The Rise of Rachel Stark (2 page)

"I'm almost positive it would be the parents'
bedroom," Tabby said. "It would almost have to be. I think Rodney
would be in Rachel's bedroom taking care of the little kids. And
Rachel would be at the other end of the trailer in the parents'
bedroom, close to the bathroom."

"So we would enter the front door," Jimmy
said, "turn left into the kitchen slash hallway and walk straight
back through the living room and – "

"And you would walk right into the parents'
bedroom. Correct," Tabby said.

They fell silent. Sheldon headed toward the
winding gravel road that led up and out of the Chante Valley,
toward the town cemetery that overlooked the valley and then on
past the Stark place.

Finally Bull broke the silence.

"One more question," he said. He paused. "Do
you know whether there are any guns in that trailer?"

Suddenly they were like birds flying in
formation, soaring, diving and sweeping across the sky in unison as
if they were a single bird. The same thought ran through the kids'
minds simultaneously:

What are we doing? What. The. Hell. Are. We.
Doing?

"Not that I noticed," Tabby, after a long
pause, said in response to Bull's question.

"And you know," Sheldon said, "I've never
heard Rodney talk about going hunting or anything. Or his dad. Have
you guys?"

No, they said. But they fell silent again,
each struggling with their own fears and doubts. They knew that no
hunting didn't mean there weren't guns in the house. Finally,
Sheldon spoke.

"I sure hope we get there in time," he said.
Then, as if responding to his own remark, he pressed down on the
accelerator.

The snowfall was getting heavier.

Chapter
Two

East Tennessee

Rachel Stark was lying in bed, the very bed
she was conceived in all those years ago in East
Tennessee.

It seemed like such a faraway place now, East
Tennessee. She was at home there. It would always be her home, no
matter where else she might live, she thought. She was born in the
house she lived in until they moved to Nebraska last August. If she
could, she would move back to East Tennessee in a heartbeat.
Especially now, this moment as she lay in Mom and Dad's bed, she
longed to go back home.

She tried to count her blessings, knowing that
an "abortion doctor" would be arriving soon. Maybe if she thought
good thoughts, it would make everything easier. East Tennessee
always brought back good feelings.

The people in the Appalachian Mountains where
the Stark family lived, the "hill people," or "hillbillies" as some
folks called them, liked to say they lived in a different time zone
from the rest of the country. It wasn't a reference to the
geographic time zones that everybody knows about. It was a
reference to their way of life.

The hill people lived mostly on farms or in
very small towns. Because of the mountains they were somewhat
isolated. They never seemed to be in a hurry. They didn't know the
meaning of the word stress, because they had never experienced it.
They were friendly – "Southern hospitality" was not something they
put on when relatives from New York or Washington state paid them a
visit, it was something they wore on their sleeves every day. They
always had time for you, no matter what.

Yes, the summers in East Tennessee were hot
and humid, just like their first summer in Chante, for that matter.
But the winters back home were mild or cool, not at all like the
snow and subzero temperatures in Chante.

And Rachel missed the fiddle, the harmonicas
and the banjos of East Tennessee, and the folk music, the hillbilly
or country music you could listen to on the radio any time of day
or night. It's where she learned to sing, listening to and singing
along with the radio. Even when she was 5 years old, her mother
told her she was going to be a great singer someday. It made her
feel good when she thought of that now.

The Stark family lived in a small house in the
country in East Tennessee. Dad did odd jobs – small carpentry jobs,
house painting, handyman work. And like the pioneers of old, he
made most of the furniture in their house, even the bed Rachel was
lying in now. Mom made quilts and an occasional piece of pottery.
They were honest, hard-working people, Rachel believed, and they
were doing the best they could.

The Stark family, like most families in
Appalachia, had always been poor, although Rachel didn't realize it
until she was in high school and traveled to a music competition in
Nashville. The big city opened her eyes to a whole new
world.

But at home, things were getting worse. The
Stark family was really two families. For years it was Mom and Dad,
Rachel and Rodney. But when Rachel was 14 and Rodney was 12, Molly,
now 4, joined the family, then Eva, now 3, and finally Johnny, now
2. In three short years, the family suddenly outgrew Benjamin's
ability to support it.

So they decided to move. Dad "heard" that
Nebraska was a likely good spot for someone with his skills. The
state's economy seemed to be doing well in the wake of World War
II. And the picturesque little town of Chante, nestled in the hills
in northeast Nebraska, was sure to become a tourist destination, he
was told.

But things, as things sometimes are wont to
do, weren't working out as well as the family had hoped. Dad was
only moderately successful in finding jobs, and when winter set in,
the jobs disappeared entirely. He managed to get the family on the
welfare rolls, but getting by was a day-to-day struggle.

Rachel did not want it, this abortion. She
pleaded with Mom and Dad. When she was alone she cried.

But five kids were enough, more than enough,
she was told. They just couldn't afford another one. Besides, you
aren't married. You were raped. You don't want this baby. People
will talk. It's the worst thing that could happen to you, and we're
sorry. We know it wasn't your fault. But it happened. It's a
shameful thing. People will blame you. They always blame the woman.
We would have to move again. We can't afford to move again. You
can't walk around the school with a big baby bump. They won't allow
it. You would have to quit school. You don't want to quit school.
You're so smart and everything. And such a beautiful singer. So
this is all for the best, she was told.

But she was afraid, she said. Because women
die.

They had no answer for that. Just assurances.
Denials. False promises. You won't die. We found this doctor. She's
a woman. She understands. She knows what she's doing. She says it's
safe. You won't die. Would we do it if we thought you might die? We
wouldn't. You know that. Be brave. You have to trust us.

So in the end she said OK. Like she always
did.

But she did not trust them.

Because she knew. Women die.

Rachel had read about back alleys and wire
hangers. You won't die? The statistics say yes, they do. Too many
die. When abortion is banned, women die, she read. It made
sense.

She had nightmares. She was lying in a bed,
and what she saw, in more places than she ever could have imagined,
was blood. There was blood on the walls. There was blood on the
floor and on the ceiling. There was blood on her hands and arms,
and on her Mom and Dad's hands and arms.

But there was no blood on the doctor. Her
white smock was spotless. She just stood there looking at Rachel.
She was holding a bicycle spoke. Then an umbrella spoke. Then a
wire hanger.

So women die, she said, and they had no answer
for that.

Rachel told her Mom and Dad: To get to the
uterus, where the fetus is, the wire hanger, or the bicycle spoke,
or the umbrella spoke, has to pass through a tiny opening in the
cervix. A back-alley abortionist is going into that area blind, and
if she doesn't find that opening, she could easily puncture the
uterus and maybe sever one of the arteries there, arteries that
pump a lot of blood.

They told her to stop talking like
that.

Women die. They bleed to death.

And even if the abortionist does find that
small opening in the cervix, she has to know how to exert the right
amount of force to get the wire hanger into the uterus. Too much
force also could puncture the uterus and cause serious, even fatal,
bleeding.

They told her to stop talking like
that.

Rachel told her parents: Even if the wire
hanger manages to get safely into the uterus, she would be at high
risk of dying from an infection in a matter of days. Wire hangers
are not sterile. They are not even clean.

They told her to stop talking like
that.

So she did. Like always.

She wrote a song instead. Wrote it in her
head, like she did with many of the songs she wrote. When she was
done, she sang it to herself in a soft, whispery voice as she
played her guitar. It was a sweet song, she thought. Not at all
like life.

Chapter
Three

The Best Laid Plans …

The Galaxie, flexing its young muscles,
sprinted up Cemetery Road like a frightened fawn.

"Look," Sheldon said. "We have to make a plan.
What we're going to do once we get there. We're going to be there
pretty soon."

"Yeah," Bull said. "Any ideas,
Jimmy?"

"Well," Jimmy said. "First, we're going to
have to park some distance away from their trailer, so they won't
see or hear our car coming up the driveway."

"Right," Bull said.

"So then we walk to the trailer. If there's a
strange vehicle there – I think that old black Ford pickup and that
1952 Plymouth are the only vehicles the Stark family has,
right?"

"Yep, right," Tabby said.

"OK, if there's a strange vehicle there I'll
take down the license number, year, make and model, color,
etcetera," Sheldon said.

"OK, great," Jimmy said. "Then Bull, you bang
on the door as loud as you can and yell 'police!' "

"OK," Bull said. "And if they don't answer
right away, we'll break the door down."

Silence.

"This is so scary, guys," Tabby said. "So
scary."

"Yes, it is scary, I'll admit," Sheldon said.
"But remember, we have somebody inside, Rodney, who is on our side.
He knows we're coming. At least I'm pretty sure he knows. And if
he's in the kids' bedroom, which I absolutely think he would be,
you know, keeping the little kids quiet and out of the way, if they
aren't already asleep. Anyway, he's a lot closer to the front door
than the people in the parents' bedroom at the other end of the
trailer. He's going to open that front door for us immediately.
Does that sound right, Tabby?"

"Yes, but then what?" Tabby asked.

"Then Rodney tells us what's going on,"
Sheldon said, "and … and then we go from there."

He paused.

"We don't know exactly what we're going to run
into, it's true. I wish we did, but we don't. That's a fact. I
mean, we could run into an entirely different set of conditions.
You know, like maybe people aren't going to be where we think
they're going to be. Or maybe they told Rodney to take the little
kids and go somewhere. We just don't know. We're just going to have
to think on our feet, and we're going to have to think
fast."

"But our objective is simple," Jimmy said,
"and it is clear. If there is anything going on in the parents'
bedroom, or wherever Rachel is, we are going to go in there and put
a halt to it. Any. Way. We. Can. If that means physical violence,
then so be it. We have three big guys, maybe four if we count
Rodney. At most, there will be two guys in that bedroom, Benjamin
Stark, who might or might not stand in our way, and one other guy,
the guy doing the abortion, again who might or might not give us
trouble. But I'm confident the four of us can handle it. Five of
us, Tabby. You'll be taking care of Rachel."

Silence.

"Tell me again," Tabby said, "why we decided
to yell 'police' instead of actually calling the police. It's their
job. They know how to do these things."

"Two reasons," Sheldon said. "First, the
Chante town cop, poor old Harley Jones, doesn't have jurisdiction
up here. We're in Neehawk County now. Harley wouldn't be of any
help anyway. He's totally useless.

"Second, the county sheriff's office is in
Neehawk, half an hour away. Probably 45 minutes to an hour away on
a Christmas Eve when it's snowing like this. We don't have that
much time."

"Yes, but do we have the right to do this?"
Tabby asked. "Isn't this a private matter? Who do we think we are?
We're four teenagers, and we are planning to break into someone's
home and … and what … take over? Do we have the right to do
this?"

"No!" Jimmy shouted from the back seat. He
leaned forward and pounded his right fist into the palm of his left
hand as he spoke.

"We
don't
have the right! We have
the
duty!
For the
love of God, we have the duty! Rachel is our friend. We are
probably the only friends she has in the world! She has nobody but
us … nobody but us. We're all she has. We're the only ones she has
told about getting raped, and she is being forced to have an
abortion
she does not want!
And we cannot let her die. We cannot. We have to
do everything we can – "