Leaving Sharpstone Read online

  Leaving Sharpstone

  By Marion Leavens

  Copyright 2014 Marion Leavens

  Cover Design by Stuart Kenny

  www.lunaticopus.com

  Smashwords Edition

  Contents

  Start of Leaving Sharpstone

  About Marion Leavens

  Other Books by Marion Leavens

  Contact Marion Leavens

  Chapter 1

  Emily frowned at the spill of tea on the table and reached for a napkin to sop it up. Her hand shook as she pushed the mug aside and wiped up the spill. This time she used two hands to steady the mug as she lifted it to her lips. She winced as the hot cup touched the cut on her lip, but the scalding tea tasted good and helped to calm her shaking hands. She waited until they were steady then reached for her broken glasses and the tube of glue.

  "One of these times I won't be able to fix these darn things," She muttered. But this time the glue held and within ten minutes she was able to put the glasses back on, although the swelling under her eye made the fit less then perfect.

  She sighed and leaned back against the high-back wooden chair. Despite the dull ache her in her head, she felt numb and tired. From past experience she knew that before long her energy would return, and with it anger, cold, hard anger, and after that, frustration. She was more sure than ever that she had to escape this nightmare. She simply couldn’t go on living like this any longer. But once again, as always, fear stopped her from taking action. A debilitating fear of the unknown had held her captive in this hated existence for a long time despite her desperate desire to get away from this man she had married. Fear was a pervasive part of her everyday life now; fear of leaving, fear of staying, fear of being unable to cope alone, fear of not being able to provide for the children, and, over-riding all, a terrible fear of her husband, Eric Thompson. Time and again he had threatened to kill her if she ever left him or took the children away and she believed that he was capable of following through on the threat. Yet, despite her fear, deep inside was a knowledge that she could not live like this forever. Some days, like today, the beatings weren't too bad. Other days were different. On those days, Emily really feared for her life. She needed to get away but she was caught, trapped in this web of fear that held her captive as surely as if held by chains. She realized that thinking about her dilemma was only making her headache worse, so she decided to worry about their future later, when she was a little calmer and could think straight. Then she would have to finally make some serious decisions and devise a plan of what to do to get herself and the children out of this nightmare that was their life.

  She sighed as she looked around this room that she had once loved and had recognized as her ‘dream kitchen’ the moment she saw it. When she and Eric had been house shopping, she had only to set foot in this room to know that this was the house for her. It was a beautiful, large country kitchen, decorated in shades of beige and rust, with a brick wall behind the stove, lots of oak cupboards, a big bay window where her plants would thrive, and lots of room in the middle of the floor for her grandmother's round oak table. Shortly after moving in she had papered the kitchen with ivy-covered wallpaper that added a fresh outdoorsy look to the room. It was the type of kitchen that invited living and lots of home cooking and it had seen lots of both. The table was as often covered with paper and paint as she and the children created wonderful posters, collages or other crafts as it was covered with homemade bread, cakes, cookies, pies and other delicious offerings. She had dreamed of a homey kitchen and once it was hers, she had taken a lot of pleasure in it.

  She got up and put her mug and spoon in the sink. There was still plenty of time to fold the laundry and put it away before the children got home from school. She was halfway across the kitchen when she thought of the dirty mug in the sink. There was no sense asking for trouble. She went back, washed the spoon and mug, put them away, then got the teapot, cleaned it and put it away. She folded the dish towel and hung it carefully on the towel bar, making sure that it was hanging straight, then turned again to the laundry room. After folding the clothes, she cleaned out the lint trap, wiped off the two machines, and then carried the clothes hamper upstairs. Her shoulder ached from the weight of the hamper of clothes she carried and her thoughts returned to Eric and the abuse she had suffered from his hands such a short time before.

  “I’ll probably have some nice bruises thanks to that jerk; one on my shoulder to match my eye," she muttered.

  With the clothes put away and the hamper back in the closet, Emily lay down on the pink floral bedspread of her bed and closed her eyes. The burning in her left eye made rest impossible, so she sat up, fished the eye drops out of her bed side stand and squeezed a couple of drops in her eye. Then she lay back to try to think clearly and to make some sensible decisions.

  Instead of finding the answers she sought, her mind was filled with questions. How could she get away? How on earth was she going to make it on her own with four children? Where could they go? A single mother with four children would have a terrible time trying to find a place to rent and a means of paying the rent. Instead of searching for answers, she began to daydream about the apartment she would find. In her mind she began to arrange the furniture in this haven. The apartment would be filled with more than her furniture, there would be music and flowers and best of all there would be peace and laughter and no need to fear Eric coming home. Suddenly, reality washed over her. Eric would never let them have any of the furniture. Furniture! What a laugh! He would never let them go. There was no need to worry about furniture. Suddenly, she was back at square one. How was she going to get the boys and herself out of this mess that their lives had become? Her head began to throb. There seemed to be no way out.

  She sighed and sat up when she heard the baby begin to chatter to the teddy bear in the corner of his crib. Nineteen-month-old Danny, with his blond curls, big blue eyes and ready smile was such a happy baby. She marveled again as she had so many times before that it was possible for him to be such a happy, contented baby? His good nature had nothing to do with the conditions of her life during the months she had carried him, for although her marriage to Eric began to go downhill after just a few months, the nine months of her pregnancy with Danny had brought out the very worst in Eric. There had been three trips to the hospital, two for stitches and one for a broken wrist as well as numerous punches, kicks and slaps. It didn’t end with Danny’s birth, for the violence that had escalated so badly only continued. Many times Emily was sure that he wanted to kill her. He had tried to push her down the stairs, pushing, hitting and kicking, while she clung desperately to the banister at the top. Another time, in a fit of anger, he strangled her as she fought desperately for air. As she began to black out she was certain that this time he had succeeded in killing her; but instead, as she lost consciousness, he released his grip around her neck, slapped her face and swore, "Breath, you bitch, I'm not going to jail over you!" Her lungs convulsively drew breath, consciousness returned and Emily looked into the sneering face of Eric and the terrified face of her oldest son, who had come into the living room and found his father with his hands around his mother’s throat. His shout, “Dad, stop it,” had certainly saved her life, for it was at this point that he had released her. Had Sam not been a witness, things might well have ended differently.

  Her thoughts returned to the present and wearily she rose from the bed and went to the next room to get Danny from his crib. His diaper was changed and he was playing on the kitchen floor when the school bus dropped the three older children off at the gate. They came through the kitchen door and began discarding boots, mitts, scarves and snowsuits.

  "Guess what I made at school today, Mommy," said Kyle who was barel
y six and youngest of the three. He looked up at his mother and when he saw the cut lip and bruised, swollen eye his wide grin disappeared.

  "What did you make, honey?" she asked.

  By then all three boys had noticed the damage that had been done to their mother and their smiles had disappeared. From experience they knew only too well what had caused the injuries to her and a familiar feeling of dread crept over them. Kyle who, like his baby brother, sported a mass of blond curls and big blue eyes, slowly handed her his crayon creation; a mass of brightly colored flowers on a green background. All the pride of creation and the joy he had felt in giving this gift to his mother was gone in the overwhelming sorrow of seeing his mother hurt again.

  She smiled as best she could manage. "It's great, Kyle. I think this picture should go on the fridge door so everyone can enjoy it. You're quite the artist." She rumpled his hair and taped his picture to the front of the fridge.

  Sam, the oldest, tall for his twelve years with thick, brown hair and sad, brooding, dark blue eyes, spoke up, "Where's Dad?"

  Emily was aware of the turmoil inside this son. He felt such a need to protect his mother and was becoming more and more withdrawn at his inability to do anything to stop the abuse that he had been forced to witness time and again. She wanted so much to assure him that this would never happen again and that he had nothing to worry about, but she knew that he would be only too aware that any words of assurance would be hollow. As long as they remained with Eric, nothing would change. "He's gone to town. He probably won't be home until quite late."

  The boys began to put away their outdoor things. Emily couldn’t help but notice the worried expressions on their faces and she felt a surge of anger. "These boys are too young to have to deal with this." she thought, "Damn that man." She pushed her anger aside and said, "Go play, guys. Supper will be ready soon. I'll call you."

  Eight year old Scott hesitated at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, struggling to think of something to say or do to comfort his mother but unable to think of anything he just ran back to her and hugged her. "I wish I was big enough to make Dad stop. I wouldn't let him hit you."

  "I know you wouldn't, sweetheart."

  She kissed his soft brown curls and watched him again cross the room and go upstairs behind his brothers. His short, slender frame was small for his age and belied the determination that was in his character and would someday make him a force to be reckoned with. But for now, he, like the rest of the family, was helpless in dealing with Eric despite his desire to defend his mother. There didn’t seem to be any way to make things better or to stop the anger and abuse that was so much a part of the make-up of this man who held such power over his family. They were all helpless where Eric was concerned.

  Later that evening, with dinner eaten, dishes washed and put away, homework done and the children in bed, Emily settled down with another mug of tea to attempt to sort out her thoughts and her life. Sam's question to her when she kissed him goodnight was one that he had asked many times before and one that haunted her day and night, "Mum, what are we going to do?"

  She knew that she alone had to decide what the answer to that question would be. The children depended on her, not their father, for help and guidance in solving the problems that concerned them. Eric had never been there for the boys when they needed advice or help. He ignored them totally, except to find fault. There was never a kind word, or a word of praise. Again and again, over the years, they had tried to please him; to be children he could love and of whom he could be proud, but to no avail. He could not be pleased, not by his children and not by his wife.

  Holidays and special days should have been remembered with joy but instead time after time they had been spoiled. Birthdays, according to their father, were a waste of time and there was certainly no cause to celebrate them. Emily insisted, however, on making a cake complete with candles, even though Eric registered his disapproval by never coming home for a birthday dinner. Not once had he seen the look of joy on the face of one of his children as they prepared to blow out their birthday candles. Emily shrugged, "His loss, I guess. I’m really glad that he didn’t come home, for if he had he would have certainly found some way to spoil their birthdays."

  Christmas was another story. He was always there; and in a temper. So many things about the holiday had upset him. He couldn't stand the mess of Christmas paper, boxes, bows, etc. It also annoyed him that he was housebound; everyone expected him to stay home and spend the day with his family and he would have appeared less than the perfect parent had he gone anywhere. The excitement of the children also tended to grate on his nerves and as a result, something would always set him off. Once, just for fun, she tried to disguise his gift by putting it in a larger box. He had been unable to figure out what the gift was and when he saw that she had fooled him with the larger box, he was furious. Another time, Scott had been content with the gift sticking out of the top of his stocking and wasn't interested in digging for more. That he was only fifteen months old made no difference. Eric was angry and forced Scott, by now absolutely howling, to empty the stocking. Then he made him put up his new toys and unwrap his gifts. Emily tried to make him see that the baby was too little to understand the whole concept of Christmas gifts, but Eric only became angrier at her ‘interference’. Tension in the house was palpable and the day was ruined.

  Even though he had never abused the children physically, they were only too aware of his temper and the results of making him angry, for time and again, they had seen him slapping, punching and kicking their mother and as a result they were all very frightened of him. When he was at home, it was as though there had been a death in the family, for everyone was hushed and the children attempted to stay as quiet as possible and to keep out of his way. It was not a good atmosphere for children to grow up in and for the sake of the children as well as for her own safety, she desperately needed to get them out of that household.

  She buried her face in her hands for a moment, feeling totally overwhelmed by the life circumstances in which she found herself and which had so surely trapped her. After allowing herself a few moments of self-pity, she sat up straighter, laid her hands on the table, and with a deep sigh spoke aloud with determination. "Dredging up past hurts is not productive, I don't have the luxury of time to sit and nurse old wounds. I need a plan." Despite the apparent impossibility of it, there had to be a way that she and the children could escape and make a life for themselves. Every plan she had come up with in recent months wouldn't work for one reason or another, and as a result she had over time become even more depressed and frustrated.

  After devising and discarding plan after plan, Emily gave up, cleaned up her tea things and climbed the stairs to bed. She made sure before she went upstairs, that the porch light was left on. Eric insisted that the porch be lit up whenever he got home and this was something she had learned not to forget. On two occasions over the years she had forgotten and had been pulled from her bed and beaten to help ‘teach’ her to remember.

  She applied a few more eye drops and then, drained and exhausted, crawled into bed. In just minutes, she was asleep.

  It was almost dawn when Emily was wakened by the sound of the front door closing. Instantly, she was filled with a sense of dread and fear, which caused her to became short of breath. She lay motionless, listening, as she had so many times before, to Eric's footsteps on the stairs. By the time he entered the bedroom, she was prepared. Her breathing was controlled, her eyes closed and no-one would have suspected that she was wide awake.

  Eric undressed and got into bed beside her. He moved up against her body for her warmth and slipped his arm around her, placing his hand on her breast. She concentrated on keeping her breathing steady in hopes that he would think she was still asleep and would leave her alone. But this was not to be, for he pressed up against her and began to pull up the hem of her nightgown. The anger that had burned in her all day was almost more than she could stand. Tears of disgust and anger welled
up in her eyes and, once again, the left eye began to burn. Her mind groped for something that would get her out of this, but she could think of nothing. To refuse his advances would mean another beating and she was too sore and her face too battered to allow that to happen tonight. When she felt his body against her bare skin she realized that she had no choice but to give in to his physical demands. Saying ‘no’ would mean nothing for she was only too aware of his belief that this was his right and that if he wanted to satisfy himself, she was obliged to allow him to have his way. He would use her body until he was done with it and the fact that she would give him no encouragement or would not respond to his advances would mean absolutely nothing to him. The feel of his body against her back and his hands groping her caused a wave of nausea to sweep over her and it was only through real effort on her part that she was able to stop from throwing up. She wanted to hit him or to scream and get out of the bed and away from him but because of the disabling fear she was experiencing she felt totally helpless and was unable to do anything but submit. Her stomach, however, didn’t co-operate and she knew that if he didn’t hurry up, she wouldn’t be able to control herself, and would throw up, which would be enough to make Eric furious and would certainly result in the beating she was trying so hard to avoid. She had to do something to hurry this up before she vomited. She gritted her teeth, repulsed by the thought of what she had to do, and began to move her hips. It worked and in minutes he was finished. As he moaned in pleasure, she shuddered and swallowed the bile that rushed into her throat.

  Satisfied at last, Eric rolled away from her and was soon asleep. Emily lay still, wide awake, seething with anger and hatred towards Eric and disgust with herself for not finding the means and the strength to get herself and the children out of this horrid situation. She lay there wide awake, her resolve growing ever stronger, that somehow, she would shake off this feeling of hopelessness that seemed to have such a hold on her and she would get away from him. There had to be a way for her to provide a home and a decent life for her children.