But she couldn't tell. If he did, he said, I might kill both of them. He kep remindin her about the creamer and the hatchet. He kep tellin her about what a cold, bad-tempered bitch I was and about how he couldn't help it because a man had certain needs. He drilled those things into her, Andy, until she was half-crazy with em. He - What, Frank?
Yes, he worked, all right, but his kind of work didn't slow him down much when it came to chasm his daughter. A jack of all trades, I called him, and that's just what he was. He did chores for any number of the summer people and caretook two houses (I hope the people who hired him to do that kep a good inventory of their possessions); there were four or five different fishermen who'd call him to crew when they were busy - Joe could haul traps with the best of em, if he wa'ant too hung over - and accourse he had his small engines for a sideline. In other words, he worked the way a lot of island men work (although not as hard as most) - a drib here n a drab there. A man like that can pretty much set his own hours, and that summer and early fall, Joe set his so's to be around the house as much as he could when I was gone. To be around Selena.
Do you understand what I need you to understand, I wonder? Do you see that he was workin as hard to get into her mind as he was into her pants? I think it was seem me with that goddam hatchet in my hand that had the most power over her, so that was what he used the most. When he saw he couldn't use it anymore to gain her sympathy, he used it to scare her with. He told her over n over again that I'd drive her out of the house if lever found out what they was doin.
What they was doin! Gorry!
She said she didn't want to do it, and he said that was just too bad, but it was too late to stop. He told her she'd teased him until he was half-crazy, and said that kind of teasin's why most rapes happen, and good women (meanin bad-tempered, hatchet wavin bitches like me, I guess) knew it. Joe kep tellin her he'd keep his end quiet as long as she kep hers quiet . . . 'But,' he told her, 'you have to understand, baby, that if some comes out, all comes out.'
She didn't know what he meant by all, and she didn't understand how bringin him a glass of iced tea in the afternoon and telin him about Laurie Langill's new puppy had given him the idear that he could reach between her legs n squeeze her there whenever he wanted, but she was convinced she must have done somethin to make him act so bad, and it made her ashamed. That was the worst of it, I think - not the fear but the shame.
She said she set out one day to tell the whole story to Mrs Sheets, the guidance counsellor. She even made an appointment, but she lost her nerve in the outside office when another girl's appointment ran a little overtime. That had been less than a month before, just after school let back in.
'I started to think how it would sound,' she told me as we sat there on the bench by the aft companionway. We were halfway across the reach by then, and we could see the East Head, all lit up with the afternoon sun. Selena was finally done her cryin. She'd give out a big watery sniffle every now n then, and my hanky was wet clear through, but she mostly had herself under control, and I was damned proud of her. She never let go of my hand, though. She held it in a death-grip all the time we was talkin. I had bruises on it the next day. 'I thought about how it'd be to sit down and say, "Mrs Sheets, my Dad is trying to do you-know-what to me." And she's so dense - and so old - she'd probably say, "No, I don't know-what, Selena. What are you talking about?" Only she'd say TAWkeen about, like she does when she gets up on her high horse. And then I'd have to tell