What She Deserved Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Marigold Burnside

  Mari

  Mari

  Cassie Torrance

  Mari

  Mari

  Jack

  Constance Penny

  Mari

  Mari

  Philip

  Cassie

  Mari

  Mari

  Mari

  Phil

  Joan

  Charlie Jackson, Mayor Emeritus of Cape Alden

  Constance

  Mari

  Mari

  Phil

  Mari

  Lorraine Biggins

  Cal

  Mayor Charlie Jackson

  Mari

  Mayor Charlie Jackson

  Mayor Charlie Jackson

  Mari

  Mari

  Phil

  Ginger

  Ginger

  Phil

  Mari

  Sarah

  Mari

  Mari

  Ginger

  Mari

  Charlotte

  Mari

  Mari

  Ginger

  Mari

  Mari

  Mari

  Christmas

  Mari

  Mari

  Author A.L. Jambor

  Other books by A.L. Jambor

  What She Deserved

  A.L. Jambor

  ****

  ISBN-10:0-9964373-3-9

  ISBN-13:Grimace1492fvgvbn m##

  Copyright©2016Amy Jambor

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

  and scenes are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely unintentional.

  The replication, uploading and distribution of this book on the

  Internet or via any other means without the permission of the

  author is illegal and punishable by law. Please only purchase authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage

  electronic piracy.

  Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Cover design by Amy Jambor

  Photo Credits

  BigStockPhoto©shalunx

  BigStockPhoto©Bastiaan Schuit

  BigStockPhoto©haveseen

  *****

  Thanks to all who have supported me while I wrote this book. My husband, Hans, has always believed in me and my friend, Loraine, O'Connell has encouraged me, taught me, and helped me when I didn't think I could go on. I lost my brother, Bill Weise, in 2015 and I miss his unwavering support. Wherever he is, I know he's got my back.

  *****

  This story is dedicated to the ones left behind.

  Prologue

  1939

  Charlotte Johnson was a true innocent. She had grown up in an orphanage among smaller children and had never been given any instruction on the womanly arts. She had no idea how a woman got pregnant, had no knowledge of birth control, and the only time she'd felt a tingle was when Gary Cooper kissed Sigrid Gurie in The Adventures of Marco Polo.

  That kiss was her awakening, but she'd never felt that way toward Arthur Johnson, a boy she'd grown up with at the orphanage who had asked her to marry him so he could secure a job. The Gable Railroad Company favored married men, and they were both going to turn eighteen soon. The clock was ticking and Charlotte, who had no skills and had been told all her life that she was plain and simple, was afraid she might not be able to take care of herself, so she agreed to a marriage in name only.

  The job came with a home on the beach in Cape Alden, New Jersey. It was a sparsely furnished one-bedroom Victorian cottage with an indoor toilet, but no bathtub. The kitchen had running water, and if they wanted a bath, they would have to fill an old brass tub from the kitchen faucet.

  There was little money for food let alone clothes or toiletries, and Artie, who had envisioned a more prosperous lifestyle, would often sulk and hang out at Morton's Inn, a local bar and restaurant owned by Carl Morton.

  Artie met a man named Jack Womack, a sailor who had left his home in England at the age of fourteen. He'd sailed the world, but when he landed in New York in 1930, he had saved enough to buy his own boat and bootlegged whiskey from Canada to Atlantic City. Jack made a fortune, and he didn't mind buying a round for the patrons of the inn. He also felt sorry for poor Artie, married to a woman he didn't love, a woman he found boring and predictable, that is, until Jack met her. Then he felt sorry for Charlotte.

  Jack felt a kinship with the tall, awkward girl who lived on the beach and rarely left it to walk into town. Charlotte's shyness endeared her to him, but he never thought of her as anything more than a friend, and she found herself looking forward to his nocturnal visits.

  He would bring Artie home from Morton's and put him on the sofa, then he and Charlotte would sit on the porch and he would tell her stories of his adventures on the high seas. Jack was a gifted storyteller, and Charlotte, who was starved for attention, would hang on his every word. Her eyes would glisten in the moonlight and Jack's heart would ache for her. She didn't deserve this life, but she was making the most of it.

  Every day, as Charlotte waited for Artie to come home, sadness would envelop her. She was married, and divorce was not an option if Artie wanted to keep his job. She didn't know that a lack of physical affection would mean so much to her. Jack was a friend, and he had made it clear that he would never be anything more. He cared about Charlotte, and he knew he was a rambler. Charlotte was ripe for the picking, so when Joe Jackson, the lighthouse keeper, flirted with her, she would blush and smile, but she didn't really want Joe. She wanted Gary Cooper.

  The day Artie died was the worst day of Charlotte's life. Jack and the sheriff came to the cottage with the news, and at first, Charlotte didn't believe them. After they assured her he had indeed died, she nodded and thanked the sheriff, but she didn't cry. After the sheriff left, she wept into Jack Womack's shoulder.

  Charlotte didn't learn the details of Artie's death until the next day when Jack told her that Artie, who hadn't been with the railroad long, had been sent out to switch the trains, a job that required training. Artie, whose pride prevented him from admitting he'd only watched the tracks being switched, walked down the tracks determined to show them he could do anything. Somehow, he'd been pulled under the passing trains, and his body was cut in half.

  The horrific nature of his death caused the Gable Railroad Company to offer Charlotte free use of the cottage indefinitely, and they also offered a small stipend to help her in her time of need. Any resulting litigation would have cost them far more, and they used Mrs. Johnson's youth and ignorance of the law to their advantage. Jack was livid when he heard, but Charlotte refused to cause the railroad any trouble, and accepted their offer with gratitude.

  When it was warm, Charlotte would watch Joe Jackson's children, Birdie, 6, Myrna, 4, and Kerry, 3, play on the beach. She longed to join them, to run into the ocean as the waves washed the shore, or make sandcastles. She was lonely, and now that she was single, the ladies in town rebuffed her attempts at conversation.

  Joan Jackson, Joe's wife, was particularly hard on Charlotte, for Joan knew her husband had a wandering eye, and the young widow lived a mere half-mile from their door. Joan's hatred toward her kept Charlotte from engaging the girls in conversation as they ran past her porch.

  Charlotte had even tried joining the small church in town, hoping to show that she was a good person, but her reputation, fueled by Joe's tales of a relationship with Charlotte and his wife's jealousy, had grown too big for her to contain, and she
soon stopped attending services.

  When Jack was in town, he would visit, and the gossip mill would rumble with stories of his leaving her cottage in the morning. Jack, mindful of what they were saying, would always leave at ten and stop at Morton's before going up to one of Morton's rooms. Carl Morton kept it for him. The family occupied the other rooms, and Carl's wife, Celia, would always smile when she met Jack in the hallway on her way to the bathroom. She thought he looked like Clark Gable.

  Jack would also give Charlotte money from time to time. He bought her some new clothes, and would take her to Atlantic City. He bought her food and she would cook, delighted to have a friend, but she was getting older. She wanted to start taking care of herself.

  One day, she saw a "Help Wanted" sign in the window of the ice company. A glimmer of hope rose inside her as she went inside and smiled at the secretary sitting behind the desk. It was her job Charlotte would be applying for. The woman was getting married and would no longer need a job, but she wanted her replacement to be a good person. She recognized Charlotte as that floozy who lived near the ocean. She looked at Charlotte's dress, the one she'd been married in two years before, and noted the worn edges on the sleeves and the collar. The woman looked down her nose at Charlotte and smiled.

  "The position has been filled."

  Charlotte's own smile faded as she thanked the woman for telling her. While she might be innocent in many ways, Charlotte wasn't stupid, and she knew she'd been rejected because of the things they said about her in town. She almost went into Morton's Inn to ask for a glass of whiskey, but she didn't have the nerve to go there alone. Instead, she stood between the ice company and the store next to it and sobbed.

  Winter, 1940

  The freezing rain had pummeled the cottage for hours, and Charlotte looked at the empty cupboard above her sink in dismay. She was hungry. She had three dollars in her purse to last another two weeks, money left over from Jack, and despite the rain, she decided to put on her slicker and walk to town.

  She ran her hand over the baby bump and felt sad. She hadn't told him yet, and was afraid someone would find out. The ladies in town would send her out of town on a rail.

  Her clothes were still loose enough to hide her condition, and with a slicker on, no one would notice she had "put on a little weight." She walked down the walkway and felt the rain hitting her legs. The temperatures had dropped, turning the rain to snow, and she tried not to stumble as she walked to the road.

  Charlotte was walking past the lighthouse on the other side of the road when she felt someone grab her arm and whirl her around.

  "You stay away from my family, you whore."

  Joan smacked Charlotte's face so hard that she fell backwards onto the dirt. Joan spit on her and left her on the muddy, cold ground. Her tears were flowing freely now, and they grew worse as Charlotte tried to get back on her feet.

  The mud was slippery, and it covered her legs and skirt. She managed to right herself and headed back to the cottage, gulping for breath as her sobs intensified. She felt impotent, like a non-person who had no right to be alive. Charlotte was a whore; the whole town knew it, and any who doubted it would soon have their doubts confirmed as the child inside her grew.

  She took her slicker off and left it on the porch, along with her shoes and her dress. She shivered in the cold, but she didn't want to drag mud into the house. After she washed the mud off herself, she could change and wash the mud off her clothes.

  She went inside and dragged the brass tub out from underneath the sink so she could bathe. The railroad had promised to install a shower, but once Artie died, there was little reason for them to invest in the cottage. Guilt had allowed her to stay there, and they felt that was enough.

  She filled the old brass tub with a bucket and water from the kitchen sink, but the pipe from the hot water heater had frozen and burst. The water was clean but cold and she shivered as she washed her legs. After drying off and getting dressed, she retrieved her clothes and washed them, too.

  Firewood was stacked on the porch. She'd forgotten to bring it in so it could dry, so after she brought in a couple of logs, she tried to light it, but the fire wouldn't take. She was shivering so hard she couldn't stop, and she began to sob again. Why was she such a mess? Why couldn't she remember something as important as firewood?

  Because you're stupid, Charlotte.

  Artie had said it all the time. You're stupid. She'd heard it in school, too, and if so many people believed it, it must be true. That's why she was in such a mess now. Jack would have been so disappointed in her. He'd get mad whenever she called herself a dummy.

  "You're not dumb," he'd say. "You just look at life differently."

  A knock on the door surprised her and she wiped her face. She walked across the room, looked out the window, and then she remembered what Joan had said. She opened the door and he saw her red eyes.

  "Go," she said.

  "Birdie told me what she did," he said.

  "Please go."

  "Please let me in."

  She felt ashamed and bruised and hurt. Joan's admonition had been hard to take, and she didn't want to be confronted by her again. Besides, what had started off as something sweet and wonderful had turned into something she feared. He often came to her with good intentions only to become angry over something she said or did that annoyed him.

  "Please go home before she sees."

  "I'm not letting you go," he said.

  "I can't fight her. You have to stay away."

  "I don't care what she wants. I want you."

  As he always did, he overwhelmed her with his smooth words, his promises, and his pseudo love. She was so hungry for human affection that she embraced it, even though she knew it would soon turn ugly. He took her arm and they went inside.

  She went to the tub to remove her clothes and as she bent over, he came up behind her and put his hands on her waist.

  "We've never tried it this way," he said. She swallowed hard so she wouldn't gag.

  "I have to hang these clothes."

  But he was lifting her skirt, and rubbing her thighs, and then he reached around and felt her stomach. His hands stopped and he backed away.

  She stood up and moved away from the tub.

  "Is that a baby?" he asked.

  "I think so," she said softly.

  He didn't say anything but began pacing the floor.

  "It's my baby."

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I wasn't sure, but it's getting bigger."

  He stopped pacing and stared at her.

  "I'm gonna take care of you."

  She was shocked by his reaction. She thought he would be upset, that he would rant about how she'd ruined his life, but he looked happy. She shivered and he saw it.

  "Let's sit down and I'll warm you up," he said.

  She knew what that meant, that he would want to make love, and though she enjoyed their lovemaking, she wasn't in the mood for it after her encounter with Joan. He came and took her hand and led her to the sofa. He put his arm around her shoulder and began kissing her neck and cupping her breast, but when she didn't respond as he expected, he squeezed her breast hard.

  "What's wrong?" he said.

  "Nothing."

  He tried to arouse her again, and felt her stiffen. Anger flared, and his hand went to her cheek as if it was out of his control, and the sharp pang of regret that always followed didn't soothe her nerves.

  "Why do you make me do this?" he asked. He held himself and exhaled. "I'm sorry."

  He got up and began pacing the floor. Charlotte drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. She waited for the next assault, the one that would send her to the floor, and then the apologies, and promises that it would never happen again.

  She thought of her suitcase in the bedroom. She had pawned her wedding ring months ago, so she had nothing, no money or anything of value to sell, but she had to get away. She couldn't risk him hurting
the baby, or worse, killing her.

  As he paced the floor telling her how much he loved her, she held her legs tighter. Whatever it took, she would find a way to get out of this town, and away from the man she loved.

  Marigold Burnside

  Day 3

  Black ice. Someone was warning her to avoid black ice.

  "I don't want anything to happen to you."

  It was a male voice. She couldn't see his face, but he made her feel safe. Lights coming toward her, squealing brakes, a scream -- who was screaming ? -- and crunching metal.

  She opened her eyes, looked at a mass of blurry dots, and then closed her eyes again.

  *****

  The sound of a machine woke her, but only for a moment, and then she closed her eyes again.

  *****

  The plastic tube inserted in her throat was irritating, and she lifted her hand to pull it out.

  "You're awake!" The cheery female voice sounded too loud. "Oh, you mustn't do that. Dr. Fletcher will be in shortly to remove it."

  Mari blinked. The dots overhead were coming into focus now, and she was able to identify the sound of the ventilator. The woman came to her side so Mari could see her face. The woman smiled.

  "Your color is good." The woman wore a hat. "Oh, it's good to see you with your eyes open!"

  Mari looked to her right and saw a window. The sky was a mass of gray clouds. She couldn't tell what time it was, but now she was aware of pain in her shoulder, pelvis, and legs. She moaned, and the woman shook her head.

  "Mustn't try to talk, dear. Just breathe normally."

  Mari closed her eyes.

  *****

  Someone was touching her wrist. Mari opened her eyes and saw a woman wearing scrubs. Her soft brown eyes glanced at Mari's and she smiled.

  "Welcome back," she said.

  Mari looked at her badge but couldn't see her name. She listened to Mari's heart and then went to a laptop on a stand to notate Mari's file.

  "You're lungs sound good," she said. "I think the doctor is going to take out your tube today."

  Mari tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace and the woman smiled.