Follow Me by Joanna Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

opposite ends of the couch, their
     knees drawn up under their nighties, their bare toes tucked between the creases of the cushions. Sally listened to Georgie
     talk about Steven Jackson, her fiancé, and the plans they had had. The wedding never happened, she explained, because Steve
     never made it home from the war and never got to meet his son, who came three weeks early and emerged like a king, bright
     blue from the squeeze of the cord around his neck. The doctor had taken it upon himself to pronounce the boy damaged for life.
     But he turned out to be just fine.
    “He’s better than just fine,” Sally said.
    “And your little one? Tell me about him.”
    So Sally told Georgie everything, beginning with the ride on Daniel Werner’s motorcycle and the uncertain weeks that followed,
     her flat belly growing rounder, her prayers to God unheeded, the scorn of her relatives and neighbors, the birth of her son
     in the same bed where her mother had given birth to her, and ending with the day she ran away from home.
    “It must have been something, leaving your baby behind like that,” Georgie said finally. “I can’t nearly imagine.”
    “It was” — Sally searched for a word — “unspeakable.” It struck her as soon as she said it that she’d chosen the wrong word.
     But she couldn’t think of another word that would do.
    Georgie knew better than to say
you poor girl
to Sally. But her sad eyes conveyed her pity, and this time Sally didn’t mind.
    “Won’t they ever come looking for you?” Georgie asked.
    I’m as good as dead, Sally wanted to say. I’m a squashed bug. I’m a fish floating belly up. I’m curdled milk. I’m a rotten
     apple. I’m — she searched for one more comparison — the girl in the moon, even as she said one word aloud. “No.”
    “And you don’t ever want to see your baby again?”
    “Of course I do. But he won’t ever want to see me.”
    “That’s not right.”
    “He’s a Werner. I tell you, if you’re a Werner you don’t know how to forgive. Every mistake is given a number and carved in
     stone. That’s the stone they put as your grave marker.”
    “I can’t imagine. All the women I’ve talked to over the years, all the stories I’ve heard tell… I’ve never heard a story like
     yours, Sally Werner. You’ve sure been through it. I knew when I saw you you’d been through something. But now you just stick
     around here for a while, and you can figure out how to manage.”
    Sure, she’d stick around. Just to be in a place where she could say what she’d been through, to talk about it all… she’d felt
     comforted by the sound of her voice as she’d spoken of her unspeakable troubles. The conversation was like a light that went
     off gradually, fading from bright to a soft darkness over several hours.
    It was long after midnight when she lay down on the bed in Georgie’s spare room. For the first time in months, she began feeling
     hopeful. Georgie’s sympathy had given her an idea, just a vague one, but enough to build on. She’d keep house for old Mason
     Jackson, who’d promised her a good wage, and somehow she would learn to manage. She’d do more than manage. With the money
     she earned, she’d have the freedom to choose how to live the rest of her life.
    D AUGHTER OF SATAN ! Babylon’s whore! You foul embodiment of human filth! I tell you to kneel and pray for forgiveness. But
     there is no forgiveness. You are here, forever here, under my command. Now scrub the toilet! Sweep the porch! Milk the cows!
     Slaughter the pig! Pave the road! Brick the chimney! Raise the barn. Burn it down, and raise it again. Burn it down! Raise
     it again. Burn it down, down, down…
    Burn what down? Her reeling thoughts were stuck on the cows that needed milking. Those cows with their full udders. Where
     were the cows? Uncle Mason didn’t have cows. He didn’t even have a barn. Or did he have a barn hidden somewhere in the house?
     Were the cows in the