Ireland

Ireland screamed in frustration and kicked at the flat tire, then took a breath and knelt to start all over again. She had never changed a flat before and she was having issues with the jack. Namely, figuring out how to get it put together and working. There were no instructions on how to do that, but she was determined.

She went down on her belly, trying to see the little spot where the jack went, the reinforced spot where you were supposed to put it. Seeing the hole, she positioned the jack again, and as she did, she heard another vehicle pull up.

She scowled angrily, preparing herself. A man had just stopped and had condescendingly told her she should have just stood next to her car and smiled, flagging someone down. She had told him to fuck right off. She would figure this out herself if it took her two days!

"Hey, Lil Miss, you need a hand?" a man called.

"No! No, I have it!"

"A'ight... Miss you know at ya need ta..."

"I SAID I HAVE IT!" she yelled angrily, standing up to look up at the tall, skinny redneck.

His face went red. "All's I was fixin ta say was you have that jack upside down and it ain't put ta'gether right! Damned bitch!" he grated, turning to storm off.

Ireland turned red, looking down at the jack, embarrassed now as the man peeled out in his old truck, revving the engine loundly. It blew past as she went back to her knees to try and fix the jack, then screeched to a halt again in front of her car.

She felt sick as the man got out of his truck and closed the distance with his long legs. Opening her mouth to apologize, she had no chance as he leaned down and yanked her to her feet by her hair. She screamed, grabbing his wrist in terror as he shoved her hard against her car.

"Y'aint no better'n me! I was try'na help!" he yelled in her face, slamming her back into her car again. "Damned bitch!" he yelled again, then stepped back, pulling her along with him as he went back to his truck.

"Let go! Let me go, please, I'm sorry!" she cried desperately, trying to free herself from his grip. He shoved her into his old truck, pushing her down on the floorboard as he looked up and down the empty road. He pulled away, the engine roaring loudly as she screamed and tried to reach the handle on the far door.

"Lay your ass still or I'll fuckin' brain ya!" he yelled, hefting a large crowbar. "Leave what's left in the ditch! Uppity fucking cunt!"

"No! Please, I'm not! I just wanted to do it myself, please! I just wanted to prove to myself I could do it!"

"Shut yer mouth! Not a god damn sound or I put you down, ya hear me?"

Ireland curled up as far away from him as she could, hugging her knees and sobbing.

She was going to die. He was going to take her back to some old farm and his parents would carve her up for a meal. She was beyond lost out here in the country, she had no idea where she was or where the highway was. He was going to take her to some inbred house full of his brothers and they were going to cut her up with a chainsaw!

"Quit yer bawlin', you ain't hurt. Not yet."

"Please, sir! Please, I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to be rude, I swear! Another man had just come and said mean things to me and I was upset, I just..."

"I said shut yer mouth, girl!" he yelled.

Ireland flinched and huddled down even further, hugging herself. There was a smell from the engine that was making her sick, but she didn't dare try and move or get up in the seat, she just lay there curled up and sobbing.

She knew she should plan or try and think of a way to get away, but she was too afraid. The man wasn't burly, but he was wiry. Very tall and skinny. He wasn't as young as her, but he wasn't old either. Young enough to be fast, old enough to be wise.

After twenty long minutes of being jostled around hard, she finally sniffled and wiped her face, looking up at him. He still looked pissed as he drove, a single hand on the wheel, his other arm in the open window, elbow resting, his hand holding the top. He wore a cutoff shirt, the kind that he cut himself and the sleeves were cut off all the way down to the hem, leaving the sides open. He was skinny enough to see his ribs, but also tan and covered in tattoos up and down both arms and across his chest.Most looked older, especially the barbed wire one around his bicep that read 'Lyndie'. There were a few older tribal tattoos as well and the newer ones all seemed amatuer. Like someone went at him with a needle in a garage somewhere. They were decent, but not good.

Mostly he just looked... very redneck. His old hat had an overly curled brim, not like the flat brimmed hats so many city boys wore, and he had brown curls poking out from under it in a haphazard mess. Almost as if he had tossed a hat on without brushing his hair first. His jeans were loose on him, though they were the wrangler brand that was supposed to be tight, and they had holes in the knees that were worn there and not there for fashion. They looked stained, but not dirty and the old belt he was wearing with them had holes he had made himself. His old boots had seen years of wear and dirt and mud and she looked at his face. He had a few days growth of scruff, but his wasn't the sort of face that could grow a beard and he didn't really look to be trying. He just looked like he was too busy to bother.

She saw that in him then. He was busy and careworn.

As she began wondering where they were going and how far they were going to go, he finally hit the brakes, then honked.

She was confused as she shifted, glancing at the handle on the door as he looked out his window at something. Or someone.

"Jay!" he yelled suddenly, making her jerk. "Tell Ole' I have that carburetor, he can come get it when he wants!"

"Yeah, Em, thanks!" a male voice yelled, then the man took off again.

Ireland eased off the floor and up onto the seat, as close to the door as she could manage. The man glanced at her, scowling, but said nothing.

Looking around, she glanced at the handle again.

"You try it girl, see what it gets you," the man snarled.

"Sir, I..."

"Shut yer mouth. Not a god damn word, you hear me? Not a one! Not now, not ever. You'll keep yer mouth god damn shut, or you'll not be able to speak ever 'gin."

Ireland stared at him with wide eyes. Did he mean she wasn't allowed to speak, ever? Or she wasn't supposed to speak of her car and the incident and him taking her? She wasn't sure.

They were on an old dirt road and he pulled into a long drive that had trees lining it and hanging over it, the ruts and gravel making the old truck bounce and jerk around. A long mile up the drive, an old trailer came into view, along with a huge garden and a LOT of children. Along one side of the treeline to a forest were dozens of old cars, goats climbing all over them.

Ireland stared, wide eyed as the children swarmed the truck, yelling at the man, screaming and laughing and talking all at once.

The man turned to her and pulled her close, jerking her shoes off roughly before opening his door and pulling her out of the truck.

The kids all paused, looking her over.

"You brought us a mama?" one of them asked.

Ireland didn't know if it was a boy or a girl, they all had long hair, though she was sure at least two of them were boys. They were also too young to have been left home alone, though they obviously had been.

"Go on'n dig up some taters and Bray, go on'n catch a chicken for fryin'."

"He got us a mama!" the same child yelled, running off laughing to the garden as the others whooped and hollered and ran around screaming and laughing. The oldest of them, one she was sure was a boy, headed towards the chicken coop and she watched him with a sort of dread. That boy was too young to kill a chicken!

The man dragged her inside the small trailer and she looked around at the unholy mess of clothes piled everywhere and dirty dishes piled on the counter and sink. He shoved her at the kitchen roughly. "Get at it," he demanded, then turned and left.

Ireland turned and stared at the door, then at all of the children piling in, laughing and screaming, throwing things at each other. Putting her hands over her ears, she backed to the wall and slid down it, shaking her head. She was NOT going to be housekeeper and babysitter for this inbred asshole!

Wasn't it better than being cut up and eaten?

She pulled her hair out of the hands of a four year old and stood up shakily, going to the door to peek out. She had planned on seeing if she could escape, run away, but the man was coming back in as she reached for the door.

His scowl darkened. "You have about three whole seconds 'fore I bend you over and whip you with my belt in front 'a all em little'n's," he snarled, his hands going to his belt.

She spun and looked over the piles of dishes, forlorn, her heart pounding. It didn't take her long to wash them, but she was still in a half panic the entire time. When the oldest boy, he couldn't have been more than ten, brought her a dead chicken, she broke down sobbing again as she took it.

"You gone in the head or summin?" the boy asked.

Ireland didn't answer him, turning to get it ready along with the potatoes she had been brought.

She was in hell.

The man came back in as she was huddling next to the small oven, trembling and watching the kids jumping from the couch to the chair and back again, tackling each other.

"Get at it," he told her, pointing at the living room.

"The... children?" she asked, confused.

He picked up a dirty shirt from the closest chair and tossed it at her face. Catching it, she flinched away, then started gathering the dirty clothes. In an hour, she was hanging clothes on the line and ready to pull the chicken out of the oven. She saw the man step out of a smaller trailer near the woods, an older fifth wheel. It was in worse shape than the one the kids were playing in, the windows all busted out of it too. It made her wonder if he lived in that one and let the kids live alone on the larger one. What sort of place was this and what sort of man was he?

The kids were just as wild at dinner, none of them sitting or settling down as the man made each of them a plate and sent them on to eat somewhere else. Most of them went and sat outside. She hadn't thought there would be enough for all of them, but he was sparing with all of the portions and everyone got some.

The man turned to her last, looking her over with another angry scowl. "Next time, make more. Spread it out some."

She had no idea how to do that, but she nodded quickly. She was not surprised when he left none for her. She couldn't have eaten anyway. He took his plate back to his trailer and shut the door.

After a while, she began going and gathering the plates left around, watching his trailer. Once she got to the far side of the larger trailer, she paused and looked out into the woods, wondering about her chances.

She had no idea where she was, but she knew there were other houses nearby. They had passed them. Peeking back for a moment, she began making her way to the treeline, watching her step with her bare feet.

"There's snakes in there," the boy the man had called Bray told her from a few feet away.

Where the hell had he come from?

"Snakes'n other thangs too. Wyatt says he saw a mountain lion a week gone'n Josiah killed him a coyote just two nights ago. Copperhead snakes. They don't run off when they feel ya comin, the stay'n wait. Territorial. They'll kill ya. Ever been bit 'fore? Lady your size wouldn't make it long," he shrugged, then turned and walked back to the trailer.

Ireland stared after him wide eyed, then saw the man standing outside his trailer, watching her. She dropped her eyes and walked back to the trailer and did the dishes, then more laundry.

When night came, all the kids crammed inside the trailer and she was at a loss as they screamed and jumped and threw things like wild things.

"Bedtime!" the man yelled, stepping in the front door.

The kids hardly quieted, but they all headed back to one of the two bedrooms in the trailer.

The man looked back at her, his expression dark. "Boys," he told her, pointing down the hall. "Girls," he said, pointing a little to the left down the hall.

She nodded. Boys in the small room, girls in the big room. "Sir? I cleaned up and made you all food... can I..."

"Shut your fuckin' mouth. You make a move to leave again and I break both your ankles. Not another word."

He left, leaving her alone in the living room of the small trailer, the kids still laughing and playing in their bedrooms. She was at a loss. She had no phone and there wasn't one in this place. There was barely plumbing!

Turning off the single light, she sat down on one of the old, broken recliners and curled up worriedly. What was she going to do?

"MAMA!"

Ireland jerked awake and blinked at the face right in hers.

"Mama, I hungry!" the child yelled.

Blinking, she sat up and realized it was morning. Her neck and shoulder hurt from sleeping in the recliner and she was shocked she had managed to sleep at all.

She stood up and looked around the kitchen, but there was very little. She turned, looking all of the kids over and spotted Bray. "There are chickens? Can you gather eggs?"

The boy shrugged, his long hair hardly moving as he did, it was so tangled and matted.

"Lilli, Enoch, with me, let's get eggs," he called and two of the older kids went with him.

Ireland blinked at the two who went. One of them was a boy?!?

She shook it off and hurried out to the garden to see what she had to use, but she was at a loss. Bray came out and told her what everything was, then showed her how to dig up potatoes.

As she was frying eggs and hashbrowns, the man came in, looking her over. "That should'a been doon already," he told her. "Bray, Enoch, you boys thinkin' on some fishin'?"

"Yeah!" the boys called excitedly.

"Me too?" the older girl asked, standing hopefully.

"Another day, Lilli. Stay and help your mama today."

Ireland went cold all over, bile coming up her throat. He was really going to let these kids call her mama and act like she was a mother to them?

"Hurry up," he demanded of her. "Soon as that's done, get on finishin' cleanin' up in here. You hear?"

She nodded, then paused. "What... what do I call you?"

"Emmett."

"Emmett, I need to call my dad and..."

A hand landed heavily on her backside and several of the kids laughed as she jumped and squeaked. "I said not a word," he hissed. "Not a one. This is now. This is all. You hear?"

Ireland nodded quickly, her face red and her eyes watering with unshed tears.

He handed out breakfast the same as he had dinner, but this time he saved her back a small amount. She had stretched it out more, but it still seemed like it wasn't enough, though not one of them complained at all. They all laughed and ate and played, even the smallest one who couldn't be more than three. She ate happily, then got up to chase a ball one of her brothers had thrown.

Emmett had stayed and stood at the door eating, watching his kids outside as he did. Ireland moved close to him so she could whisper. "How long? How long must I stay and... work for you this way?"

He looked down at her malevolently, then thrust his empty plate at her. "This is all," he told her. "Th'ain't nothin' else fer you n'more."

Ireland wilted and gathered up the dishes.

As she washed them, she decided she was going to take this another route. If he was going to make her be these kids 'mama', then she was going to do it. She was going to do it and they would raise hell until he let her go.

As soon as she finished dishes and cleaned up the living room, she went outside with a towel, a brush, a comb and a pair of scissors. "BOYS!" she yelled loudly, making all the kids stop playing a moment and look at her. "Come on over here and line up!"

Four of the kids came to her and she nodded, setting the smallest in the chair to start working on tangles and trimming his hair down, getting the mats out of it. She would make him look like a boy.

When she got to the one who seemed to be about eight, Emmett came out, walking by them as the boy was whining.

"Papa! Papa, tell her we don't cut hair! We have it like we want!"

Emmett paused and looked at the boy a moment, then looked at her. "If your mama says you need a haircut, you get your haircut," he told him, then walked on to his truck, getting something out of the back of it.

Ireland was a little surprised. She had thought he would tell her to leave it alone and argue with her. She wanted a reason to tell him if she was going to mother these kids then she could do it her way so that they would all balk and he would want rid of her. She hadn't expected him to just give over and let her do what she wanted.

By evening, every boy had a haircut and looked like a boy and every girl had a trim and not one of them had a single tangle.

When Bray and Eoch got home, Bray almost turned green as he looked at his siblings, but he sat in the chair without complaint as she tried to get the mats out. She almost had to shave his head and when she was done, she felt bad. He had sores on his scalp from the mats hurting him. Enoch was almost as bad and he cried and squirmed through it all.

After, Bray showed her how to debone the fish they had caught and she fried them up.

Emmett said nothing as he looked all of his kids over at dinner, but after dinner, he went and sat down on the chair and took his hat off. She went to him slowly and uncertainly, then cut his hair. As she did, she felt herself getting upset.

"These kids are half wild!" she told him angrily. "Bray has sores on his head, the matting was so bad! They've never seen a brush!"

"Saw that," he shrugged.

"And it doesn't bother you?!?"

"He never spoke a complaint," he said almost proudly.

"Where is their real mother?"

"Dead," he said angrily.

"So you just gave up? Let them run wild? Live here alone while you live over there and ignore them?"

"I feed'm!" he said angrily, sitting up.

"How long have they been living this way? This is... abuse and gross neglect!"

"Shut your hole, bitch, you don't know shit. I had a girl here a while. She was takin care'a all of'm, then she left'n left hers too. Them four there, they aint mine. The dark haired ones."

"Then you should turn them over to the state! Let them be taken care of!"

"I am taken care of'm! That ain't the way've thangs here."

"You should be thinking of them and what they deserve and not your pride! If you..."

"Shut your fucking mouth," he grated, standing. He yanked his hat on and stormed away before she was finished cutting his hair.

That night, she put them all to bed and told them to go to sleep, no playing or talking. In the morning, she sent them out to gather eggs and vegetables again, then she ran baths for all of them and made the older one take baths while she scrubbed the smaller ones herself.

When Emmett came, he laughed at her. "That ain't the way of thangs here, girl. We go to the creek!"

"The creek!" the kids all cheered.

"My name is Ireland," she told Emmett as she watched the kids dance around excitedly, screaming about the creek.

"Like the place?"

"Yes."

"Stupid fucking name."

Ireland only sighed, then watched as Emmett led all the kids, whooping and hollering to 'the creek'.

Then they came back at almost dark, they all stank like fish.

None of them were happy when she made them all take baths again in the morning. Emmett only laughed at her as she gave him a flat stare when he suggested going down to the creek again.

Several very long days passed and Ireland got the small trailer as clean as she could and got used to cooking for the kids, stretching meals out. She did not get used to Emmett and his quicksilver moods when he came around. She had learned not to ask about going home.