Thrown-away Child

Hassie said that right in front of Connie’s face. Connie ran home—so fast she had to sit down in the kitchen and hold her sides until they stopped heaving—and told her mama what Auntie had called her.
    Hassie just a old snake lady, Mama said. Connie and Mama made a pact not to tell Daddy about what Hassie said. Daddy’s temper could be ruthless.
    Never you mind now, Connie’s mama said. And then she held her little girl’s hands—hands that looked old enough to know—and with tears streaming from her eyes she told her daughter, Connie, I’m going to show you what you got to do and tell you what you got to say if it should come to the worst for you. Going to be disagreeable, and against the nature of your pure heart, but you got to do it. Connie, you hear me close?
    In the passage of only three days, and with the arrival of her daddy’s good buddy Larry from the army days, the advice and training was put to use.
    Since Larry was a guest and deserving of a real bed, the household shifted around at night. Larry and Daddy used the twin bed and the roll-away in Auntie’s hack bedroom, and Auntie slept in front with Mama in her bed. Connie slept on the parlor couch.
    One early morning, just before dawn, Connie was awakened by noise from the kitchen. Voices, she thought in her half-sleep. Auntie’s liquored voice laughing at rude sounds Larry was making like a fool on Hassie’s old tape recording machine she always liked to play with. Connie turned over in the couch, and was soon falling back to sleep.
    But soon more noise. Now it was Larry and Auntie arguing. Then Larry crashing around like he was chasing after Auntie, and Auntie saying, I ain’t in the mood! You want some, whyn’t you go do sweet cherry?
    Connie opened her eyes. A man—had to be Larry!—stood in the archway between the kitchen and the parlor. Behind him was the faint light from the twenty-five-watt pantry bulb Connie’s mama always left burning so people could see their way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Connie saw Larry’s shoulders were slouched, like he was ready to leap at something. She saw Hassie behind him, rushing back to her bed next to Mama through the faint light, wearing nothing but her panties and brassiere, which was hanging half off of her.
    Connie wondered, Am I dreaming? But when she knew she was awake and seeing the slouched shoulders, and hearing and smelling the raspy beer breath, she cried out, Oh my God! and sat right up straight.
    Then he was upon her, quick as a switch, pawing her away from the lamp on the table beside the cot, which was what she thought first of grabbing. Larry said, Little bitch, you best not turn on the light. Then Connie thought twice, and remembered what her mother had sternly instructed. She was glad that Larry could not clearly see her face, for she was so afraid.
    He got up close with his stinky mouth and said, Little bitch, you holler on me and I slice your pretty throat with this. Then he put the cold greasy blunt edge of his army souvenir to Connie’s neck. Only last night at supper Larry had been showing her daddy the same oiled bayonet. And now he said to a ten-year-old girl, You best not even breathe too hard, even while you about to enjoy Larry going to rock you every place a young girl needs rocking.
    He slipped out of his socks without even bending over. Then he tore off his T-shirt, then he struggled out of his undershorts. Connie watched his every movement in the gray light, looked at every part of his body. Not because she had any interest in seeing that big thing he held in his hands—as he laughed at her, his hairy body hovering over her as he whispered, Oh, you sweet young cock-teasing bitch!—but to locate what it was mama explained would be hanging off a man, right below the big stiff thing.
    Larry’s sweaty body collapsed on her. He rolled around, trying to force open a ten-year-old girl’s legs, slobbering her pretty face with his beery tongue. But then much to Larry’s surprise—and final sorrow— sweet young Connie took the situation in hand.
    Six weeks later there was a trial. Minister Tilton took it upon himself to elicit privately the full details of little Connie’s defilement, and a father’s resultant fury. Then he listened again when the district attorney interviewed all concerned.
    Minister Tilton, at great personal expense, so he informed his parishioners, provided lawyers to protect the honor and interests of Connie’s family, and