the rush of discovery between the two, the coffee and small-talk became lunch. Ralph spoke little but listened well, deciding just how she might be useful.
Celeste told him her own odyssey began three weeks earlier in a dirt-poor West Virginia “holler.” From a broken home like Ralph’s, she too quit high school. Bad enough were the pitiful local job prospects, never mind a live-in “step-Daddy” whose advances first disgusted and later frightened her. But the clincher lay when she revealed to her ever-mean mother the “step-Daddy’s” attempted rape. The woman slapped her to the ground for daring to speak ill of the man who provided for them both. Celeste realized then that no tolerable future lay ahead for her there.
Gathering her few belongings and her own meager savings, she grabbed every cent from her mother’s mayonnaise jar and top bureau drawer, stuffed her “step-Daddy’s” prized amber nugget (a plastic imitation, she later learned) into a cloth bag and walked five miles to the bus station in the next town. Nearly penniless after buying a ticket, with Washington, D.C. the coincidental destination of the next bus out, she climbed aboard and didn’t look back.
“That’s when ah met Amanda,” Celeste explained. Amanda Rochester, a gentle-voiced older woman, sat beside her on the bus and coaxed Celeste into conversation. Before long the 16-year-old girl’s story spilled out. Amanda clucked over the unfolding tale, muttering frequent “oh dear’s” and showing more interest and kindness than the girl could remember. Finally, Amanda suggested Celeste seek her new start in a safer suburb rather than her original big city District of Columbia destination.
“In fact, why don’t you just stay at my place for awhile, dear, until you get your feet on the ground?” Amanda patted Celeste’s hand. Absent a better plan, the girl nodded.
“Good. Then we’ll get off together in Arlington, where I live.”
Amanda’s small, clean, simply furnished house beat by a mile the weathered, drafty West Virginia shack with an outhouse she’d left that morning. Celeste couldn’t fully grasp her extraordinary good fortune in spending her first runaway night in a safe bed instead of drifting along the notoriously dangerous D.C. city streets, where she might not live to see morning. Even so, she vowed to repay this woman’s generosity, as was the code of the hills she’d left behind.
Next day, Celeste found a job waitressing and, on a bare-bones budget, began canvassing nearby garage sales, Goodwill and Salvation Army stores to assemble a passable wardrobe, a handful of simple belongings of her own and trinkets for Amanda. She mowed Amanda’s lawn, helped her clean house and cooked some meals to earn her keep, but she knew this was only a first step on her path somewhere else. Three weeks later, a restaurant co-worker drove her to the McLean area garage sales where she met Ralph.
“That statue ah took,” Celeste explained to Ralph, “it’s... it’s for Amanda, to thank her. Ah couldn’t afford to buy it.”
“Don’t worry,” Ralph soothed, “I understand perfectly.”
A week later, over Amanda’s warned, “Don’t forget, you can come back, dear, if things don’t work out,” Celeste moved in with Ralph and Fred.
Now she cooked and kept house for the two brothers at their Arlington place. Fred stared at her all the time, which seemed creepy, but Ralph assured her Fred was harmless.
Ralph found her pleasant to have around, liked her efforts to please him and enjoyed the pleasures they shared together. He found Celeste often naïve, given her youth and provincial mountain background, yet conveniently infatuated with him and eager to earn his attention. Watching her carefully, Ralph knew she’d be a natural in his business and an important addition to his team. It was time to begin her training.
CHAPTER 14
W ith breakfast ove r on Sunday morning two weeks later, Ralph and Celeste snuggled
Celeste told him her own odyssey began three weeks earlier in a dirt-poor West Virginia “holler.” From a broken home like Ralph’s, she too quit high school. Bad enough were the pitiful local job prospects, never mind a live-in “step-Daddy” whose advances first disgusted and later frightened her. But the clincher lay when she revealed to her ever-mean mother the “step-Daddy’s” attempted rape. The woman slapped her to the ground for daring to speak ill of the man who provided for them both. Celeste realized then that no tolerable future lay ahead for her there.
Gathering her few belongings and her own meager savings, she grabbed every cent from her mother’s mayonnaise jar and top bureau drawer, stuffed her “step-Daddy’s” prized amber nugget (a plastic imitation, she later learned) into a cloth bag and walked five miles to the bus station in the next town. Nearly penniless after buying a ticket, with Washington, D.C. the coincidental destination of the next bus out, she climbed aboard and didn’t look back.
“That’s when ah met Amanda,” Celeste explained. Amanda Rochester, a gentle-voiced older woman, sat beside her on the bus and coaxed Celeste into conversation. Before long the 16-year-old girl’s story spilled out. Amanda clucked over the unfolding tale, muttering frequent “oh dear’s” and showing more interest and kindness than the girl could remember. Finally, Amanda suggested Celeste seek her new start in a safer suburb rather than her original big city District of Columbia destination.
“In fact, why don’t you just stay at my place for awhile, dear, until you get your feet on the ground?” Amanda patted Celeste’s hand. Absent a better plan, the girl nodded.
“Good. Then we’ll get off together in Arlington, where I live.”
Amanda’s small, clean, simply furnished house beat by a mile the weathered, drafty West Virginia shack with an outhouse she’d left that morning. Celeste couldn’t fully grasp her extraordinary good fortune in spending her first runaway night in a safe bed instead of drifting along the notoriously dangerous D.C. city streets, where she might not live to see morning. Even so, she vowed to repay this woman’s generosity, as was the code of the hills she’d left behind.
Next day, Celeste found a job waitressing and, on a bare-bones budget, began canvassing nearby garage sales, Goodwill and Salvation Army stores to assemble a passable wardrobe, a handful of simple belongings of her own and trinkets for Amanda. She mowed Amanda’s lawn, helped her clean house and cooked some meals to earn her keep, but she knew this was only a first step on her path somewhere else. Three weeks later, a restaurant co-worker drove her to the McLean area garage sales where she met Ralph.
“That statue ah took,” Celeste explained to Ralph, “it’s... it’s for Amanda, to thank her. Ah couldn’t afford to buy it.”
“Don’t worry,” Ralph soothed, “I understand perfectly.”
A week later, over Amanda’s warned, “Don’t forget, you can come back, dear, if things don’t work out,” Celeste moved in with Ralph and Fred.
Now she cooked and kept house for the two brothers at their Arlington place. Fred stared at her all the time, which seemed creepy, but Ralph assured her Fred was harmless.
Ralph found her pleasant to have around, liked her efforts to please him and enjoyed the pleasures they shared together. He found Celeste often naïve, given her youth and provincial mountain background, yet conveniently infatuated with him and eager to earn his attention. Watching her carefully, Ralph knew she’d be a natural in his business and an important addition to his team. It was time to begin her training.
CHAPTER 14
W ith breakfast ove r on Sunday morning two weeks later, Ralph and Celeste snuggled
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