A New Birth Of Freedom Ch 04

The end of the story. I part from these characters with real regret. It's been an experience for which I am endlessly grateful, most of all to Grandmaster dweaver999, il miglior fabbro, for creating these people and this world, and letting me into it; to Laurel and Manu for giving me the opportunity and the place to tell this story; and to my fellow authors, for inspiration, support and guidance, and for setting the bar high.

*

November again. Almost a year had gone by since Valerie and Sally had come back to Joe's and Eve's farm. Indian Summer was beautiful but brief. Gray days and cold weather now. Eve shivered as she put on her down vest over her red plaid shirt.

Joe had gone to the County offices to get his assignments for the day. Somehow the County found the money to keep him on the payroll, but who knew about next year? If taxes went up there'd just be more foreclosures. And now with winter coming, people would have to heat their houses and fill their gas tanks and, yes, see if they could afford to eat something beside rice and beans, maybe.

The girls were at school. So it was time to do some yardwork. She put some tough twine in her pocket. Her hunting knife was sheathed under her left arm (and later she thanked God again and again that it was there).

When she opened the door and stepped out, she almost didn't see the branch aimed at her head. On pure reflex, she quarter-turned, and it caught her shoulder. The pain dropped her to the ground.

He was on top of her, trying to get his hands around the throat. With the baby inside her nearly ready to be born, movement was nearly impossible. But she clawed one hand away, and as he tried to strike her, she bit it hard.

"You fucking bitch, I'll kill you!" he screamed, and tore at her jeans. 'Does he have a knife? Or a gun?' she thought, 'oh God, not the baby not the baby....'

"I'll let you, just don't hurt me," she gasped. His grip slackened.

She struggled to open the jeans, and slid down the long underpants she wore for chores and hunting.

He raped her hard. He lifted her by the back of her neck and pushed her head down, the sheer force overwhelming her. He thrust into her cunt, impaling her. Pain shot through her, joining the ache in her shoulders, wrist, chest, legs, combining into a single torment as he thrust again and again.

She only found out later he'd broken two of her fingers.

Unwilling, unthinking, her body responded with her cum. It wasn't an orgasm; it was a surrender of bruised soul and tortured body, a final, futile attempt to shield her from more pain. She shuddered for fear for the baby she was carrying, praying in her heart like a child, a neglected and injured baby, for whom no help would come.

He removed his cock and shoved it in her ass, the pain blinding her. He raped her again, her own fluids subverted to assisting the invader.

Ram ram ram, like an animal.

Finally, Eve reached her arm around and found the knife. As he was still thrusting, she drove the knife around her belly, back into his groin. He screamed and cursed, as the blood and urine leaked from him.

Desperately, with a strength she never knew she had, she rolled to her back as he grabbed the tree branch and tried to hit her again. His arm caught the knife thrust, and more blood gushed. Hauling out the knife with the same insane strength, Eve drove it at his neck, stabbing and stabbing again.

This time the blood gushed.

Now it was a struggle to the death. The blood was running onto her hand, her face; she shook her head to try to keep it from her eyes. He tried again to hit her with his fist, but she avoided most of the force, and he hit the side of her head. He tried to stand, but slipped, as the blood from his groin had wet the ground. The pulsing blood continued, it seemed forever until it slowed.

He fell back, and more fluid leaked. But it wasn't his.

The water broke. Eve was having her baby.

He struggled, but she could feel him weakening. He rolled to the blood-soaked ground.

Eve rolled away, the contractions gripping her. She knew she could never reach the house, not now.

'Get help...must get help' she thought, 'save my baby....'

The next contraction was stronger. She forgot the other pains. Getting her jeans back on, or getting herself covered, was impossible. She dragged herself across the blood-soaked gravel toward a scrubby patch of grass, but stopped.

'Could he have a cellphone? Might get help....' She dragged herself again, the pain in her abdomen and fingers setting up new blinding flashes across her eyes.

His pants were soaked with blood and piss. Of course she couldn't move him, he was a big dead weight; literally a dead weight, he had bled to death and was cold already.

But his jacket pocket nearest her had the cellphone.

The pain of getting it out with her broken fingers made her scream. But she held it long enough to open it and press 911.

"Dispatch, what is your emergency?"

"Man...tried...raped me...having...baby...."

"Ma'am, where are you?"

"One...one...three...seven...five...County Road...six...." The contractions were more frequent now. Nicky was a quick one, she remembered, half an hour and out she came.

"Ma'am, we'll have people there in five minutes. Is the man still there?"

"Yes."

"Ma'am, is he near you? Can he hurt you?"

"He's dead."

"OK, ma'am, stay where you are. Help is coming."

Eve lay there. The contractions got harder and faster. Remembering Naomi and Nicky, she started pushing. She felt the head of her third daughter emerge, as the gravel scrunched with the sound of the arriving cruiser.

Sheriff's Deputy Brenda Nolan jumped from her cruiser, her 9 millimeter S&W M&P (that she purchased with her own funds and got a waiver to carry on duty) ready. She dropped to one knee and scanned the yard. She saw the corpse and she saw Eve, with the baby emerging. She reached for the lapel mike.

"Dispatch, 201."

"Go, 201."

"Dispatch, need an ambulance, got a baby being born and one man down."

"201, copy, on the way."

"201, copy, out."

Brenda ran over to Eve. "Hang on, ma'am, help is on the way."

"So...is...my...baby....Is...she...all...right?" Eve was gasping.

"She looks fine, ma'am."

It seemed forever, but the siren started and got louder. The Fire & Rescue F-450 skidded to a stop, and the paramedics jumped out. They didn't call Crew Chief Klein "Medevac Barbie" for nothing. Crew Chief Barbara Klein, her red hair sprayed as if for the runway, her tailored blue uniform leaving little to the imagination, followed by Jake ("Bones") Cheshire, all 110 pounds and 5 foot nothing of him, ran over to Eve.

Eve had pushed out the baby, still connected to her.

"It's all right, Momma," said Barbara, "we'll get you and our little friend here over to County Hospital right now. Who's your next of kin?"

"Joe Burbon," said Eve, shutting her eyes.

"I know him," said Bones, "works over to th' County office, general laborin' man."

"OK," said Barbara, "we'll call him and he can get over to the hospital."

"My...kids...coming...home...."

"I'll put a note on th' door," said Bones, grabbing his notepad and scribbling "Mom at County Hospital. All well." He ran to the house door, and with some adhesive tape from his kit taped on the note, making sure the door locked.

Barbie made sure the cord had stopped pulsing, cut it, tied it off, and slapped the little girl's butt. She cried. Eve started crying, too. Barbara and Bones moved Eve and the baby to the ambulance and took off, siren blaring.

Deputy Nolan got back on her radio. "Dispatch, 201."

"Go, 201."

"Dispatch, please kindly ask the would-be State

Po

-lice CSI team to come out here. I got a dead body and a lot of blood. Barbie and Bones're headed to the hospital with woman and baby."

Eve was still holding the cellphone. When she got to the hospital, the cellphone was bagged with her personal effects. The knife was held for the Sheriff's CSI team.

Joe arrived, with their daughters. After exclamations of relief and admiration for the baby, the doctor asked the girls to wait outside. Eve told Joe what had happened.

Joe's normally placid face was contorted with rage. "You killed the sonofabitch?" "Yes, Joe." "Didn't torture the motherfucker none?" "No, Joe." "What a shame. You sure he's dead?" "Yes Joe." "Too fuckin' bad I can't kill the sonofabitch again."

Outside, Naomi and Nicky were huddled together. "There's somethin' wrong with this," said Naomi.

"What?" asked her sister.

"Well, besides the fact that I need another sister like I need a bad case of poison oak," she said, gently punching Nicky, "and besides the fact that this means years of unpaid babysitting for both of us, why did Momma go to the hospital?"

"Because that's where people have babies, genius," said Nicky, gently punching her sister.

"But doofus-girl, Momma had me at home and you at home, and this latest Cross I have to bear, she was gonna be born at home, like you, doofus-girl, you moron."

"Ask Momma, brainchild."

"Yeah, right. I'll get some kinda answer, ya sure, ya betcha."

Joe came out. "Momma needs to rest. The doctors need to keep her a day or two to make sure everything is all right. Your sister is fine. I'll call Pastor Jenks and arrange the baptism. Her name is Nancimarie."

"That's a lovely name," said Naomi. "Why was I stuck with a doofus name like Naomi?"

"Now honey, Naomi's a fine name." Joe had the patience of a saint, but it was wearing slightly thin.

"Well, it's better than Nicola, at least, that sounds like a cough drop."

"You troll!" snapped Nicky.

"Girls, I love my truck, but I might still sell you both and buy a newer model. Your new sister has better manners; I think we'll keep her. Now let's go home so you can cook dinner" [groans accompanied this announcement] "and do your homework. Tomorrow is a school day." More groans followed, with Naomi's now-usual threat to have Uncle Tommy call his old shipmates in the Coast Guard and get her enlisted before she reached 17 or graduated from high school, so she could run away.

The CSI team had finished when they reached home, but the blood, though dried, was still on the ground.

"My God, what happened?" cried Nicky, grabbing her face with her hands.

"I knew something was wrong," said Naomi. "You never tell us anything, you and Momma, you think we're too little or too dumb, but dammit...."

"If you ever,

ever

talk to me like that again, Naomi Burbon, you'll wish you were in the Coast Guard in a hurricane!"

"Daddy, I'm sorry, but you and Momma...."

"All right, your Momma was attacked this afternoon. She fought the attacker. He's dead. She had your sister on the ground out here. Is that plain enough for ya?"

"My God!" Simultaneously shrieks. "Is she all right?" "Is Momma gonna go to jail?"

"You saw her. She's been through a lot, but your Momma's tough; you know how hard she had it growin' up. As for jail, it was self-defense. Momma'll be home real soon."

And she was. The examination at the hospital showed Eve had been sexually assaulted. The assailant carried no identification, and when the Sheriff's Deputies found the car he had driven, they found it was not registered to him, but to a Cally Lee Tyler from an adjoining State, and had been reported stolen by her father.

911 Dispatch had the cellphone number from which Eve had called them. The cellphone was billed to the same Cally Lee Tyler, at the same address as the vehicle registration.

The County Prosecutor decided not to present to the Grand Jury. No charges were brought against Eve Burbon.

Eve came home with her new daughter. She had nightmares for a week, waking up and clutching Joe, screaming, her older daughters rushing in. It was a tense time, as the older girls had to look after Momma and their new sister, and do all the chores and go to school.

They were home from school at the end of that week, when Naomi had had enough as she and Nicky were preparing dinner.

"Lincoln freed the fuckin' slaves," said Naomi, "or did I miss something in American History?"

"Naomi, if Momma hears you cussin', you won't sit down any time soon."

"Child abuse! I'll call the Sheriff and his grandmother!"

"Oh, go wash your mouth out with Clorox!"

"Oh, go take a leak in this dam' soup!"

Eve staggered out, administered a brief but thorough chastisement to both, and said, "I'm tired of lyin' around, nursin' Nancimarie and lookin' at the wall. I'm goin' huntin'." She went back to the bedroom and dressed.

Eve took down her fluorescent orange vest and hat, got her .308 Winchester and five rounds, and the new hunting knife Joe bought her (she couldn't touch the old one when the County Prosecutor returned it to her), and walked out of the house.

Two hours later she returned. Night had fallen. "I marked where the buck is. When your Daddy gets home, I'll tell him where it is and we'll all drag it in t'morra." And she put the remaining four rounds away, and started cleaning her rifle.

She had no more nightmares.

It wasn't until after the birth of Sally Thatcher-Burbon's daughter in December that they found out the whole story.

A stranger came by the house late one Saturday in January. They were all at home; for once, almost all the chores were done.

Joe was there, and Eve was nursing Nancimarie. The girls were finishing their housework and getting ready for the evening milking. They had three fresh cows, and Joe was telling Nicky to get a move on.

The man was driving a once-expensive BMW. He stopped on the gravel, got out, and walked slowly up to Joe.

"Is this the Burbon house?" He mispronounced it "Bourbon", which Joe hated.

"Yep." 'I wonder what he's sellin'', Joe thought.

"I have something to say to Mrs. Burbon."

"She's here, but she ain't receivin' guests just now. Like to tell me what you want?"

"My daughter is--was--Cally Lee Tyler."

"And you're Jack Tyler, then."

"Yes."

"Come on in."

They went into the house. Joe called out "Eve, Mr. Tyler's here to see you."

Eve covered her breasts, keeping Nancimarie's mouth against her nipple. Nancimarie had a healthy appetite.

The men walked in.

"I wanted to say thank you," said Mr. Tyler. "You know what happened to my baby."

Eve said, "It almost happened to me too, Mr. Tyler. Please sit down. Joe, can you get somethin' for Mr. Tyler?"

"No, I don't want anything. She was my only child, and that--that...." He broke down.

Eve wanted to get up, and started to, when Nancimarie removed her mouth from her mother and started to cry. Eve had to stay seated and help her daughter.

Joe got the bottle and a glass and gave Mr. Tyler the whiskey.

He recovered. "I'm glad you killed him. I'm sorry I didn't."

"I'm sorry I didn't, too," said Joe.

"Her mother will never get over this. Even though we broke up years ago, Cally Lee kept us together. Now there's nothing."

There wasn't much more to say. Mr Tyler finished the whiskey and left.

The next Sunday Nancimarie was baptised. Valerie and Sally drove from before daybreak until well into the evening to be there and get back home for work the next day. The pre-Christmas push was on for both of them, and days off weren't possible. Valerie had to do all the driving because Sally and their baby were too big to be comfortable behind the steering wheel.

**********************

Sally insisted upon a tree. Valerie wanted a plastic tree, if they had to have one, but Sally insisted upon real blue spruce. She had the decorations from her childhood, and added one or two souvenirs for each succeeding year. She had one from Stowe, for that summer, and smiled as she looked at it, before placing it on the tree.

"It is beautiful," Valerie admitted, "even though this time always hurts me." She was thinking of Mike.

"I know, darling," Sally told her, walking over to hug Valerie.

Valerie hugged back. "Baby, this year will be so special, so wonderful, but still--"

Valerie was crying. Sally held her as tightly as their daughter would permit.

Finally, Sally had to step away as their daughter gave a mighty kick and it felt as if the baby twisted herself completely around.

"Francine Michaela Thatcher-Burbon!" said Valerie, distracted by Sally's sudden movement. "Let Mommy alone,

now

!" She stopped crying and dried her eyes with her fingers.

Sally, still trying to get comfortable, said, "She's not listening."

"Wait till she gets out of you. We'll spend years trying to get her to listen to either of us."

"Our Christmas present, huh?"

"Yeah, and one I have been wanting for so long."

'Yeah, she's been wanting this baby,' thought Sally, suddenly despressed after the joy of choosing and trimming the Christmas tree. 'So have I, but that's incidental. Dammit, it's still incidental! I'm fucking incidental! I'd go to Master Charles again, but I don't want to be a crybaby, always running to Daddy whenever someone hurts me, or I don't get my own way....'

She remembered Louie, from her schooldays. Louie was a big fat kid whom all the other boys bullied incessantly. Louie's father had died when he was in the fourth grade, and his Mom (who had always run the family anyway) decided to "protect" him. Sally remembered that fourth grade year.

Louie would have done better to run away and hide. Mom showed up at school every other day, it seemed, to "protect" Louie. The teacher, Miss O'Rourke, lectured the class, but it was ultimately ineffective. Louie got bullied worse and worse. 'I don't know how he survived,' she thought, 'how he made it through that year.' She had wanted to help, but had no idea how. She kept quiet and stayed away. The girls could bully just as bad as the boys, if not worse. Survival depended upon not standing out and sucking up to the leaders. Sally learned that lesson early, and well.

Then her mother died, and her life collapsed. Her father, never a strong man, was barely able to hold a job and provide for himself and Sally. Sally put herself through school, apprenticed herself to a man who was going into what was a new business, disaster recovery. She worked seventy-hour weeks for starvation wages, took all the verbal abuse (but fortunately no physical abuse, once she had thrown a heavy-duty stapler at him), learned the business and started her own. Most of the clients followed her.

But her life was empty, until she met Charles.

'And now I have Valerie,' she thought, as her life went by in a second inside her head. 'I have Valerie and I don't know what to do with her. I want to name the baby for my Mommy, Janey. I loved Janey. When she died, I died. I want to give her a grandchild that's her grandchild.'

They ate supper in silence. Sally wanted a drink but couldn't have one. She slept in the cage; it was worse being so pregnant, but she managed to find a comfortable position, and at least her daughter remained quiet until five a.m.

The baby's movements woke her.

The cage was unlocked, as Valerie had gone to sleep before her. Sally crawled out and stretched.

Valerie stirred, reached out her arm, and woke with a start. "Sally? Sally?"

"I'm here, Mistress."

"Did you have to get up?"

"No, Mistress, I slept in the cage."

"In the cage? What for? We're not permitted to play until Francine is born."

"I needed to. I needed to think...to try to find a way...."

"To find a way to do what?"

"To tell you."

"Are we playing games? Tell me what you need to tell me."

"I want to name the baby for my Mommy. Mommy died when I was little. I love her so much, I want to give her a grandchild...."

"Honey, you are giving her a grandchild. But we agreed--her name is Francine Michaela, and I'm adopting her the minute she's born, so we're both her parents."

"I wish I could call her for my Mommy."