2
TAYLOR
THE HAMMER FALLS
The truck sputters and shudders into life as my father revs the engine impatiently. My hurried breakfast of lukewarm coffee and stale donuts weighs like lead in my stomach.
I turn towards the front of the house, where Molly stands in the doorway with her arms clasped around her body. Her expression is one of grief and hopelessness. I resist the urge to swing open the car door, sweep her into a tight embrace, or grab her by the wrist and flee together. We have nowhere to go that would be safer than here. I have nothing to offer my sister other than my love.
When I offer her a smile that I hope sends her some encouragement, she turns her face away.
I’ll come back for you, Molly. I promise.
A single tear burns hot against my flushed cheeks, and I fix my eyes on the road ahead, not looking back this time. I enter a state of numb emptiness as we turn at the end of our road and leave behind everything familiar to me.
I tap out a quick message to Natalie, telling her that Molly will be coming to the bakery. I don’t send it, my thumb hovering over the button, hesitating. This message will prompt questions I can’t answer. Maybe it’s best for Molly to turn up. Natalie won’t be able to resist her sweet face.
Beside me, Dad hums. My hands clench into fists, and the urge to smack him in the side of his stupid head bubbles up inside me, but I push it back down. He’s wiry and weak but still so much stronger than me. I want to tell him to use whatever money he gets for me to take care of Molly, but what would be the point? He doesn’t give a shit about us. He never has. Telling him would only make him want to do the opposite. All I can hope is that the money lasts long enough for me to come back for Molly before she passes the age of consent, and he can do what he did to me.
He’s an asshole, but he knows the law.
He turns on the radio, content with the music and static that blasts its sound from the dusty speakers. Sitting back in my seat, my eyelids flutter with fatigue, and the truck’s motion takes effect. My sleepless night has left me dangerously close to nodding off when I’m most vulnerable.
When I come to my senses, dazed and confused, I notice that the landscape has drastically changed. Off into the distance, the jagged silver peaks are stark against the softness of the pale blue sky. It’s breathtakingly beautiful and dramatic, totally different from the bland gray town we’ve left behind. Muffled voices are audible through the closed windows of the truck as my dad cuts the engine. He winds down his window, craning his neck, looking out for someone.
I need water to ease the dryness in my throat.
I need to open the door and gulp in some air that isn’t stagnant with my father’s stale body odor and the lingering beer aroma on his breath, but I know it would anger him.
Moments later, he exits the truck without a word, slamming the door shut, and I breathe a sigh of relief for some distance between us. He approaches a man about his age, who’s almost as unsavory looking, wearing a plaid shirt and dusty jeans.
Cattle trucks laden with livestock are exiting the site, and no one glances in my direction. Still, I lower myself into the seat for fear of anyone spotting me.
Now he’s gone, I wind down the window, allowing the breeze inside. It carries with it an organic freshness of animals and vegetation. I inhale deeply and press my hand in the middle of my chest where my heart feels as though it might explode through the cage of my ribs. A passing truck backfires its engine, making me jump. A plume of fumes swirls in through the open window. I cough and splutter as it disappears out of view.
My dad’s forced laugh carries on the air.
I try to suppress the overwhelming thought of Molly at home, miserable and scared.
My attention shifts to a burst of commotion somewhere behind me. A group of men are gathering outside the main barn. Varied in age, they seem to be either solo or in small groups. They’re kitted out in an unofficial uniform of plaid shirts, wranglers, and worn leather boots. Some are wearing Stetsons in varying shades and stages of wear. The scene is almost comical to me at first.
Then reality hits me, and I fight back a rising wave of nausea.
Any one of them could be a part of my future. I’m about to enter another world, a place of unknown danger. The man who buys me could be worse than my father. He could make me do terrible things.
My father slams his fist against the side of the car before tearing open the passenger door that was keeping me upright. I struggle to steady myself as he steps aside, and the shabby man comes into view.
“Hi, Taylor, I’m Eric Chepstow, running today’s auction. Now, are you gonna come with me or am I gonna have to lasso you?” His gravelly voice sounds worn away by years of tobacco and hollering. But it’s not unkind.
I glance towards my dad, who looks away. He coughs and takes a step back.
“Go with Mr. Chepstow here.”
I do as I’m told and watch Mr. Chepstow give my father a pile of papers, which he stuffs into his shirt pocket.
The two men spit and shake hands in an act that sickens me to the pit of my stomach but somehow doesn’t surprise me either; selling his eldest daughter to clear his debts. It’s despicable and horrific. Bile rises in my throat.
I turn to grab my bag from the back seat before climbing awkwardly out of the truck. My father gets in on the other side, asking nothing of me other than to ‘shut the goddamn door’.
And just like that, he’s gone in a cloud of dust, leaving me with a stranger.
“Don’t look so glum, girl!” Mr. Chepstow’s voice is calm, and I sense he’s been doing this a while. Tall and wiry, he looms over me with a loose ponytail of silver hair trailing down his back and deep lines etched into the corners of his eyes.
“We do this here all the time. You’ve got nothing to be scared of. Ranchers are good men. Salt of the earth. God-fearing like your father.”
I almost choke on my own spit. “My father?”
“He told me about your ‘trouble’.” His gnarled fingers make air quotes. “Getting involved with his friend, an older man. It’s right to save your reputation this way before it’s too late.”
Lost for words and incredulous at my father’s brazen lie, I follow Mr. Chepstow into the huge barn where the cluster of cowboys has disappeared into a front entrance.
We go through a rear entrance into a kind of holding room. The daylight is immediately replaced with subdued lighting and stuffy heat. I’m hit by the scent of sickly-sweet perfume mingled with hay and dust. I cough again as the effect catches in the back of my throat.
“Drop your bag here. I’m gonna see about getting you some water.”
There are five other women in the room. Two chatter excitedly. The others wear expressions as grim as mine.
“You wanna pretty yourself up in the bathroom?” He looks questioningly at me, and I nod, since I’m bursting to use the restroom. I don’t have any makeup, just a hairbrush. But splashing some cold water on my face might make me feel better.
“I’ll leave you here. When you’re done, come back to this point, and Dixie will call you when it’s time. Do you know much about cowboy country?”
I shake my head, frightened that my voice will crack.
“You got nothing to be scared of. Just make sure you work hard, follow the rules, and don’t give them any hassle. This could be a life-changing opportunity for you, kid.”
He has no idea. I strengthen my resolve. “I’ll do my best.” The quaver in my voice is pathetic.
He lifts my chin with his huge, meaty hand and looks into my eyes. I fight the urge to turn away but manage to hold his searching gaze.
He wipes the single tear straining at the corner of my right eye. His skin is rough, but his touch is gentle.
Then he turns and saunters off, wishing us all luck without looking back. I wonder where he’s going.
I’m a lamb to the slaughter.
When I’ve done my business and cooled my cheeks, I leave the restroom, bolstered by adrenaline. I return to the holding point and begin to take in my surroundings. Bales of hay are stacked at different heights for us to sit on. The other girls are all about my age. My attention is drawn to an attractive girl with oversized, gold-hooped earrings set amidst a mop of dense auburn curls. She vigorously chews on gum and stares down at her phone. She’s doing a good job of looking confident, but I’m not so sure. Twisting locks of her hair around her fingers with increasing intensity, she fidgets her foot restlessly. When her gum pops, she unsettles herself as much as the rest of us. She’s nervous, glancing around to see who noticed her mask slip. She sits up tall, faking bravado in her pink checked shirt, which she has tied up in a loose knot at the front, revealing a panel of smooth, tanned flesh. She has every reason to be confident, but still, this is not your average Saturday afternoon.
Another girl sneezes in the far corner, on a higher bale.
“Fat lot of good I’ll be as a cowgirl!”
A petite, brunette girl sits hunched in a corner, sobbing into her sleeves. Her arm’s grip tightly around her knees as she comfort-rocks herself.
I force away rising thoughts of Molly and the guilt of leaving her behind. This isn’t my choice. If I don’t go through with it, I’ll have nowhere to go.
My bag was placed on an empty bale, and next to it, someone placed a small plastic bottle of water. I’m touched by the gesture. Even such a tiny act is not something I’m used to, and it threatens to spill my emotions from where I’m holding them out of sight. As I move slowly towards it, several pairs of eyes from around the room follow my steps.
I glance down at my loose-fitting pants and the t-shirt that hangs on me. It’s clean and pale blue, my favorite color, but I could do better. I rummage around for inspiration, hoping there will be something prettier in the bottom of my bag, even as I suspect there isn’t.
“Never mind, sweetheart. It’s too late to change now. You’re up!”
I turn to see a tiny, pretty lady somewhere in her thirties with twinkly green eyes and lips painted a pale, glossy pink.
When she smiles, her teeth are a perfect row of white pearls, and her breath is fresh and minty as she moves closer and grips me steadily around the top of my right arm.
“You’re a natural beauty. Youth is on your side. I’ve got a good feeling about you. Great boobs and ass.”
Her eyes assess me briefly, settling on my right cheekbone.
“Let me cover up that bruise for you, honey. It’ll show up out there.”
She removes something from her shirt pocket and dabs it on my cheekbone. I don’t flinch.
I assume this is Dixie and trust her immediately, as much as anyone can trust in the bizarre situation we’re all in.
“I’ve been doing this for years, honey. I know a good one when I see one. And there are some pretty good guys out there today, too. Hold your head up high, you hear me? Your life’s gonna turn around from this point, now. You gotta believe it.”
Embarrassed, I shy away from her kind words, so unused to receiving a compliment that accepting it graciously would be like forcing my grown foot into a child’s shoe.
As I walk away from the group of girls up for auction, I know that every single one has a story to tell, a past full of troubles and an unknown future. They’re all desperate in one way or another, or they wouldn’t be here. They all need a fairy tale, a happy ever after, a knight in shining armor.
I silently pray for each of them as I step out into a vast yet sparsely packed arena. Dixie ushers the rest of the girls to follow.
Whatever happens, this is my ticket out of here. Even if no one wants me, my dad has gone. The great high sky can swallow me up for all I care, as long as I can figure out how to get Molly back to me. We’ll make it all right. We don’t have to be prisoners at the mercy of a toxic bully.
My mom and my grandma will be with us in spirit.
A momentary hush descends. A bead of sweat pools at the back of my neck, and my legs turn to jelly.
Who am I kidding?
Dixie stands behind me and gently ushers me up a small set of metal steps, which clang as I ascend, breaking the silence. The other girls remain at the bottom, gathered together, half frightened, half curious.
My feet have grown roots, and my heart hammers out of control.
I catch a scent of musky cologne in the air, mixed with fresh sweat. My stomach does a little flip, and I find my resolve again.
“Smile, honey, smile!” Dixie urges me forward.
I’m so relieved when she guides me to a bale in the middle of the raised platform we’re now standing on. I sit awkwardly, adjusting myself several times as sharp straw ends scratch into me.
I feel separate from my body. A ghost looking down at the person they used to be.
There’s a general stirring of deep voices rumbling from the crowd. I’m beyond relieved that I don’t have to parade around like the cattle stinking up the air outside.
Another hush descends, and the man at the microphone comes into clearer view. In his seventies, with a long white mustache and a battered Stetson, he’s a cliche I almost find amusing.
“Do you want to say a few words, Taylor?” His voice has a twang that I like and offers a hint of encouragement, but his invitation catches me off guard. The spotlight seems to brighten with my silence. The intense glare from the beam weakens my vision, but still, my eyes are drawn to a group of men in the front row, tall and broad with their eyes my way. They’re somewhat older than me but younger than my dad and seem to be a group of friends. One of them nods at me. It’s curt rather than warm but encouraging, nonetheless. I focus on his high cheekbones and his strong, chiseled jaw. The man next to him has unearthly light blue eyes that seem to look right through me.
Dixie gives me a nudge.
“Come on, honey, you got this. Tell them where you’re from, what you like, that kind of thing.”
Despite my dry throat, I manage a few words.
“I’m Taylor. I don’t know much about ranching, but I know my way around a kitchen. I’ve raised my little sister. I love animals, fresh air, reading, and baking, especially cakes and pies.”
I catch my tongue, suddenly embarrassed. There’s a stirring at the front, made by the same group of men I noticed earlier. Is one of them laughing? Another has his hand raised. Time ticks by as the auctioneer looks around the rest of the crowd.
The sharp bang of the wooden hammer hitting down on a hard surface makes me flinch.
“Sold,” the auctioneer shouts with gusto.
My heart hammers in my chest and I can’t bring myself to look up and see who bought me.
“Come on,” Dixie says, taking my arm. “It’s time to meet your husband.”