Whispering, Idaho Read online

  WHISPERING, IDAHO

  By Nancy Canyon

  Copyright © 2012 by Nancy L. Canyon

  Copyright Foreword © by Kathryn Fentress

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedicated to All Survivors of Sexual Abuse

  FOREWORD

  By Kathryn Fentress, Ph. D.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank Natalie Goldberg for her encouragement: “If you want to write a spiritual book, write about the abuse you grew up with.” Thanks to Robert Ray and Jack Remick for teaching me how to structure a novel and for encouraging me to “go for the jugular.” Many thanks to my Kitsap Peninsula writing friends: Bob Schumacher, Laura Hanson, Deborah Duff, Louie Jarmillo, Wendy McFadden, Vanessa Arubo, Loa Ryan, Carol Cuce, Karen Hope Ferris, Deb Teashon, Jane Evans, Kelli Russell Agodon, Jen Culkin, and Annette Spaulding-Convy for their love and writing support. Also thanks to Kathryn Fentress for her love and support of this project.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  FOREWORD

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  EPILOGUE

  RESOURCES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  INTRODUCTION

  I wrote this story because I felt compelled to tell my own story of growing up with sexual abuse as part of the healing process. At the time, 1999, I found it still too difficult to write the truth in memoir form. So I decided on fiction. Although this isn’t my story (this is Alice Sharp’s story) writing it brought me healing. Alice Sharp makes choices that I didn’t make. As I pondered her plight as a fictional character and how she might handle her situation, I changed and grew. It was liberating for me to have Alice do what she did to escape the abuse she was experiencing. I was able to say, “Oh, this is how Alice is handling her life.” I believe story changes people…both reading it and writing it. All names, characters. places, and incidents are either the product of my imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  Alice Sharp looked over her shoulder one last time at the volunteers setting up for the Fourth celebration in Whispering Park. As she turned back to the crosswalk, a squad car passed. It was Sheriff Wise. She waved and then stepped into the blistering street. There’d be no more pre-celebration events for her today because she had to work.

  Cigarette butts, gum wrappers, and spilled potting soil littered the sidewalk around the entrance to Sharp’s Hardware Store. Alice lifted a shriveled bedding plant from the broken-down rack and tossed it in the trash. If it were up to her, she’d throw everything out except for a couple of Early Girls to set out at home.

  “It’s not up to me,” she said, feeling the imaginary pressure of her father’s iron hands choking the life from her. Her father decided what was worth keeping and what was no longer useful. Her function lies elsewhere.

  “Maybe this will perk you up,” she said, dousing the tomato plants with tepid water, anticipating the sweet acidic smell she loved. Instead, she caught a familiar whiff of Tigress. Turning, she saw the waitress from the café next door, walking up the sidewalk. The woman tossed a cigarette on the ground and disappeared into Trent Café. A thin wisp of smoke curled off the baking cement.

  “No one cleans up around here.” Alice leaned over and wrenched off the water. It was miserably hot out. She pushed her hair off her neck, catching a glimpse of her moody reflection in the dusty window: tangled red curls, sunken dark eyes, a gold cross hanging around her neck, green tank-top and frayed cutoffs.

  Whispering, Idaho knew her as Jim Sharp’s daughter. People were kind to her, seemingly overlooking the fact that her father was a hothead and drank too much. They even clapped him on the back for his good work assisting the town’s folk with their hardware needs. Alice swallowed over the lump that was forever lodged in her throat.

  A dog-eared sign in the window read, SHARPEN UP AT SHARP’S! The image of her father sharpening his precious butcher knives twisted her stomach like river weed wrapping a low-hanging willow branch. She eased open the screen door, careful not to jangle the bell and alert him of her arrival.

  The dimly lit store smelled like dust, fertilizer and stale coffee. An electric fan oscillated, fluttering the red-lettered sale signs up and down. Dust motes swirled through shafts of sunlight falling from the front windows onto dirty wood flooring. The grindstone hissed like an angry animal.

  Her father pressed a knife blade against the spinning stone. Sparks spit around him. Straightening, he drew the sharpened edge through a scrap of paper, letting the two halves flutter to the floor. He set the knife down, removed his blue baseball cap, drew his fingers through his black sweaty hair and snapped the hat back on.

  Alice froze in place, afraid he would look her way. Instead, he reached for another knife and held the blade against the grindstone. She sighed and hurried around the checkout counter to fetch the dustpan. Crouching, she shuffled through the mess beneath the counter, locating the dustpan behind a stack of paper bags, rags and outdated invoices. She grabbed it and stood again, arriving face to face with her angry father. Startled, she let the dustpan clatter to the floor.

  “Didn’t I make myself clear? You’re not to wear those, those hot-pants to work,” he said, jutting his square chin toward her legs.

  “They’re cutoffs, not hot-pants! It’s too hot to wear jeans.”

  “Don’t smart-mouth me.” He tossed her a green apron. “Cover up.”

  “No thanks.” She threw the apron back at him.

  He bolted around the counter and grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a jerk. “Don’t you ever talk back to me! Now turn around!”

  “You can’t make me wear that thing,” Alice said, struggling against him as he pulled the apron over her head.

  “You can’t make me,” he mimicked, wrestling her. “Stand still.” As he yanked the apron strings around her waist, he pulled her in close. “You smell good.”

  Alice jerked away, ramming her elbow into the cash register as she whirled around. “Ow! Now see what you’ve done?” She held her stinging elbow, swallowing back tears.

  “Where’d you get that cross?”

  “I found it,” she said, and covered the jewelry with her hand. She could feel the twist of soldered gold wrapping the ornate center where a black stone nestled between joining shafts.

  “Let’s have a look.” He pulled her hand away and looped the chain over a thick finger. He pulled hard on the chain and said, “Your mother seen this?”

  “Stop! You’ll break it,” she said, and turned away from his smell of sour sweat and Old Spice. If the “J” etched on the back of the cross did stand for Jim, he’d take it away from her like everything else she desired.

  He released the chain and grabbed her face, jerking it up to his. “Look at me when I talk to you. Has your mother seen this?”

  The bell over the door jangled. Alice’s father turned to the customer. “Pastor,” he said. He stepped around the checkout counter and reached out a hand, hurrying across the store. “How’s Sunday’s sermon coming?” he said, pumping the pastor’s hand.

  Stephen tilted his head. “Something wrong, Alice?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Jim laughed. “Alice was just showing me the cross she found. It’s right up your alley, Pastor. Come here, Angel. Let Pastor have a look and be quick about it. You
’ve got work to do, you know,” he said, shaking his head. “You know how kids are these days, always shirking responsibility. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

  The pastor’s eyes dropped to where Alice’s fingers rubbed the chain burn along her neck. It was sore and red she guessed. “I’m allergic to cheap metal.” She tried to smile.

  Stephen reached out a hand. “Looks like you’re hurt.” He touched her neck. “Ice might help.”

  “Wasting time, Alice!” Jim yelled from the back of the store.

  She raised a trembling finger to her neck. “I’m sure it’s the metal, but the cross brings me luck. I found it in the river mud down at Carl’s Crossing. It helps me, Pastor. You know?”

  “Alice, what did I say? Sorry, Pastor.”

  “I’d better get back to work,” she said, and grabbed the broom. “Nice seeing you again.”

  Stephen brushed sandy-colored hair from his eyes. “I’m looking for hose washers. You carry any?”

  “They’re in the back,” Alice said. “Next to where Dad is working.”

  Stephen smiled. “Thanks.”

  Alice felt a blush warm her cheeks. Stephen’s soapy scent lingered on her skin where he’d touched the welt on her neck. As she swept, she eavesdropped on the men.

  “How’s it going, Jim?”

  “Never better!” He shoved a box of electrical wire onto the top shelf. “And you? Guess you’re making a place for yourself in this nosy little town?”

  “Things are going well for me. Congregation’s growing.” The pastor was quiet for a few moments. Then he said, “You got a decent kid, Jim. And a hard worker too.”

  “When she’s not flirting around,” he said, and jumped down from the ladder.

  Alice looked up to see her father wrapping one big hand around the other to pop his knuckles. His eyes flicked over to Alice and back again. She feigned sweeping.

  “Help you find something, Pastor?”

  “Washers. Church hoses leak like sieves.”

  Jim adjusted his cap and nodded to the back of the store. “Middle shelf, just to the right of the green hoses there. Help yourself.”

  Alice dropped the broom. “I’ll get them,” she said, and started across the store.

  “You’re on the clock, Angel. Back to work.”

  Alice stopped and picked up the broom. She watched the pastor for a few moments. The heat came up her neck again, but this time it was because she hated her father.

  Jim strode across the room and reached over the pastor, grabbing down a dusty box of washers. “These work?” he said, and tossed the pastor the box.

  Stephen caught it and turned it over in his hands. “Yes, just right. How much?”

  “Buck and a half.”

  Stephen tossed a couple of bills on the counter. “This should cover it. See you in church, Jim,” he said. “Have a nice day, Alice.”

  Alice smiled and leaned on the broom, watching the blue-jean-clad man of clothe cross the store. Maybe her best friend, Gena Anderson, was right about dating him. He was only a few years older than Alice and made her feel different from any other guy she’d ever known. Just the thought of holding hands with him had her stomach all a flutter. She was smiling to herself when her father’s hot fingers bit into her forearm, jerking her around to face him.

  “What the hell was that all about?” he said.

  Alice looked away. “Let go, you’re hurting my arm.”

  “I saw how he looked at you. You seeing him or something?”

  “I’m not,” Alice said, wrenching free. “He was just being nice, that’s all. You should try it sometime.”

  “Very funny.” He grabbed a sharpened butcher knife from the grinding bench and touched the tip of it to his finger. “Stay away from him, you hear me?”

  “I’m eighteen now,” Alice said, rubbing her arm. “I don’t have to do what you say.”

  “While you’re living under my roof, you do.” He looked at his watch. “Got a delivery to make. Never keep the customer waiting.” He wagged his finger at her. “Lock up at five and tell your mother I won’t be home for dinner. Inventory tonight.”

  The door slammed, ringing the bell above it. Alice slumped against the counter, rubbing the row of bruises darkening along her upper arm. “Like he comes back to do inventory. Nothing has been touched in here for a hundred years,” she said, eying the dusty shelves. She grabbed her throbbing head and mumbled, “I wish he were dead.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Outside, the mercury climbed toward the hundred-degree mark. Alice stood in the shade of the awning, wishing for the cold water of Blue River splashing over her bare legs. Licking her dry lips, she listened to the rushing sound in the distance, a sound like wind whispering through the tops of the bull pines. She imagined wading into the chilly water and wiggling her toes in the silky mud.

  Sighing, she took the broom to the spilled potting soil, cigarette butts and gum wrappers with vengeance. Get to work, Angel. You’re on the clock, Angel. Look at me when I talk to you, Angel. “I hate him.”

  Hearing footsteps on the sidewalk, she looked up. It was Mr. Henry, the pharmacist, out for his noontime walk.

  “Looking good, Alice. Keep up the fine work,” he said, and gave her the thumbs up sign.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling. She always remembered to smile at the townsfolk, even when she overheard them gossiping about the condition of the storefront. All the other stores along Main Street sported fresh paint and patriotic banners. Sharp’s was in need of repair. Alice didn’t want people wandering past on the Fourth thinking they were slobs. At least she would make sure the sidewalk was neat for the Fourth celebration. She’d make their family look good if it killed her.

  “Alice, Alice!” a man’s voice called.

  She shaded her eyes against the glare and looked up the street. Stephen was hurrying toward her, his white high-tops flashing in the sun. Her heart leapt and she smiled, remembering his flexing biceps that morning in Whispering Park. He was swinging the hammer overhead, pounding one nail after another along the top edge of the hot dog booth. Alice had followed along after him, aware of how close her body was to his as she looped the red, white and blue lights from nail to nail. She wanted to make small talk, but didn’t know what to say. Occasionally his arm brushed hers. She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when that happened.

  “Just like me to forget something,” he said, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

  “Dad’s out on a delivery now, but I can help you.”

  “It’s not that,” Stephen said.

  “But you said you forgot something.” She stepped out of the burning sun into the shade of the awning. “It’s cooler inside. Let’s talk inside.”

  “I’ve got rounds to make, you know, calling on parishioners. Just have a quick question to ask you...”

  Alice raised her eyebrows. “Ask me?” She noticed how clean and neatly trimmed the pastor’s fingernails were. She curled her own gnawed fingertips into her palms.

  “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was wondering if you would like to go to the celebration with me.”

  “Really?” Alice smiled and looked down at his new shoes. They were blindingly white.

  “Sure. I’ll swing by, pick you up at eight?”

  “Okay,” she said, recalling her dad’s order to stay away from the Pastor. He’d be watching her like a fish hawk. Turning to the screen door, she half expected her father to storm out and chase Stephen off. She caught her breath and turned back to the pastor’s happy blue eyes. She smiled, recalling the calm and clear water of the swimming hole.

  “Okay then,” he said. “See you then.”

  “Sure.” She smiled and went back to sweeping the sidewalk, wondering how she’d date him without her father freaking out. But that was getting ahead of herself.

  Between cleaning and the townsfolk coming and going, the screen door slamming and the bell jangling, Alice’s headache worsened. She sold fans, beer coolers, lawn ch
airs, picnic baskets, garden sprinklers and watering cans. She never forgot to smile.

  The store grew hotter than an uninsulated attic. Alice set up two additional fans to cool herself while she worked behind the counter. The green apron fluttered on a hook next to the cash register. Who cared what her father thought about the way she dressed. He called her a slut even when she wore turtlenecks and long pants. Unlike Gena, Alice was still a virgin. Ben was the only guy-friend she’d had all through high school, and he was more like a brother than a boyfriend. Now he was gone, killed in Viet Nam. Her heart stung when she thought of him. Stephen was kind and gentle and smart, too. When she thought of him, her stomach did a little flip. She could imagine the two of them holding hands and watching the fireworks in the park Saturday night. Maybe he’d even kiss her as the sparks showered overhead.

  The screen door banged open; Alice nearly jumped out of her skin. Gena Anderson stood in the doorway, removing her large white sunglasses. “Jeez, Alice, it’s roasting in here. Why aren’t you at the river?”

  “Hey, Gena? Just the rich kids get to walk around dressed like movie stars. I’m not a rich kid…I have to work.”

  “You like my outfit, then?”

  Alice was glad her father wasn’t there to gawk at Gena’s red short-shorts and matching paisley halter. Imagining how he’d undress her friend with his leering eyes made Alice’s skin crawl. Imagining him staring at her own petite breasts and crotch made her want to vomit.

  Gena shook her bleached-blonde hair out of her face and swished between the aisles. She was built…to say the least. And she knew how to flaunt it. “What are you doing, anyway?”

  Alice sprayed the counter with a mist of Pledge and ran a dust rag over the surface. “What does it look like? Oh yeah, I forgot. You don’t know what work is?”

  “You’re such a smart ass. I just ran into Pastor Smith. He told me I’d find you here.”