Soaked
1850s-1860s. New York City
Jade found her escape in old, tattered books her mother kept in the attic. Nearly all were misshapen, their bindings worn and bent, and most had covers and pages missing. Often times there was writing in them. Highlights, circling, notes. Sometimes, especially in the more smaller printed books, it made the pages unreadable. Yet still she was able to find solace in their stained, yellowed papers.
There were many books her mother had stashed away, having inherited them from her grandfather, a most well read man who carried his pride in his upright posture and took delight in the revering gazes of those who were not as knowledgeable as he. Her mother, who had never attempted to finish a short story let alone a novel, was set in her ways even from a young age that she was to focus all her efforts into becoming a woman and not waste time on trivial things, like reading, she believed only men needed to know. Men like her successful grandfather who was studied in the medical field and had superlative skill in doctoring. With his wealth, her mother never need worry about financial issues. She would certainly be married off to only the most becoming of suitors. There was no need to twiddle away her time on books and that belief followed her even when she had her daughter. So currently there were piles and piles of books resting in the attic, waiting to be read.
Eventually, her mother was married off to a handsome, tall, wealthy man who stole opium and the occasional morphine from his own practice (for he was a doctor too). Later, it became known he stole to sedate the pain from arthritis. But the fact was only discovered after he had foolishly overdosed. And thus Jade was left fatherless at the mere age of ten (and for some reason her mother seemed to not care that much at all). Luckily, by that time she had been taught how to read by her father and how to write as well. And just as her father, George, was wont to steal away and sit in the attic upon an old dresser, she also learned to do so, compelled by the mysterious way the novels would suck her into their world.
There were now many different books in the attic and when she was younger she had hoped to finish them all. There were mysteries, romances, adventures, medical journals, and even books that touched upon the most strangest of things like tree frogs, for her grandfather was apt to divulge himself into all types of knowledge. Some of her favorite books to read were her father's medical journals as well the adventure types of books. But the most beloved novel was Jane Eyre. It intrigued her, the expedition of an orphan who eventually fell in love only to find out her soon to be husband was already married. Countless times she would tiptoe up to the attic at night (for her mother discouraged her reading, saying she should spend her time bettering herself as a woman) with a candle held tightly in her small, pale hands, and read through the adored book which, from years of use, had smudged letters and dog eared corners. Occasionally she would stay up all through the night, the candle she placed beside her on the floor wasting itself away, the flames licking at the wax it used for fuel. In these situations she would often fall asleep only to be found and scolded by her mother come morn. But she had long since ago braced herself against her mother's needling words and did not adhere to a thing the dreadful woman said. She had vowed that she would continue reading throughout the duration of her life because she loved each and every single book collecting dust in the attic, and even, perhaps, every book in the world.
Except for maybe one. The Scarlet Letter.
At the time she had read it, she had been young, struggling through the particularly difficult words by breaking them down or by using a dictionary. She hadn't understood why a woman would commit such an offense as adultery. The very concept was horrific and she completely agreed with the punishment Hester Prynne received. Why would she sleep with another man when she had a perfectly rich, loving husband (who eventually was driven to insanity) just overseas? It was appalling, the sinful act resonating in her a deep hatred for Hester, as well as for Pearl, since it was ingrained into her very being to hate anyone who made a mistake. Her mother was constantly turning her nose up at the people walking by the streets and when Jade would question why that was so, her mother would take her aside and explain very quietly exactly what was wrong with that person and commonly she would add, "We do not associate ourselves with such scum." Usually that was all her mother would say on the matter and they would continue alongside the street, her mother constantly reminding her to hold her chin up and not to slouch so much or she would develop a hunch and no one would want her.
However, Jade can recall distinctly there was one man that frightened her mother into shoving the pair of them hurriedly into a store. Jade had glowered at her mother for accidentally tripping her in her precipitateness to get away from that man. Upon seeing the look on her daughter's face, Mrs. West grabbed Jade firmly by the upper arm and slapped her. Her aggressiveness had caught Jade off guard, the young girl never before having been hit, let alone in public. Luckily only the storeowner had seen from his place upon his counter (as it was a lazy day and he felt not like patrolling his wares). He merely lifted an eyebrow at the sight, having seen much worse than that in his lifetime.
"Jadelyn that man was sinful," her mother gritted out between clenched teeth, offering no explanation for the abuse Jade had suffered just moments before. Jade didn't even have time to ask why before her mother launched into an explanation. "He's a sodomite," she hissed. Jade stared at her blankly, having only read the word 'sodomy' maybe twice in her many books. With an exasperated sigh, her mother explained further. "He's a bad man that has intercourse with another man." Her mother's eyes were alit with fury, muscles tensing and the corner of her lip slightly twitching. Immediately Jade's eyebrows sloped, her blue eyes hardening and face contorting into an expression of disgust.
"You are to never associate yourself with one of its kind," her mother instructed and Jade gave a curt nod of her head. She was to scorn all outcasts. Anyone that was not normal. According to her mother, they would drag her down to the pits of hell and she would rather not rot in a fiery demise. Even though her and her mother frequently disagreed, she held her mother's opinion of any person derelict in their duty to society. That is to say if they were not "normal" then they deserved to be cast aside by God. There was a reason they were such castaways after all.
As time went on, Jade began keeping a small journal of everyone in the New York City area that was in her portion of town. Every time her mother mentioned a name, she would jot down the person and a description of them ranging from their physical appearance, including garments and adornments, to their habits. Sometimes she wrote down their likes and dislikes as well.
Within weeks she had compiled a list of twenty people, one of the most interesting being Mr. Valentine. Now Mr. Valentine was a somewhat friendly man, however queer, and was currently serving in the army to hopefully settle the dispute between the Union and the Confederacy. It was well known that he needed the money to support his poor family. He had volunteered. While he had been away there had been speculations about his wife, which Mrs. West swore to the highest God in all the Heavens to be true; that she is a good for nothing harlot, relishing in the time her husband is away. Adulterer. A woman to be damned. Because of the rumors snaking their way across the city, the Valentine name has been slandered and anyone who passes by the Miss and her daughter sneer and scurry to the other side of the road. Many people whispered as they walked along, claiming the Valentine daughter to be no better than her mother and that when Mr. Valentine came back from the war he will surely be displeased and continue drinking himself dead.
What a pity considering the only thing Mr. Valentine had was his name.
The Valentine daughter was deemed crazy as well. Even though she was only ten or so, there was something off about her. The way she walked, the way she talked, the way she was just so...her. It was a well known fact that the Valentine daughter hadn't done well in school (the school had since closed down during the Civil War) and was prone to fits in the middle of class. There were many different accounts from many students who saw her ragings. One group of boys testified that she had brought a small needle to school and had proceeded to stab a girl who had just been quietly memorizing her assignment, and then had taken a seat like nothing happened. Another group claimed she had gotten hold of scissors and then paraded them around, a silent threat to anyone who was stupid enough to approach her. The teacher neither confirmed nor denied any of this.
Jade pegged the Valentine family, low on the social hierarchy as it is, as a must avoid at all costs. The only family lower than they were the Shapiros. The Shapiros were dirty, grubby excuses for humans. Mr. Shapiro was well known for his frequenting of the taverns to scam soaked townspeople of their money. He was detestable and anyone who ever met him, unless under the influence of alcohol, steered clear. With sharp, almost disproportionate features, Mr. Shapiro made for a greasy, ugly human being. A stain on the town's otherwise respectable reputation, Jade liked to think. His son was no better. Robert Shapiro was what he was called. Wont to carrying around a self made puppet of sorts named Rex, he made for the laughing stock of the city. Yes, if there was one family more strange than the Valentines, it was the Shapiros.
The rest of the families in her journal paled in comparison to the oddity that were the Valentines and the Shapiros. Nothing else filled her journal besides her mother's endless ramblings of the people in the town and as time went on, Jade eventually stopped keeping her journal, finding it a waste of time and an outdated source of gossip.
As Jade grew she continued studying the medical journals strewn haphazardly in her father's study room (since her mother had not bothered to put away any of Mr. West's belongings). The more she read, the more interested she became in the field. It wasn't so much the ability to help ailing people that attracted her to the profession; rather, it was the gore and the distress of the patients that interested her. She couldn't place why, but something about seeing other people withering before her as she stood mighty and powerful before them gave her an adrenaline rush. In a way, she was almost playing God. Almost being the operative word. If she was to break into the medical field, she would surely become just another petty nurse. Considering the alternatives, however, nursing was far better than any other job. Her mother also intermittently mentioned that when Mr. West passed away, he had left his practice to a close family friend and should Jade ever want to be a nurse, there was a job awaiting her.
Jade couldn't recall her mother ever having company over (let alone having a close family friend) and doubted the apocryphal story. Still it was once her father's practice and they still had ties to it even with Mr. West long gone. So, spurred by the assurance in her mother's voice, Jade chose to enroll in the New York Medical College once she was grown, owned by the prestigious Dr. Clemence Sophia Lozier, for two years. Although becoming an actual doctor appealed most to Jade, she realized the unlikelihood of achieving such a goal without any previous practice and set her sights upon a nurse. Perhaps one day she would be in the position to become a surgeon.
Her mother was a strong advocate for the career choice her daughter had made. Over the years, her opinions of women's duties evolved and she understood more so the importance of an education. She had heard many of her friends chatter on about how nice it was to have women finally working, and as she grew older, she became wiser, accepting that times had changed for women. While her involvement in her daughter's life was minimal, she did care for the future, if only to uphold the West name. Any attempts Jade made to steer away from the medical path were quickly met with scorn and derision. So it was quickly revealed to the youngest West that her mother cared not for her, but for what she would become; however, it was not surprising. A few years before her father had died, Mrs. West withdrew herself from her daughter's life, becoming just a cold, rigid, authority force, instead of a tender, caring mother. The reason for her mother's sudden change always alluded Jade. Mrs. West was ruthless to her daughter, always adding quips of how Jade should hold herself straightly or no one would want to be around her. How Jade should smile more because she was so gloomy. How Jade was just so drab and should change her whole personality. Of course it was expected Jade respond with the most acute attentiveness and devotion to her mother's whims. She was to act accordingly because she loved her mother, and not just because Mrs. West was a parental figure or Jade would be swiftly admonished with, "Why don't you love me Jadelyn? I've only ever done right by you."
Through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes, Jade would always answer the same. "I do love you." The cause for saying such was only because her mother held the threat over her head that she would remove all the books lingering around in the house should Jade not listen and respect her. That did not mean Jade did not lash out, though. No, Jade found ways to escape her mother's smothering hold upon her and more often than not she snuck out at night, even if it was to do nothing but stroll along the sidewalk. Life wasn't just supposed to be about studies and she refused to believe that her mother could scare her into living the life of a studious, dedicated nurse without any fun whatsoever. She wasn't her mother's puppet and wouldn't bend to every whine and whimper of the awful woman.
It was no stretch to say that Mrs. West did not have the best relationship with her daughter and was showing no effort to make amends. Because what's done is done and all damage our relationship suffered is undoable, Mrs. West thought. It was clear Jade thought the same from the frequent eye rolls and, on the occasion, the tremors that shook her body when they were arguing. The shaking was not to be mistaken as a sign of weakness though. Not with the fire roaring in her eyes and with hate wrapping its cold hands around her being. When Jade lost her temper, she really lost it.
There was no mysteries surrounding Jade's evident feelings for her mother. Any mother-daughter bond was up the spout, so to speak.
So with anger and resentment, Jade went about her days, finishing up school, reading, and sneaking out at night, her mother's wary, untrusting eye upon her during the day.
1850s-1860s. Outskirts of New York City
Summer days were what she lived for. When she could run and skip and hop all around town in the harsh rays of the sun without a care in the world. No schoolwork to be done and nothing but hazy days at the nearby pond to be had. She felt free then, no walls blockading her from doing what she wanted. No one to tell her she was a freak. It was just herself and most times under the shade of a strong oak tree, trunk weathered from the wind's merciless whips of air and rain's endless pounding. Occasionally her family would play with her, as well as an insistent boy who would not leave her alone. Robert was his name. He liked to be called Robbie though.
But besides Robbie's puppy dogging, summers were the best. Unfortunately, summer only came round once every year. That meant all the other seasons she was in school, surrounded by the judgmental glares of her classmates and the drab, droning sound of her teacher's voice who ignored all the teasing and bullying she suffered on a day to day basis.
The kids in school weren't nice. Most of them. Perhaps though, she brought their distaste upon herself. She occasionally had outbursts, though usually nothing too out of control. She had an ever roaming attention span and usually found it hard to complete the schoolwork the others did. She liked to categorize herself as special, but they labeled her with more...cutting words. She didn't let it get to her though. Not much. Besides, most of what the children chatted about was just a bunch of scuttlebutt. She had more pressing matters to worry about anyway, like containing herself and preventing an explosion of emotion from taking her by surprise. Sometimes, despite her effervescent personality, she became angry. Really angry. Then she would do something she would regret. Like stab Penny Mallsworth with a needle.
She was punished for that. When she was picked up after being spanked for causing a ruckus and being irresponsible, her parents were mad at her. They screamed at her; her father till he was blue in the face, veins of all different colors popping in his forehead and his arms, and even her mother for a few minutes. Then when everything finally settled down and her mother went off to ease her headache, her father grabbed his coat off the hanger angrily and stormed out. It was nearing ten o'clock by the time he came back and when he did and he saw her, sitting on the floor playing with a cheap toy doll Robbie had made her, his face drained of color. Green eyes met brown and her father quickly strode over to her and grabbed the collar of her nightgown, twisting it between his dirtied knuckles.
"You know what I was asked today Caterina?" he whispered harshly, eyes bulging out of his head. Spit was dripping down his chin and the overwhelming stench of alcohol slapped her in the face. When Cat merely wrinkled her nose, he shook her hard and lifted her in the air by her garments. "Huh!" And this time she shook her head quickly that no, no she did not know what was asked of the man. The answer only seemed to rile him up and he held her closer to his face.
Voice still in a whisper he said, "God damn you to hell Caterina. A man, my friend, a very rich fellow, done asked me why my daughter gone and stabbed someone! Said he lost some respect for my family..." and her father broke off mumbling and muttering things under his breath. Things like 'dick' and 'bastard.'
"Sorry," Cat squeaked out and her father's eyes snapped to her, widening slightly more if possible, like he suddenly remembered she was still here, hands clasped onto his iron grip. She was dangling in the air like a rag doll and he speculated on how easy it would be to just throw her into the wall. But no, he's not an abusive father so he just stared at her, fury radiating off his figure in waves and Cat could have sworn she began to sweat from his heat.
A few seconds passed and Cat, timorous body racked with shudders, began to pull gently at his hands, requesting permission to be put down. With almost no warning her father backhanded her and then dropped her to the floor. She gathered herself in a ball and watched as he stormed away, footsteps echoing loudly against the worn wood floor. She could recall some fathers slapping their children- knew Robbie had gotten hit numerous times- but it was to discipline them when they had done something wrong and always out of concern for their children's welfare. Her father's slap had seemed different to her though. Filled with venomous feelings and vile intentions, he had hit her without a second thought.
Cat cradled her wounded face with her hands, knowing from the various injuries she had received while running around outside that this would bruise and leave a nice purple mark in its stead. As she sat, tears began to pour from her eyes, the saltiness dripping onto her lips and splashing to the floor. She didn't make much sound, but just cried because it hurt and he hurt her. He did.
Within moments her mother had rushed to her side, her father long out of sight. "Caterina...Caterina I..." she mumbled almost incoherently, tears beginning to fill her eyes. Cat didn't understand why she was crying, but accepted the company nonetheless. Her mother grabbed Cat into a hug and stroked her curly brown hair, fingers trembling and catching in the knots of the young girl's hair.
"I'm sor...I'm sorr...He doesn't mean it Caterina. H-he just had a hard life. Nothing's been working out for him lately. Please understand, his name is all he has left...Don't ruin it for him...and then he won't ever do that again," her mother pleaded as Cat cried softly, hands tangled in her mother's own nightgown. She didn't understand why what she did had caused such a problem, but it did, and there's an intangible feeling of guilt wrapped in the bottom of her stomach.
"Please promise me you won't do something so foolish again," her mother admonished and Cat nodded her head fiercely.
"I won't do it again Ma." At her statement her mother let out a long sigh and the pair stayed there like that until Cat fell asleep on her mother's shoulder. Her mother picked her up and carried her to her bed before tucking her in and casting a small, apprehensive look behind her to the man leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, expression filled with hatred. Mrs. Valentine let out a shaky breath, wondering what exactly it is that had her husband driven off the edge once more. He swore once their son had died he would never lose control of himself again.
After that episode Cat had attempted to monitor herself and stop herself from losing her focus in class, but her father made it increasingly harder. Whereas before he was mostly smiles and laughter, now he was spiteful and bitter. No one told her why he became so. His actions were just to be accepted, the every now and then slap to be expected. He was constantly in a foul mood which in turn served to worsen Cat despite her desperate endeavors to keep herself sane. Depressed, she found it hard to be herself. Most of the time she would keep to herself, sitting in the corner of school and playing with a stick or something she had picked up on the way to class that morn; however, when her father was at his worst, she would become her worst as well.
More and more she started to become violent. Throwing things about when she was annoyed and screaming at others. And when she finally calmed down, she would have to deal with the repercussions of her actions which would once again drive her into a fit of madness. Rare moments was she the happy girl her family had known her to be. The girl that would twirl around in her dress all day, content to just be outdoors and watching the world fly by. The girl that would erupt into giggles and laughter for no apparent reason other than for the random thoughts circulating in her head. Thoughts that made her crazy.
These thoughts she had...when she voiced them, no one liked them. They would look at her strangely and wonder how in the hell she became so screwed up. They would call her stupid for merely observing the world around her. She for one, never thought herself stupid. She knew she had a different outlook on the world than most other people. And because these thoughts were abnormal, she was shunned.
"One time I was eating a huge picnic and then I went swimming, but then I accidentally swallowed some water and before I knew it I started choking, and then I started drowning...but I don't think it had anything to do with the picnic," was just one of the thoughts she was instructed by her father never to tell others because it was strange.
When her brother was around, he never used to think her odd. In fact, amusement would always glitter in his eyes when she said such a statement and then he would add in some of his thoughts. He would always agree with her and found everything she said to contain some form of intelligence. Her father would always demand that Franklin not encourage her behavior. Franklin, or Frankie as she donned him, would always swear to never do it again but then turn around and give her a quick wink, letting her know that he would not listen to Mr. Valentine's outlandish demands.
She missed her brother dearly. He passed away when she was eight. It was a tragic accident. Frankie had been out with her father on Mr. Valentine's insistence. When she had begged to go with them, her father had told her that it was high time for him and his son to have some bonding time and that she couldn't join. Encouraged by the affection his father was showing him for once, Frankie was quick to agree and said, "Yeah, no girls allowed." So she sulked back to the house, throwing glances every once in a while over her shoulder only to see the pair disappearing behind the numerous houses.
Somehow, eventually, the pair had ended up in the woods. They spent most of the day there, playing any game that Frankie suggested. The hours passed quickly and, in her father's words, "the sky got darker in the most ominous of ways." Clouds began rolling in and a storm blew in, lightning and thunder cracking across the sky. They scrambled to get out of the woods and once the road was in sight, lightning struck the nearest tree to Frankie and fell, its flaming branches trapping the young boy beneath its weight. Her father had then rushed back, sloshing in his watery boots and panting.
When a band of people were set out the next day, they could not find the fallen, burnt tree. He said he didn't remember the exact location they were in given the dangerous circumstances. Sometimes she wonders if she had followed them, would she have been somehow able to save Frankie? She knows thinking such things can be so torturous, but she can't stop. Often times it can get to much to bare knowing she wouldn't ever hear her brother's voice again. The voice that would dispel the bullies, the voice that would make her laugh for hours on end, the voice that would lift her up when she fell down.
It seemed to have a huge impact upon her parents as well. Cheerfulness was quick to disappear in the household, not that there had been that much to start with. Her mother became weaker, malnourished, and face taunt and riddled with wrinkles. Her father was a different man entirely. She couldn't recognize him. Before there had always been some sort of love, some sort of affection, some show of humanity for her, but now there was just cold nothingness. She might as well have killed Frankie herself given his attitude towards her.
Luckily for her, her father volunteered for the Civil War in 1861 on account of not having enough money to "provide for his family." Cat, however oblivious, knew it was to get away from whatever was haunting the man here. To run from something. She had no guesses as to what that something was, although from the looks of it, her mother understood what was happening.
Unfortunately, her luck seemed to run out a year or so later when her mother received a letter from Mr. Valentine explaining that his troop was supposed to carry out a plan that he could not describe in detail lest the mail was intercepted. He stated that he was incredibly fearful for his life and if he did not make it home to know that he had tried his best. This served to drive the already hysterical woman over the edge and she began to do things no respectable woman would ever dream of. She would come home at odd times, would always be weary, and just seemed completely run down.
Out of her two parents, Cat had always loved her mother the best and seeing the lady so dead inside scared her. Sometimes she would try to cheer her mother up by making the woman's favorite snack or lighting a nice fire from the firewood (twigs) she had gathered from outside or even just a hug. The embraces were always returned with less excitement than they were given until one day, they just weren't returned at all.
Her mother was frail and joyless. Standing upright for only a few hours would exhaust the woman, let alone walking around town, enduring the criticizing stares of the public. The big bags under her eyes became heavier, her bones more apparent, and every move she made was laced with some underlying pain. Cat did her best to help her mother when the lady soon became prone to spending most days lying in her bed, coughing and hacking. Tea would be made every few hours and for meals she cooked eggs she received from the Shapiro boy who had taken to following her around the kitchen when she was trying to prepare something nice for her mother.
"Why do you always make eggs?" was the usual question Robert inquired. In response she would always exclaim, "What's that supposed to mean!" And immediately Robert would cover his face, shying away from her like she was going to physically abuse him. She never did, as she was not violent towards her friends.
But as annoying as he was, she had him to thank for teaching her different recipes so that her mother didn't have the same thing for each meal. Unfortunately, no matter how good the food may be, a change of meal could not bring back her mother's health. Soon her mother confined herself to bed even though she did not seem to be sick. Instead, she appeared fatigued. Since she could not afford a doctor nor know where to find one, Cat stuck to her gut (as well as Mr. Shapiro's vague analysis) and prayed her mother would get the rest she needed from a few days off and then, hopefully, be healed.
It didn't help that they received no word from her father.
A few days quickly turned to a few months and her mother's condition did not change. Growing increasingly restless and nervous, Cat hardly left her mother's side. There was something amiss in her mother and it was not just her health even though she had now developed a small fever and was spitting up blood from the violent seizures of her god awful cough. It was when she was cleaning up yet another pool of blood from the floor that her father came home after one or two years of serving in the war.
It was just a rapping noise at first and she had smiled to herself, assuming that Robbie must be here and perhaps she could make him clean up this mess, but when the door flung open and slammed against the side of the wall, she knew it could not possibly be the young boy. She froze in her work, steadily listening as the thumps of footsteps grew louder, an angry mumbling accompanying it. Should she hide? Should she run? Should she lock the door? As she rose slowly to her feet, she heard the invader growl, "A man shouldn't have to knock on his own damn door and where's his wife ta' greet him when's he back from the damn war?"
Cat launched herself out of the room, sprinting towards her father, a broad smile lacing her face. "Daddy!" Because while he had certainly petrified her on more than one occasion, they were still related and he was still her parent. When she came closer to the man, she slowed down, her sprint becoming more of a jog before becoming a muddled walk where she could not decide to stop or hastily make her way to her father. The reason being the cane grasped firmly by his grimy fingers and the conspicuous gap where half his leg should be.
"Don't look at me like that," were the first words to leave his mouth.
"I-I'm sorry," she whimpered, halting a few feet away from Mr. Valentine, averting her eyes.
"Why are you so far away? Come over here," he crossly added and she obeyed, albeit hesitantly. He grabbed her into a fierce hug with his free hand. A hug that was more contact than love, like he was making sure he was really home and not still in the war. Nothing about the gesture suggested affection of any kind and Cat was soon trembling as he pulled away, tears forming her in eyes. She choked them down, and stared up at her father, the previously happy situation now turning more frightful as time passed, and she began to see him as a dirty stranger, for besides the forlorn misshapen figure, he was covered in muck. There was a bloody smell emitting from him, something metallic mixed with the stench of grease, sweat, and smoke. His hair was tangled with mud, and she could now plainly see the scars and bruises marring the hand that clutched his cane. His clothes were tattered, simply put, and boots worn down, holes near the front of it. It was clear he had not bothered to cleanse himself before making the trip home. Perhaps something had happened to him and he had not returned with the troop.
"You've grown," he stated, snapping her from her thoughts. It was not a compliment, nor was it an insult. Just an observation. What's he playing at...she wondered to herself, her eyes flicking over him endlessly, taking in time and time again the wounds from the battle. "Have you been keeping the house well?"
She nodded her head tersely, suddenly taking to playing with her fingers, yet even as she did so to escape his gaze, she could still feel his eyes on her, searching her. For what she did not know.
"Where is your mother?" She knew this question was bound to come up and had been planning for a few weeks how to tell her father, had he come home, that her mother was bed ridden, some ailment eating at her.
"She's ill father," Cat explained, briefly looking up to catch how his form contracted and tensed. She had clammed up, forgetting all former plans.
She swallowed.
"Well go on! What's ailing her?"
"I...I don't know. She has a slight fever and she keeps coughing up blood...I don't know," she admitted weakly as her father's harsh gaze raked over the house before storming towards her mother's bedroom. "S-She's sleeping." Her words fell on deaf ears as her father, judging from the loud bangs emitting from the room, had fallen to the floor near her mother. She sighed to herself as she went over the bedroom door, watching fearfully as her father talked thunderingly to her mother and ran about the house, pushing her out of the way when he went to grab something from the kitchen.
Taking her cue, she left for her bedroom and crawled under her bed, listening to her father's howling for an hour or so more before it died down and she fell asleep.
Later she had learned her mother had contracted tuberculosis. Her father was furious with her for not taking better care of her mother.
She could only imagine what he would be like once he heard the rumors around town.
Author's Note: Big huge thank you to the lovely ScienceIsAwesome for beta-ing this mess! You're awesome! Check him out :) Any who, hope you guys enjoyed! I would really appreciate it if you tell me what you thought in the comments! If all goes well I aim for this to be a pretty decent length! Thank you taking the time to read!