Zora dismissed the pleasurable thought. Abigail had radar and a habit of looking behind her. The grin faded from Zora’s face. She quickly took Milly out of her sister’s sight and hurried to catch the demon before she entered the house with a mouthful of lies. Just like her to get everyone in trouble and watch the fireworks.
Zora rubbed Milly and gave her a kiss. She ran back for her pale of milk and moved toward the big house with it, careful not to spill it. She entered the big kitchen with her milk intact. No one could be happier than she. She maneuvered through the mass of female neighbors and relatives all adorned in some dress of a drab color. All came to help prepare the wedding feast and take in the local gossip. Grandma Rebecca was there with Aunt Rebecca and third cousin Rebecca, no doubt chastising the other siblings on the importance of naming the first born daughter Rebecca, the family tradition. Zora dreaded having to hear that conversation and pushed past them as fast as her little legs would carry her. Ahead, her mother measured flour in a measuring cup.
“I got the milk.” She smiled brightly. It never worked before, why should it work now. Her self-esteem took a beating; life hadn’t gone anywhere near the way she planned. She felt as if she were ten instead of fifteen. Better yet, the ugly duckling Cinderella to evil stepsister Abigail.
“Set it down on the counter,” her mother said.
“Momma? Wouldn’t goat milk make a better cake?” the carbon copy gave her exciting grin as Zora deflated.
Rebecca tilted her head in thought. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Bee,” her pet name for her mini me. For a time, Zora, like all the daughters before her, favored her mother. She was a lovely three and the center of attention. Then, her hair darkened to brown and she more resembled her father, like most of the others. Abigail, on the other hand, maintained her mother’s bright-red hair color, and thus maintained favorite status.
Zora thought quickly. “I milked Sherry two days ago.” She hoped that would save her. Not only was milking a pain, but it was highly gross and perverted.
“It doesn’t matter,” retaliated Abigail, “she has more. I saw, she is big and fat and need milking.” Her nose crinkled and jaws puffed out at her sister.
“Stop lying. You know that isn’t true. I milked her already.”
“It’s true.”
“No, it’s not. It takes a week for her to make enough milk.”
“That’s true,” Rebecca agreed, tossing her long ponytail out of her way.
Abigail fumed. Zora looked from her to her mother. Could she win this one? Could it be possible? The thought of touching Sherry’s udders made her shiver. She hated the job and couldn’t wait to pass it to Abigail next year. She kept a calendar and marked an ‘X’ to count down the days on each job she would be happy to give away.
Suddenly, her nemesis smiled. Oh, god! You gap-toothed little witch!
“Momma?”
“Hmm?”
Rebecca kept measuring and pouring flour into separate bowls. She paid little attention to the conflict. She directed the other women, smiling at the girls. Tomorrow was Beth Ann’s wedding. Beth Ann was the second favorite.
“Momma, the wedding cake?”
“What?” Rebecca looked at her replica.
Abigail gave a crocodile smile. “How about if the wedding cake uses the goat’s milk and goose eggs? It will be rich and yummy. Nicholas will like that. Shoving rich cake in Beth Ann’s mouth will make him so happy.” Abigail crooned.
“Yes, you’re right!” Rebecca lit up. “Ooh, that would be heaven.” She turned to Zora. “Take the other measuring cup and bring me back two cups of goat’s milk.”
“But—”
“No buts, do it this instant!”
There was nothing more that Zora could say. She made her way to the other side of the room. Abigail’s face spread into the most delicious grin as she handed the tattered cup to her big sister.
Zora took the cup. Devil incarnate, she thought. She turned and walked past her pail of milk to defile poor Sherry on the orders of a vengeful sister. Images of her hands wrapped around and squeezing womanlike breasts floated across her mind. She shuddered as she approached the barn.
An hour later, Zora scrubbed the dining-room floor. She had floor cleaner and polish she used on the floor. She stopped scrubbing to grab a Popsicle from the freezer. She sat in a chair watching Anna, her ten-year-old sister, playing cards on the floor with Simon, now seven, and Stewart. She went to get each of them a Popsicle.
Anna loosely held a little puppy while moving cards with her free hand. Her duties included helping with Stewart, the last child, though her mother told her that she would spend time helping her other sisters with their newborns. A woman had to know how to take care of children, mother was fond of saying.
The puppy hopped out of Anna’s lap and ran to the polish, sniffing the can. Something caught Zora’s eye. She could barely see them, wavy lines, possibly fumes, going from one of the cans to the bottom of their gas water heater.
Something came from the water heater, something blue and small. It danced in the air, riding the wavy lines toward the cans. The puppy was moving toward the dancing oddity, it wanted to play. Zora stood, her eyes the size of saucers. Her mouth opened and the Popsicle fell out.
Abigail walked through the kitchen, looking for mischief. She saw her sister standing with her mouth open, not moving. She smiled, a perfect opportunity for torture.
“Zoraphena,” she said in a sing-songy way, all smiles.
The girl did not move.
“Hey, turd face! Hey!”
Abigail moved next to her, still, she did not move. Abigail looked down and saw the Popsicles at her feet. She turned to see what her sister looked at. Her eyes grew big. She threw up her hands in horror, shock swam across her face, then she screamed and ran. What she saw took only a second to occur: Stewart moved on his hands and knees toward the flame. The puppy hit the thin line he intended to play with and flames shot from the heater to the cans. Heat hit her as flames grew high along the wall. Abigail ran and scooped up Stewart. The children ran past a frozen Zora, screaming. The puppy fell on its side, twitching and screaming, all aflame.
“Momma! Momma!” Abigail held her brother, screaming, not moving, watching the flaming puppy.
Rebecca was looking out the window at those gathered on the bench, taking a break. The kitchen was empty except for her and one of the triplets, both wore aprons. Each was a modern day wife to make a husband proud. She turned to see the screaming children running from the next room. She ran to have a look as fear flooded her face.
“Oh god,” said Rebecca. She ran out back yelling for help.
Zora moved. For a moment her eyes fluttered and then she smelled something foul and strong. Her nose burned and eyes watered. She had seen Abigail run past her with Stewart. Before that, Simon and Anna flew past her. She lost time and it took seconds to remember what happened.
The room filled with her family. Bodies ran around in a blur, shouting and batting at the flames with towels. Their father grabbed a fire extinguisher. He made them move, then extinguished the flames.
Black smoke billowed to the ceiling from a charred wall. A can smoked, Zora assumed it was the floor polish. She saw a charred fur ball between the can and the heater, she began remembering. Before all the pieces fell in place, shouting began.
“She did it!” Abigail pointed an accusatory finger at Zora.
“What?” the stunned girl asked. Slowly she was coming back.
“She zoned out and almost got them killed! She killed Dolphie, she killed him, Killer! Killer! Killer!” Abigail’s screeches shot through Zora. Her face flamed redder than her hair as she held tightly to Stewart. The poor boy cried, crushed by the panicking teenager.
“Stop it!” John Baker took charge.
Stewart got away from Abigail, running and stumbling as quickly as his little legs would carry him into his mother’s arms.
“What happened?” asked John.
; “She happened,” screamed Abigail, again she pointed an accusing finger. “She stood there like a statue, spaced out, while Stewart crawled toward those flames. He could have died because of her.”
All eyes turned to Zora. The scrutiny was too much for her to bear. She felt small and had trouble finding her voice. Children cried all around her. Smoke came toward her. If only she could disappear in that smoke and be gone forever.
“John,” said Rebecca, comforting a crying Stewart clinging to her. “Do something, now!”
John turned to his daughter. “Zora, you and I need to talk. The rest of you, start cleaning this mess, we have a wedding to get ready for.”
“Daddy, I think—”
He interrupted her. “Not now, Abigail. Help your sisters get this room in order. Come along, Zoraphena.”
Zora left the room under the accusatory glare of her family. She felt lower than low and had no idea how to get out of this problem. Trailing behind her father, she felt her load lighten as she exited the kitchen. When he didn’t stop outside the front door, worry set in. Her father was going to the barn. She was in for the whipping of her young life.
With nothing to do but think, she prepared, hoping her whipping would not last long. She thought of her chores and how hard it would be to do them in pain. She imagined trying to sit with a tanned hind-end. The pain would be excruciating.
As she neared the barn’s door, she thought of explanations and excuses to avoid a full-out whipping. Dozens of scenarios ran through her head, none of them good. She walked through the door worried.
Without waiting for her father to tell her, she went to the empty gate of a horse’s stall they nicknamed ‘the whipping fence’. She shut her eyes tightly and fought to keep the tears back. I hate Abigail and I hate kids. I am never ever having kids. They only lead to trouble. Demons, everyone.
Zora placed her hands on her old friend. The minute she touched it, she had a change of heart. She thought of what happened and concluded she deserved punishment, but wouldn’t cry. That she could control. Abigail would see no tears. None of them would see tears. She braced for the pain, soon it would be over. Be strong, I will be strong.
Her chest heaved as she braced. The blows never came. She risked a look. Zora opened her eyes and turned to see where her father stood. He was behind her, but his head was down. The look on his face was neither anger nor hate. He was sad. Zora turned. For the first time, she thought she saw tears.
Gently, she took a step in his direction. He didn’t move, his eyes stared at his feet. She saw him gulp. “Father?” she said softly.
He raised heavy eyes to her. He gave a thin smile. “It’s not your fault.” The words were barely a whisper.
She came closer.
“I understand what happened. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
Zora couldn’t tell whose heart broke more, hers or his. It pained her to see this giant of a man in tears. Her eyes filled with tears, tears enough to fill a lake. She felt them and did all she could to hold them back. “No, daddy, it’s me. I’m not normal, everybody knows it. I’m bad.”
He cried. Nothing slowed the flow of tears down his face. He shook his head violently, his mouth a quivering mess. “You did nothing wrong, baby. I should have gotten you help long ago. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
John reached down and swept his daughter off her feet. His bear hug nearly crushed her. They held each other and cried. Zora had no idea what he spoke of, she cried for him and his pain. She cried for being a bad seed and nearly killing her baby brother. She cried for little Dolphie, not being able to grow into the fine Labrador Retriever he was destined to become. She simply cried.
“Tomorrow, you go to the doctors and get help. You hear me, baby?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“We have treated you like you are three and you’re not. You are a beautiful young lady and from now on, I want you to act like it. Nothing is wrong with you. You hear me?”
“Yes, daddy.”
Like so many times in the past, they held hands as they walked back to the big house.
* * *
Zora Baker sat on the hard cold table with her legs dangling. Today will be her day of strength and vindication. She would be strong like her father said and act her age. Nothing was wrong with her and today she would get proof.
She hated her mother came with her to the doctor’s office. At the age of fifteen, she felt she could handle her life herself and should be the first to hear news concerning her. Her father told her she had a medical condition that was treatable with drugs. She hated he didn’t come, she preferred him to her mother.
Rebecca Baker came into the room with Doctor Ingalls, a short portly man with gray hair and glasses.
“What is it?” asked Zora, not able to stand another second of not knowing.
“You have a problem, honey.” Rebecca said. “You can’t excite yourself. That causes your problem.”
“I don’t have a problem,” she protested. “Daddy said it is a treatable condition.”
“Doctor Ingalls ran tests on you. They say that you have a problem, not a condition.”
“I’m—”
“What did I say?” Rebecca shouted.
She always does that. Zora looked at the doctor. The man hung his head low. He brought her and all but the first two Baker children into the world. For him to look down was not good.
“Doctor Ingalls?”
“Are you questioning me?” shouted Rebecca.
Zora was happy her mother made a recovery, but it took so long the young girl grew up without her and lost some reverence for her status. Only the doctor could tell the truth. She tried again.
“Doctor?”
“What—”
“It is not as bad as you believe,” said the doctor, breaking in over her mother. “To put it simply, Zoraphena, you have a medical condition that causes you to momentarily freeze. It is not per se life threatening, but it does put you at a disadvantage.”
“Like what,” she asked, breathless.
“You can’t drive a car. If you froze, you would kill yourself or some bystander. You can’t operate heavy machinery either.”
“Anything else,” she gulped.
“A few more, but that’s not your main problem.”
Doctor Ingalls looked at her mother.
“What more is there?”
The doctor hesitated. His skin looked cold and clammy. He held his head down, not wanting to look at her. She knew that beaten look.
“What did you do, mother?”
“I didn’t do anything, honey.”
“Wh-wh-what your mother is saying is that, um, well she, um, well she refuses to let you take the medicine to keep you on track.”
“God will take care of my daughter, not drugs you and your kind want to jack her up with!” Rebecca blasted.
“It’s not voodoo, Rebecca. It’s medicine she needs. God, Rebecca! We went through this with Paul. Do the right thing this time and give her a fighting chance.”
“You’re not pumping chemicals into my daughter. I won’t allow it! Come on, honey, we’re leaving.”
“But, Reb—”
“But nothing! You give my baby drugs and she will become a drugged-out junkie. She won’t be able to take care of herself or a family. She will become a thief, stealing from her family to get drugs. We will have to kick her out into the streets and what happens to her then? Are you going to take care of her? What about her immortal soul? What happens if she can’t find a husband?”
Doctor Ingalls held his head low.
“Come along, Zoraphena.”
Zora hopped down off the table. Her mother held out her hand and instantly reduced her to a three-year-old child. Zora couldn’t refuse. With a last look at the doctor, she left the room. On the way out the door, the receptionist stopped them to ask Rebecca a question.
“What time would you like your next appointment, Mrs. Baker?”
“Never! We won’t
be back.”
Zora walked out behind her mother. She understood most of the conversation. Her father warned her that she might not be able to drive a car. She didn’t care, she stayed on a farm on the edge of town. Her world hadn’t changed since she was five. She had no friends and went nowhere, not even to school. She helped her mother at the grocery store and made the rare visit to the doctor’s office. Driving a car held no thrill for her. She couldn’t miss what she never had.
Her mind wondered to the drugs her mother spoke of. Why couldn’t she have them? She knew deep down. Paul, her fourth brother from the top, did more than freeze like her. He shook, violently. So violently they held him down and put a spoon between his teeth. Daddy said it was to keep him from eating his tongue, gross.
Now that she was older, it made sense. It was some type of epilepsy Paul had. That has to be what she has. They never came out and said it, but before leaving school, a visit to the school library, followed by a search online, gave her the truth. She thought about the side effects she read about and concluded that her mother meant she didn’t want her daughter drugged up and unaware of her surroundings. Possibly becoming addicted and becoming a drug addict. Mother was right. Stay away from drugs and let God take care of it. Thank God for mom.
They arrived back home and Zora finished her housework. She thought about what to say to her father, but was spared, he and her brothers took Nicholas on a bachelor’s retreat and wouldn’t be back for several hours. Tonight will be Beth Ann’s wedding. She could put it off until the happy couple leaves for their honeymoon. Maybe, just maybe, he won’t be disappointed in her. She closed her eyes and said a prayer. For the most part, Paul grew out of it at seventeen, maybe she would too.
Chapter Sixteen: April
The years hadn’t been kind to April. She found herself sitting at a bar like old times, scanning the crowd for potential clients. No longer did she own a portion of her old business, in fact, a court order prevented her from being on the grounds. Only Dee came around, and that was rarely. Feeling sorry for herself, she pushed everyone away, determined to succeed and show them up.
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