I stared, shocked, feeling a scream in my throat that just stayed there. Before my amazed eyes Lance Spalding sprawled over my sixteen-year-old daughter, jerking spasmodically. Cindy's hands clutched at his buttocks, her long red fingernails digging in, her head rolling from side to side as she moaned with pleasure, telling me this was not their first time.
What should I do now? Close the door and say nothing? Fly into a towering rage and drive Lance out of our home? Helplessly caught in a web of indecision I stood there as only seconds must have passed, until I heard a faint noise behind me.
Another gasped. I whirled around to see Bart, who was staring at Cindy, who'd rolled on top of Lance and was lustily riding him, crying out fourletter word vulgarities in between her moans of ecstasy, entirely unaware of anything but what she was doing and what was being done to her.
Bart had no indecision.
He strode directly to the bed and caught hold of Cindy around the waist. With a mighty heave he tore her off the boy; who seemed helpless in his nakedness and the bliss of what had been going on. Bart ruthlessly hurled Cindy to the floor. She screamed as she fell face downward on the carpet.
Bart didn't hear.
He was too busy handling the youth. Again and again his fists slammed into Lance's handsome face. I heard the crack of his nose as blood spurted everywhere. "NOT UNDER MY ROOF!" he roared, repeatedly battering Lance's face. "NO SINNING UNDER MY ROOF!"
A moment ago I felt like doing the same thing. Now I ran to save the boy. "Bart, STOP! YOU'LL KILL HIM!"
Cindy kept screaming hysterically even as she tried to cover her nudity with the clothes she'd dropped on the floor. They were all mixed up with Lance's discarded garments. Joel was now in the room, raking his eyes scornfully over Cindy; then he was turning to smile at me with gloating satisfaction that said over and over again: See, I told you so. Like mother, like daughter.
"See what you've raised with your pampering?" Jo
el intoned, as if behind a pulpit. "It was evident from the first time I saw her that that girl was nothing but a harlot under the roof of my father's house."
"You fool!" I stormed. "Who are you to condemn anyone?"
"You are the fool, Catherine. Just like your mother, in more than one way. She, too, wanted every man she saw, even her own half uncle. She was like this naked girl crawling lewdly around on the floor-- ready to bed down with anything in pants."
Unexpectedly Bart dropped Lance on the bed and hurled himself at Joel. "Stop it! Don't you dare tell my mother she's like her mother! She isn't, she isn't!"
"You'll see it my way eventually, Bart," said Joel in his softest, most sanctimonious tone. "Corrine got what she deserved. Just as your mother will get hers one day. And if justice and right still rule in this world, and God is in his Heaven, that indecent, naked girl on the floor trying to cover herself will meet her end in fiery flames, as she deserves."
"Don't you say anything like that again!" bellowed Bart, so furious with Joel he forgot all about Cindy and Lance; who were both hastily pulling on the night-clothes they'd abandoned. He hesitated, as if shocked to find himself defending the girl he incessantly denied was his sister. "This is my life, Uncle," he said sternly, "and my family more than it is yours. I will deal out what justice is demanded, and not you."
Seemingly very distressed and shaken, shuffling lamely like an older man, Joel ambled off down the hall, bent over almost double.
The moment Joel was out of sight, Bart turned his furious temper on me. "YOU SEE!" he roared. "Cindy has just proven what I suspected she was all along! She's no good, Mother! NO GOOD! All the time she played the game of being sweet, she was planning how she'd enjoy herself when Lance came. I want her out of this house and out of my life forever!"
"Bart, you can't send Cindy away--she's my daughter! If you have to punish someone more than you have, send Lance away. You're right, of course, Cindy shouldn't have done what she did, nor should Lance have taken advantage of our hospitality."
Somewhat mollified, he managed to simmer down a little. "All right, Cindy can stay since you insist on loving her no matter what. But that boy is going tonight!" He-yelled at Lance, "Hurry and pack your things--for in five minutes I'm driving you to the airport. If you ever dare touch Cindy again, I'll break the rest of your bones! And don't think I won't know. I have friends in South Carolina, too!"
Lance Spalding was very pale as he hurried to throw his clothes back into suitcases he'd just emptied. He couldn't even look at me as he hurried by and whispered huskily, "I'm sorry and so ashamed, Mrs. Sheffield . . . and then he was gone, with Bart right behind him, shoving him on faster from time to time.
Now I turned to Cindy, who had donned a very modest granny gown and was huddled under the covers of her bed, staring at me wide-eyed and scared looking. "I hope you are satisfied, Cindy," I said coldly. "You have truly disappointed me. I expected more from you . . . you promised me. Don't your promises mean anything at all?"
"Momma, please," she sobbed. "I love him, and I wanted him, and I think I waited long enough. It was my Christmas gift to him--and to myself."
"Don't lie to me, Cynthia! Tonight wasn't your first time with him. I'm not as stupid as you presume I am. You and Lance have been lovers before. "
She wailed loudly, "Momma, aren't you going to love me anymore? You can't just turn it off, 'cause if you do, then I'll want to die! I don't have any parents but you and Daddy . . . and I swear it won't happen again. Please forgive me, please!"
"I'll think about it," I said coldly as I closed her door.
The next morning as I dressed, Cindy came running into my room, crying out hysterically, "Momma, please don't let Bart force me to leave, too. I've never had a happy Christmas when Bart was around. I hate him! Really hate him! He's ruined Lance's face, ruined it."
More than likely she was right. I had to teach Bart how to hold back his rage. How terrible for such a good-looking boy to have his beautiful nose broken, to say nothing of his black eyes and many cuts and bruises.
However, after Lance was gone, something peculiar laid a ghostly hand on Bart and turned him very quiet. Lines I hadn't seen before etched from his nose to his beautifully shaped lips, and he was too young for face lines. He refused to look or talk to Cindy. He treated me as if I weren't there, either. He sat sullen and quiet, staring at me, then rested his dark eyes fleetingly on Cindy, who was weeping, and I couldn't remember another time when Cindy had allowed any of us to see her cry.
Through my mind flitted all kinds of dreary thoughts. The place where owls and foxes resided, remembering the Bible we used to have to study every day. Where could understanding be found? There was a time for planting, a time for reaping, a time to gather in . . . where was our time for joy?