She finished her drink, climbed into her tan Focus, and began to drive west on I-90. Before she reached Dexter where she would turn onto old highway 16 and wind her way east to Lanesboro, the giant wind turbines came into view. Dotting the countryside while rising a hundred feet into the air, the turbines, with their huge blades turning in majesty always filled her with a sense of awe. While staring at the individual blades attached to the hubs, the steady, never changing circular motion of the blades around the nacelle near the top of the tower had a hypnotic effect on her. To her, they almost seemed like the man-made equivalents of the great Redwood trees along the California coast. Shaking off the the effects of the slow, twirling blades, she watched for the exit. There, a sign for the turn, two miles down the interstate. She left the highway, taking the offramp to Highway 16 east.
She drove the speed limit as she passed through the town of Grand Meadow and its hallmark domed school. Continuing further, she passed Spring Valley. And further on, she entered the city limits of Spirit Grove. Gripping the wheel tightly, Beth tried not to look at any of the buildings or citizens as they went about their business. Her breathing became irregular as memories of her tormented childhood years came rushing back to her. Surprising herself, she turned onto the county road that would take her to Uncle Archer's old house. She passed the fields where years ago, Mark and her had become lost when they had walked in circles for hours in the dark of night. Their feeble attempt to escape had been a failure.
The ten minutes it took her to reach the house seemed like hours. The white, story and a half house came into view. When she reached the long driveway, she paused, but finally turned in, drawn toward the house, not really knowing why. She was shaking her head while the car dipped in potholes and sent her lurching from one side to the other. Why was she doing this to herself? She didn't know, but something called her forward.
The old house stood as empty now as it had been for the past two years. A few windows had been broken; probably neighbors taking out their own frustrations with the demise of their church and cult. No one from town had ever been prosecuted for the atrocities they had committed against multitudes of innocent children. The rage still burned within her at that imperfect outcome.
She stopped the car near the front porch. The wooden rocking chair remained in the same place she had last seen it. Stepping out of the Focus, she almost stumbled before shutting the door and moving haltingly toward the steps to the front porch. Beth paused before placing her foot on the first step. Taking a deep breath, she moved without purpose to the porch and then the door. It was unlocked as she twisted the knob in her hand. The living room was the same. Furniture had been stripped from the area, however. Walking softly and with hesitation, she stopped by the front hall closet where Uncle Archer had locked her and Mark when she was ten and he was nine. That night had marked another turning point in their lives. It had brought everything into vivid focus and defined the remainder of their childhood.
Her eyes latched onto the closet door. A shaking hand worked its way to the knob and turned. The door was stuck. She pulled hard, but it didn't budge. Bracing herself, she yanked on it. With a dried, screeching noise the door opened. Taking a deep breath before entering, she straightened and boldly walked inside. It was empty, except for old, cracked coat hangers that dangled from the bar. Beth stood while her eyes moved around the tiny room that, long ago, when she was young, seemed so large. Her body shivered as her mind flashed back to that night when Uncle Archer threw her and Mark inside and locked the door. Marks head had bled from where he had been slammed into the railing while they were being dragged down the stairway. Beth, although physically uninjured at the time, bore the emotional pain of being raped earlier by her uncle.
She unconsciously backed out of the room. Gathering herself, Beth continued her journey to the stairway and then up the stairs to the bedrooms. Creaks and groans had followed each footstep as she made her way to the top landing. Walking confidently now, Beth steered herself to her old room. Her bed remained, along with a few dolls left scattered on the floor. She picked up an almost perfect Raggedy Ann doll and hugged it. Her feet took her to the bed where she lay down clutching the doll, and stared at the ceiling. She fell asleep dreaming of her mother and father who had been killed in the auto accident.
