A Bridge Named Susan Read online

  I barely had time to correspond with my own folks. I wrote a little each day. Neen came to visit her family two times a week and took a letter to my folks in the Orchards on her way home. Mama sent letters back when Neen made the return trip. I had no time to be lonely. I was excited to read their letters and hear how things were going in their new place. I hoped they were being honest with me. I sent letters to other family members with Neen to be mailed in our box five miles away by the lumber mill. The cost of two cents a letter was worth it. No one writes to you unless you write to them. Paris stopped on his way home from work to pick up the mail.

  Winter hit fiercely that first year down by the riverside. Temperatures plummeted to thirty-five degrees below zero. Even the old rooster’s comb froze, and Mother Chase had to bring him inside, along with five laying hens.

  She came one evening to see how Tom’s sore throat was. “What’s that sound I hear?” She went into the kitchen and discovered a frozen pipe broken under the sink. Water was pumped up to the houses from the river, and our entire line was frozen. Our water supply was gone. We’d have to get water from the big house or melt ice from the river.

  In two days, the entire river froze over so deep, you could walk all the way across on it. That crazy kid, Paris, did that—just to say he did.

  Five days later, I wrote to the folks:

  “The river, or rather the ice, sure has been breaking today, cracklin’ and poppin’. Boy! It sounds like a giant with arthritis, yawning and getting up from his nap. We can see it piled on up the river a ways. When it melts, Neen and I’ll sing and sing, ‘River Stay ’Way from My Door.’ It’s pushed the mill logs right up on the bank. Tom, Paris, and Walt are using log chains to pull them on up to the house for firewood and building fences.”

  Four days later, the thaw caused the river to rise a foot. By the end of the next week, the water rushed by three feet from our backdoor.

  Chapter 45

  The Nightmare

  My worst nightmare came the next summer when Mother Chase left to visit Frankie in Portland. She would be gone one month. Paris now worked in road construction and moved out. The garden was my responsibility. It wasn’t that I wanted to shirk my duty. I could carry the water, I could weed. I was a hard worker, but I was overwhelmed by how I was going to do all that with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide when left alone with Tom’s father, the only other human being in this deserted place.

  He drove Mother Chase to the train station early in the morning. He didn’t come home that day or the next or the next. I guessed he found a lady friend, but of course, I had no proof. Each day, I hauled water like mad, hoping to get done before he returned. Each night, I lay awake, wondering if tomorrow would be the day.

  “Tom, is there a key to this house?” I questioned on the third day.

  “S’pect any skeleton key would fit that lock,” he answered. There was no more discussion. A skeleton key? It was long, skinny, and had two prongs on the end. One key would open any lock. Even if I had a skeleton key, so would my father-in-law. What good would it do? A key wasn’t the answer.

  About eight o’clock on the evening of the fourth day, the disturbing sound of a car coming from the direction of Lewiston rumbled up the narrow dirt road. He was coming. What would I do? Tom would be home in an hour after evening milking. A lot could happen in an hour. I rushed into the house, closed all the windows and doors, pulled a dresser in front of the backdoor, and shoved the second-hand settee against the front door. Sitting on the floor, I listened and prayed as the house grew dark with the setting sun. Crickets were the only sound.

  The creaking of the door to his house caused me to scramble into the darkest corner and curl in a fetal position. I counted, only to fifty, before the door opened again. The car door slammed, the house door again complained. What’s going on? Has he brought someone else to the house? I almost wished he had.

  The silence hurt my ears as I strained to hear sounds. Then it happened. The door opened and footsteps could be heard tramping through the dry grass. I held my breath, hoping he would think I’d left. A flashlight flickered through the window, stalking me as I huddled in the corner nearest the window. Heavy steps on the porch, then a sharp rap of knocks. Silence, then more persistent rapping. I had stopped breathing. My heart was in my throat.

  “Susie? Are you home, Susie?” My ears couldn’t understand the sounds. My mind wouldn’t accept the voice. It wasn’t a man’s voice. It was the voice of Neen. “Yes,” I squeaked. “Is that you, Neen?”

  “Are you all right, Susie? You sound like you’re sick? You don’t have a light.” She rattled the doorknob and tried to push in.

  “Give me a minute.” I began tugging the settee away from the door, opening it a crack to make sure she was alone. I saw her in the evening shadows with something in her hand. I flung open the door, never so glad to see anyone in my life. My hug was genuine. “I’m so glad it’s you!”

  “What’s going on here?” She flashed the light around the room.

  I shoved the settee into its proper place. “Have a seat. I’ll light the lamp.”

  “Father went up to Stanley’s for a few days. He’ll be back day after tomorrow. I came to make sure the groceries were stocked up and put fresh water in the pail. He refuses to do woman work, but when he gets hungry enough, I bet he’ll fix himself a bowl of cereal or else be coming over here for meals.”

  All I could respond with was, “Oh.” It would have been kind to tell me so I didn’t have to live in terror all these days.

  “Now, tell me why you had the doors blocked and the lights out.”

  I poured out my heart to this woman I knew would understand. She listened then quietly responded. “Oh, Susie. I know your fear. Been there myself. Remember, I lived with him for seventeen years and finally married Otis to escape his abuse. I couldn’t take it any longer. He’s mean and selfish, a sick old man who can’t control himself. I thought it was just us girls he tortured. How dare he go after you too. You’re so good for my brother. Father was so mean to him all his life. I was surprised Tom wanted to live next to him. You know what, after Tom goes to work, I’ll come down and stay with you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “What about Otis? Doesn’t he need your help?”

  “Otis was a bachelor for twenty years before he married me. He can take care of himself. He’ll understand.”

  We heard Tom’s old car coming up the road. I realized I hadn’t even started his dinner. “Never mind.” Neen got up. “I made a potpie for Father. I’ll bring it over and we’ll share it.”

  “Thank you.” I looked at her with tears in my eyes. “Please, don’t tell Tom any of this.”

  “It’s our secret,” she said as she stepped out the door. I hurried to set the table for three.

  Chapter 46

  Terror

  My guardian angel, Neen, came every day. We worked together on the garden, cleaned both houses, cooked, and laughed together. Tom’s father wouldn’t speak, only grunted, nodded, or shook his head. The silent treatment! Now, I understood where the silent treatment came from when a situation couldn’t be handled. Neen ignored him. I followed her example. He should have been happy to have a place to sleep, company, and good food on the table.

  The Chases had moved off the farm when all the children married or left. It was too much work for broken-down bodies in their late sixties. He would be seventy his next birthday. Stubborn as a mule. He refused to accept the fact that he was old. He used fear and aggression to control. No wonder his wife left for a month.

  Two days before Mother Chase’s return date, Neen didn’t come. Panic seized me. Should I run away? No trees or bushes—no place to hide. The nearest house was three miles. Could I run that far? I couldn’t swim, so the river wasn’t an option.

  Again, I barricaded myself in our house, shut the windows, pulled the shades, sat, and waited. It was dar
k, stifling hot, and suffocating. The thermometer reached one hundred ten degrees. On hands and knees, I pulled the water bucket with the dipper from the kitchen to where I crouched in the darkest corner of the living room. I made myself drink sparingly. I didn’t know how long my supply had to last. I dozed now and then, waking with a start at every noise.

  Fear does strange things when it takes over the mind. I began to see things, moving things, in the darkness of the house. Strange demon-like characters floated in and out of my hiding room. I sensed them grabbing and holding my arms and legs. When I forced my limbs to move, it was slow and jerky like in silent picture shows. My dry, swollen throat could barely swallow sips of water from the dipper. Dry eyes stared into the dimness. Blinking was painful. Was I going to live through this day?

  Into this foreboding situation, a quiet voice spoke in my mind: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” Yes, I remembered reading that someplace in the Bible. Fear has replaced my psaltery, weak faith, hobbling even my prayers. Was this evil real or a creation of my imagination?

  A knock! “Susie, you’ve been hiding in this house all day. Come spend some time in the fresh air with me.” It was him!

  My mind shouted, “No! It’s not my imagination.”

  “Come on, sweetie pie. It’s just you and me. We need each other. Gets mighty lonely out here.”

  I remained silent.

  “You probably want me to come in. A woman’s always more comfortable in her own place.”

  Silence, silence, silence.

  “I know you been wantin’ a baby. That husband of yours is no good for stuff like that, you know. Fact is, he’s no good for anything. What you ever saw in him’s beyond me.”

  Silence!

  “Come on, let me in. I can show you how to make real, good babies and lots of them.”

  Tears streamed down my hot cheeks, my eyes burned with fire. “God, where’s my Neen angel?” I inquired silently.

  I was shocked by the breaking glass in the bedroom. I moved with miraculous speed to slam the room’s door and shove the table against it. Climbing in the window, he swore as he cut himself on the shards of broken glass. What now? I pulled the settee away from the front door enough to get the door open and slip out. I heard him pounding and shoving the bedroom door open. My stiff legs carried me to the empty house next door. As I shut the door, my hand felt a bolt on the inside. Sliding it in place, I dashed to the other door. Yes, there was one there. Better yet, I discovered a closet with a dead bolt on the inside. Not even questioning why it was there, I entered the tiny space, locked the door, lost my sense of balance in the pitch-black darkness and sat hard on the rough floor.

  Silence. But only for a moment. I could hear Tom’s father cussing, throwing things, pounding on walls, turning over furniture. What would be left of the precious few things we owned? The crashing and banging came to a stop. The door flew open with great force, splintering as he kicked it repeatedly. Silence. I knew, beyond a doubt, that if he ever caught me, his anger would result in my last breath.

  I waited. I realized in that moment I had waited most of my life. Waited for Mama’s acceptance, waited to grow up, waited to be good enough, waited to get married, waited for my husband’s trust, waited for a real home, waited for a child—now, waiting for someone to save me. I fell asleep waiting.

  The sound of a motor woke me. It was followed by a man yelling and screaming. Where was I? Why was it so dark? I tried to stretch. I couldn’t even unfold my legs. In alarm, I began to feel the walls. My hands ran into spider webs and protruding nails. Then I remembered, I’m in a safe place—a shelter. Without my angel, Neen, God had given me protection.

  “Where is she? What have you done with her?” Tom’s shouts were followed by what sounded like a fist jab. “I’ll beat the daylights out of you like you used to do to me if you’ve hurt her!” This time, a slap. “Tell me where she is!”

  “I don’t know.” I heard Tom’s father breathing hard in between words. “I—I never saw her.”

  I knew it must be getting dark if Tom was home. In mid-August, the days are getting shorter. I felt for the bolt and slipped it off. The dusky house allowed me to find my way to the backdoor and slip the second bolt. I felt an urgency to reach Tom before he killed his father. My wooden legs moved slowly toward the two of them in the back of the house.

  “Stop, Tom. I’m here.” I called. Tom whirled around, took three steps, and I collapsed, sobbing into his arms. “No more hitting, Tom. Please, no more hitting.” As much as I feared his father, I had a strong reverence for life. Even cruel creatures have a right to live, with the possibility of change.

  “I’m so sorry, Susie. I’m so sorry.” He held me tight. I sobbed on his shoulder. My husband, my hero. A memory of Papa and chickens flashed through my mind. Yes, there is a man who loves me as much as the first man in my life.

  Chapter 47

  Aftermath

  When he released me, Tom wasted no time forcing his father into the passenger seat of his own car and throwing some clothes and items into a bag. “I’ll be back as soon as I deposit this so-and-so at Grace’s. She can do whatever she wants with him. He’ll never be back here!” He jumped behind the wheel and sped off.

  I watched till the car was out of sight. “Thanks for sending my hero to save me. God, calm, my husband. That little narrow road’s no speedway, not made for driving with out-of-control anger.”

  I ventured into our house. Disaster—total disaster. In his rage, Tom’s father had not left one thing unturned. In the dim light, I began with the big items: righted the settee, the table with a broken leg, the chairs that seemed to be in one piece, the dresser drawers dumped all over the floor, and the one living room chair. What to do with the rest? It was too dark to see, but I had to keep moving. I grabbed my straw broom and began to sweep. I was relieved to hear Tom drive in. He still had his father’s car. That meant there was no way he could come back. I was safe—at least for now.

  “I called Neen while I was at Grace’s,” Tom shook his head. “She told me about coming every day to stay with you. I had no idea he’d been threatening you.”

  “I … I didn’t want you to worry or get upset.” Neen had told. Now, I would be the one to receive the silent treatment. Why did she break her promise? I had to ask, “Why didn’t she come today?”

  “Otis fell off the ladder this morning pickin’ peaches. She had to take him to the hospital. He’s gonna be all right. Just bruised up. Nothin’ broken.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry.”

  It was dark now. Tom went to his car and got a flashlight, exposing the mess. He shook his head. “We can’t stay here tonight. Let’s go to Neen’s. Tomorrow’s my day off. We’ll come clean up.” We slowly walked out to the car in the trail of light. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts during the half-hour drive.

  Next thing I knew it was nine o’clock in the morning. I woke to the smell of coffee and quiet voices in the kitchen. We’d slept in what we had on; hadn’t brought a change of clothes. What a sight I must be. I ran my fingers through my hair then washed my face in the bowl next to the Daveno. Aw, that felt good. My stomach thundered, and I realized we hadn’t eaten last night. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. The smell of bacon called from the kitchen, along with the sizzling of fried eggs and the flapping of pancakes being turned over.

  Otis—Teddy, as Neen affectionately called him—sat at the end of the four-person table. He had a swollen eye and lip, and his arm in a sling. He gave me a brave smile when I came in. “Good morning,” he whispered. I could tell it was an effort for him to talk.

  “Good morning. I didn’t mean to sleep all day. Someone should have woken me.” Neen put a big plate of food in front of me. “Thanks. I’m sorry about your accident. What a good thing nothing’s broken!” I ate, trying not to shove it all in my mouth at once
. I noticed Neen was tight-lipped this morning. Maybe she was just worried about her husband.

  Returning to our place was a jolt. It looked like the scene of a barroom brawl. I grabbed the straw broom and began sweeping. The tinkling glass of dishes, mementos, vases, and pictures filled the house. I stumbled over pillows and fought with feathers flying from their rips, picked up bloodstained clothes marked with dirty bootprints, and threw out curtains and shades torn from the windows. Tom broke out the rest of the glass in the bedroom window and boarded it up until we could afford some glass. How hot it was going to be without a window to open at night!

  With the temperature reaching one hundred and ten degrees, we walked into the river, up to our waists. Even my fear of water was overcome by my body’s need to cool off. I dipped under three times. Refreshed, I grabbed a pail and watered the wilting garden. I must keep it alive for Mother Chase. She took such pride in it. She would be home tomorrow. Tomorrow? How would we explain her husband not being here? Who would pick her up at the train? Where would she live? What would she think of me? Would I be blamed? I was full of questions but had no answers. Should I ask Tom?

  I made a salad from the garden and a pot of soup at the Chases’ house to keep from heating up our place. We had two bowls that weren’t broken, and of course, the silverware just had to be washed. After dinner, I dared to venture, “Tom, what’s going to happen when your mother gets back tomorrow?”

  “Nothing,” he grunted.

  “Will she come here or go to Grace’s?”

  “Taken care of,” was his reply.

  “I see.” Yes, I saw. I saw it wasn’t any of my business, and I needed to keep my nose out of their family affairs. I liked Mother Chase. I would do my part by keeping her garden alive and see she got at least half of it. The rest was up to the Chase family—the now-silent Chase family.