Page 4 of Smuggler's Cove
“Jackson, you have gotten so tall since the last time I saw you!” Considering she hadn’t seen her nephew since he was three, it wasn’t an exaggeration.
Jackson didn’t know what to make of this situation. One thing was for certain, it would be an exceptionally long walk home.
The sprawling fields and almost deserted highway were vastly different from the concrete and rows of houses he was used to. His mother let him play in their backyard, which was surrounded by a chain-link fence. That was all he knew of the outdoors. This place was very different.
Aunt Betty lifted the suitcase, took Jackson’s hand, and walked them to her shiny green Oldsmobile sedan. Jackson was astute enough to realize it was much nicer than the car they had at home. Jackson climbed into the back seat with Kirby, his mother in front with Aunt Betty. They drove past more fields and groves of trees for several minutes until they came upon a long gravel driveway. Jackson had his face pressed to the window. “Where are we?” he said, half in awe and half in doubt.
“We’re at my house,” Aunt Betty said, as she glanced into the rearview mirror.
“Is that a cow?” Jackson asked, recalling a picture of one in a book.
“It sure is,” Betty replied. “We live on a farm.”
“With chickens?” Jackson became more interested.
“Yes, chickens. We even have a small pond in the back where you can fish.”
“Fish?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, fish. Has your father ever taken you fishing?” Betty asked innocently.
Jackson shook his head, then said, “No.” His father barely did anything with him. His father would go to work in the morning and come home smelling stinky just before dinner. Jackson didn’t know what the odor was until he heard his mother complain that he “stunk of booze.” Jackson didn’t know what booze was, but he knew it made his father mean, and his mother sad.
Aunt Betty seemed like a nice lady. She showed Jackson to a room down the hall. “This is where you and Kirby will be staying. Your mom will be right across the way.”
Jackson looked around the sparse room. There was a trundle bed, a small dresser, and a rocking chair. Betty showed Jackson how the bed worked. “You pull the bottom out, and now you have two beds. One for you, and one for your brother.”
Rita’s room had a little more flair with twin beds, a double dresser, an armoire, and a vanity. “This is the official guest room,” Betty said as she switched on the overhead light.
“Thank you, Betty. You are a life saver.” Rita wasn’t far from wrong.
“Uncle George and I stay upstairs, so you will have some privacy,” Betty announced. “I’ll let you freshen up before dinner. Uncle George should be back soon.”
“Aunt Betty?” Jackson got her attention. “What kind of farm is this?”
“Chickens and corn.” She smiled. “You can help Uncle George get some fresh eggs for breakfast. How does that sound?”
Jackson shrugged. He had no idea how to get eggs from a chicken.
Rita took a deep breath and commented, “Something smells delicious.”
“It’s freshly baked chicken pot pie. It has become one of my favorites. I finally figured out how to make a flaky crust.” Betty chuckled.
Jackson was beginning to think that everything was going to be okay.
* * *
Rita and Betty were raised in Paterson, New Jersey. Rita met Jackson’s father after the war. Enlistees were praised and lauded as they arrived back in the States. She saw him celebrating in a pub with some of his fellow military comrades. He was charming and nice-looking. And he was in uniform.
Within three months, he was discharged and got a job working for the railroad. After a year of dating, he decided it was time he took a wife, and time for Rita to marry. And so, they did. Two years later their first child, Jackson, Jr., was born.
Rita had no idea the man had a temper. A bad one. Even though they dated for a year, it was casual. No long vacations or weekends. If it were Saturday night, Rita and Jackson would go to a dance or a movie. There were no deep conversations. Ever. In retrospect, they barely knew each other before they got married.
It didn’t take long for the Mr. Hyde version of the charming Jackson Taylor to show his hideous side after consuming copious amounts of liquor. There was also a problem of some backroom gambling at the pub. Money was a constant issue.
Known as “J.T.” to his friends, Jackson Taylor was digging himself deeper into a hole that seemed almost impossible to get out of. You didn’t have to be a psychic to see that the future was not looking good for any of them.
Now Rita was on the lam with her two boys. She knew she was taking a substantial risk leaving her husband and running away, but her safety and the safety of her children was paramount.
