"Wife! Get out on the gallery and greet your husband!" he screamed. "Get your rump out there or I'll beat it till the skin comes offl Hear? Get out!"

Terrified to disobey, I stepped out on the gallery. Even the cottonmouth must have heard him and fled, for it wasn't there.

"Now, that's more like it," he cried. "Wave. Go on. Wave."

I lifted my hand and limply did so. He laughed again and poled harder until he reached the dock. The whole shack seemed to shake when he stepped up. He staggered for a moment and then smiled and handed me a bag of groceries.

"Got us our wedding dinner," he said. "And lots to drink. Buster's finally going to celebrate his marriage. Take it." I moved quickly and did so. Then I turned and went into the shack. He came in and stood gaping.

"Well, now, this is a wife. I knew it. I knew a Landry wouldn't let me down. Good woman. We gonna have a good life together."

"What is this?" I asked timidly when I took out what was in the bag and unwrapped some of it. "Pig's feet and gizzards and all the fixin's for a gumbo. Don't you know how to make a roux?" I shook my head. "What! Sure you do, woman. You just stand there and work until you get it right, hear? I'll just sit back here, drink a little rotgut, and watch my good woman work. Go on. Do it! And if it ain't good, I'll take it out on your hide. You got one nice hide, too." He put his large hand on my back and slid it down over my buttocks and squeezed until I cried out, which only made him laugh harder.

"First we eat; then we consummate the marriage," he said in a hoarse whisper. His lips were beside my ear, and his breath smelled like a dead rat. My stomach churned, and my legs felt as if' they would crumble, but I closed my eyes and held myself up, fearing that if I did faint, it would only be worse.

Fumbling with the ingredients, I tried desperately to remember what our cook did. I had watched her work a few times. A roux was only a brown sauce, but every Cajun cook did something different to make it special. My hope was that Buster would be too drunk to know what anything really tasted like. For the time being, I had to pretend I knew what I was doing. And so I started to prepare the meal, which to Buster Trahaw was a celebration but to me was more like a last supper.

Buster sprawled on the cot as I worked, and after a while, when I turned to look at him, I saw he was asleep. I gazed up at the knife. I could get it off the wall quietly, tiptoe over to him and . . . Could I do it? Of course. I had dissected frogs and worms. I knew where the blade should go, but I had never deliberately killed anything. I cried if I accidentally stepped on a grasshopper. I knew, however, that if I didn't do something, Buster would have his way with me.

Maybe I could just frighten him into giving me the key to the lock, I thought. I could put the knife to his throat and tell him to get the key out of his pocket, or maybe I should just hit him hard over the head with the cast-iron frying pan. My body was shaking with all these choices.

I heard him grunt and then snore. His eyes were closed, and his head was turned to the wall. This was my chance to get the knife. I put down the mixing spoon gently and just as gently started toward the knife, holding the chain as I moved so it wouldn't rattle over the floor.

Buster grunted again and I paused, holding my breath. He blew air through his thick lips, snorted, and then began to snore again. I tiptoed closer to the knife, reached for it, nearly dropped it, and then clutched it to my bosom. I turned slowly and just as carefully made my way back. When I was only a foot or so from him, I closed my eyes and prayed for the strength.

Mammy could do this if she had to, I told myself. My father and poor Pierre were waiting for me to find Mommy and bring her home. I couldn't remain a prisoner in this shack much longer, and all that was standing between me and my freedom was this cruel man who didn't deserve an ounce of mercy. I stood there, hardening my heart against him until I was convinced I had the courage to do what had to be done. Then I stepped forward, raised the knife, and pressed the blade against his ugly Adam's apple, which resembled a small rodent under his skin.

I pressed it quickly, and his eyes snapped open.

"Wha . ."

"Don't move a muscle," I said, "orI'll slice your throat the way you slice a pig's." I pressed the blade tighter.

"Hold on, now, hear?" he said. "That's a sharp knife."

"Then don't move until I tell you to move," I said.

"I ain't movin'. Damn," he said, sobering up quickly. "This ain't no way for a man's wife to behave."

"I am not your wife and I never will be," I said. "I'd rather be dead, so don't think I won't cut your throat," I warned. I was surprised at the fury and the determination in my voice. "I have this knife right up to your jugular. Your blood will spray all over that wall you're staring at," I warned him. I could see his eyes widen and bulge with the imagined sight.

"Easy, now," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. You be my wife."

"I told you. I'm not your wife. Now reach slowly into your pocket and take out the key to this lock you have around my ankle. Go ahead, but slowly. Slowly!" I cried, pressing the blade against his throat again.

"I'm movin' easy," he cried. He slipped in his hand into

his pocket and came up with the key. I took it quickly.

"Don't move. Put your hand back into your pocket," I ordered. "Go on." He did so.

It was a bit of a contortion for me, but I lifted my foot up to the cot, threaded the key into the lock and turned it. It snapped open, and I took it off, loosening the chain so I could slip my foot free.

Now my problems were just starting, I thought. Once I took the knife from his throat, what was to prevent him from turning on me and attacking me again? Thinking quickly, I realized I could just duplicate what he had done. I picked up the chain and put it over his leg.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Lift this leg. Lift it!" I screamed, keeping the knife pressed tightly to his throat. He did so and I pulled the chain under and around, threaded the lock through the links just the way he had done to tighten the chain, and snapped it shut. Then I took a deep breath to try to slow my heartbeat.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Landry Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net