Her mind drifted back, as it often did, to her father and mother. Colette had been born with a 'congenital insensitivity to pain' as modern doctors diagnosed it. She couldn’t feel pain at all. As a child in depression-era America however, her father called it - and her - a burden. She was lucky to have a mother who worried about her, even though it was probably too often. It was the single thing that separated her from so many children that didn't survive the disorder.
Her father made a good living as a salesman, often complaining that they'd be living a better life if they didn't have to spend so much time worrying about a child who didn't know better herself. When Black Monday struck, even his fast talk couldn't keep him from the bread line. He wasn't the first to go, or even the last; it all happened at once. The owners took their money and ran, cutting everyone loose in one short meeting. Everyone was on the street, looking for something new to survive on. Looking for somewhere that held the promise of a better tomorrow.
One day, her father packed up everything they had, and they drove off into the wilds, away from the city. They travelled through the disenchanted farmlands of America, offering 'Cure-all' elixirs and good luck charms to the unfortunate and downtrodden. Her father took advantage of anyone he could make a profit from, including his own daughter. Her mother protested at the beginning, trying to care for her daughter as she was meant to. Late at night, Colette would hear the arguments between her parents. In the morning, there was no sign of it, and her mother only looked more defeated as the days wore on. Eventually, she stopped protesting at all. She sat on the running board of their Model A, wearing an unconvincing smile while he continued to poison everything he touched, including their daughter.
As the poverty wore on across the country, people were harder to part from their money, even harder to part from their property. Schemers had to be quick, but they had to be convincing too. They had to be able to deliver before payment. The people wanted a show, a tell, and a promise that their money would not be wasted on clever lies. Colette was the ace up her father's sleeve, though it was hard for her to decide if it was ever good or not. She was no longer a burden, at least not by name. She was his star, even though she could see what it was doing to her mother. She worked every day to earn meals for her mother and herself. All she had to do was listen to her father deliver his speech, take a swig of his 'miracle tonic' and then walk in and out of a pile of hot coals in one of the community fire pits that every tent town had.
A community fire usually promised a decent crowd of its own. Her father's charisma and commanding voice would draw some stragglers, but Colette wandering through the camp would draw the rest. She was a teenage starlet; all brown curls and pretty bows. She had a beautiful blue dress that fit her perfectly; the only thing she was missing was a pair of fine shoes. Everyone noticed her bare feet, but they were always too polite to comment, at least till they watched the show.
Whenever she walked toward the crowd, she could feel the frills and folds play around her, urging her to dance. She wanted to dance so badly. The dress was so nice, it didn't feel right to just stand and do nothing in it, but her father wouldn't let her. He said one dress was quite enough for her and it would last longer if she didn't do anything unnecessarily, like dancing.
Eventually, though she tried to fight it, she receded like her mother. She knew there was a better life for her; somewhere far away from the tent towns and her father's schemes. She knew it was going to get harder before it got better, because one day she would have to leave. It would never be easy to leave her mother behind, and if she did, she knew her mother wouldn't survive long without her. Her curse was their livelihood. It seemed like the only time her mother showed any sort of life anymore was when she was wrapping Colette's feet after a demonstration, and then it was only sorrow.
Fortunately, she never had to figure out how to leave them. They were somewhere in Tennessee, she remembered the lush greens of the tobacco fields and all the farmhands tending them. They had been making good money in plenty of small towns on their way south. They had a strict routine: Wake up, trade in on misfortune, get on the road again. They would drive until dark, where they would camp for the night and look for another nearby town in the morning. They had stopped for the night somewhere along the highway, Colette and her mother in a tent along the roadside while her father slept in the car. He insisted that as long as there was a chance for anyone to cheat him, his car and his money would always be close by.
Unfortunately, the signs painted on the side identifying his ‘miracle tonic’ also easily identified the car. In the middle of the night, while she and her mother pretended to sleep, men came to collect a refund on his miracles. They mourned his passing quietly, hoping to remain unnoticed by the roadside. She never saw her father again, not even his remains. The strangers took everything: the car, her father, and all their worldly possessions. All they were left was the tent and their own clothes.
When morning broke, Colette knew they had to carry on. Her mother refused to budge from the floor of the tent. She stared off, listless and unresponsive. Nothing Colette could say or do would rouse her. After an hour, Colette knew she had to do something. She left her mother in the tent and began walking, looking for food or help or anything, really. She walked all day, the miles showing on her face and her feet, but found nothing. She slept fitfully that night, worried about her mother and if she’d ever find help to send back.
The next day, Colette experienced her first genuine miracle and hitched a ride on a farm truck. It took her all the way to the next shantytown, but no one there was in any position to offer her help. She couldn’t feel the hunger, but she knew how long it had been since she’d eaten. She could feel the weakness in her limbs. Her remaining time was a blur of confusion and exhaustion, not really comprehending, but quite certain what was coming next.
Certainty had a funny way of disappointing her that day. Instead of pearly gates or a big black nothing, Colette instead found herself in the back of a covered carriage, being tended to by a young blonde woman with kind, sympathetic eyes and a miraculous story to tell.
Her story had remained mostly unknown to her sisters. They knew where and when she came from, but only Mariel knew the whole story. Only Mariel was there to find her. The other sisters occasionally noticed what might be considered resilience, but nothing truly remarkable. Colette had learned to be quite careful on her own, most of the time. Not until Ren and Joe saw her catch a pinky toe on the coffee table and barely stumble, much less carry on without so much as a single curse. She bowed to the storm of questions and gave them a brief explanation: that she had a condition that meant she couldn't feel pain. While she thought that was a solid end to the discussion, they heard the call of experimentation.
Some days, it was an annoyance without equal. Others, she couldn't help but be grateful for their uninhibited display of youth. Josephine was starting to lose the spark in recent years, as most of her sisters had. Colette often wondered if she ever had that spark, but sometimes, it could be drawn out of her. When Ren and Joe were together, it seemed to happen more often. There were times when it was easy to forget how old any of them were, and just live for the moment. Ren - not always, but often enough - spurred it. Joyous youth or bored malcontent, Colette could never be certain, but she was certain that Ren's existence fought against the maturity level of the whole household.
She didn't even bother to lower her magazine. She grabbed the pillow tucked under her arm and threw it. She heard it cut through the air, announcing with a dull thud it had acquired its target. Colette smiled as Joe yelped.
"It's not me!"
Colette snapped the magazine down, locking eyes with Ren who hovered at the end of her footrest. Joe sat on folded legs huddled behind Colette’s pillow a number of feet further on. Ren was motionless, holding a pencil pointed at the arch of Colette's foot. Slowly a Cheshire smile spread across her face. Perhaps Ren was trying to spread amusement; Colette fought a smile and tried to appear unamus
ed.
"You realize that by doing this, by acting out, you are not only showing disrespect to me, but you are also disrespecting the house itself."
Ren and Joe pouted to each other. Ren looked around, her head rotating cartoonishly as she threw up her arms.
"Oh house! I beg your pardon!" She yelled at the ceiling, eyes as open as her mouth. "Colette ignores us, even when we try to be polite! It's our only recourse! It's not my fault; I am merely a product of my environment! I must do as I must!"
"No, you mustn't," Colette replied coolly, trying harder to fight a smile.
"But I must."
"No."
"Oui."
"Ren."
"Col-" she held onto the syllable, Colette's eyes narrowing. People had tried calling her “Col” over the years, and it grated at her. There were few things that bothered her more, including being experimented on by youthful sisters. "Ette."
She nodded satisfactorily. Ren would survive the day.
"Both of you, please, go find something else to do - something that doesn't involve me in any way, shape or form."
She raised her magazine again, opening it back to her place. She counted to five and then kicked out. She collided with something and Ren yelped, shaking her hand.
"I think you broke my finger!"
"You were warned."
Ren got up, huffing off toward the kitchen. Joe lingered for a moment.
"She didn't mean anything by it."
Colette lowered her magazine, her face softening toward Joe.
"Neither did I. Help her put some ice on it. It's probably just a sprain."
FIVE
Ren woke, stretching like a cat and twisting away from the bright sun. As good as it felt on her skin, her eyes argued that it was no good for her at all. Her joints resisted any motion that meant she was leaving the comfort of her bed, making it extra difficult to get her day started. When she was finally on her feet, they dragged, protesting every step.
She moved down the hall and took each step one at a time, yawning and still refusing to open her eyes any more than necessary. Hers were the only sounds she could hear, certain that the rest of her sisters were hibernating, quite possibly along with the entire city.
She shuffled her way to the kitchen, moving past the tea cabinet without a second glance. It was too early for decisions. She needed the firm slap of a dark cup of coffee to get her started. Setting the coffee pot in the sink to fill, she opened the coffee tin; deeply inhaling and feeling the smile creep across her face, the only thing that hadn't dragged itself out this morning. She prepped the machine, double-checked that both grounds and water had been filled and turned the pot on.
Within minutes, the sweet scent of crème brûlée snaked out into the room, demanding to be noticed as the brew steamed itself into the pot. Ren smiled again, breathing deep. She leaned against the counter, biding her time until the first cup could be hers.
After a quiet cup all to herself, she decided she was awake enough to require company. She looked up at the clock on the wall, and then shrugged. She didn't actually care what time it was. If the sun was up and she was conscious, it was time to wake Joe.
She crept to the sleeping girl's door, then threw it open.
"Wake up, sleepyhead! Time to embrace the life the gods blessed you with!" She yelled in a singsong, almost needing to cover her ears to seek refuge from her own voice. Josephine jumped, pushing herself away from the door defensively, then glared, collapsing back onto her pillows.
"I hate you so much." Her words might have carried more weight, if only she were conscious enough to put the effort behind them.
"Oh, you do not," Ren climbed onto the bed beside her, reaching out and gently depressing the girl's button nose, over and over. Joe's brow furrowed, her lips pouted, but she refused to open her eyes.
"Right! Wakey wakey!"
"Obviously, some of us didn't get as much deep rejuvenating sleep as others." Joe glared through slits, half of her face compressed against the pillow. One look told her that Ren was not going to quit until Joe was up and struggling with the day alongside her. She rolled her face into the pillow and screeched.
Colette's curly brown locks bounced past the open door, backpedalling long enough to glare with tired eyes into the room.
"All of this ruckus better mean breakfast is waiting downstairs."
Ren turned, smiling wide.
"I made coffee!"
Colette groaned, carrying forward.
Ren returned to the kitchen minutes later, limping along as she supported Joe to the table.
"Good morning, Colette," Ren said officially, Joe murmuring an echo. Both perked up at the same time, realizing that there were new smells in the kitchen. Colette had an egg on the stove, keeping one eye on it as she sliced a tomato. The toaster popped up at the other end of the counter, ejecting an English muffin. In the slow blink of Joe's sleepy eyes, Colette threw breakfast together and was already moving out of the room.
"Share and share alike, right?" Joe yawned as Ren set a cup of coffee in front of her.
"Not on your life. You want breakfast, make some."
"The location is less than exotic, and the service is less than stellar." Ren topped off her own cup. "I tell you Joe, there was nothing about any of this in the brochure."
Colette spoke around diminishing bites of breakfast. "There's a brochure?"
"Yeah, you know: 'Meet new and interesting people, see the world, live forever."
"There's an asterisk on that last part." Joe smiled, breathing her coffee rather than drink it.
Colette laughed. "You settled the fate of your soul on a brochure with an asterisk?"
"It was a really nice brochure. Glossy, even."
Colette finished her last bite and reached out, ruffling Ren's bedhead. The task appeared to take more effort than she would have thought, the hair moving very little and her fingers felt coated. Her hand moved to Ren's shoulder in a wiping motion.
"Less product, Ren. Hair needs to breathe."
"If I use less, it moves more."
"Hair is -" She held up a hand and turned. "Never mind. I'm going to take a shower. Start a kettle for Mariel. And make yourselves some breakfast. I’m not going to listen to you two whine all day."
“We’re not going to whine all day.”
“Don’t you have some meeting to go to?”
“It’s an estate sale. We’re getting a sneak peek because the dearly departed liked us.”
Ren and Joe shared a glance, Ren deciding to confront the bad news head on. “And by ‘we’ you mean yourself in the royal person, right?”
“No, I mean you, you and me.” She pointed at each of them, smiling. “I was going to wait till later to come back for you, but since you’re both up, you might as well come with.”
Joe’s eyes returned to Ren, her jaw set. “I could still be sleeping, Ren.”
“But you’d miss all the fun we’re going to have.”
“It doesn’t sound like fun.”
Colette leaned into the table, trying to sideline the conversation that was about to start. “I swear, if you two can just get dressed and behave long enough to help me with whatever we get at this sale, I’ll take you to Royale.”
Ren raised an eyebrow, uncertain what kind of offer was being put on the table. But any question she was about to ask was quickly cut off by Joe’s instant acceptance and sudden alertness.
“Seriously? Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight. But I mean it – best behavior.”
Ren looked back and forth, waiting for an explanation. What she got was more of Joe’s curious actions. This time, she jumped up from her seat and wrapped Colette in a deep hug.
“I promise! Oh god, what am I going to wear?” She spun and looked frantically at Ren. “What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t even –“
Colette laughed and put an arm around Joe, trying to calm her.
“It’s a night club. There’s loud
music and fancy drinks and lots and lots of sweaty people. For some reason, Joe loves going there.”
Joe only jittered, her eyes somewhere else, her knuckles thumping against her chest. “It’s the sound and the lights. You can feel the music there.”
“Mariel has a hard line about doing anything that affects the reputation of the House, so we don’t go very often. Even though I have made it perfectly clear that the people who come to the museum are hardly the people you find at a night club.”
“Wait, Mariel goes to the club too?”
“Oh no. It’s not her thing at all. She’d be much happier at a gala. Club nights are usually for you youngin’s.”
Ren cringed. “I’ll agree to anything, just don’t ever say that word again.”
Colette smiled and released Joe to her daydream. “Good. Get some breakfast and get dressed. We’ve got a long day and a longer night.”
**
Ren stepped onto the curb, turning to adjust her top in the reflection of the passenger side window. Colette didn’t require them to be in professional dress, but she did ask Ren and Josephine to wear something “nice”.
“The gentleman in charge of the estate’s affairs is someone we regularly do business with. I would like to stay in his good graces.”
On the car ride over, Joe and Ren discussed – loudly – whether Colette had meant it as a slight against their personalities or their sense of fashion. Really, they knew it was a simple statement that meant nothing more than the words spoken, but their intent hit home. Colette looked uncomfortably agitated the entire trip.
She rounded the car, appearing on the sidewalk next to them. She took a deep breath while they primped. Her brow crinkled as she watched them flank her.
“Please tell me we are done with the fun and games.”
House of Thirteen Page 5
