Alora Funk- The Deliverance: Book 1

by Stephanie Daich

  Chapter 20

  The fourth of July-

  Mr. Scary drove me to a crowded neighborhood in which all the houses were almost on top of the other one, the yards were almost nonexistent. He pulled in the driveway of a stucco rambler, looking exactly like all the other houses on the street. My breathing increased, feelings of claustrophobia emerged. I longed for the wide spaces of Mantua. What was I doing there?

  The front door opened, and a lovely couple came out holding hands. The woman had a small bump in her stomach. Her long black hair went down to her waste, shinning as the sun reflected in it. She had a light complexion and was taller than her husband. He had dark hair like hers. They looked young to be married, with matching golden yellow auras.

  We went into their house. They seemed like they were dying to touch me, caress me, acting jittery as they moved around a lot, constantly squeezing each other’s hands. They seemed nice enough to me. Their parlor was immaculate, not even a speck of dust could be found in it. Their furniture was new, without a blemish, and most certainly without lumpy, hard springs to poke your backside. I looked around at the cream colored walls, not seeing one fingerprint on them. They had beautiful pictures of the Savior and wildlife adorning their walls. The air smelled like pumpkin pie, causing my stomach to grumble, begging me for a piece. Mr. Scary gave them the final instruction while they kept sneaking glances at me and smiling. They were so giddy to have me, laughter exploded to almost everything Mr. Scary said. It was odd, because I had never seen him as a funny man. He seemed a little more relaxed in their home than he was in the Sanibel home, but I could tell their humor at his expense bothered him. I had become acquainted with his mannerism and facial expressions, his demeanor was easy for me to read. When the paperwork was finished, they gave us a tour around their home. Everything was super clean, almost showroom perfect. My bedroom was painted a neutral green and yellow. It was simple, but elegant in its simplicity. The bed set matched the walls, and looked fluffy and brand new, and on top of it were several stuffed animals. In the corner of the room was a desk.

  As Mr. Scary was leaving, he turned to the Petersons, “Do you have any questions?”

  “Did you come with any luggage? I didn’t see any brought in,” Mr. Peterson asked.

  “We left some money in the manila envelope I gave your wife. There is money for clothes in there. Do you have any other questions?”

  “No,” they said behind their big grins.

  “And Jane, is there any last thing I can do for you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Officially change my name to Alora Funk.”

  “To what?” he said, looking confused.

  “Alora Funk. That is the name I gave myself. I hate the name Jane Doe,” shyly I looked down at my feet. I had never talked to Mr. Scary like that before. A wave of nausea passed over me.

  “What don’t you like about it? Jane is a fine, solid name.”

  “It is a generic name you give to someone who doesn’t have an identity.” I paused for a second, my heart racing inside of me. He glared at me with one of his -you’re wasting my time-looks. I had to look away so I could continue, “I have an identity now, and it is Alora Funk.”

  Mr. Scary took out a tablet and scribbled my name on it. “I will see what I can do.”

  …

  The Petersons were nice. They wanted to dote their every second on me. That evening we sat down to Chinese take-out where they asked me tons of questions, prying into everything about my life before the Sanibels and life after. Their perfection made me nervous, besides I hated talking about my situation. I felt dumb, many of their questions I couldn’t answer. I hadn’t intended to talk to them, but they drew it out of me, and before I could stop myself, I was spilling out my short life history.

  As I lay in bed at the end of the night, I couldn’t believe how peaceful inside the home was, but how loud it was outside with all the passing traffic. Inside, it was quiet, because I didn’t hear children running around. I didn’t hear Mike yelling at kids to shut up.

  The next day was the Fourth of July, and I was pretty bummed. I had been looking forward to going to the town fair. All my friends from school were planning on being there. At the end of the day, Mantua was going to light fireworks over the reservoir. Peggy had promised me we would go out in the boat and watch the show, telling me there was nothing like it in the world. I had been looking forward to time with her the whole summer. I hated missing it. Why did Peggy have to give me up?

  In the morning, the Petersons called me down to a breakfast of eggs and pancakes, not near as good as Peggy’s, but tasty nonetheless. After eating, I sat there with a full and bloated stomach. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gotten full. It was nice to not have to fight for my food.

  “What would you like to do today?” Mrs. Peterson asked as she cleared the dishes away and washed them.

  “I would like to go to the Fourth of July celebration at Mantua.”

  “Oh,” Mr. Peterson’s face dropped as he sipped his hot chocolate. “I am not sure it is a good idea right now. How about we find something going on around here?”

  “I guess,” I sadly said. Nothing could replace my friends and the promised boat ride from Peggy. A feeling of glum took over my body.

  “Listen,” Mrs. Peterson said as she came and washed the table under us. “Bountiful has a lovely fair every Fourth. And then, if you want to see one amazing firework display, Sugar House Park does them over a lake.”

  “Yes,” I shouted. That was the closest we could get to what Mantua had to offer.

  The day was very stimulating. It was the first time to my knowledge I had gone to anything as big and chaotic as a fair. It was so packed that in between vendors we kept bumping into people. Despite the mass confusion around us, Mrs. Peterson spoiled me. She bought me cotton candy, a Navajo Taco, a bag of candied almonds, and kettle corn. My stomach hurt by the time we left the fair.

  At the Sugar House Park, the firework display was magnificent. Breathtaking colors burst over the water. Sprays of fire painted the air. Nothing in the world could top such a display of light (well, maybe watching them in a boat with Peggy, but I had to let that go). Reds and greens tangled around each other. Gold and silver displayed their brilliant designs. There was small eruptions of color, and light so bright it burned my eyes. Some of the fireworks were incredibly loud, the explosion burst in my chest, rumbling my small body. While I watched the show, I played a game with the Peterson’s where we tried to guess the color and type of the next firework that was about to go off. It was a blast, helping me feel close to them. We laughed every time we were right. It felt good to have so much fun. Afterwards, when we tried to leave, the traffic was horrific, taking three hours to get back home. I had fallen asleep in the car, awaking to Mr. Peterson carrying me in. I almost told him I was too old for such things, but secretly, I liked it. Instead, I pretended to sleep through it. He took me to my bed and tucked me in, serenity and peace overcame me. I felt safe.

  The next morning, Mrs. Peterson came in. She was dressed up in her church clothes. Great, these people went to church too!

  “We go to church every Sunday at 11:00am. We would love you to join us, if you want,” she said.

  Were they really giving me a choice? I didn’t want that to pass. “I don’t want to,” I said, trying not to hurt her feelings. I kept my eyes on my blankets, not wanting to see disappointment wash over her.

  “I understand. Our church believes in free agency.”

  Hmm, why didn’t the Sanibels believe in that? They always made me go with them.

  “I can stay back with you,” she offered.

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t wish that. You two go to church. I will be fine.”

  “Are you sure you are fine to stay home alone?”

  “I am thirteen,” I reminded her. At least I thought I was. It was lots easier declaring it, than saying I didn
’t know my true age.

  “All right then,” she said hesitantly. I figured since she had never been a mother before, she really didn’t know what to do.

  I got up and had breakfast, but the Petersons didn’t. It was another one of those fast Sundays where they don’t eat. I was glad they let me eat. When they left for church, I went back to sleep, because the previous night had been such a late night, and I was still exhausted. I felt as though my head had barely hit the pillow, when I heard them return home. I wondered if they had forgotten something. I looked at the clock in my room. It had been three hours and twenty minutes. How had the time gone by so fast? I didn’t even feel like I had gotten any sleep. Being at church never went by that fast.

  We had a peaceful evening, then at 2am on early Monday (or you could say late Sunday), they dropped me off at the airport. It felt like Sunday night to me. My plane left at 5am. I was glad I had gotten in the extra sleep.

  As we flew over the mountains, I wondered if I had ever been in an airplane before. It was stunning flying above the rest of the world. I watched as the sun rose from the horizon, painting a glorious mixture of pink, oranges, and yellows in the sky. The colors changed quickly, then sadly disappeared. I passed over clouds, and through clouds. I thought heaven probably looked like that, if there was a heaven.