Burn Daughters Read online

  Grace came up out of her chair. “Where do you read from?” she asked me. Her tone was icy.

  “From your Bible,” I said.

  “That’s not what it says! Jesus stoned the whore! She deserved it. HE stoned her because she sinned! She was not worthy of His kingdom! She was bad!” My cage rattled. Grace’s voice boomed. Angry. Harsh. “You lie! You lie! You lie! You lie! You lie!”

  My hands turned the Bible over so she could see the pages from which I read. My voice trembled when I told her, “I don’t lie. Jesus didn’t condemn her.”

  “YOU LIE!” Spit flew from her mouth.

  I cringed and started reading again, hoping to convince Grace that what I was reading was what was printed on the page. She interrupted, screaming. “That’s not what father said!” Grace stumbled backward, caught herself and withdrew, muttering. “Whore’s lie. Father is always right. Everything father says is the gospel.”

  “No,” I told her through the wire. “Jesus modeled love and compassion for others.” She turned toward me and our eyes locked. “Your father lied.”

  Grace’s eyes turned glassy. Foamy white saliva gathered in the corners of her mouth. “You lie! You lie! You lie! Father doesn’t lie.” Her voice chilled my bone.

  My fingers curled around the wires, my forehead resting against the cage. I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “Grace, your father brainwashed you. He told you a lie…to keep you here…like you’re keeping us here. Please, let us go.”

  “You shut up…you shut up this instant!”

  Grace stormed from the room.

  I did not see her very much after that. She came and went through the front door. She called to her dogs. She started her tractor. She fed King. She talked out loud to herself. Sometimes she talked to somebody that only she could see.

  “You should be ashamed,” she’d say. “You’re going to burn in hell….!”

  I took it all in, the noises, and the silences, the smells and the isolation. Grace, King, the wired cage, the room. There were pictures drawn on the wall by the cage. If I scooted close enough, I could reach them with a hand and trace the lines. The images were etched in the paint by something sharp. A piece of broken wire, maybe? The edge of a fingernail? Made by someone else Grace caught in her cage for hours or possibly days, scratching at the paint on the wall.

  What happened to that person? What did Grace finally do to them? Was the person dead? And how many times had Grace kept someone prisoner, demanded they read to her?

  Questions with answers only Grace knew. As my eyes took in the drawings, I saw they told a story.

  “This drawing on the wall,” I said to Grace as she worked in her kitchen that night. “Who is this person pushed to the side…away from the other two? Grace ignored me. “Is this…” I studied the drawing up close, running my fingers over the stick figure images. “Is this your mother, Grace?”

  Her spine stiffened. She slammed a lid onto a pot.

  “This one is your father…and you, together, side by side.” The father towered over the daughter. The daughter was frowning. The mother stick figure was standing a fair distance away.

  “What are these?” I asked. “Raindrops?’ My throat squeezed shut. I had to force a hard swallow to get anything past the lump at its base. “No. It’s tears,” I said. “It’s huge teardrops falling around your family.”

  That was the moment I realized Grace did not build the cage.

  Reverend Rufus Alexander Keller built the cage…to imprison his daughter.

  Grace was the stick figure girl on the wall. Like me, she had been caged. Caged and terrified, drawing pictures to help make sense of her life.

  April, 1947

  That daughter of mine, dear ol’ Jezebel! I have come into her! Her virginity exists no more. Great tribulation my Jezebel has brought upon us! Have mercy and forgiveness. I know no other woman intimately in my trying hours. I have succumbed to the devil. What will I do with her now?

  Reverend Rufus Alexander Keller

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tuesday:

  My gut flared with pain that morning. My muscles burned from lack of something to eat and drink. I sat up, scared to lay down, that if I did I would never wake again. My sister was still out there, too. And Clay. I knew it to be true. They both had to be feeling every bit as hungry as me, and I became overwhelmed with guilt for having fallen asleep when I should have been working on a way out of my cage.

  Grace slept in the chair all night. Chin to her chest, King asleep by her feet. The Shepherd looked like any other dog right then. Calm. Muzzle to the floor. His eyes shut, his heavy breaths fogging the wood floor by his black, wet nose. I shut my eyes for what felt to be only a moment before sunlight brightened the blankets hanging in the windows.

  ***

  Grace gave new meaning to “the preacher’s daughter”.

  I sat up quickly when the front door burst open.

  Grace drug in a dog by a hunk of fur on the back of its neck. It was the skittish Border Collie, and it was not happy to be here. Its nails dug into the wood floor, it whimpered, and its tail was tucked between its hind legs.

  “Little bitch, should’ve never got with child,” Grace muttered under her breath, “What am I going to do? Gonna get rid of them, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Grace stormed over to my cage, clutching the dog, her eyes filled with fury. She slung the dog down, ignoring the fact that I was even there.

  “You’re the bitch!” I told Grace, clutching the wires of the cage. “You’re the cruelest, heartless, meanest piece of shit I’ve ever met.”

  Grace stopped cold, a vein throbbed in her forehead. She jabbed a finger in my direction. “You’d do well to keep your mouth shut!” She released the dog, and kicked it into a corner of the room. The Collie circled, trying to find a comfortable place to set her abused body. It had a look on its face of confusion and despair.

  “Even your dogs hate you!” I rushed on, filled with overwhelming emotions I couldn’t contain even if I wanted to. It was to the point that I no longer cared what Grace did to me. I hated her. I hated everything about her. “They should hate you. You’re devoid of love.” I paused long enough to suck in a breath, to refuel. “You can’t love. You don’t know how.” It was the truth. The horrible truth. Grace didn’t know how to show empathy. How could she when she’d never been shown any?

  Grace hurled a bowl of water at the cage. “Shut your mouth! Shut your filthy mouth!”

  The Border Collie panted, licking its bottom. It was restless. Its ribs were visible along its back, its belly swollen, and I realized it was pregnant.

  Grace shut me out. She sat there callous, watching the dog.

  The first pup came. The momma carefully removed the placenta. So kind and nurturing despite how Grace treated her.

  Grace festered. Agitated. If she showed any inkling of compassion toward any of the female dogs, I believe Grace’s world would cave in.

  Time passed. Another puppy came, and another. Until there were five.

  The last one wouldn’t nurse. “You need to help it,” I told Grace.

  Grace picked up the puppies one by one, examining them closely.

  “Male.” She placed the puppy in her lap.

  “Another male.” The tone of her voice held no emotion. The puppy was placed in her lap.

  Then Grace picked up the one that wouldn’t nurse. “Female,” she sneered, “Runt. Too weak.” The puppy was dropped into her lap.

  She held up the forth. She held the puppy high in the air, examining it, then cooed, “Female. A healthy baby girl.” She nestled it against the momma dog, and the little pup began to nurse. Sucking sounds filled the room.

  Grace didn’t bother with checking the last, adding it immediately to the ones in her lap. She gathered up the squirming puppies from her lap and placed them in a tin pan. She stood and carried the pan outside. The momma dog got up, leaving her one nursing pup to search for the warm softness of her belly. Grace coldly slam
med the door placing a barrier between her and the momma dog.

  The dog stood with her nose on the crack at the bottom of the door, waiting on her babies. Silence filled the room. The dog circled and sniffed. She whined. When there was no response the momma let out of horrible howl that seemed to ache as hung heavy and weighted in the air between us. She dug at the crack.

  “I’m sure Grace is going to bring your puppies back,” I reassured the Collie. “No one is that cruel.”

  My stomach knotted not knowing what to expect. I had no idea what Grace intended to do. Then the dinner bell rang. My heart sank. Claws scamper on the porch boards. Shadows moved quickly along the crack under the door.

  A high-pitched whine escaped from the momma dog’s mouth, familiar with the sound of the dinner bell. If animals could weep, that momma dog was surely doing it.

  When Grace returned the tin pan was empty. She tossed it on the counter in the kitchen.

  “What have you done!” I screamed. My body shook, tears rolled down my cheeks.

  The momma dog whimpered, sniffing the spot where she’d given birth. She went to the counter where the pan sat and stood on her hind legs, sniffing the edges of the tin. Hopeful.

  The dog’s whining and persistence annoyed Grace. You could tell it got-all-over her, that it made her very uncomfortable or maybe even…remorseful. Whatever emotions the dogs longing caused in Grace she quickly squashed it all out. Gathering a handful of rubber bands, Grace took a strong hold of the momma dog. The dog fought: ducked and tensed, lowering her stiff bottom to the floor, her body rigid. Grace continued, unaffected.

  “Get off her!” I shook the cage. “Leave her alone. Haven’t you done enough?”

  “Be still.” Grace warned the dog as she wrapped rubber bands around the its mouth, and around its tail. “That’ll rot it all off, ‘n keep it quiet,” Grace muttered.

  “How can you be so heartless?” I sobbed.

  Grace looked from the dog to me, and grabbed it again by the scruff of the neck. She drug the dog toward the cage.

  “You feel so sorry for her,” Grace spit, opening the cage door. “Take her.” Grace shoved the dog inside.

  “No, please no!” I scrambled to the very back of the cage. “I’m terrified of dogs. Please!”

  Grace snapped the lock in place.

  “You’re a monster,” I cried.

  “If I were a monster,” Grace said, her voice icy. “I would have fed you to the dogs.”

  July, 1948

  Grace spit out another bastard child. I’m mournful calling it bastard child for it has a father. But another useless girl! The damnation! Burn Daughters of iniquity. You, the forebodement of debauchery! I swiftly disposed of that evil one from her belly. Caged Grace so as to not be tempted to touch her until she is rightfully purified from her bleeding. No other choice. The damnation! I cannot seem to do anything with the girl. She is possessed by a demon. I am sure of it! I see it in her eyes, windows to the soul, the unnatural way about her, her sinful lust to be held by a man, any man.

  Reverend Rufus Alexander Keller

  Chapter Eighteen

  I couldn’t believe it. Grace cradled the little female puppy. “You’re so beautiful. My beautiful little girl.” She kissed its tiny head.

  The puppy searched Grace’s coat, looking for momma’s milk, its eyes not yet open.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe. Here with me. I’m going to be your mommy. Take care of you. I’m going to keep you safe from those monsters over there. They can’t hurt you. I won’t let them. I’m a good mommy.”

  The momma dog’s muzzle lay still on the floor. Her eyes were flat and completely uninterested in me, in anything.

  Grace reached for the dropper sticking up in a glass of warm milk. She tenderly nudged the tip of the dropper into the puppy’s mouth. “Come on. You have to eat if you want to be healthy and strong.” The puppy made little mewing sounds. “Oh, my beautiful baby girl.”

  Grace sat down in a rocking chair, still holding the pup. She rested her head against the chair back and rocked.

  Satisfied.

  Oblivious.

  Corrosive. Yeah, that was the best word to describe Grace Keller…Corrosive.

  She rocked and hummed. Rocked and hummed. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. The picture that came to my mind was of an infant, crying, its mother doing whatever it took to quiet the child. “Where is your baby,” I asked Grace. “The one your father stole from you?”

  Grace cradled the puppy closer to her chest, almost crushing it. The puppy made a sound of discomfort not knowing it was in the arms of a lunatic. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. My body stiffened and I regretted, my questions. I wanted to retract them. To take them back for the puppy’s sake. But then Grace relaxed and returned to gently rocking as if the question had never been asked. What did he do to your baby?

  She rocked that little puppy until it was quiet and asleep. The momma dog sighed and closed her eyes. I lay my head against my hands and shut my eyes too. I allowed myself to be lulled by the sound of the rocking.

  Rock me, rock me, back and forth, back and forth.

  Comfort in rhythm.

  “I’m a good mommy,” Grace cooed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The momma dog had her corner. I had mine.

  The dog labored to breathe. It tried to work off the rubber band wrapped around its mouth, clawing at her muzzle, but couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but I can’t.” The dog couldn’t hurt me as long as she was muzzled.

  The dog whimpered. She was pretty, even though her thick black and white coat was in need of a good brushing. Her brown eyes were big and sad, and so human. She was grieving, grieving for her lost pups.

  “I understand how you feel. People can be really mean,” I told the dog. “Don’t look at me like that. You have no idea. These neighbors of ours once assured me their dog wouldn’t bite. I trusted them enough to come inside their fenced yard. Well...their dog attacked. I guess that makes me scared of you.”

  The momma dog stood up, circled in her corner, and lay down with a sigh.

  “I’m sorry, but I have nightmares about being attacked by dogs, ripped apart. I just can’t help you.”

  The rubber bands were a jumbled mess, white fur caught between them.

  “What the woman said about tails…I don’t think it’s true, and your nose isn’t really going to rot off. I promise. Help is going to show up, eventually.” I blew strands of my own wayward hair out of my eyes. “When it does, I’ll make sure they don’t forget about you. This is not right. None of this is right.”

  The front door swung open. Both of us flinched. Grace entered, her black boots muddier than usual. She sat a shovel upright by the door. The shovel was as dirty as her boots.

  I crawled to the side of the cage and gripped the wires, watching her every movement. “What have you done?” My voice was shrill. “Did you hurt my sister?”

  She strode toward the cage. Her look was grim. If Grace ever smiled, her face would crack in half, I was sure of it.

  There was something in her hand. She reached through the wires. Please, no! Don’t come near me. Stay away, you unpredictable kook! I scampered backward, barreling into the dog. The dog did nothing to me, only tried to make an exit by clawing at the back of the cage.

  “Get away from me!” I shouted. “Don’t touch me!”

  Her lips tightened, colorless. “You shut up. Shut up now. I’m helping you.”

  “Helping me,” I scoffed. “If you want to help, let me go.”

  She released what was in her hand. Leaves fluttered to the floor. “Chew,” she ordered.

  “No,” I told her back.

  “Chew the leaves from the coca plant. It will make you feel warmer, stronger.” Grace turned and stalked out of the room.

  Silence. There was only the dog and me. I drew up my legs, hugging my knees, defeated. I was ready for home, even if it wasn’t
much of one. I could make things different. I could speak up. I could have a voice. Momma would have to listen to me about Frank. She would just have to.

  Resting my head against the cage, I turned my head toward the collie. “I’ll make momma listen,” I told the dog.

  The momma dog tried to force her mouth open. She wrestled with the rubber band around her muzzle. It looked like she was in pain. What if her tongue was caught between her teeth? What if she was bleeding? How selfish could I be? How cruel? As cruel as Grace?

  “If I help you,” I said, moving to my knees. “Will you bite me?”

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm my pounding heart. My trembling fingers stretched toward the dog, but as I was about to touch her the dog flattened her ears and shied away from me.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The dog shook. I returned to my corner.

  “It’s okay,” I repeated quietly. My soft words seemed to calm the dog and made me think of Evie. My songs once calmed her. I began to hum Silent Night. Momma never sang us lullabies and Christmas carols were all I knew.

  The dog lifted her head from her paws. Her ears stood, turning to catch the sound of my voice.

  I finished the song and spoke again to the dog. “Why don’t you let me touch you so I can help you?”

  The dog laid down, resting her muzzle on the floor. Her brown eyes rolled up at me. She seemed calm. I reached for her ever so slowly. The Border Collie shot back, hitting the side of the cage, frantic to get away, to escape, but there was no escape for either of us.

  I moved back to my corner and sighed. “It’s going to take some time,” I told the dog. For us both.

  The dog clawed at the band binding her mouth, working her paw down over her nose as if that action would remove the band. “Come on girl, let me help you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not Grace.” I extended the back of my hand and waited, holding my breath.

  I didn’t withdraw my hand, even when the muscle started to burn from holding my arm out. I would wait and be patient. The dog had to trust me sooner or later. We were in this together. Her and I.