Page 3 of Hanging Horseshoes

“It’s not that far of a drive,” I say to lessen the blow.

“It's a nine-hour drive, you ass.” He chuckles, though I can tell it's forced.

“A long nine hours. I should probably get on the road. Promise to come for a visit soon?” I ask, grabbing him and pulling him into a hug.

“All your wild horses couldn't keep me away.” He jokes softly.

With one last pat on the back, I pull away and walk to my truck. I look over at the white ranch house I grew up in one last time. I’ll miss the good memories of Ma and Pa. I’ll miss the pen-drawn lines in the pantry drawer with my age and height. I’ll even miss the creaky wood of the third step of the staircase, but I’m more than ready for this new start.

I’m ready to find my peace.

Chapter Three

Ophelia

‘shhh baby, it will be okay. Please stop crying.”

“If you don't shut that bastard up, I’ll come in there and do it for you.” My father screams from the locked basement door.

It's been my prison for the last year and a half. Since I found out I was pregnant out of wedlock and the father ran off. It’s not like I’m making her cry. I look down into the face of my sweet baby girl. She looks just like her dad. Same blond hair and blue eyes that look deep into your soul. Tears burn my eyes, falling down my cheek.

“I wish he were here too, baby girl, but he’ll come back for us someday. I just know it.” I tell her, hoping and praying it's true. There’s no other option. He has to, or I won't survive this. I can't survive this. I place my breast back in Mable’s mouth, but I’m so low on breastmilk barely anything comes out. I only get fed once a day, so I’m not getting enough food to produce for her. What am I going to do?

“That’s it. I warned you.” My father bursts through the door. I scream as I throw myself over Mable, hoping she’s covered by my body enough that she isn't getting hit. I want to beg, to plead with him to stop, but it's useless. Begging only makes him angrier, which makes the beatings longer.

I jerk awake, realizing someone is tapping on my shoulder.

“Are you okay, miss? You were, u-uh, screaming. Pretty loud.” The middle age woman who was sitting across from me asks.

I hear a grunt and whimper, then I feel a gentle tap on my cheek and look down at Mable sitting on my lap.

“Oh, my gosh, baby. I was squeezing you too tight. I'm so sorry.” I whisper to Mable, kissing the top of her head. I turn back to the woman, still staring at me like I’m going to go mad and attack her.

“Just a nightmare. I’m sorry to bother you.” I say, giving her my best smile, but I can tell it's forced, and so can she. She nods before going back to her seat.

I sigh, looking down at my baby, then up at the road signs passing by. My shoulders sag as I see a Welcome to Alabama sign pass by. I remember making it from our hometown in Louisiana over the Mississippi state line, but I must have fallen asleep somewhere between there.

Mable places her small finger in the dimple of my chin, rubbing her finger up and down the small indent. I always hated that dimple, though it was Beau’s favorite flaw. He never called it that, but that's how I saw it. That is until Mable was born. Since she was a few months old, she would place her finger over that small indent and rub. It has been a comfort thing ever since, and anything that brings my angel comfort is a blessing in my eyes.

“Did you get some sleep?” I whisper. She nods her head.

I wish I could hear her speak. I’ve only heard her say a few words in her entire life. She said mama first, but only twice. I know it has to be from our environment. She learned to be as small and quiet as possible or risk hurting Mama. I tried so hard to keep her from the beatings, but some of them got her, and it's my biggest regret. I couldn't get her out of there sooner. The tears come rushing back, but I suck them down so I don't upset Mable.

I shift around, pulling out the letter, the last bit of the man I once loved with all of my heat. He mailed it from what I’m hoping is still his current address. I’m unsure when the letter was sent since my parents were the ones to receive it and hide it from me for god knows how long. By the time they gave it to me, it was dirty and ripped. I couldn't see the date, but luckily I could read the address and the letter.

I quickly tuck it back into my pocket, not ready to break down yet. It doesn't really matter either way; I know that stupid letter by heart. I’ve read it a million times, hoping and praying the words would change. That he loved me enough to come back to me. To help us. He didn't. I had to save myself. I had to save Mable, and I would do it all again. I grimace when I close my eyes, thinking about all the blood.

No, no! Not yet. We will figure all that out as soon as we find Beau. He will take Mable, raise her right, and make sure none of those horrible people touch her. I know he will. I’ll leave her there, then make a trail leading away from them. I’ll go as far as I can until they find me. I don't care if they drag me back; I don't care what they do with me as long as Mable is safe.

I lean back in my seat and just watch the miles pass by, enjoying the feel of my baby in my arms, not wanting to accept it might be the last time ever. All too soon, we reach Mentone, and it's time to depart the bus. All I have is the tiny book bag I’ve had since the day I was locked away in the basement stuffed with one change of clothes each and a soft stuffed bunny Beau got me one year for my birthday. Mable took comfort with it and so now it belongs to her. I’m glad she has that one small connection to him. Other than that, the only other things in the bag are a couple hundred bucks I stole out of my father's wallet on my way out and the only picture I have of Beau. It's actually of us two together.

Our ‘community’ didn't believe in technology, or they just wanted to control everything we could learn about the outside world. Cutting out what they thought of as evil and telling us it was for our own good. Either way, it didn't stop me and Beau from sneaking out and going into town. The old mall had a photo booth, and we were supposed to be at the swimming hole. Instead, we posed for the camera.

There are four pictures, and they are old and faded, but I can still make out the image. I stare at the young, innocent, goofy faces staring back at the camera and smile. Those were the best years of my life. All my good memories involve him, and I can't wait to see what he made of himself, to see his face, even if it is just one more time.

I tuck the photos deeper into the bag before hopping off the bus, still holding Mable. Once we make it off, I look around the terminal. Seeing a service desk, I walk that way. Only one man is manning the desk, and he looks bored out of his mind. Hopefully, he can tell me where to head and if I can get a ride.

“U-um excuse me,” I say, realizing I spoke so softly he may not hear me. I clear my throat when he perks up.

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