by Angela White
I struggled to get it open in the wind and Georgie impatiently shoved me aside to jerk the door open. As I climbed in, now cold and soaked from the knee-high snow, Georgie delivered a stinging slap to my butt.
“Stay where I put you!”
Now wishing that I’d let him see Frona’s smirk and slap it off her face, I held in the tears and buckled my seatbelt.
As if fate were listening, Georgie reached over and delivered a nasty slap to my mother’s leg.
“You should have opened my door, not the kid!”
I cringed lower at Frona’s teary glare in the frosty window.
We made the rest of the trip in tense quiet and I spent the time thinking of Marc. We were going to his home for the family Christmas party. Georgie had tried to get us out of it and failed.
I was glad mother Brady had insisted that all of the family be present. We would be surrounded by people who didn’t like me, and Marc wouldn’t even be able to talk to me unless we could sneak out, but being in the room with him would make me happy. He was good and I needed that balance.
Georgie slid to a stop near the front door of the modestly decorated home and servants rushed out to help him inside. I was mostly forgotten in the greeting of the other relatives who were also arriving and I slowly edged toward the door, hoping to spot Marc.
The servants backed away, behaving normally for their station, but I knew it was more than that with me. They sensed my curse. The Cherokee men and women (that Mary often bragged she was helping find civilization) were an exotic mystery, but I never spoke to them. I didn’t want to get them in trouble. Mary had brought them here through something called a sponsorship. She gave them a job and paid their rent, and they had to do what she said. It sounded like a type of legal slavery to me.
I’d now been to this horrid house three times, the last two while Marc was gone. It looked the same, except for the Christmas tree and mound of presents piled artfully around it. Even the somber, lowered voices instead of people enjoying the holiday were the same.
I stayed by the coat rack as the outside groups merged. I observed the people who were supposed to be my family, and there wasn’t a single thing that I could find in common. Having the same shade of hair didn’t make them my...
Marc entered the room, smiling, waving at cousins and uncles, and my heart skipped. That was my family. We didn’t share blood, but I already loved him like a brother. Later, we would be much more, but right now, a brother was exactly what I needed and I set out to snare him. After all, that was what a witch did, right? I would become the very thing mother Brady hated the most–a temptress who would steal her son’s mind and heart.
I sighed in happiness, sure Marc would approve.
Marc
I knew Angie had arrived before I got downstairs, and I was careful to ignore her under the sharp gaze of my mother, but I needed to spend a few minutes in the same room. She was kind, easy going and big hearted. It did wonders for that dark place inside me to be around her. I wished I could hear her laugh and then immediately wished that I wouldn’t. If the evil people around us felt that pleasure, they would know. The family curse was only whispered about on dark nights now, but it was still whispered about.
The party, which I considered boring, wound down long before midnight and I was upset as I watched Georgie herd his precious cargo toward the door. I hadn’t even gotten to say hello. Angie had been placed in a chair in the corner, one that would become her perch of shame. Mary had put it there for her and directed the ‘little angel’ into it.
Then Angie had been forgotten. I hadn’t witnessed a single person speak to her. When dinner was served, one of the house cleaners made Angie’s plate and took it over. She didn’t get a drink at all and she held her dirty dish on her lap until Georgie called to her. She looked around uneasily, not sure what to do and I noticed the servant that she approached shied from her before taking it. Did he know?
They have old legends.
I jumped, looking around, before realizing it was Angie, in my mind.
“Is something troubling you?”
I spun around to find my aunt Judy staring down with an expression of eager glee. She was hoping I would slip up and confess some awful secret that the rest of the family could use to break Mary’s hold over them. After two months on her farm, I was still very close-mouthed and she thought I might be more open here.
“Yes.” I leaned in. “I saw Rodney intentionally break the widow’s window with a rock last week. Should I have told mother?”
“We don’t need to upset her with such a small thing,” Judy quickly denied, paling. “Rod will work it off.”
I smiled at her, trying to act a bit shy, like the soft voice in my mind was advising. “Is it okay if I come back? It was fun.”
Judy, who rarely heard any good comment from a male, beamed. “Of course. You’re so polite!”
She bent over to pinch my cheek like old folks were always doing. I grimaced but didn’t duck.
Judy moved off and I realized Angie was gone. While I was distracted, Georgie had whisked her and her still loudly dressed mom out the door and into the frosty night.
I sighed as the door swung shut. I missed her already. How was that even possible?
I could try to explain it sometime, Angie sent.
I hid my face and swallowed my surprise to respond, When?
There was a pause and then faintly, Next gathering, I guess. Gotta go now.
Okay, I thought, as if it were natural to be conversing this way. Bye.
In the lonely sadness that washed over my heart, I heard her wishing for time to go by faster so she could be with me again. I hurt over that for months.
Angie
I had to let go of the connection because of the energy. I didn’t have anyone feeding that side of me with love and care, and it made me weak. I lay down on the seat and snoozed for the entire ride. I heard Georgie say I must have had a great time because I was worn out, but I knew better than to correct him. Holding mental doors open was exhausting and I vowed to get better at it as I drifted off.
I was so tired that I didn’t wake up until I was roughly slid into my bed and hands went to my shoes. I quickly sat up and took over the chore from my clumsy mom. That was an automatic reaction, in case it was Georgie. He wouldn’t stop with my shoes.
Frona left the room without saying anything and I tried hard not to cry.
“Goodnight, mommy,” I called softly, hoping Georgie wasn’t close. I didn’t like it when he tucked me in.
I heard my mom and Georgie go into their bedroom and relaxed. After they did their body thing, he always slept and Frona would sneak out to the front room for a quick cigarette. I liked to study her then, try to get into her thoughts. I used to search for her feelings about me, but I learned to keep that door shut after a while. What I wondered now was if she was happy living this way. Even if she had no feelings for her child, shouldn’t she at least have hope for herself?
I tried to think of exciting things to keep myself awake, but I fell in too deep and missed their bedroom door opening. It was the heavier steps that snapped me from sleep and I struggled to control my breathing. It wasn’t my mom.
I could feel Georgie’s leer crawling over me and I thought about the math sheets from school and how I was so good at them. I loved arithmetic. It added up and made sense to me. It was this life of cringing in fear that I didn’t understand.
Georgie left my doorway after a long time and I didn’t try to get into his thoughts. My mom’s mind was safe sometimes, but Georgie was dark and cruel and I knew better than to go strolling through there. I’d done that before and had nightmares for weeks. I can still see those nasty images, the desire he has for me. I get so afraid...
When I woke again, dawn had lightened my walls and I rubbed my lids, not thinking of anything except needing to pee.
I put my foot in something cold and wet near the door, and I lifted my foot to view the squishy substance. I didn’t know
what it was or how it had gotten there.
Worried that I would get in trouble for it, I hurried to the bathroom for toilet paper and cleaned it up. By the time I made it to the toilet, I was leaking and I sank down on the john in relief. At my age, I didn’t recognize the start of a bad day.
By the time I made it through breakfast, dressing, and ran for the bus stop, I’d already burnt my fingers while getting Georgie’s toast, spilled my milk, and gotten a minor kick in the butt when I held up the line going out the door. When the bus rolled by before I made it to the end of the long street, I stopped, shoulders slumping. That was my last tardy for the month. They would send a letter home in a few days and then Georgie would get his belt.
Standing, lost, in the middle of the snowy street, I drew attention. I could feel the neighbors staring at me. I worried over Georgie’s reaction to that, but not everyone ignored my plight.
“Can I drive you to school, hun?”
I would have said no on any other day. Georgie had once told me an awful story of a kid named Adam who’d been taken and had all sorts of ugly things done to him before he was killed. I never forgot that. I usually avoided strangers anyway, but if I missed school, Georgie would hurt my butt again and it was hard to put on bandages by myself.
“Yes, please.”
Patty gently guided me to the passenger seat of her already running pinto. Patty was short and stout, with a slight limp that I assumed was from an injury during her younger years. I didn’t know exactly how old she was, but at least seventy was the answer the witch gave. Patty liked to wear Indian dresses while she ran her shop and sometimes she even put on a headdress to get people to come in and browse. Mother Brady hated that. Patty ran the Indian artifacts shop in town, the one Mary wanted gone because they sold heritage items.
“Here, let me–”
I slid into the seat and buckled myself in before Patty could use her prepared offer to help, and I felt her study me harder. I wanted to be gone so word didn’t get back that I’d taken a ride from a stranger.
I met her eye, vulnerable at that moment, and Patty paled a bit. I didn’t try to read her thoughts yet. I was certain some of them weren’t good simply because she was an adult.
Patty got into the driver’s seat and had us rolling along so quickly that I would be early for school. If I could find the quarter that fell down in my locker, I could get a milk and sip it while I waited for class, maybe even read a little more on the book I’d gotten from the library. It was called 101 Dalmatians and I loved it that the dog was telling the story. I’d never thought of people as their pets.
As we passed Marc’s street, I spotted him standing at the bus stop, waiting with his brothers and sister, Tracy. I didn’t care for her. Over the summer, she had held me down and made me drink hot sauce. Marc’s oldest brother, Daryl, had sneered and told me I was a baby for crying. They weren’t like me and my Brady. They were mean.
I shivered as he got out of sight and Patty flipped on the heater, thinking I was cold. I was a little, but mostly, I was curious about the woman driving me to school. I tried to pry into her mind and immediately found a brick wall.
“Only with permission.”
“What?” I stared in confused wariness.
“It’s rude to do that without permission,” Patty answered evenly.
My heart pounded as I realized she knew my secret. Some people were very aware of mental tinkering. I’d made a big mistake!
“Easy, child,” Patty soothed. “Just forget it, okay? I’m not mad at you.”
She thought I was scared and I was, but only of Mary’s reaction when she found out.
“I wouldn’t tell that old biddy anything!” Patty spat. “Always tryin’ to close me down since I worked off her chains. Got some nerve, she does!”
I stared in shock. “No one talks bad about her.”
“Yes.” Patty glanced over at me. “But they think it, don’t they? You hear them.”
I nodded slowly. The family all secretly wanted Mary Brady to die.
“So do I, child, but there’s decades of unrest between us. You don’t seem old enough to know her true wrath yet.”
I thought about sitting in that hard chair for hours and ending up with bruises on my butt, but didn’t say anything.
Patty pulled into the empty side of the school to let me out and I gave her a small smile. No one would see us here right now.
I stepped from the car, yanking my book bag along.
Patty held out a hand. “Take this and have a donut with the milk. You’re too small.”
I took the dollar in surprise and she pulled away before I could do more than gape at her kindness. As she drove out of the parking lot, causing the car door to slam shut, I hurried away, shoving the gift into my pocket. I’d noticed Patty in town, been in front of her shop while my mom browsed the sidewalk racks for her latest eyesore. Patty was nice.
So far, I warned myself. I wouldn’t allow my hopes to get high and I wouldn’t go to her shop unless I had a cover for being there. Right now, a kid my age reading about Indian lore or family bloodlines would attract attention that I didn’t need.
I hurried into the school through the employee door that wasn’t supposed to be unlocked, wondering why the principle even made the rule if he was going to leave it open after he came out to smoke. Mr. Reed never remembered to shut it. Or maybe he did it on purpose to have someone to yell at. I wasn’t certain. I was learning to avoid digging into people too deeply. Sometimes it was hard to get out before the slime was all over me.
I noticed a bus pulling in and two more behind it, and hurried to the cafeteria before the rush to have my choice of the food in the glass cases. I felt the cashier frown as I chose the apple next to the donuts. Georgie didn’t like fruit, so we didn’t ever have much of it in the house.
I took my treat to the far end of the cafeteria and sat down to dig out my book. While I fought with the zipper that was stuck in the strings around a hole, I heard a fight break out in the hallway.
I turned with everyone else and found one of the older bully’s throwing wild punches. His target was a first grader in my class and while I didn’t like the little boy much, it bothered me to ignore his pain when I was able to help. The employees and teachers weren’t going to because the bully was a sixth-grader who was already the size of a man. No one argued with Dean Combs.
Sighing, I took a big bite of my apple and narrowed in on the fire alarm nearby. A second later, it began to ring without anyone pulling the handle and my chance for a few minutes of peace and quiet to read was over.
Panic ensued, students screaming and fleeing, and Dean let go of the younger kid to run toward his locker. He had a bb gun in there that he used during recess to hunt the birds. Everyone cleared a path for him to get to it. Even the teachers let him go by, disrupting lines of kids waiting to go outside to finish the drill. I suddenly wondered if it had been Dean who hurt the animals I’d found in the woods this summer.
I took my things and tried to still eat and read, but it was cold and I soon gave up. I huddled in the haphazard line with the other kids while we waited to be let in, trying not to hate Dean for shooting squirrels from the surrounding trees.
Sometimes I couldn’t leave things alone and I always paid for it in one way or another. Being cold and hungry was little compared to saving the boy from a beating though, and I passed the time counting lumps and clumps of snow. I also tried to avoid being hit with the occasional snowball that came flying through the air as the crowded lines of kids grew impatient.
A piercing tornado siren suddenly roared to life, blasting our ears. It’s Wednesday, I thought.
By the time I got into a seat for my first class, my head hurt, I was frozen, shivering, and hoping that Dean Combs would miss school for the next week with some kind of a cold. Everyone needed a break from him. He was a menace.
I held out my wrinkled, stained homework when Ms. Young came around, and she took it without glancing at my bru
ises or dirty clothes. She knew she couldn’t do anything for me. So did I. That’s why I never told anyone or asked for help. Even at my age, I understood the suffering would increase if I ever made that mistake. I didn’t know what I might end up doing to be free, but I knew it wasn’t begging a stranger to take on Georgie and then Mary Brady. No one in this town was crazy enough to do that.
The rest of my day was the same–do what I was told, duck when I needed to, and dread going home. I had my own bully on the bus–a big redheaded girl from the high school who liked to make me cry–and my mom’s list of chores would be waiting on the kitchen table, preventing my roaming. School cut deeply into my exploring and I hated that. By the time I finished the chores, there might be half an hour before Georgie would be home and I would stay in my room with door shut until dinner and then go right back afterwards.
It was a great life–one that I often wished I hadn’t been gifted with.
1990
Marc: 12
Angie: 9
Chapter Four
April
Marc
The party that mother put together for my sister’s wedding was a big success. She floated through the crowd of family and friends who had been forced to come like a benevolent benefactor, and I couldn’t stand much of it. As soon as the supposedly happy couple cut the cake, I made my way to the rear yard, where the younger kids were stashed. I’d been happy enough on Judy’s farm over the last four months, but Angie was here and I wanted a few minutes alone, no matter the cost.
Angie’s attention clung to me as I entered the fenced field that was normally full of cows. I ignored her as usual, stopping to greet aunts and uncles that I recognized. Angie was sitting at a table without an umbrella in the far corner, skin already changing color. I assumed my mother had once again directed her there.
I struck up a conversation with a cousin nearby who had recently had his first child. I kept my back to Angie, only turning when another relative joined the small group in this area. During these quick glances, our eyes would meet and spark. It was as if we were a magnet and metal, being drawn together with no thought of anything else.