clayton

Dr. Porter hovered over Clayton as he sat in bed, checking his pulse and temperature. He had only woken moments ago, and the haze was still clearing from his mind. 

“Cora. Where’s Cora?” he asked.

“Cora?” Dr. Porter asked.

Clayton lifted himself up on his elbows, his thoughts clearing. “The Murphy girl. Is she okay?” He had to know. The guilt was like a rock in his gut.

The young doctor looked at him curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“I, ah,” Clayton said, suddenly realizing how strange it was for him to be asking after a Murphy. “I just saw her. Before that thing. That fog. She looked … she didn’t look well.”

“Miss Murphy went home with her sister just an hour ago. She seemed to be in excellent health.”

Relief washed over Clayton’s face, but he tried to make his voice sound calm and unconcerned when he said, “Good. That’s good to hear.”

The curtain slid open and his parents entered.

“Oh, thank God,” his mother said, kneeling by her son’s bedside. Florence Briggs was usually dressed impeccably, but today she wore plain black cigarette pants and a tousled blouse. Her hair was hidden behind a chiffon scarf and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

“It’s okay, Mother,” Clayton said, squeezing her hand. “I’m fine.”

His father, Lowell, placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder. He was a tall man with a commanding presence. Clayton had never seen his father cry, but as he cleared his throat, Clayton knew it was to fight back tears.

“It’s good to see your strength recovered,” Lowell said. Clayton could see that even those few words took effort. His heart swelled in his chest. Maybe there was a chance to repair things with the old man after all.

“Thanks, Pop.”

“Meg and Will are okay, too,” Florence said. “Will woke up a few hours ago and is with Meg now.”

Clayton’s mind was reeling. Will and Meg had been ill? It felt like he’d woken up in a different world. He didn’t even know where he was.

But as he looked around, he realized he did, in fact, know. He recognized the tin tiles on the ceiling, the rich wood floors, the large emblem past the now-pulled-back hospital curtain. This was the town hall. There were hospital beds in the town hall.

Just as he had the thought, two uniformed officers—Army? Marines?—marched past, like their presence was completely normal in the small mountain town.

“Can someone please tell me what happened?” he asked.

Only a few short hours later, Clayton and Will stepped through the door of the Victorian mansion their family called home, having finally been cleared for release by Dr. Pinkerton. 

Their father and mother were there to greet them—standing underneath a banner that read, WELCOME HOME, DEAR BOYS. There were streamers hung from the ornate ceiling and fresh flowers everywhere. Artie Shaw was playing on the record player. And from the smell of it, the kitchen was bursting with all their favorite foods.

Florence was now dressed in her usual elegant attire—a full-skirted floral cocktail dress that shimmered in shades of aqua and grass green. Her hair was styled perfectly and her makeup applied. It was as if she’d been on a long, restful vacation instead of busy putting together the little celebration that had greeted them when they walked through the door.

“Mother, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Clayton said.

“Really. We’re fine,” Will added.

She kissed Clayton on the cheek, then Will. Clayton suspected it was to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. “I know, but I can’t turn down a good excuse for a party.” It was her way. Florence was a woman who celebrated life. Clayton had always felt closer to her, more similar. Just as Will and his father seemed to share a special bond.

Florence winked at him, and Clayton tried not to see the true meaning behind her words: how scared she had really been when both of her boys and her future daughter-in-law had gotten so ill. He resolved to try and make her forget it had ever happened.

“In that case, you owe me a dance,” he said, taking his mother by the hand and spinning her around in the middle of the grand front hall. She laughed, and soon she was cutting a rug with him to
“Back Bay Shuffle.”

He spun her out and shimmied, twisting his steps as he drew her back toward him, smiling.

“What is that?” Florence laughed. “I certainly didn’t teach you to dance like that.”

“The bop,” Clayton smiled. “I learned it at school.”

“It sounds like something you’d do in a fight,” Florence said. She was a good sport, though, and tried to mimic his movements—her face flushed and happy. “Looks like it, too.”