Chapter 2: Mary-Alice's POV
We ended up drawing on the walls until all the light had shifted from view. Cynthia had had a great time, smiling like anything for the first time in months. It made me happy for me to see her happy. My vision still disturbed me though. What was happening, why was Cynthia crying? My vision wouldn't show me anything else though so I was left wondering. I glanced at the wall. My side looked like a steam engine had hit it, with badly drawn figure people, while Cynthia's side showed good talent, especially for a seven year old. She would be talented later on. A thought brought me back to when we had left the room. Why were we taken out of the room? We had always been taught to be obedient, so we didn't object when she told us what to do, which wasn't very often. I wondered what they had talked about though. It felt like I had been sitting here for a millennium. Mother barely talked anymore. She had said it was tiring. So what had she talked about so vigorously with the stranger? I decided to listen in through the open doorway, as horrible as it sounded.
"Okay, how does tomorrow sound?" I could hear the man speak, he had a tone of voice that held authority, and it sounded like she didn't have much of a choice about what would happen tomorrow.
"Tomorrow… is okay," I heard her soft lilting voice murmur. She sounded like she was crying. What was happening to make Mother upset? Was this the same thing that would make Cynthia upset?
"It will be picked up by five," the man's voice snarled. Mother was quietly sobbing, each sharp intake of breath a dull thud of pain in my chest. Who was this man to make my mother upset, when she was already exhausted.
"I'm sorry, it's just hard, watching her go," I heard her whisper. Who was going?
"It is for the best. You will get some good money from this. Now, if you must excuse me, it's getting dark, I must get home." Chairs scraped backwards, as I turned back around, and I found Cynthia's sky blue eyes fixed on my face.
"What did they say?" she whispered in her childish angel voice, a look of innocent curiosity settling on her features.
"I haven't a clue," I told her, placating her, as she turned back to the brick wall, satisfied. The wall had gotten cold, and it was dark now the sun had gone from view. I technically wasn't telling untruths, I just wasn't telling the whole truth.
"Come on Cynthia, let's go back out." I stood up and helped her scramble upwards, clutching my hand. We walked back to the dining area, the second room in the house.
I heard footsteps approaching from the front area, and I turned to see mother walk through. She looked different to what she did an hour before hand. Even though her face was clear, her face shone with dried tears and her eyes were puffy. Her eyes held a fraction of sparkle, instead of the dull, colorless dread they usually held.
"My girls, Mr. Bentham has offered me money! He said he sympathizes for our situation so he has given us money so gratefully!" Her face clouded over, a small shadow crossing, as the sun slowly sank, ruby red from the sky.
"Does this mean we can eat stuff other than 'tato?" She hoped, excitement showing clearly on her face, making her look healthier.
"Yes my dear, we can. We can get vegetables, and we can be filled up by night!" Night time was the only time we got meals; we couldn't afford to do otherwise.
"Yay!" Her eyes shone, and she had a smile on her face. "No more 'tato!"
"Not quite," Mother whispered, but I think only I heard. Cynthia was still looking at Mother in absolute rapture to hear.
"Now let's have some tea," Mother announced, and Cynthia got up and ran quickly to the table. I walked with mother, and stayed with her as she cut the potato up into small pieces for us.
"Why is that man giving us money?" I asked. Most men wouldn't give money to a woman normally, without some sort of bargaining.
"Nothing, he just gave us some, which is considerate. He feels sorry for us." I looked into her eyes, and they tried hard to look innocent, pleading to me that she was being truthful. I tried making my face look like a smooth mask, and look like I hadn't been listening in to a private conversation, where I knew she had been lying.
"Okay then." I muttered softly. Mother's face immediately relaxed, and she looked almost happy I willingly believed her. She gave me six small slices of potato, and told me to go and make a fire, to roast them on. I went outside, and started getting some wood and stones to start the fire. After I had a fire started, Cynthia, Mother and I roasted them, making a vast improvement on their taste.
"Can we have this tomorrow?" Cynthia causally asked. Mother tensed, and I looked at her curiously. She looked Cynthia straight in the face, and I heard her mutter, "We'll see."
After tea, we went to the small bedroom, where we lay down on the floor, and lay, waiting for sleep to take us.
"Can you tell us a story?"
"What type of story?" Mother asked, and I turned my head from facing the wall, and I looked to where Mother was talking to Cynthia. Upon feeling the blanket move, she turned her head and saw me looking.
"Any story." I heard her mutter. She would be asleep soon; she was fighting against yawing already. I turned away, facing the wall, listening for the words of fantasy coming from my Mothers lips.
"Well, okay. Once, there was a girl, a girl who was poor, and didn't have a good life. Her parents had gone to Paradise, leaving the girl with no money, and she forced to live with mean relatives. They forced her to do work, and she lived an unhappy life. She was okay with doing the work though, each time she was scolded, she took it up, because she thought she should deserve to be punished, for being born different, and she was protecting someone else by doing this work. Her younger sister, only a little girl, would have been made to do all the work, but the older girl ran ahead, and did the work for her, to protect her sister from the evils of being born different." She continued on with her story, but I wasn't listening, because I was thinking.
Cynthia had fallen asleep a long while ago, and usually when she fell asleep after a story, Mother stopped, because it made her head hurt to think of new stories. She had continued this time though, why?
I turned around and was faced with a pair of light grey eyes, identical to my own.
"I love you my little Mary-Alice."
"I love you too Mum. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," was the soft, whispered reply I heard. My mind racing but my eyes drooping, I turned back to staring at the wall, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
