Love and Abuse on 40 Acres
A true story of hope as the secluded dream retreat with one husband became a widow’s isolated place of terror with the next.
Read now Chapter One for Free
“Let my Mom go, or I’ll put a bullet right between your eyes,” and with those words, my abuser let me loose.
Chapter 1:
Let My Mom Go
Be not thou envious against evil men, neither desire to be with them.
-Proverbs 24:1
Living almost two years as a lonely widow drove me to a point of desperation so deep that I began searching the Internet to recapture true love. The search ended when I met Lanny.
Now, I enjoy lying in bed, after a good night’s sleep, wrapped in the arms of my new husband. Our low blood sugars tell us we need some food.
Lanny climbs out of bed and makes his way to the living room after a quick pit-stop. He opens all the blinds so that we can enjoy the beauty of our surrounding 40-acre forest. He makes the coffee and sets the table while I take a shower. Dressed and ready for the day, I head to the kitchen and make breakfast—fluffy pancakes and crisp bacon, washed down with oceans of hot, fresh-ground coffee. Between bites, I’m relaxed and happy as I snap a few digital pictures of a red-headed woodpecker.
“Hey, Wanda, that’s a gorgeous shot.”
“Thanks, that will add to my collection of bird pictures on the mantle.”
Together we watch red cardinals perch on the snow-covered pine trees. The birds have almost devoured another cake of suet.
Day turns into evening and supper time rolls around. I cook a special meal for him—well-done pork steak, loaded baked potatoes, green beans, and bread smothered with lots of butter. I’m enjoying all the compliments on my cooking.
Tonight we will celebrate our first New Year’s Eve together. Plenty of snacks are sitting on the table for us to nibble while we play board games, which I usually don’t enjoy. I’d rather just sit and talk. But he even makes boring board games interesting. I think I know the Bible pretty well, until I play Bible Trivia with Lanny. He always wins, but never makes me feel like a loser. He assures me, “You did really well.”
Reminiscing is something we both love to do, so I pull out one of the binders containing our old instant messages. We sit at the kitchen table and start reading. Then Lanny says something that disrupts the good mood we had settled into.
“Looking at this hurts, because some of it is lies.”
I don’t want to get him riled up by digging into the meaning of that comment, so I’m keeping my mouth shut. I’ll learn to submit to my husband, if it kills me. I’ll let him have control. I’ll heed his stinging words from earlier conversations: “Everything would be fine between us, if only you would stop arguing and do what I tell you.”
Lanny, who lost his wife two months after the death of my beloved Buddy, was supposed to have been my answered prayer for a new love. But shortly after Lanny bolted the door of our honeymoon motel six months ago, I found out that the man in my bed was nothing like the man I had promised to love till death do us part. Our days now hang in the balance between my dream of wedded bliss and a nightmare of wedded abuse. Today was leaning toward my dream until Lanny’s stinging remark about the instant messages.
Midnight is fast approaching. We move to the comfort of the couch, turn on the television to watch the giant ball drop in Times Square. I feel hopeful in Lanny’s arms. He pulls me tight against his chest. The countdown starts—10, 9, 8. I love to celebrate a New Year—7, 6, 5. My heart is beating faster—4, 3, 2, 1—bells, whistles, singing, confetti.
With Auld Lang Syne playing in the background, our kiss is full of hope for the future.
A brand new year, a new beginning.
Anything is possible.
We agree to rededicate our lives to the Lord and start our marriage anew.
Once in bed, we share a special night together. But I still feel fragile. I lie awake in Lanny’s arms, trying to drift off to sleep. I can’t seem to turn my mind off. This marriage is wearing me down. It’s too hard living on the edge. I’m tired of walking on eggshells. I can’t even relax on the good days. Any little thing can upset him. And I live in fear that he’ll blow again. Our fights are not pleasing to the Lord and I’m only getting farther away from Him. I am running out of strength to go on. I hope Lanny keeps his promise and that this marriage will succeed.
On New Year’s Day, I pray and rededicate my life to the Lord before I even get out of bed.
Lord, I am yours, and I give You control of my life, to do whatever you will. I just ask for wisdom to know what to do, or strength for a fresh start with Lanny.
I turn over and snuggle in Lanny’s waiting arms. We talk and cuddle until hunger forces us to get up. Buttered raisin toast goes great with our bacon and eggs and hot coffee. Everything is tranquil as we eat breakfast. Gazing out the picture window, I can see newly fallen snow illuminating the animal tracks laid down the night before. A beautiful stray deer joins our usual bird friends. Timid, like me, he wanders on the edge of the woods by the pond.
Do I dare hope this pleasant day will continue? “Hey, honey, we talked about rededicating our lives to the Lord. I did it this morning, did you?”
His emphatic “No” makes me jump. “And I’m not going to, until the Holy Spirit tells me to.”
Tension locks the air around us.
Not today, dear Lord, please not today. Not after our special day yesterday. I shouldn’t have said anything. Me and my big mouth.
Sitting around watching the snow flutter down and drinking hot chocolate is usually so relaxing. But today I can feel the chill in the air, both inside and out.
We spend the day in an uneasy truce.
Dinner time rolls around. I fix one of Lanny’s favorites, taco salad. Hopefully this will put him in a better mood. The television blares out the shouts of the fans at the football game Lanny is watching.
Before eating, we hold hands and Lanny prays. Maybe the rest of today will be the fresh start we both need. After eating, we settle on the couch where Lanny scrunches into the furthest corner, engrossed in the football game.
Feeling shut out, I mindlessly turn the pages of a book, and think of what the marriage counselor told us:
“Pretend you’re connected to an air hose supplying your oxygen.”
We’re supposed to give one another a clue when we feel our emotional air supply is being cut off.
“Hey, Lanny, you’re stepping on my air hose. At least connect with me so I can feel your touch.”
His foot shoots out. I wince as the kick connects with my thigh.
I try again, hoping the clue will work this time.
“You’re stepping on my air hose, Lanny, and I’m not feeling very loved.”
“Well I’m not glued to your stupid side.”
His words hit me like painful daggers. Fear sends me to the love seat. His mouth kicks in with the usual disgust: “I thought I loved you, but I don’t. I hate you. This isn’t going to work, Wanda. My late wife was the best woman in the world and you couldn’t hold a candle to her. She had more faith in her little finger than you ever did. I hope you burn in hell. I wish I’d never clicked on your Internet picture. I wish I’d never talked to you. I’m sorry I ever met you. I wish we’d never gotten married, and I’d like all the money back I spent on gas coming to see you.”
My heart sinks to my toes. My chest hurts like someone just sucker punched me. His blasphemy stings me even harder when he takes the Lord’s name in vain. Venom spews from his mouth. I am every vile name he can conjure up. My pain intensifies when he screams at my late husband, who died of cancer:
“And as for your precious Buddy, he was a short, fat, ugly, hideous good-for-nothing.”
“Well at least Buddy never said one bad word about me, ever!”
“What a liar, you lousy no-good witch.”
Anger takes away my fear and I cannot shut up. “What about your word of honor to rededicate yourself to the Lord and work on our marriage? You can’t even live up to your promise for one day?” Then I swear at him.
“You, you, just rededicated your life to the Lord? Huh, it doesn’t sound like it. Why don’t you just go join your dead husband?”
“And you say you don’t know what verbal abuse is? Well, this is verbal abuse!”
“Oh, I don’t think so. It’s only words.”
“Well, let’s see. I’ll call Lynn and ask her about it.”
I grab the cordless phone, run into the office, lock the door, and call my daughter. She knows a little of what’s been going on. She’ll help. I know Lanny is listening at the door.
Tears choke me as I tell Lynn what’s happening. She is fearful that I’m getting accustomed to Lanny’s abuse.
“Mom, you have to get out of there!”
“I’ll be alright,” I say, trying to convince her I’m not afraid.
Footsteps outside the door alert me that Lanny is up to something. I unlock the door and peek out. My heart skips a beat. Buddy’s hunting knife is in Lanny’s hand. I had laid the knife out, planning to give it to my son, Trevor, in memory of his Dad.
Lanny’s eyes glint with malice.
I stand my ground. “What are you doing with that knife?”
Lynn’s voice cuts through my fear: “That’s enough Mom, keep your phone with you and go pack a bag. I’m calling Trevor.”
Lynn’s voice fades away from me but I catch what she shouts to her husband. “Quick, give me your cell phone.”
I can hear her calling Trevor, who lives about 20 minutes away.
“Mom doesn’t want you to know this but Lanny has been abusing her. He’s gone crazy or something. Get right over there and get her!”
Lord, this mess is out of my hands now.
I turn and run to get the bag full of clothes and other necessities that I keep packed and ready, hidden in the back of the closet in anticipation of a quick escape someday. I grab it, along with my purse, and make my way back down the hall.
Lanny jerks the purse out of my hands. The bag falls to the floor along with my car keys. I topple backward. His screams fill every space of the room: “Something’s wrong with you. You’re not acting right and you’re not going anywhere!”
He holds my keys hostage so I can’t leave. “Now hang up the freaking phone!”
Lynn hears him and shouts, “No, don’t do it!”
She keeps me on the phone while Lanny keeps blocking the door.
“You’re not going to leave me,” he says, “I will not let you abandon me!”
My heart is beating wildly to the point of bursting out of my chest. Lanny stares as if he doesn’t know me. Fear says I have to get away. But my love for him says to stay. I’m so confused. I don’t know if I can survive another round with Lanny.
“Hang on, Mom. Trevor’s on his way.” Lanny and I face off in a staring contest. Suddenly headlights brighten the window behind Lanny. Brakes screech to a halt and split the silence that has fallen between us. I grab my purse, my overnight bag, and reach for the door. In the same moment, Lanny steps toward me and wraps his arms around me. But this is no romantic gesture. I feel the air leaving my lungs and a crushing pain in my ribs as his grip tightens. He’s hurting me and won’t let go.
Trevor walks up to the door, sees me in Lanny’s grip, and shouts at him.
“You let my Mom go, or I’ll put a bullet right between your eyes.”
Lanny let go.
I look at Lanny’s devastated face. My heart is breaking, but I have to do this. In between sobs I tell him, “You get some help, then I’ll be back.”
Trevor looks at Lanny. “If you didn’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about. But for now, I’m taking my Mom with me.”
Trevor puts his arms gently around me, and leads me slowly out to his van. My sobs echo in the still night and I’m glad we don’t have any close neighbors. My legs tremble. I rely on the strong arms of my son to reach the van. Trevor opens the door and helps me in. He goes around to the driver’s side and gets in. He’s not speaking, just sitting quietly, and letting me cry. He doesn’t judge me.
Looking for movement, my eyes scan back to the house and the picture window. But Lanny never attempts to come out.
My life feels as if it has hit rock bottom.
How did I come to this?