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I’d never had the opportunity to be good at anything. I had to take turns going to school with some of my sisters because the family didn’t have enough clothing and shoes for all of us. At times, I was forced to go to school barefoot and wearing tops made of bleached flour sacks, which was a source of endless shame. No one wanted to be friends with the kids in flour sacks because they were the poorest of the poor. I had actually liked learning but all anyone saw when they looked at me was a stupid girl from a bad family.
“Am I blabbering?” I asked, talking through my curled-up fingers. The preacher smiled and patted my arm.
“Of course not! That’s why I chose you, because you have so many ideas!” A warm flush ran through me. I could live for months on a couple of kind words; they were like gasoline for my soul.
“I want to hang the garlands from the ceiling, so they dangle like vines?” I continued, studying his face for any more positive reactions.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said. “Now, should we have a little wine to celebrate?”
“Oh-okay,” I said. I’d never drunk alcohol before. I tried to smother the flicker of discomfort I always felt when a man started drinking around me, like I could feel my safety draining away with every sip.
“Let’s toast to a new friendship,” he said, offering me a small crystal glass full of red wine. I took it, aware that it was the nicest thing I’d ever held, but still nervous about its contents.
“Have a good sip, really taste those flavors,” the preacher said, and I noticed with a queasy realization that his hand was on my knee.
DAPHNE:You know what happened next. I won’t spell it out for you.
RUTH:Why not?
DAPHNE:Look, I’m fine to describe the men I killed. You want to hear about how they moaned and vomited while I was downstairs crushing up pills? Sure. But I don’t like remembering the times I was a victim. Besides, you’ve heard it a million times; you can picture it already, can’t you?
RUTH:Well, I—
DAPHNE (upset):Rough carpet, scrabbling hands, his weight crushing me. The scared noises I made, how betrayed I felt. . . you KNOW this story. EVERYONE’S heard THIS story. What is there to gain from another story about a woman being victimized?
RUTH:Well, it’s the truth. . . There’s something to gain from telling the truth isn’t there? Even if there’s no happy ending.
DAPHNE:Not in my experience, no. He raped me. And afterwards he showed me out and told me to keep the wine a secret or else people might think I was a bad girl. He didn’t say anything about the rape because he knew I couldn’t tell anyone about that.
RUTH:What a disgusting person. Do you think he did it to others?
DAPHNE:He probably did. People just didn’t talk about it back then. No one gave girls the words to say it out loud. After that I walked home. My legs shook and the wind threw me around like I was made of paper. I remember that I shut my eyes against the wind and then I just kept them like that, walking blind into the gusts. That day was the last day I felt whole. . . It killed something in me. I lost my faith.
RUTH:In God?
DAPHNE:Oh no, I never believed inthat. But in people.
RUTH:Do you think you would have become a murderer if that hadn’t happened? Could you have found some way to move on, to put it all behind you, even if the people who hurt you never faced justice?
DAPHNE:Well, that’s a heavy question. I’m not sure. It’s not exactly a math equation. The preacher wasn’t the first and he wasn’t the last to hurt me like that. But there was something particularly evil about what he did. That rape killed the old me. And I guess I’ve been killing the preacher ever since.
That night at home I lay in bed, praying that my dad would stay passed out because I felt like I would lose my mind if another man tried to touch me. I was surrounded by my sleeping siblings, all mashed into bed with me like puppies, and usually their warm, squirming bodies (which smelled faintly of pee) would have lulled me to sleep, but I was wide awake. I stared up at the blackness and tried to breathe deeply, even as the room seemed to fill with sour air.
My whole life I had just accepted what I’d been given, even though it was usually shit in a cereal bowl. Now, though, I lay in bed with my good sweater stuffed between my legs, trying to dull the pain that came from deep inside me and seemed to echo through the room with every throb. Why did I deserve this? I had tried in school, I had helped the scrawny kids when the bigger kids picked on them, I dried my siblings’ tears and made them laugh when it didn’t seem like anything could make them smile. Why should I let people like my father and the preacher crush me? Why should I wait around for my own no-good husband to give me a shack of battered children?
It all felt so simple and clear. In that moment I knew that I had two choices: kill myself or leave. Because I couldn’t watch the sun go down again in Lucan, Saskatchewan.
The next day, Sunday, I got up early, before any of my siblings started stirring, and crept out of the house. I didn’t bother taking anything with me because everything I owned was shared among my siblings. I already felt guilty enough leaving them, knowing that so few would ever escape. I felt especially bad for the girls, but I knew there was nothing I could do. They were too small to take with me. Instead, I took one last look at my sisters and brothers, all crammed into bed, their little faces peeking out, and then I left. I wish I could tell you that I felt all kinds of dramatic emotions but, in that moment, I just felt numb. Some part of me wanted to curl up in a ditch and die, but my feet kept walking, and my eyes followed the road to town, and somehow, I made it there.
By the time I arrived, the preacher, along with most of the good townspeople in Lucan, was at church. My family didn’t go very often, although sometimes I went by myself because I liked the music. I went to the preacher’s house (nobody locked their doors in Lucan) and walked right in. The house was two stories and while it wouldn’t be large by today’s standards, it seemed incredibly grand to a girl from a one-room shack on the outskirts of town. The living room was cluttered with glass vases, porcelain ornaments, a real piano, and a thick, plush rug that sank beneath my weight. This whole house was like a museum of things that I’d never had.
I moved through the preacher’s house, imagining sending his glass vases toppling like dominoes, swinging an axe into his writing desk, taking a crap on his velvet armchair. My whole body shook with the thought of all that carnage, of how it would feel to take all my rage and send it careening through his beautiful home. There was even a dark part of me that fantasized about waiting until he got home and using the same axe to reduce him to kindling. But instead, I clenched my fists and glanced at the grandfather clock. I had less than an hour before I needed to be on the train platform for the 10:15 to Moose Jaw. I could choose revenge, or I could choose freedom, but I could only have one.
I climbed the stairs carefully, having very little experience with staircases. Pictures were hung above the steps, portraits of dour-looking relations of the preacher and a few of a sad-eyed girl with wispy blonde hair.
First, I took all the money I could find in the house. It was enough for my train fare and a few weeks’ room and board. I was still upstairs, prowling around, when I noticed an old wardrobe in the guest bedroom. I swung the doors open slowly and found it stuffed with women’s things: dresses, coats, even a simple white wedding dress. I knew immediately that it was the dead wife’s possessions. How lonely she must have felt, far from home, sharing a house with a monster.
I pulled out her old valise, my fingers fumbling as I hurried, and filled it with her clothes. I even changed out of my dirty dress and boots, stuffing them inside the bag, just in case I needed them someday, and put on a green dress and a pair of leather shoes with a small heel. The dress fit perfectly, and it felt like the dead woman was giving me her blessing. She had died in this house, surrounded by these things, but she wanted me to take them and live.