The Courage of One

    The smoke from the cigarette curled upward and bounced upon the stale, aged ceiling. Captured within the confines of the small kitchen it rolled as an angry brook, and gracefully relapsed upon itself before dissipating into hazy nothingness.



    The wooden chair upon which she sat was uncomfortable and pinched into her legs; she was waiting for her husband to return from the errand he said would only take a few minutes.



    Her tired blue eyes drifted once again to the dingy clock that was a present to them from Mr. Capone on their wedding day.  Over time its newness had dulled and was now nothing remarkable, just like her fairy tale marriage.



    Pulling the last drag on the almost dead cigarette she tapped it into the ashtray and almost urgently pulled and lit another from the pack. 



    After the first hour she was mildly annoyed, hour two brought anger and the hour before this one brought forth resolution.

The husband for whom she tried to be the model wife, was so much less than perfect.  The only worthwhile thing he had ever been a part of was their children, not that he was a great father, but at least he was there for the conception.



  As smoke lifted up from her Pall Mall she realized what she had forgotten, herself.  Not forgotten herself like being rude, but in the sense of self neglect. Sitting in that dingy kitchen she became aware of her own worth as if it yawned from within and stretched itself beyond her outer shell.  She suddenly felt empowered, nothing physical had changed in the four hours that she had been watching the clock but she had grown emotionally.



    With her shoulders a little straighter she decided there would be no fight; there was no need for it. Vivian had already made up her mind, the lies and secrets were not going to be part of her or her girl’s world.



    That was what “Chicken” Harry Cullett walked into see.  Grim determination etched upon his wives weary face.  He knew in that moment that he was getting no rest this evening.  When Vivian started on a tangent you didn’t stop listening until she was finished.



    The first time he saw her standing in the speakeasy she looked so out of place and a little confused, but gorgeous.  Her blue eyes were framed by sooty black lashes and her dark brown hair gave just the right glow to her flawless skin.  He thought she was perfect. 



    He wanted a wife that understood the chain of command and deferred to it, she had looked to fit that bill.  She had turned up so much different than his expectations.  To err is human.

As Harry stood in the doorway Vivian rose and crossed the floor to the sink.  Dousing her Pall Mall under the faucet she turned to face the man that smelled of perfume, and not hers.



    “Harry, I am taking the girls, I’m going.  You ran your errand” she said with a voice full of scorn “I can’t look the other way anymore.  Between the abuse and lies that fill these halls it’s unbearable and I’m done.”  Her chin raised a notch with her declaration.



    Harry took a menacing step towards her but she plugged on, determined to have her say no matter the consequences.



    “And while I’m on the subject of lies, why is Mr. Capone recreating in our basement.  This is a home, not a mobster hideout, I take it he’s lying low because of the Valentine’s Day massacre?”  She asked rhetorically.



    “That is none of your business, do I need to remind you of your place in this house.  You have no right to question me; as a matter of fact you have no rights at all.”  He said as he stood before her fists clenched and ready, his voice quivered with repressed rage.



    “You’re wrong; while you’re out drinking with your ten cent whores I have stayed home and cared for your home and hearth.  Unfortunately the one right you’ve forgotten I have is the right to leave you.” She said with conviction as she turned to exit the room.



    The action was so fast that Vivian hit the floor before she could react.  The taste of blood flooded her mouth from the split that crevassed her lip.



    The clamor coming up the steps was barely heard over the scream that erupted from Vivian’s throat as Harry resumed his assault. Blackness was in the corner of her vision as the tenant from the basement grabbed Harry by the shoulder and spun him away from her.



    Instinctively he raised his fists to take on the new threat until he recognized his opponent.  Dropping his hands to his sides he visibly shrunk in stature under the glaring scrutiny of Al Capone.



    As Harry was pulled from the room by his boss Vivian pulled herself up from the carpet that had never seemed rougher than at this moment. 



    Examining her injuries she came to the conclusion that she was well enough to run.



    Making her way to the children she gathered their things as quickly as possible and bundled them up for the journey to the shelter.  Grabbing bags and hands she turned the children towards the back door and made to exit.



    Standing in her path was the infamous Al Capone. 

At 5ft. 9in. he should not have posed such a dominating figure but he did none the less.  He looked her in the eyes, as if taking her measure.

 

  “You’ll have no more trouble from him.  Whatever is needed will be provided for you and the girls” he said with anger fringing his voice.



    “I don’t hold with abuse in our families, my men know that.  Harry obviously needs to be reminded.”  He stated as he fingered the edge of his shirt cuffs.



    “I don’t want him dead; I just don’t want to be with him.”  She said as she nodded her head in way of thanks and skirted past him out the door.



    Standing on the stoop with her two small girls Vivian hesitated for but a moment before she took the first step away from familiarity.



    That evening in Chicago the rain had turned into crystalline diamonds that fell to the earth creating a crisp clean world. The only thing marring the perfect white blanket was the footsteps of a brave single mother leading her small family to a new life.