by C. R. Jane
One of my teachers had encouraged me to try and apply but I had brushed her assertions aside by explaining I had no plans to go to college beyond the online classes I was taking. Of course I wanted to go to school, but I hadn’t been able to think of a single way to escape from the Anderson’s home. I also knew that there was no way that they would ever
agree to pay for schooling not paid for by the state, especially not a school as expensive as Rothmore. When I heard a group of footsteps coming closer I grabbed the envelope and stuffed it down the top of my dress, thankful for the first time that it fit so large. I pulled my hair in front of my shoulders so that it flowed down the front of my dress to hopefully help stop any lines from the envelope from showing.
“You’ll have to excuse our ward Reverend,” I heard Mrs. Anderson say simperingly. “I’m sure you have heard that she is troubled. Please don’t expect her to be great company. I still am not sure why you wanted her present,” she added. The Reverend most likely caught the end of my eye roll at Mrs. Anderson’s statement as he stepped through the entryway, but he didn’t make a comment. Instead he stopped abruptly and stared at me. His mouth gaping open in what looked like shock. His cheeks slightly reddened and his eyes seemed to expand on his face. “Is this her?”, he wheezed out. Reverend Darby was a tall, imposing man that looked like although he had once been handsome, a life of luxury had led him to let himself go to seed. He was a tall man, with greying temples, and a belly that pooched out over his belted, expertly tailored suit bottoms.
The Reverend still hadn’t moved or taken his eyes off me, and it wasn’t until his wife cleared her throat behind him that he reddened even more and averted his eyes. Mr. Anderson had watched the interaction and was clearly not pleased. “Please come sit down Reverend. This is Eva, but as we said before, she will have little to add to the conversation.” This was one of the things I hated the most about my life. Beyond being lonely, any interaction I did have with others was tempered by the hateful and untrue things the Andersons
spewed about me.
Despite Mr. Anderson’s comment, the Reverend leaped towards me to shake my hand. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” he said still staring at me uncomfortably. “It’s nice to meet you as well,” I answered politely. I saw Mrs. Anderson
clench her hands out of the corner of my eye, and I quickly pulled my hand out of his and walked quickly to the table
to sit down. Although I could tell Mrs. Anderson wanted to order me to help move the dishes to the table, I saw her purse her lips tightly and begin to grab the dishes herself.
Lunch passed slowly with the Reverend and Mr. Anderson frequently staring at me with strange expressions on their faces. The Reverend attempted several times to ask me questions but Mr. or Mrs. Anderson were always quick to answer for me and cut off the conversation. Although I had been eager to get out of the attic and look at the sunshine, I hadn’t even glanced outside yet because I was so eager to know what was in the letter. I hadn’t applied to any colleges and although I supposed the letter could have just been a general information packet, since I never received mail (or at least to my knowledge never received mail), I was still eager to return to the attic and look through the contents.
I looked up hurriedly when I heard my name. “Eva would be an excellent addition to our youth program,” the Reverend was explaining to the Andersons. He quickly spoke over their objections with a strange glimmer in his eye as he turned to me and asked, “Wouldn’t you want to become involved in the Work, Eva.” Something about his look sent a shiver down my spine. I saw his pious looking wife glance over at him with a worried look. Somehow I knew that getting involved in the youth program was not something I wanted to do, even if it gave me a chance to get out of the house.
I smiled politely but did not answer. Mrs. Anderson quickly made an excuse of how busy I would be in therapy and my classes for troubled teenagers, and the conversation steered to another topic. I could still feel his eyes on me however, and the room quickly became too warm. This is
how it often was when I met others. They stared at me until I wondered what I possibly could have on my face to inspire such looks. I was grateful when lunch was over and Mrs. Anderson attempted to hurry the Reverend and his wife out the door.
Before leaving he grabbed my hand and slowly brought it to my lips. “It was a pleasure Eva, I will see you
again soon,” he said softly, before swiftly leaving the room with his wife trailing after him. I let out a deep breath and hurried to bring the dishes to the sink so I could return to the
attic and open the letter. What seemed like hours later I was once again brought up to the attic by Mrs. Anderson. I waited until I heard the lock click, and the footsteps once again go down the stairs, before pulling the letter out excitedly. What could it be?
Chapter 3
I slowly ripped the top of the envelope, trying not to make too loud of a sound just in case one of the Andersons were somewhere close attempting to listen. My hands shook a little as I pulled out the first page and read the first few sentences:
Dear Eva,
It is with great pleasure that we write to inform you that you have been accepted for admission into Rothmore College. On behalf of the faculty and staff at Rothmore, I congratulate you on this accomplishment and welcome you to the Rothmore family….
I stared at the paper in disbelief. How did this happen? I know I didn’t apply, and according to that recruiter, getting into Rothmore College was near impossible. I certainly hadn’t been able to do any extra curriculars like my peers, and I hadn’t ever dared to hope that my homeschool grades and resume could ever match up to other people applying to other schools, let alone a school like Rothmore. I pulled out the next document which was a thick pamphlet with information about the school.
As I turned the first page I paused at the most gorgeous face I had ever seen. Golden skin and wild black hair. The face staring back at me from the page looked like it had been carved by the gods. Piercing green eyes with thick black eyelashes stared out at me. He had an exquisite Roman nose, and full lips that were upturned into a smirk as if he was perpetually laughing at the world around him. A small label next to his face stated that his name was Damon Pierce. I stared at the page, awestruck for what seemed like forever,
until I finally shook my head and turned the page. No wonder they had put Damon on the first page, even I, with the most limited experience with the opposite sex ever, could recognize that he was perhaps the most beautiful man on the planet.
As I skimmed through the pages looking through the glossy photos highlighting a campus that looked like it came straight from a movie, my thoughts stayed with Damon. If only…I reached the end of pamphlet before setting it down and staring at the dusty attic walls around me. Rothmore College was hours away in New York City, not to mention it cost $70,000 a year. Before today I hadn’t even contemplated being actually able to get out of the house, let alone go to a school or New York City. I stopped myself from daydreaming and looked at the last paper in the envelope.
Eva,
We are delighted to inform you that you have been awarded the Rothmore Exemplary Scholar Scholarship for the 2017-2018 school year. As a recipient of this prestigious award you will receive tuition, fees, housing, and books for the school year provided that you maintain a 3.7 grade point average both semesters…
I couldn’t believe it. A dream had literally fallen into my lap. I didn’t care how I got in, or how they found out about me. I could have another life. I quickly pulled out the first page again and saw that school would begin September 1st with freshman orientation the last two weeks of August. A glance at the free real estate calendar the Andersons had given me, after a teacher in my homeschool program had mentioned to Mrs. Anderson that I needed to have access to the dates for assignments, told me it was April 29th. School would begin in less than four months. Four months to figure out how to escape, how to get to New York City, and how to start a new life. It would ta
ke all of that time to do it.
Footsteps on the stairs had me throwing the papers
under my army cot and sitting down quickly over my tattered quilt. The door was thrown open, and I tried not to look like I was hiding something as Mr. and Mrs. Anderson stepped through the door. “That was quite the performance you put on in front of the Reverend, Eva. Did you think we wouldn’t notice the looks you were trying to give him? You just can’t help but let the devil out can you girl?” snarled Mrs. Anderson. “Four more months” was the last thought I had before Mr. Anderson’s fist made contact with my jaw and the world faded into black.
Chapter 4
My eyes opened up groggily as I struggled to bring my surroundings into focus. It took me a second to remember what had happened. Mr. Anderson’s fist flashed into my memory. My jaw felt like it had been broken. I was nervous to look at myself in a mirror. It must have been a hard hit to knock me out. A wave of depression flowed over me until I remembered my letter. Rothmore College! My escape! But how was I going to pull it off? The Andersons had left me on the floor after I was knocked out. I gingerly pulled myself into a sitting position and crawled over to the corner where my broken mirror sat. I pulled the mirror up to my face and grimaced. The whole left side of my face was black and blue, swollen, and sensitive to any touch. I hoped the bruises would at least last a few days before my freak healing abilities kicked in so that they would be more hesitant to hurt me. I needed my wits about me in order to plan my escape, and being regularly knocked out was certainly not going to help with that.
The first thing I needed to do was figure out my money situation. Even with a full scholarship I would need money to get to New York City. I also would need to buy at least a couple of new clothes. There was no way I was starting my new life in the pilgrim dresses that the Andersons had provided me with. I had no way to earn money as I wasn’t let out of the house, so I was going to have to steal it. Usually the thought of doing something like that would fill me with disgust but after years of enduring the Anderson’s abuse, and knowing they had been pocketing money from the state all of these years that was meant for me, I felt like in this case it wouldn’t be stealing as much as it would be taking what was owed to me.
I knew that Mrs. Anderson hung her purse by the garage door whenever she came back from running errands. Luckily for me Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were both highly
suspicious of credit card and banks, believing that the government was always waiting in the wings to take their “hard-earned” money. Because of that, I had heard them discussing with visitors the fact that they always kept stacks of cash with them, and the rest hidden in various places around the house. Maybe if I just took a small amount every week they wouldn’t notice anything was missing. I had learned to pick the lock to my door a few years before when I realized that feeding me wasn’t a high priority for the Andersons. I knew what steps creaked, and what floorboards in the kitchen to avoid. It would just be about the timing. Mrs. Anderson tended to be a night owl, staying up late to read in bed, and Mr. Anderson was an early riser, getting up around 5:30am to get ready for his job as a plant manager. I would have to make sure that I waited long enough before venturing downstairs.
And so it began. The next time the Andersons let me use the computer for school work I accepted my offer to Rothmore College, and then quickly deleted the history so they couldn’t trace my steps. I had put in a fake address for Rothmore to send anything. I didn’t want to push my luck that the Andersons would continue to throw away my mail without reading it. I figured I could pick up any forms I needed when I got there. At night I would wait until at least 3:00 am to jimmy the lock and creep downstairs. I got lucky a few nights, and Mr. Anderson had left his wallet on the counter as well, exhausted after a day at work.
I started small, just taking $3-$5 at a time from both her purse, and his wallet. The night before I left I would take more. I couldn’t access the bus route on the computer because they had everything blocked but sites they deemed educational, but I guessed I would need at least $100 for tickets. I would need sheets for my bed and toiletries as well since the Andersons gave me nothing but a bar of soap to
wash myself with.
I counted my money every night and felt a rush of excitement as my stash began to grow without them finding out. Mrs. Anderson had started to look at me funny however, as if she could smell the renewed hope I now had. She would come upstairs at random times and throw open the door to try and catch me doing something. Luckily there was no way for her to mask her footsteps up the stairs no matter how hard she tried, as she weighed far too much to be light on her feet, and I could hide things quickly before she got to the door.
The next obstacle would be figuring out when to leave. Technically I wasn’t 18 until September, and I knew that if I didn’t escape the first time I wouldn’t make it out again. The problem I had encountered in the past was the alarm system. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson set it every time they left and I had never been able to catch the password. I had tried to escape many times my first year with them and they had upgraded the system since then to alert them more quickly. Neighbors, the Andersons, and even the police had caught me every time I had escaped, and the beatings afterwards were not something I would ever forget. It had always been difficult for me to hide myself from the notice of others. But this time I would have to get away, there was no option for failure. I would somehow need to slip out before they left and set the alarm, or went to bed and set the alarm so that I would have some time to get far away before they noticed my absence. I would then need to find a way to get away fast and hide when they inevitably came looking for me.
Another issue of concern was Reverend Darby. I had heard his voice many times floating up the stairs and although the Andersons never mentioned his visits, I found it strange that he would visit so regularly after never visiting before. If there was anything to be grateful for in Mr. Anderson’s fascination with me, and Mrs. Anderson’s hatred of me, it was that it gave them reason to do everything they could to keep me away from the Reverend. I still couldn’t forget that look in his eye, the way he had held onto my hand, and the worried
look that his wife had given him when he was talking to me. I did not want anything to do with Reverend Darby.
When I wasn’t scheming about how to get away, or dreaming about my new life, I was thinking about Damon Pierce. I would stare at his picture dreamily and wonder what he was like. I had never been one for flights of fancy, I hadn’t seen the point. But Damon sparked something in me. The pamphlet gave no details about him and I was too scared to bring it up during my online home school classes to see if anyone had heard of him. No-one ever talked about anything but classwork, and it was impossible to form any relationships when I wasn’t allowed to access the computer or phone except for class. We also couldn’t see each-other, and it was nerve wracking for me to speak up to a group of people I couldn’t really identify beyond their voices. I knew the chances of someone like Damon ever paying attention to me was zero, but it certainly was delightful dreaming otherwise. For all I knew, he was just a model they had used in the pamphlet to attract prospective candidates but for some reason I thought he was probably more.
The weeks passed quickly. I lived in fear that my secret would be discovered. My plan had hit a snag when I had heard the Andersons arguing over money that they had noticed was missing. I had started restricting my nightly visits downstairs to make sure they didn’t catch on that it was me. I didn’t think they suspected me yet as they didn’t know that I could trip my lock, but I didn’t want to arouse any further suspicion by too much of their money disappearing at once. This obviously meant that I was going to have less money than I wanted or needed but I couldn’t afford any mistakes.
After a long hot summer filled with the usual screaming, beatings, unwanted touches…combined with my silent visits downstairs to take money, my nerves were fried. I had to give myself daily pep talks to convince myself my plan to escape would actually wo
rk. I had wanted to leave earlier than I had planned, but there hadn’t been a good time. Mrs. Anderson had started to stay home more and had taken
to sleeping with her door cracked. It was almost like she knew that I was planning something.
Finally, I couldn’t delay it any longer. Orientation would start in a week and I didn’t know how long it would take to get to New York on the bus. I had arrived at the Anderson’s house by bus when I was 13, and had held on to the memory of how to get to the local bus stop. I just hoped nothing had changed, and that a bus driver would tell me how to get to the main station where the Greyhound buses
were. I had my meager belongings ready to go at a moment’s notice. I had stolen a sweatshirt and shorts from Mr. Anderson’s closet. By tying the sweatshirt, and pinning the shorts with some safety pins I had found in one of the attic trunks, I would look a little more normal than if I was wearing one of my dresses. Hopefully when the Andersons started looking for me they would give the description of a girl wearing a dress and it would buy me a little bit of time. I had put one of the dresses into my bag so they would think I was wearing it.
It was the Tuesday before orientation when I got my break. Mr. Anderson was working late and I overheard Mrs. Anderson on the phone with someone loudly complaining about how she had a migraine and was going to take something and go to bed. I waited an hour after I heard Mrs. Anderson go into her room before beginning to gather my things. No one would be up to check on me until Mr. Anderson arrived home and I had to pray that whatever Mrs. Anderson had taken for her migraine had knocked her out cold since she had left her door cracked. I put my pillow under the blankets so that if they looked in on me it would trick them for a second into thinking I was asleep. Gathering my courage and holding my breath, I tripped the lock on the door with a pin, and silently made my way downstairs.