Clara's Curse

Prologue

ClaRina

I was a hypocrite. Hypocrisy flowed through my body as if it were the only substance that willed me to stay alive. It seeped through my pores with every breath I took and erupted from my mouth with every word that passed between my lips. My name should have been ClaRina Hypocrite Kendall Faulk since that one word represented my entire existence and was exactly what had brought me to this moment.

I sucked in two quick breaths and slowly exhaled to slow the beating of my heart. Lifting my shaking hand, I rubbed my eyes, smearing fresh warm blood all over the right side of my face. Sweat dripped from my new pixie cut and found its way to the corners of my eyes. Between the mixing of both body fluids, it was impossible to see clearly. I was almost at the point of losing my mind, but now I imagined things as well. I felt like the young boy in the movie The Sixth Sense. His words crept from my mouth and were released as a mere whisper, I see dead people.

My living room was dark, except for the moonlight shining through the slits of my blinds. Glancing over to my right, which was the only dimly lit corner of the room, I hoped the person who had appeared had vanished just as quickly. However, I was not that lucky. She was as evident as the half-dead body that lay at my feet. My grandmother, or Mother Clara as we called her, sat in her once favorite red oak wooden rocking chair, calmly moving back and forth. Draped over her large body was the black and white striped housecoat she wore when I was a child. A blank expression was frozen on her face and her long gray hair, which was always pinned up in a bun, was in disarray.

However, her confused demeanor wasn’t what almost made my knees buckle. In my grandmother’s lap rested a two-by-four. The large piece of lumber was drenched with blood that dripped onto my hardwood floors.

Mother Clara? I asked, whispering.

She didn’t stop rocking, nor did she look at me. She didn’t even pause to acknowledge my presence. The bright red liquid continued to steadily fall from the wood. I attempted to call her name again, but the words were bound in my throat. My hands were soaked from the perspiration and blood. I wiped them on my blue-pinstriped suit pants. But no matter how hard I tried; I couldn’t get them clean.

It’s not going anywhere, a voice from the opposite side of my living room called out.

I peered through the darkness where the words had traveled from and saw her—my mother. Again, I was seeing dead people.

Mom? my voice was barely audible at this point.

She stood in the corner and smiled at me. She wore a simple black dress on her slender frame. As always, she looked beautiful and fancy. Her medium-length tresses were cut in a bob, and she seemed peaceful. A peace that was not at all parallel to the mother I had known.

Mom, is that really you? Ruth Ann?

She smiled again. As her grin slowly transformed into a scowling frown, I noticed what was in her hand. She looked down, gripped the handle of a silver pistol, and then looked back up at me. I shook my head. My mind was playing tricks on me. The gun she held in her hands was the exact gun I clutched in mine.

You are me, my grandmother and mom said together.

No! I screamed, shaking my head, and dropping the pistol to the floor. No, no, no!

My grandmother stood from her chair and finally looked at me. She and my mom began to move toward me; Mother Clara with her bloody two-by-four, and my mom with her gun. They pointed both objects at me.

You are us, they said in unison.

Their words sent a chill through my body, and I couldn’t stand up any longer. I fell to my knees, landing in a sea of blood.

I’m not! I cried out. Please, God, I’m not like them, I pleaded as if the Master above could hear me. Even if He could, I doubted He would pay my pleas any attention after what I had done.

You are us, rang in my ears over and over again as I buried my face in my hands and cried.

Moments passed, and the room fell silent. My tears subsided. I looked around for my mother and grandmother, but they were now gone. The only person left in the room with me was Harold. My husband’s lifeless body was lying on the floor in front of me.

His head faced me, and fresh blood streamed from his mouth. His soulless eyes were still open, staring at me as if to ask why.

Oh, God! I am them, I said as the realization of what I had done sunk in. Just then, even though they were gone, I still heard the voices of the two women who just had stood in front of me. And since I was more like them than I ever wanted to admit, I would do exactly what they would have done at this moment.

I picked up my gun from the floor, regained just enough strength to point it at Harold, and pulled the trigger once more.

Even if I hadn’t killed you, you were going to die anyway.

Chapter 1

Ruth Ann

1953

Tonight, would be my last night fighting him off of me. It would be my last night weeping and begging for my life. This night would be the final time I had to scream for

help. Tonight, would be the end of my existence in this wretched country town.

I buried my head into the chest of the only man who truly loved me. The crisp September night caused me to snuggle closer to him. My brother Bobby, or Bo, as we affectionately called him, held me softly and made sure he did not squeeze me too tight. My heart was in pieces; my entire body was still raw from the previous night’s battle. The right side of my face was bruised, and my left eye was almost swollen shut. Even the smallest touch made my petite frame cringe and ache in pain. I could not bear the torture any longer, and he knew it.

Gal, git way. And I mean far way. Go on up yonder to that New York City where Auntie Mae is. Just git now! My brother’s powerful rustic baritone voice was laced with such a deep Southern drawl. One could never mistake that it originated from the lowest parts of the South. His muscular arms covered my body for a few more seconds. Bo had been my safe haven ever since I could remember. He protected me the best he could. However, after last night, we knew the next time I was in danger might be my last time.

He broke our embrace and gently pushed me away. The hurt that settled on his face was evident each time he looked at me. Now listen, Bo said, lifting my chin so he was staring squarely into my eyes. I dun saved up nuff for yo’ train ticket and ya to live off fo’ at least two months.

We were huddled up outside the train station in Columbia, South Carolina, an hour away from my hometown,Timmonsville.

It was almost midnight, and the wind whipped around us, whistling for my immediate departure as well. The train would be boarding soon, and time was not an ally now. I longed to savor just a few more minutes with my brother.

Bo had snuck me out of the house and needed to get back before our parents realized we were missing. I shook my head as defeated tears dropped from my eyes. I pushed a few strands of hair from my face and smoothed it back into the ponytail holder that was barely keeping it together. Knowing that Bo detested tears, I sniffed and tried to get them under control. Never show ‘em you hurtin’, sis, my brother repeated to me every single day.

I finally failed at my attempt, and the tears continued to pour down. Bo would be the only one I missed. He was seven years older than me, and we shared a bond I did not have with my other four brothers and sister.

As we stood outside the station, he was again doing all he could to keep me out of harm’s way, even if that meant sending me to go live with my aunt in another state.

What ‘bout my babies, Bo? I managed to ask through my tears. I had just turned nineteen and given birth to my second daughter, Gwendolyn, four months ago. My oldest daughter, ClaRina, was almost four.

They had to know I loved them and were the reason I was leaving this evil town, and this wicked family. I prayed one day they would understand the choice I was left to make. There was no other alternative for me. It was either leave or die.

Ni, ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout dem babies. I’ll take care of ‘em. Just like I looked after you, Imma look after ‘em.

I’m gone come back for ‘em, I sniffed. I promise, Bo. I’m comin’ back fo’ my girls. I love ‘em.

I know, Ruthie, I know. But fo’ now ya gotta git. I ain’t gone bury my sister, so jus git. Bo handed me the ticket and money and pointed toward the doors of the train station.

Bo calling me Ruthie caused a slight smile to creep across my puffy face. That was his nickname for me whenever he comforted me. There had been so many occasions during my life that my older brother had to console me.

I love you, Bo, I said, giving him another quick embrace. As I let him go for the second time, I saw a single tear roll down his cheek.

Bo’s charcoal skin and bloodshot eyes made him look like a heartless menace rather than the peaceful soul he really was. Although he was dressed in a pair of dingy blue jean overalls he had worn earlier while working in the fields, he was still handsome. A humble smile stretched across his face that only I was privy to, and the jokes he often made took my mind off of the repugnance seen daily. I often called him my gentle giant.

Bo straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and pointed again toward the train. I closed my thin, black-tattered jacket and picked up my plastic bag filled with the only clothes I could grab from the house. I rushed toward the station, so I would not miss my train. Once I got to the door, I paused and contemplated if I could really leave. If I remained, it would only be for my girls. But staying would mean more days and nights succumbed to torture and molestation. Not getting on that train would mean more bruises and sores. Going back to that house would mean me wanting to take my own life just to escape it all.

I did not want to abandon ClaRina and Gwen in a place I was running from. The same suffering I had endured, I could not imagine falling upon them, too. But what other choice did I have? I had no more fight left in me.

I looked back at my older brother one final time. My mind was eased somewhat from knowing that Bo would be there for my girls. I prayed that my daughters would remain untouched due to their young age. My plan was to come back and get them before they reached the same age I did when my abuse began. I had full faith that Bo would make sure they were safe until my return.

Bo’s hard-chiseled face was covered with worry. If Mother or Father knew he helped me flee, no telling what they would do to him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded, instructing me to go inside. I did as I was told, unaware of what the future would hold for me, not sure of what I would do when I arrived in New York. And completely oblivious to the fact that when I looked back at my favorite brother, Bo, it would be the last time I saw him alive.

Chapter 2

ClaRina

1965

I can’t believe we gotta go to school wit’ dese crackas! Gwen folded her arms across her chest and stomped her foot, invoking a cloud of dust upon her freshly shined navy-blue Mary Janes. Lace hung from her frilly off-white socks, and the dirt she just awoken from under her feet would surely make them look even more dingy. The last thing I wanted was to have a snobby kid picking at her because of her dirty socks. She had enough to fret about today.

You know, Mother gone git you if she hears you talkin’ like dat. I glanced at the screen door to make sure Mother Clara was not in earshot of our conversation.

I don’t care, Ri Ri! I don’t wanna go! Gwen protested, stomping her foot once more. Again, I glanced at her socks that, as I thought, looked a shade darker.

Gwen never called me by my full name, ClaRina. She always addressed me as Rina. However, the times that she required me the most I was Ri Ri to her. She was the only one that called me Ri Ri, and in those moments, I knew I had to do everything I could to take care of her. In return, I shortened her name from Gwendolyn to Gwen.

Stop whining ni! I glared at my little sister. We ain’t got no choice. Just don’t look scared or cry. We gonna get through this. I ain’t gone leave ya.

Gwen tugged on the sleeves of her sky-blue blouse that once belonged to me and stared at the ground. I’m no baby! I ain’t gone cry, Rina. She sniffed as tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.

I slid over from where I was sitting on our grandmother’s porch and put my arm around my little sister. Come on, sis, ya know they can’t do nothin’ to the Kendall girls! I joked.

I wasn’t sure if my feeble attempt at trying to cheer her up would work, but that was all I could offer at the moment. And I’ll make sho’ I sneak ya something sweet after supper if ya don’t cry. I saw Mother Clara cannin’ preserves late last night. No way you don’t want no hot biscuits and delicious pear preserves.

Gwen looked up at me, smiled, and wiped the tears that were slowly making their way down her face with the back of her hand. Her sweet tooth and the vision of our grandmother’s fruit preserves were much greater than her fear of a new school, so I figured that would halt her tears.

She also thought she was prettier than most girls in our small town of Timmonsville. That was attributed to her sandy cinnamon complexion and thick brownish-red hair that fell past her shoulders. Our uncles joked that her dad was a white man who used to creep around the house at night to see our mom. But we knew that Gwen’s father was just ol’ high yellow Percy who lived down the street and around the corner from us with his wife and seven kids. Due to her already self-proclaimed beauty, she definitely would not want anyone to witness her weeping.

I turned my focus back down the gravel road to see if the school bus was anywhere in sight. The sweltering August sun awoke with a vengeance and stirred around even more anxiety in me. Not only did I have to console Gwen, but I also had to pretend as if I was not frightened.

Even though the sun suspended in the sky’s motive, was to brighten our day, no sunshine and luminous rays could remove the dark cloud that hung over our heads. Today was one day that we would remember for the rest of our lives.

The decision of Brown v. Board of Education had passed a few years ago but was never implemented into the school systems of South Carolina until now. The ruling that would forever change our lives stated we could not continue to be educated with only black kids since it was deemed unequal.

We were now forced to go to school with white children who despised us just because of our skin color. My previous high school, Dennis High, was the first one in the county to enforce this law and was forced to shut down. I was beginning my senior year of high school; however, this was Gwen’s freshman year. I felt an overwhelming amount of pity for her. Not only was she starting high school already fearful of being in an older environment than middle school, she was also made to do that with kids who truly thought we were inferior to them and felt that we were not worthy to be in their presence, let alone be educated with them.

I dreaded going to our new school, too, but there was nothing we could do about it. So, we had to put on our brave faces and get through it. One step at a time. One hour at a time. One day at a time.

The monstrous school bus,