Page 4 of Patch's Bride
A sick feeling swirls in my stomach. He’s definitely talking about me, trading me to pay off a debt. I immediately realize that doesn’t make sense. Maybe he’s offering for me to work and payoff his debt. Although that makes more sense, it doesn’t explain why he’s talking about me being pretty like my mom.
I hear the familiar sound of a glass thumping down on the desk. He’s drinking again. He mumbles something else I don’t catch and the laugh that follows is low and ugly. “My daughter will do as I say. Don’t you worry about that. You’ll get your beautiful blushing virgin. As long as my debt is cleared, I’ll deliver her to you kicking and screaming if I have to. What you do with her after that is no concern of mine.”
The truth slams painfully through my brain. My stepfather is using me as payment for some kind of debt. There is no mention of marriage or anything like that. It sounds like he’s just going to give me to some stranger.
I back away from the door, careful not to make a sound. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m shaking. All I can think of is getting away before my stepfather makes good on his promise. I quickly creep upstairs and gather up everything that’s important to me and begin filling an oversized duffel. My hands are shaking as I start with a few outfits, then dump in my makeup and empty my entire jewelry box into the top, everything I was ever gifted and what I inherited from my mother. These items are too precious to leave behind. Flipping the jewelry box over, I grab the envelope taped to the bottom and throw it into the duffel, along with my purse.
Pocketing my car keys, I open the window and climb out, using the emergency ladder my mother bought in case things ever went from bad to worse and we needed to escape. When I hit the ground, I run straight to my car, throw my duffel bag into the passenger seat, and climb behind the wheel. Firing up the engine, I ease out of the driveway and head to the only person I think will help me.
***
While I drive across town, I realize my mom’s rosary is still twisted around my hand. I have to admit this whole situation seems surreal. I keep thinking that I must have misunderstood, but no, he said it all out loud and in no uncertain terms. I can’t believe this is happening to me.
When I reach Sycamore Street, I turn into the driveway of my mom’s best friend. Caroline Patchett is a good woman. She’ll help me. I just know she will. Even now her kind face rises in my mind. I can see her warm brown eyes and dark hair that is always pulled back in a neat French twist.
The porch light is off and it’s late, but I know they’ll answer if I knock. I’ve spent many afternoons here while the two of them visited. Most recently, my mother and I had been coming for her book club, and we helped with community food drives together a couple of times a year. My mother always said if she had one true friend in this world, it was Caroline Patchett. That’s why she made her my godmother all those years ago.
My trembling hand presses the doorbell, not just once but a couple of times in rapid succession, because I’m still panicking. I hear footsteps approaching on the other side. Only when I see Mrs. Patchett standing there in her cute little old lady pajamas, do I realize it’s almost eleven. Before I can speak, she notices my expression and reaches for me.
“Elizabeth. Honey, what on earth are you doing out so late?”
Her eyes drop down to the duffel slung over my shoulder and my mom’s rosary that’s now cutting into my hand. Before I can answer, she pulls me inside, shuts the door, and locks it with a firm click. When she turns around, she has an angry expression on her face.
Behind her, Mr. Patchett leans in the doorway. His glasses are sitting low on his nose and concern is stamped clearly on his face.
I immediately begin to apologize. “I’m truly sorry about coming here so late at night.”
“It’s that stepfather of yours, isn’t it?” She practically spits the words out.
Relief floods my mind when I realize she’s not mad at me, but at him. I nod, “Yeah, and I didn’t know where else to turn.”
“What did he do, honey?” she says. Then her expression changes, “He didn’t—”
I shake my head cutting her off, “No, but something bad happened.”
Mr. Patchett doesn’t speak. He just murmurs, “Call me if you need me,” and disappears towards the back of the house. When I realize he’s giving us women privacy to talk, the tightness in my chest loosens just a bit.
Mrs. Patchett leads me into the kitchen, gestures towards the table and begins to make tea. “Have a seat. Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”
Her kindness is exactly what I need to get me talking. In a desperate push, words come tumbling out of my mouth. I realize almost immediately it’s a jumbled mess, so I try again. “I know this isn’t going to make any sense, but I overheard my stepfather on the phone just now. He owes someone money. I heard him offer to trade me to pay off the debt in full. He said I’m beautiful, like my mom and they could do whatever they wanted with me. He sounded so happy about it.” My voice cracks and I begin to cry. “I ran because I didn’t know what else to do.”
Her expression shifts to one of horror and the cup she’s holding clatters to the counter, shattering.
“That father of yours is a damn menace. I wish more people could see him for what he is,” she responds bitterly, before calling for her husband. “George, come here quick.”
He’s at the door in a matter of seconds. “What’s going on, Caroline?”
“I need you to pull my car out of the garage and put Beth’s car in there right now.”
He glances from her to me and back again before asking, “Are you sure about this, honey?”
She gives him a decisive nod. “Yeah, do it right away, just in case he’s looking for her.”
Turning back to me, she says, “I’ve been watching those True Crime shows. Do you think he’d try and track you? What about your phone?”
My eyes go wide, and I begin fishing it out of my duffel. “I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead. I don’t think he knows about technology.”
My hand wraps around it and I yank it out, handing it to her like it’s the enemy. My stepfather isn’t a nice man, but he’d never do anything like that. Then again, I just heard him offer me up to someone like I was a possession.
