Page 59 of Lightning in a Mason Jar
He ducked a shoulder and charged Libby’s husband, catapulting him backward into the barn. Russell’s shout carried on the wind. “Winnie. Go. Get Libby out of here.”
Lightning sliced through the sky, and the crack of thunder snapped an instant later. Followed by another burst of jagged light that split the massive oak. Half of the tree stayed upright. The other half split away, falling toward the old barn with hints of fire skipping through the branches. The station wagon’s taillights swerved, fishtailing out of control as they struggled to avoid the falling limbs, until the land barge of a vehicle spun doughnuts on the lawn.
Broadsiding the remainder of the ancient oak.
My heart cried out in fear for the teens, and for Russell too, but I didn’t have time to think. My focus had to be on getting Libby to safety. I half carried, half hauled her across the muddy yard, torn up allthe more with tire tracks. I lost a shoe in the mud and kept going. She moaned in pain, one eye swelling closed. She was alive, but not much else. Her wet hair hung heavily on her face, and I was pretty sure the dark patch on her scalp was blood where a chunk of hair was missing.
I gasped and tugged, her feet dragging until I collapsed onto the muddy earth with her, safely between some bushes and the cabin. Still holding on. As if my grip could keep her anchored to this side of heaven.
Away from the side of hell that Fred had just shown me.
My mind filled with nightmare images of what her life must have been like before Bent Oak. I’d suspected, but being faced with the evil she’d endured shook me to the core. An evil Russell faced even now. Gasping for air, I peered through the downpour toward the barn, searching for Russell.
Another bolt of lightning lit the sky, immediately followed by a crack of thunder. Sparks showered upward from the heavy branches lying across the barn roof. My gut twisted with fear for Russell. What if the sparks grew to flames, trapping him inside?
I untangled from Libby, laying her back the rest of the way on the ground. After crawling my way to my feet, I sprinted toward the fallen tree. Pain shot up through my one bare foot as I clambered over the protruding roots. Smoke curled from the roof and through the open doors, stinging my nose.
Panicked, I weaved my way faster through the smoky labyrinth of boughs. Until finally, I saw Russell. Illuminated by a growing flame. Trapped under the weight of thick branches. Unmoving. I didn’t see Fred, and in that moment, the threat of him faded to nothing. I only cared about reaching the man I loved.
A heartbeat later, I dove forward, ripping branches and boards with my bare hands. Sparks burned my skin. I became the madwoman Phillip had once accused me of being, one thought pulsing through me with each breath.
Was this the price I would pay for tangling my life up with Russell’s?
Chapter Sixteen
2025
Bailey Rae hadn’t imagined seeking answers about the cash and the safe would only bring dozens more questions.
Yet here she sat on Thea’s veranda, head still spinning from hearing her aunt had been part of some secret network to help at-risk women. They’d dodged sharing any more information, instead simply eating cake and talking about pruning bushes, book club reads, shelling pecans. Anything other than revisiting the conversation about Winnie until Thea had ducked into the kitchen, locating Tupperware for a to-go dessert. June had stepped off the porch to take a work call from the college. Real or fabricated? Who knew?
More than anything, Bailey Rae longed for the sound of Winnie’s voice to explain the shifting reality, to tell if the stories she’d shared about her own childhood were true. Such as how her father had taken her to the beach, where they’d built sandcastles together. Or how her mother had taught her to bake pound cake and sew Halloween costumes. Was there a grain of reality in those? Timelines and memories were hard enough after those chaotic first years with Yvonne.
Bailey Rae refilled her tea and Libby’s as well, while the older woman crocheted and the ceiling fan fought a losing battle with the rising sun.
Libby loosened more of the cornflower-blue yarn from the skein. “People assume my hearing went along with my memory. But that’s not the case.”
“I’m sorry.” Wincing, Bailey Rae placed the pitcher back on the table. “I would never want you to feel discounted.”
“No need to apologize.” Libby tapped the safe with her crochet hook. “I can give you some insights into the cash and what this might contain if you would like.”
Bailey Rae sat up straighter in the wrought iron chair.
“Please, yes,” she said, not holding out much hope, but wanting the dear woman to feel heard and valued, however lucid her words.
“The answer is simpler than you would think. More money. When Winnie and I were your age, we women didn’t have as much control over our finances.” Libby looped stitches with each word. “The first time I tried to leave my husband, I went to the bank to get a credit card. My application was denied unless he cosigned. Ironic, since in those days, I worked in a textile mill and earned more than he did. When he worked. Which wasn’t often.”
A textile mill.I looked at the yarn in her hands, another piece of the Libby puzzle sliding into place. “I’m so sorry you were devalued that way.”
“That’s in the past.” Libby waved a dismissive hand before resuming her crocheting. “When Winnie and I each arrived in Bent Oak, we opened an account for those bills that required a check. Using cash, though, became easier than dealing with a banking system that didn’t respect us. And we socked away what we made at the market selling her canned goods and my crafts. I used to hide mine in my cowgirl boots. Boot cash is ‘I gotta leave my man’ money.”
Listening with a new understanding, Bailey Rae heard the shades of pain and struggle in Libby’s past.
“If the stacks of money lying around the cabin are any indication,” Bailey Rae said dryly, “that was a lot of canned peaches and rag dolls.”
“We were frugal,” Libby said with a flickering smile, her narrative clear. She seemed to be having a good day to relate the details of the past so well. “We were preparing in case we had to run again.”
Again? We?
