“Let it be quick. I want to see your faces again,” I whispered softly, my chilled lips barely moving as my words trickled out. “Take me away…. Take me away… Take me away…” I chanted the words slowly, a whispered song coming forth as I allowed my eyes to close against the swaying tree branches.
I couldn’t go back there. Though I would never admit it, a soft spot had grown in my heart for Roman, my sixteen-year-old foster brother. He’d lost his parents too, only they weren’t dead. His father had left when he was ten, and his mother had fallen back into her old habits of using illegal drugs shortly thereafter. I only knew this because it had been thrown in his face on several occasions when Martin Pernickle had tried to punish him for something.
Like me, Roman never really spoke to anyone, but I saw the pain in his eyes, and I sometimes heard the soft sniffles coming from his room in the middle of the night. We had an understanding, him and I; and I only hoped he would forgive me for leaving him there alone. The look in his eyes when I’d finally returned after the suicide attempt had said it all. We had a bond, albeit an unspoken one, but we understood each other. He would fight for me if I needed him too, I was sure of it. Just as I was sure that he would hate me for not saying goodbye.
“I love you…” I exhaled softly, my lungs now burning from the cold that seemed to stick to my insides.
It shouldn’t be long now…
“We love you too…”
My head jerked as I heard the faint words, my eyes opening to the almost dark sky.
“Mom…?” I whispered, my ears now straining for what I was sure was her voice I’d just heard.
“Go back Alana,”
“Dad!” I shrieked, pushing myself awkwardly to a stand with stiff limbs.
The howling wind was the only one that answered me, its call low and moaning as I let my eyes scan the distance of the fenced in cemetery. Either I was going crazy, or I’d just heard my parents speak to me for the first time since their death.
“I love you too mom and dad,” I whispered, fresh hot tears soaking the sleeve of the thin gray jacket I wore as I wiped them away quickly.
They wanted me to go back, I was sure of it. Rebellion set in almost immediately as I thought ahead to what I had waiting for me back at the Pernickle’s house. My body had made a small indentation in the ground where I’d lain, and it would be so easy to settle there again and wait the storm out.
“No Alana,” I heard the voice clearly this time, and I didn’t brush away the tears that came as I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sky.
The first snowflake of the approaching storm touched my cheek just then, and I smiled back at them, my heart lightening, just a little as I felt a warmth seep through me.
“I’ll be back soon,” I promised, ducking my head into the slowly falling flurries as I made my way out of the darkened cemetery.
It was too late for apologies, but I said the words any way, knowing that they would understand what I meant. I’d hurt them by not going with them that day, and because of that, we’d never gotten a chance to have another family night. They were gone forever, and I was still here.
“I’m sorry…”
Home, Not So Sweet Home
While I’d never been happy to see the Pernickle’s home come into view before, I would have laughed now, with joy, had I been able to move my lips. My plan had been to ride the city bus back over the river from Winslow to Waterville, and then catch a cab the rest of the way, but snow covered roads had quickly suspended all public transportation, and I’d been forced to walk all of the five miles leading from the last city bus stop, out towards the Pernickle’s farm. I hadn’t the strength to lift my arm to check the time, but the last time I’d looked it was after seven. I braced myself as I opened the front door, preparing mentally for the beating that was sure to come.
“I’m home,” I called softly, peeking into the living room, almost afraid of who I would find looking back at me.
A sigh of relief caught in my throat as my eyes landed on the empty loveseat and sofa. The room looked as it always did, clothes piled high on every piece of furniture, including the worn coffee table, old baby bottles turned over in the floor, the left over milk inside slowly congealing into a solid mass. Unopened book bags lay in front of the television that had been left on, and I shook my head in disgust as I made my way down the hall, towards the kitchen. If I wasn’t around to help the twins with their homework, it just didn’t get done. The Pernickle’s couldn’t be bothered with actually raising and nurturing the kids the state placed with them, their only motivation for even letting us live here were the monthly checks they received for our care.
“Lana!” Shelly’s squeaky voice greeted me first, her eyes going immediately to Martin Pernickle’s fat face, as he cleared his throat in warning at her outburst.
I knew I was blacklisted for coming in the house so late, and that meant no one was to acknowledge me, not even the younger kids. I refused to meet his gaze, and instead sneaked a peek at Roman, who’s head was down, his fork playing in a brownish yellow pile of mush that seemed stuck to the middle of his plate. The baby, Ranger, was wailing as usual, a smattering of green and orange baby food decorating the top of his broken high chair, and the floor around it. I wanted to tell Jo Pernickle that the baby didn’t like peas or carrots, and would only eat them if she stirred it in with something else, but I held my tongue as she shoved his highchair roughly, causing it to skid away from the table.
“You’re late!” She snapped, her lips curling in annoyance as she looked from me to her husband.
The way her head was angled made her look even more like an angry beaver, slightly bucked teeth, one yellow, one brown clicking together as she continued.
“Ya gonna do sumthin bout that?” She asked him, an almost evil look in her eye as she nodded towards me, her thin cheeks now suction inward so that her face looked skeletal. “And you’re dripping all over my floor,” She commented, cutting a look at Shelly, who’d dared snicker out loud while I was being scolded.
I hadn’t noticed that I’d literally begun to melt right there in the kitchen doorway. Snow that had been caked in my hair, and on my clothes moments before, was now dripping to form a puddle at my feet.
“I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up,” I mumbled, self consciously folding my arms over my growling stomach as I chanced a glance at the plate of mush that sat untouched across from Roman.
“It won’t do any good now, you done probably tracked it all over the house! What were you thinking coming in like that, and this late too? Have you lost your mind?!” Jo Pernickle shrieked, slamming her fork down as she looked to her husband to back her up.
“Everything we do for you all, and this is the thanks we get! Always disobeying the rules, always pissing me off! You ungrateful little snot! Don’t you have something better to say than that!?”
“Her parents died today…”
Roman’s voice was so soft that I barely even heard it, and I flinched for him as Jo jumped from her chair, her hand already rising to smack him across the face for answering the question that was directed at me.
“Enough!” Martin Pernickle declared, his eyes cutting at Roman and then to me.
I didn’t dare move as his gaze swept my body from head to toe, a look of disdain on his face as he took in the sopping wet shoes I now shifted nervously in. His bulging belly yawned a deep gurgling sound, undoubtedly angry that I’d interrupted its meal. Shelly hid a snicker beneath her hand, Martin’s eyes switching from me to her.
“Go to your room and change, your dinner’s gettin’ cold,” he finally said, his knife scraping against the plate as he began to cut another piece of his t-bone steak.
“Yes sir,” I mumbled, shock shifting through me as I turned immediately down the hallway off the kitchen, almost running to the tiny room I shared with Shelly and the baby.
There was no way I’d gotten off that easy, and I wasn’t sure why Roman had come to my defense. He knew that I’
d broken the rules and would be punished accordingly. He’d only put himself in jeopardy by speaking up, and there was no point in both of us getting into trouble. We were to come home on the bus immediately after school, no matter what. Every few months I broke that rule to go visit my parent’s grave, and each time I did, the beating was worse than the last.
“I know you’re in here,” I whispered softly as my bedroom door clicked shut behind me. I’d heard the sniffles coming from the corner before I’d even stepped in the room good, and there was only one person missing from the dinner table.
“Thomas…?” I called the little boy’s name, my back turning from where he was hiding in my laundry basket.
I knew he wouldn’t answer me, but I continued talking anyway, knowing that he would listen to what I had to say.
“I saw your backpack in front of the television, so I’m guessing you didn’t do your homework… Remember what we talked about Thomas? I’m not going to always be here, and you and Shelly have to start doing things like that on your own. What is your teacher going to say when you go back tomorrow with none of your homework done?” I asked, moving in the dark around the sagging cot that had been my bed since coming to live here.
I hadn’t turned on the light in my room, but there wasn’t much light needed to find the only other pair of jeans I owned. My fingers trembled as I peeled off the wet clothes that still clung to my body, my hands brushing furiously over chilled skin that now burned in pain. It was always cold in this room, but there was no need to brace myself against the shock of the cold floor once my feet were bare. They were completely numb, and I worried now that the ability to wiggle my toes would never return. My parents would have probably rushed me to a doctor, terrified that I’d gotten frostbite. But they weren’t here, and the Pernickle’s would only laugh if I even brought it up. They would only say I should have come home on time, and had brought it on myself.
There was nothing I could do about it but put on the heaviest socks I owned, and since I didn’t own any really thick ones, I put on all three pairs of socks I’d stored in the cardboard box under my bed. The jeans I’d pulled on, plus the two sweaters I saved for especially cold days, and I could finally feel my body warming up a little. The movement was helping too, and next on my agenda was my wet hair. I finger combed it as best I could, using the end of my thin sheet to dry the excess moisture from its tips. I hadn’t had a proper haircut since before my parent’s death, and in the last five years, my hair had grown from a sophisticated bob, to a wild mass of sandy brown locks that hit somewhere around the middle of my back.
It was impossible to do anything with it, and so I braided it to the side, most of the uneven layers falling free before I’d reached the tip. I could hear Thomas shifting in the basket behind me, and I turned towards him now, my arms held out for him to come to me. At six years old, he was the least defiant of the twins, his sister Shelly almost always being the one to get in trouble for something she’d done. I heard, rather than saw him move out of the laundry basket and cross the tiny room, his breath sucking in sharply as I picked him up and cradled him against my chest.
He looked so much like his sister with his hair pushed out of his face, a little length and a head band, he would have surely been mistaken for her. An upturned pixie shaped nose ran a trail of snot past his upper lips, his sniffles sucking it back in ever so often.
“Why are you crying?” I whispered into the little boy’s ear, his tears wetting my neck as he wrapped his thin arms around me. “Thomas…?” I questioned again, lowering myself to the cot so that he could sit on my lap.
His breath sucked in again, this time a low moan escaping his throat, when my hand pressed against his back to keep him from falling from my grasp. I knew immediately that he was hurt, and I leaned, holding him tightly until my fingers caught the switch of the lamp that sat on the floor next to the cot. The room was suddenly flooded in the warm yellow light, and I shifted upright, my eyes now on the top of his head.
“Thomas… Are you hurt?” I questioned, my fingers probing his back gently, as I lifted his chin so that he was looking up at me.
There was fear is his dark brown eyes, fat teardrops steady filling the lower lids and spilling as he shook his head no, once.
“We don’t lie to each other Thomas…remember?” I prompted, lowering my voice even further. “If they did something to you, I need to know…” I paused as his face changed, his eyes widening suddenly as he began pushing my hands away from him. “I won’t tell!” I rushed on, holding him on my lap now, squeezing him more tightly than I wanted to.
He finally stopped moving, and for a moment silence hung between us, as I let him decide whether or not to tell me what had happened.
“She beat me,” he finally mumbled, his head falling against my chest with a thump, the weight of it knocking a whoosh of air from my lungs.
I figured that much, but I let him continue talking as I slowly pulled the back of his shirt up so that it was around his neck.
“We went to get the eggs, like always. I wasn’t running, I swear Lana,” Thomas sniffled, his head shaking now as he glanced up at me. “I never run,” he whispered pitifully, his hair falling over his eyes as he settled his head back against my chest. “I tripped. There was a stick in the yard, and I tripped. I didn’t mean to break the eggs, I really didn’t.”
“She did this to you,” I whispered, my eyes now downcast as my gaze swept his bare back, my fingers grazing the angry red whelps that blossomed from his skin in a design so intricate that I couldn’t even tell how many times she’d hit him.
“He’s going to kill me Lana, I know he is. After dinner… She said he’s going to beat me too! I broke the eggs!” Thomas cried now, his words muffled in my sweater as he gripped me tightly.
“He’s not going to beat you I promise. I’ll take you away from here tonight if he even tries,” I promised, anger slamming through me as I held his shaking body.
None of us had done anything to deserve this life. Roman and I were old enough to defend ourselves if it came down to it, but Shelly and Thomas were only six. Ranger, the baby hadn’t even begun walking yet, and at ten months old, he would have a hell of a life if someone didn’t get him out of here. I’d somehow taken on the mothering role of all three of them, and it pissed me off every time one of them was hurt this badly.
“Did you eat?” I asked, moving Thomas from my lap and laying him on my pillow.
My gut wrenched, when he shook his head no, my own hunger pangs threatening to eat me alive if I didn’t get something in my belly.
“I’ll bring you half of mine,” I promised, pulling the sheet over him before kissing his cheek. “Stop crying,” I whispered into his hair, pulling him into one more hug. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I have to go in there, but I’ll be back, okay?” I asked, hating the doubt that etched his innocent features as I stood from the narrow cot.
I was already in trouble for coming home late, so I had no problem saying something to the Pernickles’ about Thomas’ condition. I would be out of here in a few months, and another beating at the hands of Martin Pernickle would only strengthen my hatred for them, making me even more determined to not stay here any longer than the state required.
“Ninety Eight days,” I whispered to myself as I made my way back to the kitchen, my feet padding softly on the cracked linoleum.
They heard me coming, but only Roman looked up, his mouth pulling into a quick smile before adjusting his eyes back to the untouched food on his plate. I took the chair across from him, picking up the fork that had been left for me before I finally opened my mouth to speak.
“You could have broken something, or even killed him,” I said, my eyes on Jo Pernickle as she shot me an annoyed glance.
“Eat your food Alana, you already have the same coming to you. Don’t make it worse,” she answered, snatching a bit of t-bone from her fork and chewing loudly.
“I don’t care if you beat me. You can b
eat me now if you want,” I replied boldly, my stomach flip flopping as Martin Pernickle’s eyes came to rest of my face. “Thomas is hurt, and he’s hungry. I’m going to bandage him up this time, but there isn’t going to be a next time…”
“Or what…?” Martin Pernickle asked gruffly, baring his stained yellow teeth as his lips turned upward in a snarl.
Defiance rose within me, and I ignored the kick under the table I received from Roman, his eyes pleading with me not to push the issue. These challenges never ended well, and I was the only one that knew the real reason why Roman had spent eight weeks with his arm in a cast last summer. Martin Penickle had broken it after Roman refused to skin a deer he’d shot that day. It wasn’t going to end well for me, and we both knew it, but I suddenly didn’t care. I’d been quiet long enough.
“Do you like the checks you’ve been getting from the state each month? We sit here and eat this…this…Sh…. MESS…” I corrected myself as Shelly’s eyes widened at the word that had almost slipped from my mouth. “And yet, you punish us. You beat them like they’re grown men, and then you expect us to not say anything. I have the right to visit my parent’s graves whenever I want, and even so, I only go once a month. I’m not going to stand for you hurting the little ones anymore. You lay a finger on Thomas tonight, and you’ll have to kill me to keep me from going to the police,” I threatened, my words sounding a lot less menacing out loud than they did in my head.
“Don’t ask for something you know you don’t want,” Martin Pernickle’s words came cold and hard, causing my heart to almost jump right out of my chest.
My eyes met his, and I gritted my teeth, raising my chin to let him know that I wasn’t scared of him. No one could see that my legs were shaking under the table, and I was sure only Roman noticed how tightly I was gripping the fork now to keep from dropping it. I wasn’t sure who this girl was that dared challenge either of the Pernickle’s. Something had finally snapped inside of me, and I knew that he saw it in my eyes, his knife lowering slowly to rest beside his plate before he grabbed my wrist in a vice like grip.
Beauty Page 18
