Nora
Lotte is sleeping under the Christmas tree. Holden looks to me. I shake my head. I go to her. Wake her gently. This is it, life will never be better, or sweeter than this.
“What are you doing?”
“Merry Christmas. I’m your gift,” she says. When she stands, there is a bow tied around her waist from an old sheet. Holden nuzzles me under my ear. I smile. Is this real love I feel or just madness? There are four brown paper wrapped packages under the tree. The snow is two feet deep and the wind blows so hard, that the stove can’t keep the house warm all day. I shiver. Holden adds more logs to the woodstove. Lotte and I sit on the couch and wait for him. I snuck a gift for Lotte and one for Holden under the tree last night but I don’t know what the other two packages are.
Holden brings two packages over and doles out one to Lotte and then me. We tear into our packages. Lotte is through the wrapping first. She holds up a small thin log, along with a small but sharp knife. I unwrap the same.
“I’ll teach you how to whittle,” Holden says. I grin and lean over to kiss him in thanks. Lotte starts babbling on about wanting to carve an owl. Holden opens his gift and I wait nervously for his reaction. He pulls out the paper and carefully unrolls it.
I had to beg for two nights of alone time outside and risked angering him by not explaining why, but it worked out. I bundled up on two frigid clear nights and mapped the stars. Holden looks at the constellation map I drew for him and I wonder if he hates it. If it is crude. I am not an artist. An arm darts out and hooks me. I am pulled into his chest and squeezed, while he mumbles thanks.
For Lotte, I wrote a book. A fairytale. It took many hours and more sheets of paper than I had anticipated, but Holden managed to find some old scraps for me when I ran out of the good paper. I sewed the spine of the book with thread and dedicated it to Charlotte. When she opens it, Holden and I are snuggled together on the couch, excited for her response.
“Wow. Whoa,” she breathes as she looks it over. “You wrote this?” I nod. Her grin is ear to ear. Without hesitation, she carefully sets the book down and dives into our laps for a massive family hug.
In bed that night, Holden hands me a small package. I unwrap it slowly. It is a small silver spoon.
“What is it for?” I ask, my voice hesitant. Sometimes Holden likes to play jokes.
He kisses my nose. “For our children.” The wind’s cold breath rattles windows decorated with ice crystals, an icy fist forms in my stomach. I speak softly, so I don’t disturb the monster in his blood.
“Our children?” I ask. We have not talked about a baby in a long time. I am yet to get pregnant again and the longer it takes, the more frustrated Holden becomes with me.
“Who else’s?”
“It is beautiful. Thank you,” I say. I kiss him passionately, until the energy rolling off him is peaceful and not angry. “Let’s make a baby, Holden.”
He places the spoon on the nightstand and strips my nightgown from me with a grin on his face. He pulls his knife from his belt. It glistens in the moonlight. A slippery wave of desire rolls through me.
“Cut me, first.” Holden’s grin is contagious as I roll to my stomach and bare myself to him.
February is brutal. I think I am vitamin D deficient. Lotte looks sallow and too thin and Holden is grumpy often. Not even my body pleases him lately. We are always chilled and hungry. I long for warm nights and sunshine baths. Swims in the river and flower crowns.
“If we don’t all do our chores, we won’t make it through winter, Lotte,” Holden yells.
“Yes, sir.” Lotte answers.
“Don’t be flippant. Do you want to die?” he shouts. Die? I jump in because I don’t like his tone. Lotte is our family and just a child. He should not scare her so.
“Holden, stop it. She’s just a girl.”
“Just a girl? Do you know what I was subjected to at her age?”
“Please,” I beg. “She understands. Don’t you, Lotte?” Lotte looks to me and nods vigorously at Holden and me.
“I didn’t ask you to speak,” he says. I cower and try to tuck Lotte behind me a bit. Holden’s hand snakes out and tears Lotte from me. She yelps and I rush Holden, pleading.
With a swift motion, Holden backhands me. The force of it sends me crashing into the table. The crack of my body hitting the wood echoes in the small space. Tears stream down Lotte’s face, when Holden holds her up by her shoulders until she is eye level with him.
“We lost all the chickens, Lotte. There’s no meat, no eggs for the rest of winter because you forgot to latch the enclosure and fed the foxes instead of us.”
“I’m s-sorry,” she stammers. Holden’s whole body vibrates with fury. He should not be touching her that way.
“Don’t touch her!” I scream. The sound is desperate. Holden and Lotte both look to me.
“You are not the master of this house, Nora.” His eyes blaze malice. Lotte is knocked to the floor with such force, her head snaps back, hitting the floorboards. She does not move. Inside me, something breaks. My baby, my baby, my baby.
I have choices to make. Promises that I can’t break. Her heart beats bright. She does not deserve this life. Hurting me is nothing but I cannot allow Holden to hurt her. A series of snaps and crackles resounds inside my skull. I find myself. For a moment, I cannot breathe at the horror I feel. I cannot focus my eyes. Lotte lies on the floor, clutching her head. My eyes bulge. My breath becomes rapid. No. No. No.
I stand. Holden winces at the murderous glare I give him, as I go to Lotte. Protecting Lotte feels natural. She is family. She is only a child. I scoop her up as best I can in my arms and bring her to her room. A child, I think. My child. A baby cannot live here with him nor a child. This is no place for kids.
“You’re bleeding,” she says, through tears. I blink. I feel outside myself somehow. She touches her fingers to my forehead, I flinch as her fingers come back red.
“Never mind me. Lotte, I will save you.” I say it more harshly than I intend. Her eyes grow wide, giving away her fear, but she nods. “Stay bundled up tonight in your clothes.”
I kiss her forehead, pull the blanket up to her chin and leave. It physically hurts to leave her. There is a cut on her head that still bleeds and she bit her lip hard enough to split it. My beautiful girl has been hurt. In the main room, Holden waits for me. He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand.
“I need a washcloth and some band aids first.”
He hesitates, but nods and retrieves both, while I go into our room. I pull on thick socks while I sit on the edge of the bed. Holden looks sheepish, as he hands me what I asked for. He is in control but he does not like it when I am angry with him. He does not like to disappoint me and that gives me power.
He reaches out a hand toward the bruise already forming on the side of my face. I pull away from him. “No,” I say. His faces morphs to anger. “Just,” I start, “just give me a couple minutes alone. Please,” I say. I watch his internal struggle as he considers my request.
“Ten minutes,” he says and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. My brain spins in too many directions. The winter wind is cold and howling through the open door. I rush to it and push the wooden door against the wind until it latches shut.
He’s gone to bring in more wood. I rip open a band aid and race to the bedroom door. I place it over the latch as quickly as I can. Returning to the bed, I wipe the blood from my head. When my skin is dry, I cover the split in my skin with another band aid.
Holden appears in the doorway. Rage has built up in his features.
“Nora, now.” He points to the floor. No, I have a choice. I should have a choice.
I do nothing. Holden’s eyes narrow. A vein pops in his forehead as he grinds his jaw. He stomps to me and pulls me to my feet. When the first slap lands, I take it. I do not fall down. Not until the third. The third is too much. The room unexpectedly tilts sharply to the left. Pain radiates from my chest and head. “Why do you do this to yourself?” he asks. “Tell me, Nora,” he snaps. I remain silent. “Dammit, everything was going so well.” Holden grabs my wrist and tugs hard. I stumble forward until we’re chest to chest. I’m shaking, but I will get what I want from this. He stares into my eyes as he strips me bare. He raises my arms, pulls my dress off, as I lower my arms, I snag his key ring from his belt loop and toss it onto the puddle of fabric at his feet. At the same time, I tell him what he wants to hear, muffling any sound that might be heard.
“I belong to you. Only ever you.” His hands wrap around me and clutch my buttocks. He lifts me roughly. I wrap my legs around his waist, arms around his neck. His lips find my collarbone. I bite my lip, willing my body to respond one more time. Let me have one more time.
“Tell me again,” he whispers onto the skin of my chest. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Only ever you.”
He tosses me to his bed. Around and around and around we go. But this time, I will escape.
“No one will love you like I do. No one.”
“No,” I breathe. He is right, in his own way, no one will ever love me like he does. He grabs the lit candle from his nightstand and blows it out. Hot wax hits my skin and solidifies. The gas lamp casts a dim glow around us from the dresser. In the darkness, I let my mind drift and my body enjoy because this is the last time. He flips me to my belly. These cuts won’t be tended to come morning. The pleasure he doles out, I will allow myself to enjoy.
It will be our goodbye.
I stare intently at his bearded, gaping mouth. He snores a bit, steady and slow. My heart breaks a little for him. For us. He moves. I wait. When I am sure he is soundly asleep, I begin to move. Painfully slow. He moves . . . his arm. I watch him, staring at his face, his closed eyes. His arm dangles from his side of the mattress. My fingers grasp the doorknob when he snores again. The latch does not sound and I breathe a sigh of relief that the band aid worked.
I turn from the threshold of the bedroom for one last glance. He is staring at me. I freeze, scan both his eyes. I exhale my relief silently. His eyes are not open. It’s just shadows. I can hear my own labored breathing. On the tips of my toes, I grab the kitchen scissors and hold my braid out away from my head. I am Nora. I am not a doll. I cut my braid mere inches from the nape of my neck. Rebellion feels good.
I quickly sneak into Lotte’s room and wake her. Tears fall from her eyes as she realizes what’s happening, but she makes no audible noise. We pass through the living room and stop and listen. There is no movement from the bedroom. Floorboards creak under our weight. Holding my breath, I take a final step toward the front door with Lotte’s hand clutched too tight in mine. I shouldn’t do this. I have to. This is dangerous. Adrenaline courses through me.
The winter air whips around us. I hold up the truck keys. The air goes thin around me.
“Run!” I hiss. Every muscle tenses in my body as we sprint for the truck. My socks are wet with snow. Lotte slips and slides but we make it to the truck. Jumping inside the cab, she cries out as she slams her door shut. The sound seems impossibly loud and I am paralyzed with fear.
“Nora, go!” she screeches. Her terror is palpable and snaps me from my own terror. I jam the keys into the ignition, it takes three turns but finally the engine turns over. I turn the truck around before turning the headlights on. As we speed away, I see the front door open in the rearview mirror and Holden’s large form shadowed by the light inside. There is no going back now. In the breaking dawn light, I realize I have broken his heart and severed mine. There will be no reconciliation from this.
Freezing rain pelts the windshield and it’s been too long since I have driven. I am clumsy and we stall out twice after the bridge. Lotte and I do not speak but her hand clutches my thigh. We have many near accidents before we reach the first gate but when I see it, I do not stop.
“Hold on tight,” I bark. Lotte whines and I squeeze my eyes shut as I plow through the gate. The impact hurts my arms, but it is nothing compared to the exhilaration I feel.
It is not long to the next gate, and I ram us through it as well. The truck skids and slips and I am worried I will lose control. The lonely access road is not far ahead. It is hard to see where to turn on to it. The road to the cabin is not plowed and the snow and sleet coat everything that surrounds us.
“I love you,” I breathe. Lotte cries, but squeezes my thigh in lieu of words. We drive for too long. It feels too long. Everything is white. The road appears suddenly, plowed but not recently. I curse. I yank the wheel to the right to turn onto it. We slide and fishtail. Lotte screams. I yank the wheel back the other way, but it is too late. The truck hurdles toward the treeline as I stomp repeatedly on the brakes.
“Hang on!” I scream. I don’t want to become dust here. I want to live.
I want . . .