Chapter 83: The Dam Breaks

Survivors Guilt, Stockholm Syndrome, Suppressed rage, and literally a host of other diagnosable conditions. I’m no psychoanalyst but I’d been sent to enough of them after the war to have a base understanding. I knew I hadn’t heard the worst of it yet and I delved into the bourbon a little bit more.

“Mary”

No response just crying.

“Mary!”, I commanded and she looked at me earning me scowls from both Mouse and Banshee.

“It’s time to talk Mary and I want the truth.” I wanted to finish this part tonight if I could but this woman really need a hospital and extended counseling. The problem was we still had days of travel ahead of us before we could begin the slow healing process.

Mary slowly nodded, sobbing all the while.

I handed her my cup and she took another sip of bourbon, the burn seemed to help her stabilize a little.

“Where did you learn to weave Mary?” Let’s tease the door open and see if we can pull the story out.

“My mother taught all of us to weave, it’s how we made money to help the family.”

A start, good let’s get her talking freely.

“Your mother?”

“Momma was a good weaver and I learned, I can make you a basket tomorrow!”

“I’d really like that Mary, will you come home and make baskets for me? We need help and we need you.”

“Home?”, she asked.

“Of course”, I answered, “I have a nice home down south a little bit with lots of nice people. We want you to come stay with us.”

“I’d like to have a home again.” She said and started crying hard again.

Fucked that up a little, Mouse scowled at me to confirm my thoughts. Push on.

“Please Mary, come stay with us and that will be your new home. Mouse will be there and so will Banshee.”

She smiled up at Mouse and said, “I think I’d like that.” Mouse continued to comfort her and hum softly.

“Mary, why did you have to leave home?” Now I was probing.

More intense sobbing with a scowl from Mouse and a poke in the back from Banshee, right in the sore wound spot. Thin ice ahead.

“Mary, I asked you a question”

“Because of the lake”, she wailed, “I hate that damn lake.”

Fuck me I’d just led us over the cliff.

“What happened at the lake Mary?”

“I ... I got with child ... preacher man ... papa angry ... married ... had to leave.” Came out in a jumbled sobbing mess. What a fucking mess.

“You had sex with the preacher?” I asked, I really couldn’t afford to mince words if we were going to get through this. “Mary, let’s just talk about it all one time. You have to tell me because you belong to me.”

Yeah I’ve always been an asshole.

“Papa was going to kill him but the Deacons wouldn’t let him” a moment of fierce pride.

“Kill him?”

“I didn’t want to do that, he held me down and made me. My sisters found me cuz I couldn’t go home.