What would Keith find to complain about now? If she hurried perhaps she could forestall some of his anger. Small hope in that. Rachel massaged her sweaty, aching neck and stiffened at the twinge of pain in her nearly healed arm.

She unrolled the sleeves of her sweat-soaked shirt as she emerged from the barn into the cool evening air, then shook her head to dislodge thoughts of pain, anger and fear. She stretched her aching arms toward the beauty of the Nebraska sunset. She would enjoy this respite while she could and face Keith's wrath when she must. He could control her actions, her body, but he could not control her thoughts. He couldn't take from her the joy she felt in the sweet autumn dusk, brisk though it was. Keith didn't know she looked forward to milking the cows and feeding the calves. It was time away from him. Time when she could let her mind run free. Keith always seemed to find a way to take away whatever she loved, to enslave it, mutilate it or kill it. When had he become like this? Why hadn't she been aware of his meanness before she married him? Or had he carefully hidden his true nature while her father was alive? Was it the transition from employee to owner that turned him into the tyrant he was? It seemed he became steadily crueler. Rachel no longer tamed the kittens and calves. Better they fear all humans than to be brutalized by Keith. If he knew the joy she took in the animals and the land would he find a way to take that from her, too?

A tear slipped down her cheek. It became harder and harder to steal away in her mind to a place of peace. She could no longer focus on the beauty around her without fear and painful memories intruding. Slowly, inexorably, Keith was stealing the last of her will. Her moments of inner joy had become shorter and farther apart. Soon there would be nothing left of the girl who used to skip across the pasture to wade in the creek, chasing tadpoles and splashing cool clear water until her clothes were so soaked she may as well sit down in it. Usually she did. Now, she was afraid to smile, dared not laugh. Soon she would forget how to and why. Rachel knew it was happening, but she was powerless to stop the enslavement of her entire being. She knew she had to find a way to escape -- to leave Keith or to get him help. He was sick. In his rages he was capable of killing her. His fits of anger fed upon each other. The sight of the bruises he'd caused in his last rage provoked the next. Her bruises couldn't heal -- he successively used them against her -- a weak spot, a way of inflicting more pain. She kept them hidden from him as best she could.

"No, no," Rachel cried as she ripped her mind away from the wretchedness of her life with Keith and focused on the reds, oranges, yellows and blues of the sunset before her. The colors swam together in her tear-drenched eyes.

A rush of dust billowed around her as a white pickup truck emerged from the field, sped past her and down the driveway. Rachel plunged her arms into the sleeves of her coat and began to run toward the field road. Keith may be pursuing the white pickup; he must see her hurrying to help him in the field. He mustn't know how she dawdled over a sunset. She ran toward the bin site as though she could feel the breath of demons at her heels, knowing rather, that she was running toward the demon that was her husband.

She couldn't hear the tractor. He must be waiting for her and building a bomb of rage. Rachel saw the top of the picker. She knew he would hurt her again. The only question was how badly.

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A Book Page ŠEvelyn Gale 2000 - 2005