Eudora's Gift

Chapter Five

Eudora held her ribs and grimaced.  Foster had kicked her last night, and she wasn't sure if they were broken or merely bruised.  It hurt to take a deep breath, and it was unbearable to carry her backpack on her left shoulder.  She moved slowly and gingerly through the school.  She had taken some Tylenol, but it barely touched the pain.  In between classes she was late to her locker, and was still putting her books away when Troy came with his entourage.  He slammed her locker shut and caught her hand in the door.  She glared at the floor and pried her crushed hand loose. 

"Hey fatty, get out of  my way.  Your blocking my locker." He pushed her aside roughly.  "Stupid trailer trash bitch." 

Seeing that teasing Eudora was the theme of the day, and the girl hadn't run off as quickly as usual, Eric Mortem joined in the game.  "Yeah, I heard her mom was a c***k w***e.  Sold her off to her uncle and ran away."

Eudora had heard all these insults before, that her mom was a drug addict, that she'd been abandoned to her uncle, nobody wanted her, blah blah blah.  She bent to pick up the book she'd dropped when Troy shut the locker on her hand.  The act of bending over was excruciating in her ribs, and she could hardly breath through the pain.

Eric got a few snickers for his dig, so he decided to ramp it up.  "I heard," he said loudly, "that she f***s her drunk uncle. They got that i****t thing going on up in the woods.  My dad said-"  The little circle of students never got to hear what his dad said, because Eudora came up from the floor so fast and hard and plowed her small fist straight into his nose.  There was an audible crunch, and the blood started to gush as Eric howled like a baby. 

"What the f**k, b***h!" Troy was on her, and she couldn't move fast enough to avoid the fist that came down on her jaw.  The force of it knocked her backward off her feet, and in the next moment he kicked her in the side, on her good side, but it hardly mattered, her ribs exploded in pain and she began to see black spots.

"Break it up right now!" a male voice roared.  It was Mr. Carrole, Eudora realized in humiliation.  He had Troy by the back of the neck, and was sending threatening looks to the circle of spectators that had gathered to enjoy the fight.  "Someone take Mr. Mortem to the nurses office.  Troy, you report to the principles office."  He shoved the boy in the direction of the upper house office.

"Hey lay off man," Troy complained, "Cant you see she started it?  Jesus, she broke his damn nose."  

"I saw everything," Mr. Carrole said threateningly.  He had wanted to run to her rescue immediately when Troy started bullying her, but he restrained himself.  He wanted to see how she reacted.  At first it seemed that she was going to stare at the floor and take it.  She picked up her dropped books without saying anything.  Then Eric had said made that disgusting comment about her uncle, and the tiny Eudora had erupted like a volcano.  Still he could tell as he had watched the fight that there was something wrong, she was moving too slowly, favoring her side, guarding her ribs.  After the hall cleared, she still lay curled on her side, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.  He carefully picked her up and carried her toward the staff room, which was empty this period.  He put her gently on the couch.

"Eudora, are you hurt?  Should I call an ambulance?" He asked anxiously.

She swallowed and took a few shallow, calming breaths.  "No.  No ambulance."  She looked anywhere but at him.

"Your uncle then?  We should call him, and tell him what's happened." Jericho pressed.

"No!  No please don't call my uncle.  I'm fine!  I just-" She sat up and winced as she reflexively covered her injured ribs.

Jericho pushed her hands aside and carefully lifted her shirt, he sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the huge purple bruise on her left side.  Troy hadn't made this bruise, he'd kicked her on the right.  He pulled the shirt up and examined her other side, noting the red mark there that was also darkening into a purple bruise.  He cursed under his breath. "Wait here, let me bring you an icepack."  He half expected her to bolt while he was gone, the fact that she was still sitting on the staff couch, her face pale and drawn, was a testimony to how much pain she was in.  He gave her the ice pack, wrapped in a towel, and she carefully put it against her ribs.

"I'm late for class." She whispered anxiously.

"I'll write you an excuse."

She looked at him, her eyes wary and guarded.  He scribbled out a hall pass and handed it to her.  "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, its nothing."  She stood slowly.  "Thanks Mr. Carrole.  Do you mind if I keep the ice?"

When Eudora had left for her class, Jericho headed to the principles office.  He was surprise to find the principle calmly scrolling through his phone in the otherwise empty office.  "Mr. Leonard, did Troy  come in here?"

"Oh yes," Leonard said casually, "We had a chat and I sent him back to class."

"You sent him back to class?  You didn't expel him or at least give him detention for what he did?"

"What exactly do you think he did Mr. Carrole?" Leonard leveled a cool, dispassionate stare at him.

"He attacked another student, a little girl at that.  He punched her in the face and kicked her when she was down!" Jericho was outraged.  Even if the victim hadn’t been his mate, such behavior was reprehensible.

"I'm afraid you didn't quite understand the situation. See, that little girl attacked Eric Mortem, and Troy was merely defending his friend.  If anyone should be expelled, it should be Miss Stone."

Jericho stared at him incredulously.  "Are you joking?"

"I am not joking.  Unfortunately Eudora Stone has a long history of causing trouble and instigating mischief.  She's a troubled child from a bad family.  Troy, on the other hand is a model student, class president, captain of the football team, and his dad is one of our biggest alumni donors.  He makes considerable donations to our sports programs every year.  Do you understand, Jericho?"

Jericho ground his teeth in frustration.   "Oh yeah, I understand."  He understood that Eudora was being thrown under the bus to protect some spoiled rich boy and keep the school flush with money.

"Good.  Please shut the door on your way out."

Jericho barely kept a lid on his anger all the way back to the staff room.  Imagine, big boys being allowed to bully and beat a girl, with absolutely no consequence, just because their dads had money.  And not just any girl, but HIS girl.  He wanted to teach those cocky boys a lesson, but to do so without blowing his cover and scaring Eudora in the process.

In the staff room, he found the librarian, Stacey Kelley, at the coffee pot.  He cornered her there, and practically growled at her, "What do you know about Eudora Stone?" 

The small woman flinched and poured her coffee slowly and deliberately.  "I heard you broke up a fight today." She said, without answering his question.

"I've seen her in the library, she likes you, she talks to you.  What's her story? Why is she covered in bruises and injuries every day?  Why does the school turn a blind eye?  Are you not mandated reporters?"

Stacey dumped four heaping teaspoons of sugar into her cup of coffee, and stirred it slowly.  "I tried to report it, last year.  CPS went out to the house and said they found "nothing of concern."  A few days later Principle Leonard dragged me into his office, along with a couple members of the school board, and told me if I wanted to keep my job, I better keep my nose out of the student's private home affairs."

She looked up at him with guilty eyes.  "I wish I could tell them to go to hell.  I wish I could stand up to them.  But my husband is sick, and I need my job."

He nodded in understanding.  The administration had silenced her.  "And what about these boys?"

"Oh those boys are untouchable." She said with an angry scowl. “ Their daddies run this town, especially Mortem.  Mortem Mining owns the slate quarries, and half the men in this town are employed there.  Nobody dares look at them cross-eyed, let alone discipline those boys.  They are more than spoiled bullies... they are becoming sociopaths."  A frightened look crossed her face.  "Oh, please don't tell anyone I said that."

"Of course not Miss Kelley, this conversation is strictly between you and I." Jericho assured her.  She nodded tersely and headed for the door with her coffee.

"Mr. Carrole, you seem like a nice man." she said, turning back before she opened the door.  "If you want to keep your job, you had better just mind your own business."

"Miss Kelley," he said with a slow, sexy smile.  "I don't give a damn about the job."

Her eyes widened with surprise, and she sloshed her coffee on the floor.  "Oh!" she mumbled, and hurried out the door.

----------

There was a long weekend ahead, and Jericho couldn't stand the thought of not seeing her.  He decided it was time to take a drive out to Olde Job road, and see for himself exactly what was going on in Eudora's home.  Without GPS to help him navigate, he never would have found the old logging road, in the spidery network of dirt roads that ran around the mountain side.  He found a parking place, another long forgotten logging trail that went off up the mountain, except this one had been closed off with a steel gate.  He parked the truck and followed the road, keeping to the woods, out of sight of anyone who might drive by.  Not that there was any traffic in this remote place.  Stone was probably the only one who ever passed. 

After about half a mile he came upon the clearing that was the yard.  In his mind he had expected squalor and abject poverty, filth and dirt.  The trailer was an old model, for sure, but every thing was neat and tidy, and even pretty.  The lawn was trimmed, there were flower gardens still in bloom with petunias, marigolds, exotic sunflowers and chrysanthemums.  Behind the house was a clothes' line stretched between two poles, and more gardens, including a vegetable garden... and she was there, in the vegetable garden.  She grunted and groaned as she slashed at something, pulled aside vines, and emerged from the foliage with a giant watermelon.  It clearly pained her to carry it, with her injured ribs, but she lugged the twenty pound melon over to the back stairs, and then went back to the garden to continue her work.

She was singing.  Jericho felt his heart melt, as she softly sang to herself as she cut and pulled, harvesting vegetables into a basket.  She seemed peaceful and content, her ugly grey sweater had been discarded, and she wore just a normal t-shirt and jeans.  Her long, thick hair had been tied up in a pony tail and doubled over.  She was... beautiful.  The kids at school teased her and called her fatty... but it was only because they couldn't see what she was hiding under those bulky, baggy clothes.  Jericho ached to touch her, to feel her, to kiss her.  But he stayed where he was, hidden in the bushes, spying on her like a man obsessed... which he was.

She disappeared into the trailer with the basket, and came out again a minute later with a clothes basket to collect the laundry off the line.  This task appeared much more difficult for her.  The motion of reaching her arms up to remove the pins was stretching her ribs.  She grimaced and held her sides.  After taking a few breaths she would continue again, until slowly she had removed all the clothes.  Jericho dug his fingernails into his palms.  He ached to go rescue her, to at least help her with the task so she wouldn't feel so much pain.  His head was beginning to ache from the tension of clenching his teeth and restraining himself.

As dusk was settling, a pick up came bouncing down the rutted road and parked in the drive way.  Foster Stone got out, weaving drunkenly.  He fell into the door of the truck as he shut it, and shook his head as if he could shake off the haze of alcohol.  He turned and stumbled toward the door, but he couldn't seem to manage the steps, and fell up them, still hanging on to the iron railing with one hand.  "Dora!" he bellowed, but the call was pitiful, even sorrowful.

The front door opened slowly and cautiously.  Eudora looked down at her uncle, her face expressionless.

"Dora...be a good girl... help me." The big man whined.

Eudora sighed heavily and went down the steps.  With a lot of tugging and pulling that must have strained her ribs terribly, she got the giant man to his feet and dragged him inside.  When the door had banged shut behind them, Jericho snuck out of the woods, and tip-toed around the side of the trailer, looking for an angle to look in the windows without being seen.

Eudora had plopped the drunk man into an ugly, worn easy chair in the living room.  She tipped it back and extended the foot rest for him.  The man patted her on the head like she was a dog, and closed his eyes.  “My sally used to do that for me…” he said mournfully.  “Oh goddess, Sally…”  After a moment his head fell backward and his mouth went slack in drunken slumber.

The inside of the house, like the outside, was impeccably clean, even if it was old and worn.  There were cheerful curtains in the window, and a vase of cut flowers on the table.  If CPS had come out when Foster was sober, it was no wonder they found "nothing of concern".  It looked like a cozy, comfortable home.  Except Jericho knew it wasn't.  He'd seen the bruises.  And while no one had ever explicitly told him that the uncle was the cause, Jericho was sure it was. 

However, tonight he was docile and pitiful, rousing himself to call to Eudora like a little boy, asking for a glass of water, begging for a warm blanket.  And she took care of him without complaint, covering him up, bringing him a plastic cup of water, turning the TV on for him.  When he was settled and snoring again, she went back to the kitchen and started to cook.  He couldn't see what she was preparing, but the smell wafting through the open windows was heavenly.  The vegetables from the garden seemed to be included in something savory that she spooned over rice.  She made her own plate, and then a second plate for her uncle, which she covered with plastic wrap and set in the fridge.  Then she sliced open that giant watermelon.

The flesh was deep red and juicy.  Jericho was surprised that anyone was able to grow such a watermelon this far north.  He didn't know much about gardening, but he knew Vermont had a very short growing season.  She cubed up half of it into a big bowl, then wrapped the other half and squeezed it into the fridge.  She took her plate and sat at the table alone, and opened up a book to read while she ate absently.  He craned his neck to see the title... ironically it was a book for his class, for his American author assignment.

Content that she seemed to be safe enough for this night, he crept back into the woods, and jogged back to his truck.  What a strange and confusing situation.  Who was this girl?