Ties Stronger Than Blood

Chapter Seventeen

Marko finished buttoning his shirt, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. He winced slightly at the ache in his ass, shifting a little to relieve it. David, propped against the headboard beside Dwayne and Paul, said, "Yeah. I'm afraid you're not gonna enjoy the ride back to town as much as you did the ride out."

"You sure you want to go?" Paul asked. He patted the mattress. "Plenty of space, or there are other rooms."

"It isn't so much I want to get back," said Marko, "but I should." He tugged his collar up higher, covering the mark on his neck as much as possible. It was larger than it had been, and livid in its freshness. "If I'm not there in the morning, Ruth will probably have the National Guard looking for me."

David stood up, stretching. "You two stay put--I'll drive Marko home. Might stay over at the other place, so don't worry about me if I don't come back."

He took a single candle and led Marko back out to the cliffs. They walked in silence, each aware of the other, but both busy with their own thoughts. They reached the top and David got out his bike, mounting up. When Marko swung his leg over and settled behind him, he made a small sound of discomfort, and David turned his head slightly, glancing back. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Marko wrapped his arms around David, moving up against his back. "I might be a little irritated if I thought it was going to last forever, but right now it's just a reminder, and I kinda like that."

They drove back into town, and David kept the pace slower than he had on the way out. He was in no hurry to give Marko up. As they approached the motel, David slowed to a roll, and said, "You need me to let you off here?"

Marko sighed. "I guess so. No point in courting trouble."

David pulled over to the curb and said, "Uh-oh." He nodded up the street. "Looks like you won't need to court trouble. Looks like trouble's going to be wooing you." Not quite a block away, Mother Ruth was standing in the lot, next to the bus. Her arms were crossed, and she was glaring at them.

Marko scowled right back at her. "I believe the word 'shit' it appropriate."

"Want me to take you the rest of the way, little brother?" David was staring back at Mother Ruth, eyes half-closed, a slight smile curving his lips. "I wouldn't mind having a chat with her."

Marko dismounted. "No, I'll walk in. It's going to be bad as it is. Tonight has been special, and I don't want it messed up any more than it has to be. I don't want you in the middle of it, if I can help it."

"Whatever you want." David reached out and gripped his shoulder, squeezing. "Try not to let her get to you, kid. Remember, you've got me 'n the boys now. You don't have to put up with her shit any longer than you feel like."

"I know." Marko started down the sidewalk, then turned and looked back at David. "Don't wait, okay? I don't enjoy having others see the way she treats me. It's embarrassing." David nodded, and turned the bike around. He peeled out, burning rubber in anger, wishing that he was barreling right toward the old bat, and could run her down. Marko started toward the motel, keeping his pace slow, but steady.

Marko was a little surprised that Ruth didn't start railing at him long before he arrived. He knew that the effort to restrain herself had to be sending her blood pressure sky high. He sourly hoped that she'd just have a stroke and get it over with, but then he remembered Psalms 37:35. *I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree.* Then Marko completed the passage in his mind. *Yet he passed away, and lo, he was not: yea, I sought him, and he could not be found.*

She was standing in front of the bus door when he arrived. They stared at each other silently for a moment, the Marko said, "You're in the way."

"That's all?" asked Ruth. "No apology? No explanation?"

"I don't have anything to apologize for, and it wouldn't do any good to try to explain to you."

Ruth took a deep breath, and assumed what Marko thought of as her 'martyr' look. It was the one usually reserved for when there were outsiders around. It was patient and long suffering, and practically SCREAMED 'look at what I put up with'. "All right, Marko. I can see that there's no use in expecting you to behave with any decency or respect. You've always been headstrong, and now that you're getting close to your majority, you're like nothing more than a steer in one of those old westerns, one that's scented water. You'll just charge toward it, headlong, unmindful of anything in your way..."

"Yeah, compare me to cattle--that's sure to make me respect you. You're right on one thing, Ruth--I smell freedom. And those cows in the old movies? They were running toward something VITAL, weren't they? I need freedom, and you can try to stand in my way, but I swear, I'll be happy to go right over you."

"That won't be necessary, boy," she said coolly. "I'm willing to let you have your sinful ways. Just continue in your work, and you can spend your free time as you like." Her lips curled in disdain. "Whore yourself away, if you want. As long as you're discrete, and you fulfill your obligations, keep it away from the troupe. Just sign the papers and you can live your life as you wish, as long as you keep up appearances and don't fail me."

"Let me get this straight," said Marko slowly. "As long as I keep making money for you, and don't embarrass you in public, you could care less if I go to hell in a hand basket."

Ruth inclined her head shortly. "I've already made the same arrangement with your grandfather. There's no reason why it can't work with you, too."

Marko felt a chill run through him as he realized that he'd been right--Ruth DID know about John and Luther, and she was using the knowledge. "You unholy wretch."

Her expression tightened. "Don't speak to me like that! I'm offering you a chance to continue bringing glory to God. You owe it to Him..."

"STOP IT!" Marko snarled. "Every time you say 'God' and 'He', you might as well be saying 'me' and 'I'. God doesn't want hollow praise, Ruth, don't you get it? For all your Bible facts you've never really grasped it. I don't get it all, but at least I admit that most of it is still a mystery. But even I understand some of it, like the fact that God would spurn the greatest riches if they were offered with a vain heart, if they were given to gain favor on the other side." He gritted his teeth, leaning toward her and said slowly, "No one likes a sycophant, Ruth. Especially not God."

"I want you to sign those papers."

Marko took a step back, then shook his head. "I might as well be talking to a brick wall. I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

"You stop and think a minute, boy. You're not the only one affected by what you do. I don't care so much about myself--God will take care of me." Her expression became crafty, "But your grandfather..."

"Don't," Marko said flatly. "Don't do it, Ruth. Don't threaten him to try to get to me."

"Threaten him? Why would I threaten my own dear husband? I'm just telling you that you need to consider repercussions, Marko. I'll have to do what I think I must to save you from yourself. You've obviously been influenced... corrupted..."

Marko couldn't take any more. He grabbed her arms and roughly moved her out of his way. He wasn't brutal, but Ruth was shocked by the sudden action--no one had ever dared respond to her physically before, no matter how offensive she'd been. She fell back against the bus, clutching dramatically at her chest.

Marko ignored that. He bounded lightly up the bus steps and paused at the top, looking back out at her. "Don't fuck with me, Ruth. You don't know me as well as you think you do." He shut the door, and locked it.

Ruth stood where she was, catching her breath as she heard Marko make his way to the back of the bus and begin to undress. She considered staying as she was for another minute or two, but there was no one to see her distress, so there was no reason to continue.

She straightened, feeling grim determination settling on her. *Oh, I know you well enough, boy,* she thought. *I know just what might persuade you.* She headed back to her room.

John was in one of the single beds, reading a Christian Living Magazine, and he looked up warily when Ruth entered. "Marko got back safe?" Ruth didn't respond. She simply started to undress for bed. "I knew he would, Ruth. I told you..." His voice trailed off at her sharp glance, and he set aside the magazine. The light would be shut off the second she decided to go to bed, of course.

"I've been thinking about our next stop. The last time we played there, the set up was shoddy, and I'm not confident that they've fixed it yet. I want you to go check it out tomorrow. You can take the station wagon. I want you gone no later than six."

John's brow puckered in confusion. "But Ruth, we'll arrived almost a week before we're due to perform. That should be plenty of time to..."

"Don't question me, John! You're a strong pair of lungs and a good set of vocal cords--whatever made you think you were the brains of this operation?"

John paled, but he didn't protest. He'd spent too many years just accepting emotional abuse in an attempt to make things a little smoother for those around him. "All right." He reached for the phone. "I'll call Luther and tell him he needs to be up early."

"No, you won't. You're going alone. You don't need him."

"But he's more familiar with what we want than I am. He knows more of the technical details. And besides, it's a two hour ride out there, and I'd like some company on the trip."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't whine. You're going alone, and that's that. I might need him here for something. Don't rush through the inspection, but make sure that you're back in plenty of time for the performance tonight. I don't want to have to cover for your irresponsibility." She had donned her gown and slipped into bed. "What are you waiting for? That light is blinding me."

John turned off the lamp and settled down. In a few moments he could hear Ruth snoring. Ruth never seemed to have any trouble sleeping, but that wasn't the case with John. He lay awake for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, trying to put a name to his vague feeling of disquiet.