The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,115

temple. “I had her strip down so I could tend to her bruises. Whilst I was seein’ to her, my door busted open an’ Burke come in, ravin’ like a madman. He…he knocked me down an’ threw her over his shoulder like she was nothin’ more’n a sack o’ taters. Stormed out with her. I didn’t see her after that. But I won’t never forget how she was shiverin’, part from shock, an’ part, I think, ’cause he’d hurt things inside o’ her.”

Addie gasped.

“I ain’t no real doctor, as folks in these parts are all-fired quick to point out, so I can’t say for sure. But it only makes sense to me. After that night, folks talked about a hurtin’ in her gut that wouldn’t go away. Then she sank into a sleepful state, an’ she died. Burke blamed me, but…” Tears rolled down the old woman’s face. “She was such a little gal. Hardly bigger’n a child. An’ he beat her with his fists.” She sat up and wiped her eyes, sniffing hard. “Now he’s doin’ it to Bettina.”

Emmett drew back. “How do you know?”

“I seen the bruises on her wrists. Seen ’em this mornin’ when she brung me my books. They’re fresh, as bold purple as—” Her face crumpled, and she began to sob. “As ripe blueberries.”

Addie embraced Nanny Fay. Emmett jolted to his feet and paced the length of the library, one fist pressed to his chin. Addie held her friend and followed Emmett with her eyes. Fury pulsated from him, and she didn’t blame him. A man who abused his wife and child deserved to be beaten until his body was covered in bold purple bruises. Until his insides caused him pain.

“Emmett, what are you going to do?”

He came to a stop so quickly it appeared he’d collided with a wall. He stood for several seconds, tense as a taut spring, then lowered his hand. A harsh laugh burst from his throat. “To think the people in this town watch Nanny Fay, a harmless elderly woman, and fear what she’ll do, but they turn a blind eye to an able-bodied man who batters his family. I can’t fathom a father—” He shook his head hard, as if scattering his thoughts. He muttered, almost to himself, “What is wrong with him?”

Addie wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t want to leave Nanny Fay without support. The woman continued to cry in whimpering moans and hiccups. Suddenly Bettina’s behavior—her resentment, her desire to win Emmett’s favor, her jealousy—made sense. Addie rubbed Nanny Fay’s quivering back and held Emmett’s gaze. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him or the people in this community, but I think we now know what’s wrong with Bettina. And I think we should—”

“Why’re you talkin’ about me?” Bettina’s angry voice blasted from the doorway. She pointed at Nanny Fay. “What’s that ol’ witch woman doin’ here?” Her face drained of color, and her finger took aim at the crumpled gingham. “An’ why’s she got my maw’s dress?”

Emmett took a step toward her. “Bettina, we know what your pap’s been doing.”

The girl’s hazel eyes narrowed to resentment-filled slits. “W-w-what’re you talkin’ about?”

Emmett stretched his hand to her and gently lifted her cuff. “This.”

Bettina thrust her hand behind her back. “I did that myself. Did it choppin’ wood.”

“Bettina…” Emmett spoke so gently that tears stung Addie’s eyes. “Those aren’t bruises from chopping wood. They’re from a hand. From your father’s hand. Am I right?”

She balled her fists and glowered at Emmett. “You think I’m stupid enough to let a man put his hands on me? If you think that, you’re the stupid one. You, an’ you, an’ you!” She pointed at each of them by turn, her motions jerky and uncontrolled. She flung the book pack onto the library floor and spun toward the doorway. “An’ that blueberry jam tasted like dirt!”

“Bettina!”

Emmett and Addie called her name at the same time, but she raced out of the library, flung herself on Mule’s back, and escaped up the street.

Bettina

BETTINA RODE MULE HARD. UP the road past the church, past the schoolhouse, all the way through Tuckett’s Pass and up where backwood folks hiding from revenuers lived. She would’ve gone farther, except Mule’s sides were heaving and froth bubbled out of his mouth. She might kill him if she kept going, and then what would she do? She stopped and slid from his back.

“C’mon, Mule.” She led him into the trees a ways. Little Muddy Creek