I kinda forgot a disclaimer last time so here goes:
Disclaimer: While I claim Taren and the rest of St. Jo's, I have no claim to anyone from Mrs. Rowling's world. If you recognize it, it ain't mine.
Taren
by A Solitary Burch Tree
Chapter Dos: Of Kazakhstan and lightbulbs
Taren was sitting in the cafeteria, slowing playing with her oatmeal and wishing they served coffee in orphanages, when one of the lesser nuns came for her.
She tried to feign innocence as she was guided into Sister Kathryn's office, but she knew why she was there. And apparently every other kid in the place did as well, telling from the stares and muttering Taren received as she left the others to their meals.
The fresh bandage covering her left cheek might have given it away as well.
The sister's office was simple, like the rest of the nunnery, and doubled as her sleeping quarters. There was a small cot on the floor in one corner and a simple wooden cross on the wall above it. A small window over the foot of the bed shed some natural light on the bare room. Centered in front of the door was Sister Kathryn's desk. Like the chair in which she sat, her desk was unornamented wood, with only a lamp and a neat stack of papers sitting on it.
Call it women's intuition, but when Taren woke up with her pillow speckled with blood, she knew it would be for the last time in these halls. So she allowed Sam to clean up her face and bandage her cheek, and quietly dressed in her usual attire, as if nothing was different. She made her bed to perfection like every morning, and made her way to the cafeteria, not passing up the chance to jar Tatiana's arm as she applied lipstick for the fourth time that morning.
Once in the cafeteria she got her normal bowl of oatmeal and sat down to play with it until she was able to stop by the quick mart for her three cups of coffee and jelly donut on the way to school. Only this morning, she would not be getting breakfast.
Sister Kathryn smiled warmly up at Taren from the papers she had been reading. Her eyes were a deep brown and lined with light wrinkles. Her hair color was unknown and so was her age because of it. In her habit, she could have been any where between thirty and sixty-five.
"Hello Taren," her voice was smooth and held a touch of sadness. "Please, sit down." She motioned to one of the chairs against the wall. "Bring it over here."
Taren mechanically carried it to the desk and sat, nervous. "Is there something you needed Sister?" she asked with a small smile, trying to remain nonchalant.
The Sister looked the young woman in front of her in the eye and heaved a sigh. "You know why you're here Taren."
Taren dropped her gaze to her lap, wringing her hands. A sad silence filled the room. Taren gave a nearly imperceptible nod. "I know." Her voice was barely audible as she looked up. "I'm sorry, Sister. I don't mean for this to happen. I tried – you don't know how hard I tried. I just can't control them. I'm - I'm sorry."
"I know, my child." Sister Kathrin said back, reaching across the desk. "I know you tried, but it's just not enough anymore. The Church has to look out for the best interests of everyone as a whole. We wish there was another way – "
"Not the State." Taren said, louder that intended. She was slightly cowed by her outburst, but looked straight into Sister Kathryn's eyes none the less.
The sister gave a gentle smile and chuckled slightly. "No, we know how you feel about the State." Her smile melted. "But I fear you won't much like your other options either."
She shifted her papers nervously. "I'm not sure if you knew that St Josephine's isn't a single nunnery?"
Taren shook her head.
"It's an international church. There are six Churches of St. Josephine the Merciful in the world. One here, in Seattle, obviously; there's another in Kansas – "
"You're sending me to Kansas." Taren starred, open mouthed at the older woman, slightly horrified at the notion.
Sister Kathrin smiled. "No, we are not sending you to Kansas." Taren heaved a sigh, a hand at her heart. "They don't have any spaces available anyway. We also have churches set up in Kazakhstan, Thailand, Sudan-"
"As in Africa?"
"Yes."
"As in the third world country?"
"Yes."
"Aren't they in the middle of a war right now?"
"Yes."
"I don't want to get shot, thanks all the same."
"Taren, your tongue did not help in your argument for staying."
She looked sheepish down at her hands and muttered an apology.
"Now, St. Josephine's in Thailand has the best accommodations, but unfortunately they also have no space available and the language barrier would cause a problem."
Taren looked up, her personality getting the better of her. "Well, the same thing would happen in the other places. Sudan…Kaiserstein or whatever it's called. Hell, I'm not sure I could understand them in Kansas."
"Taren" Sister Kathryn said sharply, but shook her head wearily all the same. "You're not helping your predicament. That sarcasm of yours has put half the sisters into tears over the last five years."
Taren humbly hung her head, but felt a little pride in her accomplishment. Only half?
Sister Kathryn shuffled her papers nervously, as if stalling. "There is one more church with openings and we have decided to send you there. Now it is just as far away, the accommodations are not what we would have hoped for and the language may cause some trouble but…we think sending you to – well, we think sending you to London is the best option."
"What?" A slight ringing noise had filled her ears.
Kathryn spoke gently. "Taren, we are going to send you to London."
"London?" Taren whispered, fully aware now and trying to grasp the idea. "As is England, London? As in 'Land of tea, accents and bad food' London?" A hint of hysteria was sneaking into her voice. It was easy to make jokes about places she wouldn't be going, but to know her destination was already planned was slightly terrifying.
Sister Kathrin cradled her head in her hand and closed her eyes. "Yes Taren," she said exasperatedly for the millionth time since the girl had arrived at her doorstep five years ago. "But I don't think they would appreciate being called that." She thought Taren was simply overreacting. That she was just being as melodramatic as ever.
Taren wasn't listening. She stared at the desk in front of her in wonderment. England. She was moving to England. She, a girl who had rarely even visited the next town over was going to live on an entirely different continent. A place where she had no family and no friends.
"Taren." Sister Kathryn asked gently. Taren didn't seem to notice. "Taren?" Still no reaction. Okay, so maybe it was an act. "Taren! Honey, look at me."
She was pulled out her stupor and looked into the nun's steady eyes. "Your plane leaves tomorrow."
Taren nodded blankly, but continued starring at the desk, mouth hanging slightly open. She wouldn't even have time to process all of this. "What about my paperwork? Won't that take a while to fill out?" She was reaching for anything to delay her departure.
Sister Kathryn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "It's already been completed. There wasn't much to do anyway." She paused, unsure if she should say anything more.
Taren wasn't dropping it that easily. "But I would have to change citizenship…"
"No, no, you - you don't." Sister Kathryn spoke quickly, as if it pained her to say it. "It would seem that…well, it seems you are already a citizen, so…we don't have to do any paperwork for that."
That caught Taren's attention. "What? How could I be a citizen already?" She was becoming increasingly confused. "That's impossible; I've never even been there."
"Well, actually…you have." Kathryn paused, trying to find a way to put it gently. Finally, she simply pulled out a sheet from her paper pile. "According to this…you were born there."
Sister Kathryn slid a worn slip of paper towards Taren. 'OFFICIAL CERTIFICATION OF BIRTH OF THE BRITISH ISLES' was written across the top in ornate and official letters.
Taren saw her own name neatly printed underneath.
As her eyes wandered around the page, she saw many things she already knew, her name and date of birth among them. But her eyes got caught on two other names. Two names that she had yearned to know all her life and now stared up at her as if they were nothing important.
MOTHER: Lily AlexandraPotter
FATHER: James Edmund Potter
She starred long and hard at those names, trying to feel something, anything. Any sort of kinship to those two people or any face she could place with them. But they were just names, just letters on a piece of paper. They had no meaning to her. No memories were rekindled. Her mind was still stuck on the fact that she was British.
Taren swallowed, trying hard to keep her emotions at bay. "How did I not know this?" she said hoarsely, but speaking broke the dam, and she began to feel angry and ashamed that her parents still meant nothing to her. Her voice grew. "Why did no one tell me I wasn't American?"
Kathryn tried to calm the girls rising anger. "Maybe you are an American citizen. There are still a lot of things that we don't know. The child is usually left out of the foster care bureaucracy for their mental wellbeing, and you were too young to legally make your own decisions. The church didn't even know you were a British citizen until we started searching for a place you could go."
Taren's eyes became icy and her anger continued to mount. Sister Kathryn's words didn't seem to be helping and she was starting to panic. "Taren, none of this is your fault. There is nothing we can do about it." Kathryn could feel tension rising in the room. She watched as the bulb of her lamp began to rattle. "If you like, you can look through your records – "
The bulb shattered, sending shards of glass flying. The lamp shade kept the explosion directed at the desk, but Sister Kathryn didn't move fast enough. Her hand was now peppered with bits of glass. The only light source now was the single window at the foot of her bed and it cast Taren in shadows. She hadn't even flinched, her eyes still glued to her birth certificate. She was unharmed.
Taren was the first to break the tense silence. "I should probably pack." Her voice was flat and lifeless.
Sister Kathryn gave a shaky sigh and nodded her head. Taren was such a sweet girl, but there was something inside of her that was just plain scary. "Yes, you probably should. I-I'll call the school and tell them you won't be coming back." She tried to taking on an authoritative tone, but the girl wouldn't have noticed anyway.
She was already putting the chair back against the wall and leaving.
As Taren walked out, Sister Jane walked in. "What's wrong with her?"
Sister Kathryn quickly explained the situation.
Jane raised an eye brow in pity and worry for the girl. "Hard life that one's had, and it's only gonna get worse."
Kathryn fiddled with a small piece of glass. "Yes, it will. I worry…"
Jane raised another eyes brow. "About what? Taren? Her life may be hard, but with a temper like that, she can take care of herself."
"Hum?" Sister Kathryn looked perplexed for a second then realized what she was saying. "Oh! I was talking everyone else she'll meet. They're the ones that will have to go up against it."
Sister Jane only laughed. "I'll go find another light bulb and something to clean up your hand."
"Yes, please do."
Sister Kathryn sat in the dark, deep in though.
What would become of the girl? Whatever allowed her to do the things she did was very powerful. It she could control it, it would definitely come in handy, but if it took control of her… She hoped it never came to that. But if it did…
Sister Jane came back in before she could think about it.
End Chapter Dos : )
A few things I'd just like to add: In case you didn't notice, I COMPLETELY made up the middle names and the birth certificate. They are completely random and are there simply because they flowed. And I have nothing against Kansas or Sudan. I'm sure they are wonderful places. And Kazakstan is a real place. I looked it up in an atlas and everything.
I leave to spend a week in Alaska with minimal to no computer access in a few days and then start working at a two-week camp the day I come home. I will be spending my days dancing, singing, and stage fighting with special needs kids. Sound fun? It actually is. I live for this camp. My entire summer revolves around it. It's wonderous, glorious, beautious and anything else ending in -ous. But it's also incredibly exausting so I'm not sure how much writing I will be doing.
Also my computer has been throwing minor tantrums and being stupid lately, so that will be interesting.
WhYiStHeRuMgOnE: I am honored by your approval. It was a very uplifting first review. As for the eye color, I've got a friend who's eyes are honest to god the color of a huge, fat, menacingstorm cloud that roles in unannounced and soaks youasyou run toyour car. Though I will admit that they are sort of abluey-grey. But so are storm clouds if you look closely.