***
That night, I lay awake, castigating myself for my error, over and over. Maybe if I’d gone about it differently. Maybe if I’d come right out and said it, told her about what he’d done to me in the barn months before and what he’d done to the horse and himself that day, maybe then she would have to take my side. If I’d done it right, maybe I could have made it all come out differently. Come out better.
But I knew that she was right. Ray was his father’s pride and his mother’s pet. There was no chance they would take a word against him seriously. I was the troublemaker, the upstart, the bastard girl. I’d botched the confession to my mother, and if I tried to bring it up again, I knew she wouldn’t listen. Now I was the girl who cried wolf, even though there really was a wolf, and I had every reason to think the wolf wasn’t yet done with me.
Those poor dogs. That poor horse. That horrid, whispering voice when he’d said I hope you know I’ll never let you leave, and later, If you tell them, I’ll kill you. I realized then how foolish I’d been to stay this long. It could be fatal to stay longer.
My mother had told me she couldn’t save me. If I wanted to escape—to live—I would have to save myself.
Rising silently, moving through the dark on practiced, careful feet, I fetched the valise my mother had bought me for ballet school. From my bureau, I took two plain dresses; from the kitchen, a half loaf of bread. I paused before I left, thinking of writing a note for her, telling her not to worry about me and that I’d left by choice, but I was too afraid. It would take time, and even if I left a note, there was no guarantee she’d see it. I heard creaks and snaps from the floorboards of the old house, and I didn’t know whether it was my imagination or someone rising in the night. It wasn’t worth the risk. If Ray found me trying to run, I knew he would hurt me, and I feared he would kill me. There was no coming back from that.
There was only one thing I needed to do before leaving. I dashed across the grass toward the barn, shoving open the huge door and not, as I’d been warned a thousand times to do, sliding it shut behind me. I wanted to throw open the doors of every stall, sending our whole crew of mares, foals, and stallions sprinting out into the night, but the thought of my mother stopped me. If all the horses were gone, it would be too obvious what I’d done. Silas’s wrath would come down on her. Instead, I walked directly to the stall of the mare I’d seen Ray attack. I could free one horse, at least. I could even ride to freedom on her back, if she let me.
I crouched down to open the door, but I hadn’t foreseen her eagerness to break free, and I’d no sooner undone the latch than she charged the door, knocking me back. I fell to the ground, my head striking the floorboards with a thud, and then the horse was on me. I rolled, almost by instinct, hoping to shield my head. Hooves were all around, like thunder in my ears. I could only curl myself as small as I could and pray for luck. It was all over in a few moments. I had a distant awareness of retreating hoof beats, and on some level, that pleased me, but I was afraid to move and afraid to open my eyes. My body was frozen in shock, the blood so cold in my veins that I couldn’t tell at first whether I’d been injured. Had I ruined my chance at escape?
As best I could, I stretched my body out to test its state, and a searing pain in my hand woke me from my trance. I held the hand out to look at it. It was clear that the outer two fingers had been caught under the horse’s hoof, broken and possibly crushed, down to the first joint of each. At least it was my hand and not my foot, I told myself. I could still walk. And I didn’t have time to indulge the pain. I had to get moving. So I sprinted north through the back field, skirting the edge of the neighbors’ land. I rejoined the road on the other side of town, where there was no one to ask questions.
Where could I go? Not back to my grandparents’ house, which was an unknown distance in an unknown direction. I doubted they would welcome me, child of an unknown lecher and a known cheat with whom they had explicitly cut all ties. I knew almost nothing else of the world, only stories, nothing real. I only knew one place to go, unsuited as it was, and so I went there. It took much longer to go on foot, but at least I had two strong legs under me this time.
I walked with my aching hand raised to keep it from filling with blood, a solitary young woman on a long road, one hand in the air as if she had the answer to a question.