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The Choices She Made

By Felicia Ferguson

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Madeline Williams’s head lolled against hard, wooden planks as she blinked awake.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Blurred browns, yellows, and grays gelled into familiar shapes. Stall door. Clean straw. Water trough. She took a quick breath of the dry, musty air that surrounded her, trying to will her mind to connect all the pieces. Make sense of the chaotic sounds and images pinging at her. A cow’s loud call rang out from the adjacent stall, drawing her back to the here and now. Startled, Madeline clenched her rough denim shorts, the hems frayed by the slice of scissors.

Through a mental fog, her mind blanked. Then remembered ... His voice low, heavy. His breath sickly sweet from the plug of Skoal. His hands insistent and unyielding.

Shaking, she pulled her cut-offs into place as she surveyed the dusty stall. He was gone.

Relief choked her as she drew her knees to her chest, rocking. Part tremble, part a silenced reach for solace. She curled tight into a ball until slowly, gently, a cocooning blankness descended, boxing the stark terror away and leaving an odd clarity of thought in its absence.

A long, plaintive moo split the air, followed by an answering call echoing some distance away.

Must’ve separated mama and baby for sale.

With a curious detachment, Madeline turned in to the boards as they vibrated under the cow’s hooves accompanied by another long, mournful moo and reply.
Poor things. I hope they at least go to the same buyer.

“Donnie!” a loud, unfamiliar drawl commanded. “Get that cow under control before she tears the place down.”

Madeline jerked. She was in the stall next to that cow, wasn’t she? Scrambling to her feet, she slipped unnoticed out of the pen and into the bright hallway where a harried cowgirl tugged a bouncing four-year-old toward the women’s bathroom. Madeline ducked her head and brushed by them, heading for the cattle auction’s main building.

How long was I gone? Where is John David?

“Lot twenty-eight.” The cry burst clear and raucous through the arena entry up ahead, bouncing off the walls. A cowboy glanced left, right, then locating the men’s room, tipped his hat to her and hurried on his way.

Madeline sagged against the cold cinderblocks, dodging the man’s gaze. She’d left for popcorn at lot thirteen. She had to get back before the gavel fell on this one. Dad would be worried. She took in a deep breath, desperate to steady the tremors, but a whimper escaped her lips.

John David knew everyone in there in some way or another. What if he was already bragging about his con- quest? Skin crawling, she buried her face in her hands. There was no choice but to go in.

Madeline tried another deep breath and this time shoved the fear and humiliation to the back of her mind. When she reached the door of the arena, she paused and squared her shoulders. She’d survived Mom’s death ten years ago. She could survive this.

Madeline pushed open the door and stepped through. “Sold to bidder twenty-five,” the auctioneer cried. The crowd turned to discover the winner’s identity, affording her the briefest moment of incognito as she fled to the comfort of Dad’s presence.

The creepy feeling along her skin told her John David was near the cattle entrance, but her eyes darted around the arena anyway, finding him standing just outside the gates. His hand rested on one of the bars, poised to jump the fence to help the wranglers.

She could feel his eyes track her to the seat next to Dad. Hunching her shoulders, she curled inward hoping some- how to hide from his penetrating gaze.
Dad looked up from his sales notes as she settled be- side him. “The steers’ll be up soon.” Brow wrinkled, his navy eyes studied her.

Madeline’s chest tightened. Can he tell?

“Where’s your popcorn?”

She stifled a ragged sigh and lied. “They ran out.”

He nodded. A few minutes later, their lot number was called, and the cowhands herded their steers into the arena. “There was a cow-calf lot with the cow confirmed pregnant that came through. Highest seller so far, but still a ways off last year’s prices. Doesn’t look too good for us, Pumpkin.”

Madeline tried to mumble some sort of response, but thankfully the gate opened and their lot pushed into the arena.

A man with a clipboard leaned over to the auctioneer. “Whatcha got for us now, son?” the auctioneer asked.

“Ten yearling Angus cross steers. Local rancher been fattening ’em up all winter, and they’re looking good.”

“Yessir, what say y’all? How ’bout we start out this lot at one thousand?” The auctioneer started his chant, pointing out the ages and weights of Dad’s steers. Spotters yipped and hawed as bidders tipped hats, rubbed noses, and raised hands. Bidding hopped between three men, but Madeline only watched one.

John David’s consistent nods finally tired the others, and he won the lot with a record price for yearling steers— or so the auctioneer crowed. “Sold to John David Billings, son of the fine owner of this auction house, Tommy Billings. Building your own herd to finance your run for governor, are ya’ John David?”
Madeline sank in the seat as the auctioneer continued to josh the heir to the Billings’ family fortune. Only the next lot pushing through the gate diverted his attention.

“‘The last shall be first,’ huh, Pumpkin?” Dad asked with a wide grin, his jubilation evident to all. “Bet your grandpa is looking down from heaven green with envy at the price we got today.” He rose and headed to collect the check, stopping between the benches to grasp hands and trade smiles with congratulatory ranchers and cowboys. Then he slung an arm around Madeline’s shoulder and steered her down the hall, planning out the future for their unexpected income. Something about paying down bills. Eating dinner out to celebrate. And maybe repaint- ing the tractor.

Madeline forced a smile and what she hoped would be received as a supportive nod.

Within minutes they reached the office, joining the line of cowboys collecting their winnings and making payments. They were two men away from the registration table when a loud guffaw pounded through the room.

Tommy Billings. Madeline cringed. She prayed the wealthy blowhard wouldn’t see them, but there was no avoiding the man.

“Well, there he is. Biggest sale of the day. Congratulations, Jim.” Tommy hustled around the table with a huge grin and shook Dad’s hand. “Jim, I swear this girl of yours gets prettier every day. Good thing she takes after her mama instead of you.” His smile sobered with believable sympathy. After a sorrowful glance her way, Tommy mumbled, “God rest her soul.”

Madeline prayed for the floor to open up beneath her. A moment later, Tommy flashed a jovial smirk. “You know, Madeline, I took a shine to your mama back in the day. By then I’d inherited five thousand acres across the family’s two ranches and started the first auction.” He clapped Dad on the shoulder. “But that didn’t seem to matter. She only had eyes for this long drink of water. Lucky stiff.”

Dad said something in response to Tommy’s praise, but as a pair of cowboys left the sales office, the hairs on the back of Madeline’s neck shivered. She glanced up, then desperately wished she hadn’t. John David held up a wall and watched the proceedings, a half-chewed toothpick clenched in the corner of his mouth. His eyes pierced her with a sardonic leer. Then he tipped his hat and flashed a one-sided smirk.

Madeline’s stomach clenched. Desperate for a solid hold, she tucked her fingers through Dad’s belt loop and forced air into her lungs. She would survive this waking nightmare.

Dad’s brow furrowed as she tugged on his belt, silently pleading for him to hurry. But Tommy continued to hold court. “John David here’s just finished up his business degree at A&M. He’s going to run the auction houses next season, and we’re planning to expand into central Texas too. Got some strong leads.”

Suddenly chilled, Madeline ducked out from under Dad’s arm. Muttering she’d meet him at the truck, she pushed through the front exit and didn’t stop until she curled into the worn-leather bench seat of Dad’s F150.

Surrounded by the quiet comfort, she tucked her head against the window and released a soft whimper. Her body ached. “Daddy, please, come on.”

The soft tick of the truck’s clock clicked away, but the minutes seemed to stretch to hours. Finally, he opened the driver’s side door and sidled onto the seat. “Still can’t quite believe it, Pumpkin.” With a quick turn of the key, the diesel engine rumbled to life. He grinned at her and shook his head. “Wanna get something to eat? This is a day to celebrate.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. No. She just wanted to forget.

When she didn’t answer, his brow creased with worry. “You okay?”

Madeline swallowed hard and forced another lie be- tween her lips. “Think I caught the bug that’s been going around school. Can we just go home?”

“You should have said something, Pumpkin. You didn’t have to come today.”

Oh God, if only she hadn’t. Another shudder wracked her body. Bobby had asked her to spend the day with him when he’d kissed her goodbye last night after their date. Why hadn’t she said yes to him and no to Dad?

She turned toward the door. Oh, God. Bobby.

“We’ll go straight home, and you get yourself to bed. Okay?”

##

About an hour later, Dad pulled the truck to a stop in front of the house. “I’ll be down in a bit,” he said with an encouraging nod. “Gonna get the trailer unhooked and put out some hay.”

Madeline nodded and headed inside. The soft whir of the air conditioner pumped out an easy cadence, practice for the summer when it would run full blast just to put a dent in the east Texas heat. Despite her promise to go to bed, she went to the den and curled up in Dad’s overstuffed chair. Traces of musk and sweat clung to the smooth, beaten leather. She took a deep breath and released a sob. Another followed. Then another. Until her shoulders heaved and her shirt was soaked.

Madeline wrapped her arms around her chest and flinched as her hand landed on a tender spot. Turning her arm, she found the first tinges of purple on her bicep.

His handprint.

She leapt from the chair and rushed to the bathroom. Tugging off her clothes, she jumped into the shower shivering as the cold water pelted her like sleet against a winter window. She grabbed the bar of soap and a washcloth. Red chafe marks stained her skin as she scrubbed with fierce intent.

As the water warmed, its soothing stream eased away the remaining pain. But the mark not only remained, it had multiplied. Four long rectangles all darkening to the color of an overripe eggplant now circled her arm.

Madeline choked as memories washed over her.

His hands.

His breath.

She twisted off the faucet and grabbed her towel, burying herself in the softness. Her teeth chattering once more, she stepped outside the shower and shuddered when her foot landed on fabric instead of cold tile.

Her shirt.

A purple tee with a unicorn jumping over a rainbow. It was her favorite. The shorts, cut-offs made from a beloved pair of well-worn jeans.

Tears spilled onto her cheeks as the reminder of her horrors stared back at her. The clothes had to go. She glanced at her trash can. Dad burned their garbage. If she threw them away, he’d find them. And ask questions.

She swallowed hard and searched for the calm again—the void that somehow separated her emotions from her actions. She wrapped her arms tight around her body, rocking, hoping, praying ... until, slowly, emptiness snaked through, bathing her in the welcome sea of nothingness.

When she glanced around the room, it was as if seeing through an antique window pane. Blurred, reality but not. Now numb, Madeline rose and slid through the motions, watching her hands tug the bag from her trash can. They gathered up the t-shirt, shorts, and underwear and stuffed them inside the plastic confines. They tied the ends of the bag together and she walked out of the bathroom toward her bed, no longer at one with her body. No longer a part of this world.

There was only one place she knew the clothes wouldn’t be found. One place where they could disappear forever. She felt herself kneel and watched as her hands shoved the bag under her bed. The clothes, the emotions, the memories, they could all vanish there. Out of sight, out of mind.

A manic chuckle tickled the heavy air.

She would move on as if nothing happened. No one would ever know.

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