Dana Stabenow - Nothing Gold Can Stay

“I don’t know,” Amelia said. “No reason, I guess.”

Bill looked at her thoughtfully. She was asking for something, Bill wasn’t sure what, exactly, but she was asking, and Bill had the feeling that Amelia hadn’t asked for much in her life. She turned back to the counter. “I was married once. To an Army officer. It didn’t work out. I left him, and came to Newenham. I’ve been here ever since.”

“Why did you leave him?”

“He hit me,” Bill said matter-of-factly. She measured the oatmeal, added more because she hated soupy oatmeal, shook some salt into it, stirred both into the raisins.

Amelia’s breath sucked in. “He hit you?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Somebody actually hit you?”

The mixed note of disbelief and awe in Amelia’s voice made Bill grin out the window. “Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

“I told you. I left him.”

“After the first time?”

“Yeah. You only get one shot at me.”

A brief silence. “I let my husband hit me again and again and again.”

Bill sighed. She covered the pot and set it on the stove. She turned and leaned back against the counter and folded her arms. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You told Moses you weren’t going back to your husband. Did you mean it?”

“I meant it.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, then. You’ve taken action. You’ve made a decision. Stick to it.”

Amelia looked at her. “You don’t think I will.”

Bill shook her head, let out a breath. “Amelia, I don’t know you well enough to say what you will or you won’t do. I will say that I’ve seen a lot of women in your position, and that I’ve seen a lot of women take it and take it and take it. I’ve even seen a few men in that kind of situation. It’s never pretty. But it wouldn’t happen if the person letting it happen didn’t get something out of it.”

“I didn’t get anything out of it except hurt.”

Bill raised her eyebrows.

“I didn’t want to get hurt! I didn’t like it!”

Bill shrugged. “Then don’t go back.” She unfolded her arms and stood straight. “Understand one thing, Amelia. Whatever happened to you in your marriage, whatever happened to you before that”-Amelia went white beneath her newly acquired tan-“none of that matters a good goddamn. It’s what you do now that counts. It’s what you do tomorrow. It’s your life. Moses has given you a breather. What happens when we leave here is up to you.”

“I know that.”

“Good.” Bill peered through the window. The woodshed was around back and she couldn’t see the menfolk, but she heard Moses curse and Tim’s laughing oath and was satisfied.

“Why do you want to go to New Orleans?”

“What?”

Bill turned to see Amelia pointing at the Frommer’s guide to New Orleans lying open on the bunk. “Oh. Why? Why not? Best music, best food in this hemisphere. Who wouldn’t want to go?”

“What’s it like there?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been.”

“When are you going?”

“I don’t know. Sometime. Have to get free of the bar.”

“Dottie’s taking care of the bar right now,” Amelia pointed out.

Bill turned, half laughing, half exasperated. “What’s going on? You want to come?”

Amelia’s eyes lit up. “Sure!”

Bill shrugged. “Okay. Start saving your money for a ticket.”

“Oh.” The light in the girl’s eyes faded. “I don’t have a job.”

“Get one.”

A silence. “Yeah,” Amelia said slowly. “I could do that.”

A rustle of clothing told Bill that the girl was getting dressed. “One more thing.”

“What?”

Bill turned to meet her eyes. “Don’t hurt that boy out there. Not any more than you have to, anyway.”

The girl flushed. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Bill-?”

“What?”

“We saw you,” the girl said in a low voice. “You and uncle. On the porch. When we were coming back from the pond.” She sneaked a look through her hair and saw that Bill looked more amused than appalled.

“You did, did you? That must have been an eyeful.”

“I-we-”

“Never mind,” Bill said. “I can guess.” She turned. “It was okay?”

Amelia blushed a deep vivid red this time. “Yes.” She hesitated.

“Go ahead. Tell. Ask. Whatever you need to know.”

“We-well, we did it twice.”

“Ah, to be a teenager again,” Bill murmured.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“It was okay,” Amelia said, the wondering tone back in her voice. “It didn’t even hurt. And the second time… it even felt good. ”

“It’s supposed to.”

“It is?”

“Yes,” Bill said firmly.

“Oh.”

“Amelia.”

The girl raised her head from contemplation of her clasped hands.

“You’re seventeen, you’ve been to school, you know all the dangers. Hell, you have to know about the STD problems in the Bush, especially AIDS.”

The girl nodded.

“Be careful, okay? Just be careful.”

Amelia stood up, very solemn. “I promise, Bill,” she said, as if she were taking an oath. “I promise I will be careful.”

“I checked your day pack,” Bill said.

Amelia ducked her head, her face flushing. “I thought maybe you did.”

“I notice your prescription runs out this month.”

“I have more at home.” Amelia paused. “My husband doesn’t want kids.”

Bill nodded. “Do you?”

“Yes. Someday. Not now.” The response was automatic, and Bill watched the girl listen to herself say the words. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “I don’t really know that I do want to have kids.”

Bill nodded, as if Amelia had confirmed some inner conclusion. “We have choices about that nowadays. Get the prescription refilled.”

“I will,” Amelia said, still with that look of surprise. “I will,” she said again, more firmly.

There was a noise at the door and Amelia looked alarmed. “Don’t worry,” Bill said, grinning. “This was strictly girl talk.”

Amelia looked relieved.

The door opened and a third woman fell into the room.

At first they couldn’t tell she was a woman, she was so covered in snow and frost and mud. Leaves and twigs were caught in hair so lank and matted they couldn’t tell what color it was. Her blue jeans were soaked through. She was wearing tennis shoes, one of which was missing, and the white anklet on that foot was torn and the flesh beneath bleeding. Her shirt was ripped at the left shoulder, the same with the T-shirt under it, revealing a long tear of flesh, reaching from the top of the shoulder to halfway down the back. A flap of skin hung loose, to show the shoulder bone gleaming whitely.

They were caught motionless in shock. The woman looked up at them and opened her mouth. Her voice was the merest croak of sound. “Help.”

She tried to say more, but couldn’t. “Help,” she said again, and lay her head down on the floor and closed her eyes.

Portage Creek, September 6

The strain of holding the plane more or less level was beginning to tell in her arms and legs. The pedals pushed hard against the soles of her feet, the yoke pulled steadily against the grip of her hands, and she was constantly on the alert, constantly adjusting her limbs to meet the demands the weather was putting on the exterior surfaces of the aircraft.

She risked a look at Liam. He was staring straight ahead with a grim expression. His blue eyes were narrowed, as if in concentration, as if by concentrating on the control panel he could by sheer effort of will make the plane fly straight and true. His knuckles were white where his hands were knotted on the edge of his seat.