1957-Concealment

It didn't really do any good to hide, Kathy knew that by now. The trouble was that Mister Wally had grown up in this house, and knew all the good hiding places, too. But still she had to try, because it didn't do any good to fight, either. Mr. Wally might look skinny, but he was strong.

Her mother had gone into town for one of her frequent 'day of beauty' regimes. When Kathy heard Mister Wally telling Mrs. Logan that she could take the morning off and didn't have to be back till it was time to fix supper, she knew what was going to happen, so she hid.

This time she went into one of the unused bedrooms upstairs, being careful to shut the door quietly. In the bathroom she opened the cabinet under the sink and pushed aside the stack of fluffy towels that were changed every three days, whether there were guests or not. That left just enough room for her to squeeze inside and shut the door after herself.

She sat in the cramped, stuffy darkness, head bent but still pressing against the sink above . Her knees were uncomfortably bent up around her chin, but she didn't stir, didn't shift even minutely to try for a more comfortable position. He might not have found her that last time if she hadden't gotten a cramp and thumped her numb foot against the side of the laundry cart in the basement. He probably would have, but he might not have.

Kathy couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if Lacey hadn't killed herself a week after she was committed. Probably not. Lacey had seemed nice, but she just wasn't a strong person. She hadn't been able to fight for herself, and she wouldn't have been able to fight for Kathy. When someone hurts you, thought Kathy, why hurt yourself more? That's dumb. Hurt them. She was surprised at herself. Where had that thought come from?

He started calling her as soon as Mrs. Logan's station wagon left the drive. There was no urgency in his voice--that would come later. Now he sounded casual, pleasant, and terribly, terribly patient. He knew that it would be hours before Maggie or the housekeeper returned. He had plenty of time.

She heard him moving about downstairs. He didn't have to check the basement--he'd put a lock on it the first month. He checked all the places she'd hidden before: the pantry, the front closet, the seat of the bay window. Kathy knew he didn't really believe she'd be in any of those places. Most children her age wouldn't have known how to phrase it, but Kathy knew that this was a 'ritual' for Mr. Wally. He knew she was cowering somewhere, listening to him getting closer, and he thought it was funny. He liked it when she was scared.

He came upstairs, still calling her. Then he came in the room, and pretended he thought she was hiding in the closet, then under the bed. She could tell by the stupid sing-song tone of his voice that he knew she wasn't there, and was just teasing her. Then he opened the cabinet door and stooped down, peering in at her with a grin. "There you are! That was a good game of hide-and-seek, but I won. I always win, Kathy. Why don't you come out now?"

"Leave me alone."

"What do we say when we ask someone to do something?"

"Please leave me alone."

"That's right. You have to learn to always say please, and you have to learn that sometimes it doesn't work." He grabbed her ankles and dragged her out. Kathy shrieked, and Mr. Wally laughed. He let her make as much noise as she could when they were alone in the house. If anyone else was home she had to be quiet. She'd learned not to scream those times, no matter how much he hurt her, after he once choked her into unconsciousness.

Kathy knew that the quickest way to get it over with was to just do what he wanted. The second quickest way was to lie there and let it happen, trying to think about something else, but she was so tired of being afraid, and being in pain.

She went limp, and Mr. Wally knelt down and began to unfasten his pants. I wish I was someone else, she thought. I wish I was brave enough and strong enough to get him. I can't stand this. Then, quite suddenly, Kathy went away.

That was the only way she could explain it to herself later. For a few seconds, she just wasn't there. She was no longer on a cold tile floor, smelling Old Spice and sweat. She wasn't sure where she was. It was someplace gray and foggy, but it felt safe. She didn't know how long she was there--there was no sense of the passage of time, but it couldn't have been long.

She didn't recall opening her eyes, but suddenly she was looking up at Mr. Wally again, feeling the tile, and hearing him swear. He was clutching his thing, all bent over like it hurt him. When he looked up, the fury in his face terrified her, but the hunger there scared her even more. "So, you want to fight? That's just fine."

It lasted longer than any of the other times. When he was done he'd ripped away the front of her dress in his excitement. He'd never done that before, always being careful not to damage her clothes because Your mother clothes. He took it and told her to go get cleaned up while he disposed of it. Kathy could scarcely walk to her own bathroom, but she knew that a hot bath would help. It always did.

That evening, her mother came into the recreation room, where she was watching television. She was carrying the ruined dress, and frowning. "Kathy, Mrs. Logan found this in the trash. How on earth did you tear it, and why did you try to hide it from me?"

Kathy looked at the ragged cloth, and thought, He made a mistake. Now I can tell her, now I have proof. Aloud she said. "I didn't tear it. Mr. Wally tore it."

"Don't lie to me, Kathy. I'll punish you for lying just as much as I will for ruining your dress."

"She's not lying, dear. I did tear it, in a way." Wallace Bernard came in.

Maggie frowned. "But how?"

"I didn't mean to, of course, but it was that, or let Kathy break her neck." He held up a hand toward Kathy, as if telling her not to interrupt. "I'm sorry, Kathy, but your mother deserves to know. I know I said I wouldn't tell, but you've got to learn not to endanger yourself." He looked directly into Maggie's face. "I'm afraid she was playing on the stairs. I found her trying to walk along the top rail, like a balancing beam. She started to fall, and I reached out and just managed to catch the front of her dress, and it ripped clean through. She was so afraid that you'd be upset that I said I wouldn't tell you, but I wouldn't lie if you found out."

"That's kind of you, Wally. But it really isn't protecting her to let her get away with such dangerous foolishness." She looked at Kathy sternly. "Now what do you have to say, young lady?"

Kathy stared unbelievingly at her mother. The story was so glaringly false, how could she believe it? "I say, " she said slowly, "that if my dress ripped off in his hand, like he said, why didn't I fall?"

There was complete silence. The look on Mr. Bernard's face said he realized that he'd been clumsy in his explanation, if a nine year old could poke a hole in it so effortlessly. Maggie just looked stupid.

There were gears grinding in her mind, switches clicking--Kathy could almost see the process. A light of understanding was beginning to dawn. Kathy's hopes soared. Now her mother would ask her exactly what had happened. And when Kathy told her, she would take her away from this awful man, and protect her.

The understanding grew, and it was joined by fear. Yes, that was logical. Mr. Wallace was a scary man, and now her mother knew it, too. But then there was anger. And the anger wasn't directed at Mr. Wally. "How dare you, " Maggie snarled. Her voice was ugly, and her face, with the carefully applied make up, twisted. "How dare you suggest such a thing?"

"But Mommy..."

"After all he's done for me, all he's given me. You. He gives you everything, not like that worthless father of yours. I don't have to work. You can go to college someday. And this is how you thank him? Filthy lies."

There was actual hatred in her tone. Kathy had known for a long time that Mommy didn't love her the way mothers loved their little girls in the story books, but she'd never seemed to hate her. "But I didn't say..." Kathy stopped abruptly, realizing something. She repeated slowly. "I didn't say anything bad about him. I said he tore my dress. Why are you so mad?"

"Go to your room, Kathy. You can stay there for the rest of the week and think about what you did."

Kathy stood her ground, peering into her mother's face. "All I said was he tore my dress. What filthy lies are you talking about, Mommy?" Maggie's eyes flickered, unable to meet hers, and Kathy felt a sinking in her belly.

Mommy knew. Mommy must have known for some time, and she had been pretending that she didn't know. She was going to keep on pretending because Mr. Bernard was rich, and he belonged to the country club. People who got their pictures on the society page liked him, and that meant they liked Mommy, too. That was more important to her than the fact that Mr. Bernard hurt Kathy and made her afraid. Mommy wasn't ever going to protect her. She was alone.

As she realized that, Kathy felt a queer sensation. It was like it had been in the bathroom. Suddenly, she wasn't there anymore. She was in that foggy, featureless place, and she liked it. It was comfortable, and peaceful. She didn't want to go back, but she wasn't strong enough to stay there very long. She slid back into herself to find Mommy and Mr. Wally staring at her, open mouthed.

At last her mother choked out, "Where... where did you learn that language? I want to know who taught you those words, and I want to know right now!" Kathy shrugged, bewildered. She, of course, hadn't said anything, but it seemed that someone else had.

"After all, Maggie, " said Wallace. "You must remember where you lived and worked before you came to me. There's no telling what the child was exposed to. It's just good that you got her into a clean environment before she could be completely corrupted. Go to your room, Kathy. You've behaved very badly today."

"And to think, " said her mother sniffily, "that I was going to ask you what you wanted for your birthday."

Without hesitation Kathy said, "A lock on my bedroom door," and left the room.