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  He gave her another backhand, whispering ominously, “You stupid strumpet, don’t you ever question me again.” With further disdain, he dropped her to the floor. Struggling to pull down his trousers, he mounted her from behind, slamming into her tender virgin flesh. His big hands wrapped themselves around her throat cutting off her air. Disgusting sounds emanated from him, reminiscent of hogs fighting in their pig slop. By the time he finished, her screams lessened to shocked and gulping whimpers. She cowered defenselessly on the floor as he grunted his way to the bed and collapsed, falling into a deep stupor.

  Netty lay stunned, her beautiful fantasy dissolving into the reality of the burning pain and blood between her legs. She felt numbness on her face. Reaching up, she felt her nose and realized Robert had broken it. Hot tears streamed down her swelling face as she slowly made her way to the wash bowl. She tenderly blotted away at her thighs, wincing at the ruin of her nose in the looking glass above the stand. Gathering up the remnants of her lovely night gown, she achingly pressed the ruined gift to her heart. Oh, Mama, please come take me home.

  Netty slipped into her robe and carefully crept to the bottom corner of the bed where she silently curled up, praying that the morn would come quickly. Suddenly, Robert tossed in his sleep. His foot shot out from under the comforter, slamming into her bottom as he viciously kicked her off the bed.

  “Country trash does not sleep in my bed.” He snorted drunkenly as he contemptuously rolled over to sleep. She crept over to the tiny divan, careful not to soil the beautiful silk with her blood to await the morn.

  Netty awoke with the warmth of the sun streaming into the room to announce a steamy summer morning on the wane. Her body ached all over. Her nose was swollen twice its size and canted to the side. She glanced at the bed, discovering with relief, her husband’s absence.

  Running quickly to the door, she found it locked. Puzzled, her heart thumping wildly, she knew this could not be a good sign. As she gingerly dressed and packed, hoping to escape back to the cabin and her mama, she heard noises in the hallway. After some fumbling with the lock, the door slammed back against the wall with a bang. Her husband strolled into the room accompanied by his manservant, Eli, and several older housemaids. Upon his order, they grabbed her and plunked her down on a mahogany slipper chair. Amid her protests, she noticed Eli carried a large pair of sewing shears in his rough meaty hands. Robert proceeded to lay out the rules for her. She would be confined to the townhouse with no visitors. She would take all her meals in the kitchen before he returned from work and then retire to her own room. She would help with the packing during the day as they would be leaving town to move to a mansion called Sunnydale in Norristown, in the neighboring county.

  Her head reeled with confusion. She realized Norristown was at least a hard two day walk, maybe more, from the farm. Robert’s automobile, quite a luxury in the eyes of poor country folk, frightened her, yet gave her confidence that the distance would be manageable for her but not her mama. That is, if she was allowed to use the vehicle. As her visible panic mounted, she witnessed a signal from Robert. Two housemaids grabbed her arms, holding her down as Eli approached with the shears. Walking to the door, Robert appeared satisfied.

  “This will be a small taste of my displeasure if you become a nuisance.” Turning smartly, he dismissively left the room. Eli then scooped up a fist full of her long gleaming tresses and with one hack, her hair disappeared.

  She then became his captive. Isolated from all she knew. Her days consisted of packing and desperately staying out of Robert’s sight. She realized the cropping of her hair was meant to demoralize her. He needn’t have bothered. She was so traumatized, she appeared to be the walking dead, even spooking the household staff. Her nose began to heal without the benefit of medical care. As a result, the cant fused permanently, throwing her pleasant features off balance, making her almost unrecognizable. It also left an unsightly bump on the bridge of her nose. The dull and lifeless hair left on her scalp began to show signs of small bald spots brought on by stress. Over time, they became permanent. And the rapes continued. Not frequently, for she realized Robert actually did despise her. But once a week he returned home at dawn, pleased with himself and more inebriated than usual. He routinely appeared at her bedside naked, his ugly purple erection stupid with desire. She dare not cry out for fear he would punish her in some sick evil way. So she acquiesced, silently wanting to kill him.

  Why, why, why me? What did I do wrong? Why did Mama not come to visit me? Did they turn her away at the door? Not knowing drove her crazy. If only she could get a message to her mama, she and Mr. Woods would rescue her.

  As much as a month passed since her ill-fated wedding and the household packing was finally completed. Netty carefully decided to bribe a young housemaid with one of the coins given to her by Mr. Woods at her wedding, a miracle Robert neglected to search her belongings and appropriate her purse. She painstakingly wrote a message to her mama in her childish block letters, hiding it in her apron pocket with the coin, planning to pass it along to her young accomplice, a kitchen wench she managed to discreetly befriend.

  Spinning around, Netty saw that Robert stood in the doorway. Did he observe me secreting the note? His expression unreadable, she held her breath. Without a preamble, he casually sat her in a chair and delivered the awful news. The sheriff found her mama assaulted and murdered in their cabin. It appeared to have occurred several weeks ago. She need not plan a funeral; the body has already been interred. Netty screamed, pitifully slumping to the floor.

  Her cold silent tears brought Netty back to the present, sitting on the chilled floor of the lonely woods. Wiping away her useless tear drops, she continued on, not understanding the compulsion, her damaged feet continued to whimper their fruitless protest.

  The cleft in the rocky hillside led her to up the path that circled around a magnificent piece of granite, probably deposited as glaciers moved across the continent during one of the many ice ages starting in the Cryogenian period of the planet’s development. The rock, a beacon to any child, seduced her as well. It became her private sanctuary. The place she ran to for dreaming, praying and saying goodbye to her creatures as her efforts to help their sufferings failed.

  Every creature she lost withered her young heart and caused her to rail at God for his indifference to the suffering of the truly innocent. In particular, her worst moments with God came after receiving a maimed creature, often dropped on her family’s doorstop by a sympathetic neighbor, clearly intentionally harmed by someone. She knew instinctively that every creature was entitled to one thing—its own life. To steal it through abuse or indifference argued a crime against God. At her rock, she could cry or rail at God in private. As long as she was respectful to Him, she could exercise her frustration, vent and return home to her makeshift hospital, ready to soldier on.

  Sudden chattering from above drew her gaze. Two squirrels argued, probably over territory from the signals of their furious tail thumping. Brightening, she grasped the first handhold to climb the rock just as she used to before her marriage. She gingerly pulled herself up, her eyes skimming over a pile of loose rocks at the base of the granite, where it leaned into the hillside, something of a cairn that she did not recall seeing before. Further on, she spied a fat sunning rattlesnake coiled around the base of a young maple tree, frighteningly close to the pathway she must traverse back out of the woods. She remembered the knoll was not called Snake Hill for nothing.

  Reaching the top, she spotted the concave depression she used as a throne as a child. The seat was cold and sharp against her twenty-three year old rump. Suddenly, Netty saw in the periphery of her vision, another flash of color like the one that visited her at the cabin. Was she coming down with something? She could not afford to get sick now, just as she was starting her new life. Memory returned to the last days at the mansion.

  A truce of sorts developed between her and Robert. Thankfully, he no longer demanded her attentions in the bedroom. They
still lived in their Renaissance Revival mansion in Norristown. Occasionally, she would wander the mansion at night while Robert was out late with his business partners. She loved admiring the high ceilings and beautiful carvings of their home, secretly investigating every nook and cranny.

  She was forbidden to be in her husband’s stunning library. The room was 38’ by 25’ with every inch of the oak walls carved in intricate designs, the massive fireplace dressed in an emerald green marble surround with an amazing carved mantle all the way to the ceiling. The mantle showcased Robert’s valuable collection of antique American gold coins. She often spied him in the library, slobbering over them as if they were his children. The collection frequently impressed guests that stopped by to request favors or seek his advice.

  She went to sit at her husband’s extraordinary partner’s desk, the top made of the richest burled walnut. A partner’s lamp made by the talented Louis Comfort Tiffany rested comfortably where it could reflect the warmth of the fireplace. She pulled on the chain, casting light over the hand carved body of the desk. It was while admiring the intricate dark walnut carvings of the desk, that she innocently discovered her husband’s dark secrets. Accidently pressing a small carved bump that was part of the design on the inside wall of the cubby for her husband’s legs, she discovered a secret panel. Upon her excited investigation, she discovered the source of this unexplained wealth. It certainly was not family money as everyone assumed. For inside the secret panel, she also uncovered a shelf that held a copy of Robert’s father’s will.

  Robert stood to inherit nothing. Except for the family townhouse, deeded to his five elder sisters, there was little of the Doyle fortune left. Expensive wedding dowries and even more expensive weddings, severely drained his father. Such is the cost of attracting suitably wealthy husbands. His sisters were set. Netty also uncovered receipts from the town clerk that showed Robert paid the taxes and upkeep of the family townhome. Hmm, she thought, Robert was not known to be generous. This came as quite a surprise.

  Upon further investigation, she found receipts for large sums of money to several town fathers. He now wielded much power and influence in their city. He ruled the county courthouse, bowed and scraped to, accordingly. She realized things were starting to add up, yet it made the question of why he married her even more mysterious. And what about the source of all of his money; her suspicions flamed wildly.

  And there it was, pushed to the very back of the secret drawer; a ledger, dog-eared and covered with spills, but legible. The ledger also contained payroll records, listing most of the names of his so-called friends and business partners. Taking in the columns of numbers along with dates and times, it became clear. They were his employees. Last but not least was a detailed account of shipping intake and disbursements. Glancing at the materials list any fool could see that her husband was a gin and rum-runner. Law enforcement clearly rested in his back pocket. The late night partying at the carriage house now took on a new light. It also explained the presence of the thuggish strangers that seemed ever-present back there during the day.

  Would it be possible to use this information to obtain her release? She often thought of murdering her husband to end her imprisonment, but knew she could not face her Lord if she took a life.

  As she shuffled the papers and ledger back to their hiding place, her hands dislodged an envelope previously overlooked. Glancing at it quickly, she saw it was the Last Will and Testament of James Woods; her Mr. Woods. It took her many years to begin to heal from the death of her mother and just as long to bury her hurt and disappointment with Mr. Woods’ abandonment. Perhaps he thought, now that she was married, her days occupied her to the exclusion of old friends. She failed time and time again to convince Robert to let her visit him. Finally Robert confessed to her that Mr. Woods passed shortly after her mother’s death. It was presumed to be a heart attack, as he was found in an alley, not far from his home. He added the rumor that the family inherited a sizeable fortune.

  Netty ran her fingers tenderly over Mr. Woods’ name, wondering why his will was in Robert’s possession.

  Out of curiosity, Netty opened the contents of the envelope. Most of the text seemed to have been written in legalese and jargon unfamiliar to her. She recognized the names of members of Mr. Woods’ family. Yes, she could see he left them well taken care of. Suddenly, she recognized her very own name on the last page; Jeannette Elizabeth Woods Smith. Woods? What was that all about? Quite an odd mistake. Tears dropped softly to her lap as she realized Mr. Woods did not forget her at all. Reading on, she realized he bequeathed to her all of the 2000 acres surrounding the cabin her family lived in. She was incredulous. Why was I not told? When did this happen? Netty looked for a date on the will. On the signature line, she read that Mr. Woods signed it about five years before her marriage. And underneath his signature was her husband’s name as attorney of record. The stunning truth; he had always known.

  Feeling a lump on her lap, she realized she overlooked more papers. Smoothing them out on the desk, a tiny map of the farm and their cabin unfolded. It was attached to a message asking her husband to draw up the final contract for the transfer of Lots 1 thru 300, blocks 14 thru 46 to the O’Reilly Development Corp. He was selling part of the farm; her farm?

  Netty considered the implications. Mr. Woods’ family must have wondered about the strange bequest. They obviously are aware of it. If the will legally conveyed title to the property, she has been the legal owner for many years now. Her thoughts and emotions turned upside down with confusion while her sneaking anger grew. She just could not understand her husband’s motives for hiding her inheritance. It left her only one choice. She must challenge him and wrench the truth from him. Dare she hope that this might be the vehicle for her escape from her insufferable existence? She thought it might be, but she must take pains to be careful. Breathing deeply, she tried to calm down. She desperately needed to think straight.

  Pocketing the evidence, she rose to her feet. Startled at the sound of the front door opening, she scampered out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom. Frantically, she searched for the wedding purse she had hidden away years ago. Yes, her silver coins were still there. She looked wildly around her small bedroom. Clothes, she needed suitable attire. She must be ready to run if things went wrong. Her nightclothes would not work.

  “Netty.” She heard her husband bellow loud enough to wake the dead, certainly the household staff. He sounded drunk as usual and more angry than normal. No time to change, she scooped up a heavy woolen shawl, slipping her purse and the papers securely into a deep pocket.

  Quickly, she descended to the foyer stairs where her husband waited. He stood at the entrance to the library, shaking with rage, his face purple and ready to explode. In his hands, he held papers. Her heart fluttered painfully. In her haste, she neglected to replace them in the secret drawer. Her courage began to desert her. This was not how she intended to pry information from him. She cowered at the thought of her lost advantage. Springing forward, Robert painfully caught her wrist, dragging her into the room.

  “Do you have any explanation as to why my private papers have been rifled through?” Netty ignored the question. Mustering her shaky voice, she confronted him.

  “I should like an explanation for this, Robert.” He appeared stunned to find the tiny map in her hand. She watched as the realization of her knowledge dawned across his face. Without any warning, he balled his hand into a fist, punching her hard in her stomach.

  “I told you never to question me,” he whispered, the venom in the tone of his voice, dripping poison. Dragging her to a chair, she doubled over, unable to breath. Robert screamed for Eli. It didn’t take long before he appeared, his leering grin, a sign he was hoping for some excitement. Looking wildly from Robert to Netty, he waited for a command. With a nod from Robert, he put his meaty paws on her, holding her down with his well-muscled brown arms, his reeking breath bathing her neck, while Robert paced.

  This will not be
good, Netty thought, as she tried to sit up. She could hear Robert muttering angrily under his breath. His words got louder as he increased his cursing. Her ears perked up as she heard her mother’s name; something about her mother being difficult.

  Shapely … rape, just get rid of her, but she tempted me … the tramp … firm thighs … spread her legs for James Woods when they were kids. Choking the life out of her … Satisfaction … brat to meet a similar fate. Unthinking, Netty cried out in shock.

  “You killed my mama? Why? Why?” Robert’s eyes zeroed in on Netty. She cringed in her chair, Eli still holding her down. As Robert moved to grab her, the front doorbell rang. Robert froze, his hand raised to strike her. He ordered Eli to answer the door. They listened as Eli explained that Robert was indisposed. The men at the door insisted they must see him, as his presence was needed at the carriage house. To make matters worse for Robert, the chief of police accompanied them, a little matter of his cut. Clearly, it would take Robert’s intervention to make them go away so he prepared to step into the foyer.