Captive Bride - Alta Hensley Page 0,22

leans against the doorframe showing he has no intent to stop me from holding his daughter, nor does he plan to leave the cellar.

I have nothing to say in response because I feel I have nothing left inside of me. I can only concentrate on the trembling girl who now clings to my shirt in a silent desperation for more.

More what?

What can I offer?

I have no answers.

Richard won this battle in this war of mine. He decimated his enemy leaving me in nothing but shattered pieces. If this was his intent, then he succeeded.

“Ember is a good girl. I hope she doesn’t have to suffer again,” he says. “I’m going to go back to work and will be home in plenty of time for an early supper. Ember...”

She lifts her head from my chest and turns to face him. “Yes, Papa Rich?”

“You be a good girl, you hear?”

“Yes, Papa Rich.” Her voice is so soft. Delicate. Not an ounce of hate or disgust. How can she remain almost angelic in response when the man just… how the fuck does she do it?

He leaves, and for the first time since he arrived, I feel like I can fully breathe. I still hold Ember and neither one of us seem to want to pull away. I think if we do, it means we have to face what happened and neither of us are ready for that moment. I don’t want to have to look her in the eyes. I don’t want to have to see my reflection which I can only imagine appears like a monster.

“I don’t blame you,” she mumbles against my chest as she seems to press herself even closer. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

If this had been an hour ago, I would be pushing her to help me escape. Demanding that she see the man she calls Papa Rich as the fucking sick perverted man he is. Frustration would be growing in me at her lack of action. I would want to strangle her for not seeing the way I did.

But not now.

Now, I understand. I get it.

I will never blame Ember again. I will never expect this broken child trapped in a woman’s body to be whole. She’s splintered, and I can see that. I can feel that. All it took was one taste of the man’s poison for me to fall into her deep and dark hole myself.

I understand.

“I’m so sorry, Ember.”

I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I smell strawberries.

I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her tighter; not for her but for me. I can’t think. I can’t plan. I can’t plot a way out. All I can do is smell strawberries in the wisps of her blonde hair.

10

Ember

Conviction.

Papa’s conviction is thick like blood. I can see he has no intention of letting Christopher ever leave Hallelujah Junction. And though I know that fact to be true, I still have no idea what he has planned for us. When do we get married? What happens once we are? I have so many questions but no answers.

I want to ask him. I should be able to ask him. I’m his daughter, and yet I fear him now. He’s not the same. Or maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m seeing him through Christopher’s eyes rather than my own.

If Papa Rich knew the thoughts I have been thinking…

He can never know. Never.

But today I choose happiness. I stir the batter of the cake I have been wanting to make for Christopher since day one and focus on joy. I use the last of our sugar and flour, but I know Papa is going into town for supplies today and I added them to the shopping list. I don’t always get everything I want, but if I don’t ask, then I have no chance of getting. Usually Papa is willing to give me the essentials for baking, but not always.

“Now what do I see here?” I hear the question behind me, and I instantly tense and breathe from my nose. I don’t want to smell him. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want Scarecrow here.

But he’s here. It’s been four days since his last visit, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He always has Papa Rich get supplies from town for him.

“I’m baking a cake,” I say, not breaking from stirring in hopes that he sees I’m busy and leaves me alone.

He hobbles to where I’m at, by the sink, and leers over my shoulder