Brett Halliday - Mike Shayne's Torrid Twelve

Maybe that’s why he goes off to Ansted when he’s not working the farm and stays the whole day through, lounging round the general store and talking to folks he must find more amiable than me.

But now I am more used to the strange ways of man and almost have put away my shame. And certain sure I do not want to die now — not even when the distaste and fear of Jim comes up in my throat so it’s like a choking.

I must try to be kinder to him and more patient. Men are queer creatures and their passions like the dark winter’s night. And I, being woman, must accept them without questioning.

Perhaps if I keep on praying, a child will be the reward of my forbearance. All the evil will go out of Jim then and he’ll be different.

I whistled Ripper up from his dreams of hunting and stroked his long soft hair. I felt as though the sun had driven through and into me, piercing my darkness with hope. I tossed another hickory log onto the fire and listened to the sizzle and the crackling as the wood warmed, grew hot and burst into flame.

Everything has to be given time for warming.

I decided to fix something extra nice for Jim’s supper. Something that he’d really relish like candied yams and salt pork with rich cream gravy. I hadn’t thought of cooking fine for quite a spell. Maybe when Jim tasted the special victuals he’d know I was trying to please him.

Ripper’s hackles rose and he growled fierce and low. He’d caught the smell of Jim heading home. Sure enough, it wasn’t long till I heard the rattle of the buggy as it crossed the wooden planks over Gitah Creek.

Then I had a talk with Ripper who understands me better than any human ever has — lessen it were Matt Parker. I told Ripper it was our fault — his and mine — that Jim acted the way he did.

“We must let him handle us and not let on when our hairs begin to rise and bristle,” I said.

Ripper’s ears pointed and he began to pant, which let me know he understood.

Then Jim threw open the door and walking with his heavy, slow tread came across the threshold. Ripper did not growl at him and I reached down to give him a grateful pat. My own voice was light and cheery, “Hello, Jim!”

Jim dumped the store goods on the table and came over to stretch his great hands in front of the fire. He took out his pipe and tobacco, shook the bowl full and pushed it down tight.

I was thinking how homey this was — the way it ought always to be between man and wife. It seemed to me that even Ripper was going to give Jim a wag of his tail and maybe stick his nose up into Jim’s hand, and the rays of the sun could not outnumber my joys.

Jim rolled a long piece of paper into a spill. He leaned down and lighted it from the fire and pulled in on his pipe till the tobacco was glowing red. But he held the spill between thumb and finger till I thought he must burn himself.

I watched with wonder — about to cry warning — when Jim dropped the spill a-purpose straight down onto Ripper’s back.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. Nor could I yet believe it. Ripper’s silky coat caught fire quickly, burning along like dry grass fire. I came out of my stupor fast and grabbed my dog up to me, rubbing out the fire against my body.

Then I looked up at the man I had married. He was standing smoking his pipe, a smile at the corners of his mouth.

We said no word. There was no word to say. He had done this thing with grim intent and I knew my hopes of the day were as dandelion fuzz in a high wind.

I went to the kitchen with Ripper at my heels and gently rubbed lamb’s grease over his burned skin. I was treating my own reddened belly when I knew that Jim was standing in the doorway.

“Where’s my supper, Jenny?”

I cooked food in silence and silently he ate. After, he said, “Come to bed, Jenny.”

I threw Ripper’s rug behind the cookstove. He took the side of my hand in his mouth, nuzzling it before he flopped down, all the time eying Jim with strange red eyes.

I followed Jim up the stairs. We undressed. Jim was full of lust and I bore it patiently while he spent himself, thinking all the while of the Bible’s teaching.

I waited till Jim’s breathing told me he slept. Then I crept from bed slow, inch by inch, making no sudden shift lest the springs sing out and waken him. My knees touched the cold floor and I eased my body out.

Then I heard his slow, even voice, “Come back to bed.”

The lust was strong in him again, and I thought my own thoughts as countless women have done till the bad time passes. Vengeful thoughts, then praying for forgiveness, praying hard, but still the vengeful thoughts were pressing.

I waited till I was very sure that Jim was deep in sleep. His snoring was loud indeed and I jumped from the bed and dressed. I raced down the stairs, and out into the kitchen to get Ripper up, cautioning him to make no sound.

We were starting out the back way when I remembered the great whine of the hinges, so we went through to the front.

In the black stillness, Ripper let out a sudden growl and my heart began to thrash about like a fresh-caught fish.

I reached my hands out to find the door, but instead of wood, my hands touched flesh. A triumphing, mocking laugh came from Jim. “Come back to bed, Jenny.”

Ripper growled low and fierce and full of hate. I had only to say the command for him to leap straight for Jim’s corded throat and I could almost hear the tearing sound Ripper’s teeth would make as they slashed skin. How many times I’d heard it when Ripper went for the throats of wild beasts.

I had only to say the word…

“Come back to bed, Jenny.”

My whole being was sickened. “No,” and again, stronger, “no. Let me go, Jim!”

“Where would you go, Jenny?”

“Home. I’ll go home to mom.”

“You want to go home?” he said, reasonable and sort of surprised. “Then I’ll dress and take you.” He flung wide the front door. I could see him standing large in his nakedness, his flesh shone dark as a pine tree in the light of the moon. “Wait for me, Jenny.”

He went up the stairs and Ripper and I ran out of the house, cutting across the cornfield to the lane. The moon was high and every frost-tipped stubble of the old corn stalks twinkled like morning stars.

We were free! But even after Ripper and I reached the road, I felt the terror and the fear of all trapped things.

We ran like deer when a forest fire’s behind them. We were away up the hill when I heard the clopping of hoofs on the road behind and I knew the uselessness of running any more. We’d breathed our breath of freedom and it was over. I stood quite still, waiting till the buggy came alongside.

“Get in, Jenny.”

I climbed in, feeling nothing. Nothing at all. But instead of turning round as I was sure Jim would do, he kept on over the hill that led to pa’s house, Ripper loping alongside.

“What you going to tell your pa about this, Jenny? Whatcha going to tell him?”

Out there under the stars, riding toward home, some hope came back to me. “What’ll I tell him? I’ll tell him you tried to kill Ripper!”

“Now, Jenny. What kind of crazy talk is that? You know a coal sparked out and fell onto your hound dog. You know your dog always does lay in too close to a fire.”

He sounded so reasonable. I could just see pa’s eyes on me as I tried to tell him the truth. I started to cry.

“What’s wrong with you, Jim? What’ve I done that you should act like this?”

And when Jim answered I knew the thing that ailed him.

“You got yourself another letter from Matt Parker. You got another letter from him.”

But I’d had no word from Matt in nigh a year… I’d had no word since Jim Skaggs had moved into Martin County! I saw it plain. Jim had paid my brother Henry to steal my letters — and after we were wed, he just stole them himself.