"Ow! Lemme go, you… no, no, don't!"

"Little fucking slut! What'd you think we was gonna do to you here, huh?"

Ellen winced as she watched him wrestle her to the ground, pulling her up by the hair, at times while kneeing her in the face. That was Joe Crenshaw, the eldest of the bunch. He was the dark-haired one, the one with a mustache. The girl was sobbing now, begging him to let her go while he threw her back onto the road and started to raise one leg. He was going to kick her in the face!

"You stop that, Joe Crenshaw, or I'll call the sheriff!"

Ellen had no idea how she'd managed to get the courage to shout that. Joe put down his leg, turning and frowning into the darkness. The girl wasted no time, scrambling out from under him and pulling what was left of her dress over her naked tits. She rushed to the other side of the road, clinging to an old elm tree and trying to regain her breath.

"What the… oh, it's you… the preacher's wife. What the hell are you doin' out here, ma'am?"

Ellen felt her skin grow prickly as she walked forward, smoothing her trembling hands on her white dress. She looked at the trembling girl now. Her mouth was swollen, and bruises around her forehead and neck had just started to show. The Crenshaws – at least this one – had obviously been abusing her for some time. She could smell just the faintest trace of liquor coming from the girl and guessed Joe had managed to lure her into the house with promises of booze – this was a dry county – then jumped her.

"I was out for a walk," Ellen replied, tilting her chin up defiantly. "You've not right to treat this girl that way. Now, you let her go, Joe Crenshaw."