A/N: Sorry for the long delay! (If anyone is reading.) I love reviews if you have the time to leave one and let me know how I'm doing.
Also, I just went ahead and decided that one of the seven languages Ellen knows is Haitian Creole.
Hinche, Haiti
Martine could hear the girl before she saw her. The noises were coming through the open windows in the yellow cement house. It was a shaky kind of crying, deep breaths and muttering, a panic building into a storm. Martine pulled a sheet from her basket of laundry, held by its end and shook it out – it flipped through the hot, humid air with a snap. She gathered the corners and began to fold it. The crying continued.
"Vini non isit, la pitit," Martine called. "Come here, child."
There was silence for a moment as the breathing and gasping abruptly stopped – the girl hadn't realized anyone could hear her hysterics. No movement. Martine wondered, just for a second, if the girl would run or disobey her. But the next moment she had stepped from the house and into the courtyard.
"Oui, Martine?" Ellen was looking at the ground, not at the housekeeper's face. She had stopped the panicked breathing and was still now. That was something that always surprised Martine about the 11 year old – she had a substantial amount of self-control.
"Come here," Martine said in Creole. Ellen moved forward slowly. When she was close, Martine reached out and grabbed the girl's chin – Ellen flinched – and pulled her face upward. Her face was tear-streaked and pale. Martine was greeted by the girl's clear gray eyes – opened wide in a panicky agitation. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not," Ellen said lamely, and Martine glared. It was true that the girl wasn't currently crying. Martine decided to rephrase.
"Why were you crying?" Martine asked.
"No reason," Ellen whispered, trying to look back at the ground, but Martine clutched the girl's chin harder. Ellen never even hesitated with the second language, and she even lied easily with it. She had picked up Haitian Creole – mostly with Martine's help – quickly. She was smart. Smart enough to know not to lie to her housekeeper, Martine thought, and raised an eyebrow at Ellen's response.
"Child." It was an order, and Ellen always obeyed orders, Martine knew. Ellen was quiet a moment more, then looked away.
"I… I'll show you," she whispered. Martine released her hold on the girl, and Ellen turned and walked back inside. Martine made to follow, but picked up her laundry basket first – if Mister Paige were to come upon them, it would be better, for both Martine and Ellen, if Martine had something she could claim to be doing.
Ellen led Martine past the bathroom, where Martine knew she had heard the girl crying from just a moment ago, and up the stairs. The house wasn't large, but it was sturdy – plain cement walls, floors, ceilings and staircases painted odd, bright colors. The windows were usually open, allowing some amount of breeze to come through the home and relieve the inhabitants from the oppressive Haitian summer. By the standards of the rest of the town of Hinche, the house was positively grand – a jungle-enclosed estate. The path to the village was long and winding, and the large wall that surrounded the house and its courtyard was intimidating enough to keep the village mischief-makers and looters away. On that thought, Martine smirked, Mister Paige was enough to keep them away as well. The home was isolated – besides Martine to do housekeeping and cooking, and the occasional grocer bringing a food delivery by, no one ever came to visit the house. Martine knew Mister Paige liked it that way, keeping himself and his daughter hidden.
Martine sometimes wondered what brought them here, the tall skinny white man and his obedient, quiet daughter. Martine was an old woman now, and had seen many people come through the rural town she called home, looking for escape – for a place to never be found. Martine had feared at first that the man had poor intentions for the girl, but in her months of service to them she had realized they were simply father and daughter, albeit with a more strained relationship than most. She had recently supposed that the man was running from an ex-wife, with his daughter in tow. Martine had coddled Ellen – she felt poorly for any girl taken from her mother – and the two had grown close.
They came to the top of the stairs. Ellen's room was next door to her father's. She entered quickly and gestured Martine to come in. Ellen snapped the door shut behind her.
Martine looked around. Ellen's room was always neat and rather sparse – the walls were plain and the dresser held nothing more than clothes. Ellen's only possession, that Martine could find at least, was a potted flower Ellen kept by the open window and cared for. Nothing seemed out of place. Martine looked at Ellen quizzically.
"What did you bring me up here for, child?" Martine asked.
Ellen hesitated a moment, then crouched down and reached under her bed. She pulled out a white bed sheet, crumpled and twisted into a ball.
"I…" Ellen began, but her voice dissolved into shaky dry sobs once more. "I think I'm hurt."
"Hurt?" Martine repeated. "Where? What happened?"
"I… I woke up this morning-"
"Where does it hurt you?" Martine interrupted, her eyes tracing the girl's figure.
"It doesn't – I mean it's not paining me, but," Ellen said. "Someone must have hurt me during the night. And then I saw in the bathroom earlier…" Her voice trailed off and she slowly shook out the bed sheet, and Martine saw it – it was small, but a distinct red blood stain stood out in the middle of the crisp white sheet she had laundered last week.
"Oh," Martine said, trying to stifle a giggle and failing. Relief flooded her. "Oh child, is that it?"
"What?" Ellen cried. "What do you mean?"
Martine couldn't help it. She crossed her arms and laughed, hard. "My dear, you frightened me! I thought you was really sick. That's just your women's blood, bebe mwen."
"What do you mean?" Ellen paled.
Martine paused. "Child, is this your first time bleeding?"
Tears started leaking out of Ellen's eyes, and she turned a bright red. "From there, yes."
Martine sighed and ran her hands over her face. "This is a conversation for your father, child. Not me."
"Why? I don't understand. Am I hurt or not?" Ellen was blushing fiercely now, Martine couldn't help but smile.
"Oh, Lord, child, I'm not having this talk with you," she said wearily. "Are you telling me you never learned it in school? Or from your father?"
"Learned what?" Ellen wailed. "Martine, I'm scared! What is it?"
"Ay, child," Martine sat down on the side of Ellen's bed and patted the spot next to her. "Throw that sheet in the corner and then come sit by me." Ellen did as she was told – as she always did – and then sat gingerly on the bed, the tears still running freely. Martine felt a little badly for laughing. She had never thought she would have to have this conversation with the little girl she cared for.
"Well, my love, the first thing is not to be frightened," Martine patted Ellen's hand. "It happens to every woman. It happened to me, it happened to your mama – everyone.
"Now I ain't going to go too far here – that's no job of mine, that's something you gotta talk to your daddy or your mama-" Martine knew she was fishing for information here, and she didn't care – "or a teacher or somethin'. But when a woman starts to bleed, just means she's growing up. You're getting older, bebe mwen. You're starting to become a lady."
"But… I don't understand," Ellen said bluntly. "Why?" Martine reached over and wiped the tears from the girl's cheek with her rough hand.
"Girly, if you're asking me for the science you've come to the wrong lady!" Martine laughed. "Just know it's that: just a part of growing up." She pulled the little girl's head against her shoulder and wiped the rest of Ellen's tears, rocking her in silence for a moment. Something the child said had bothered her though – what was it?
"Why did you think someone hurt you during the night?" Martine asked after a moment.
"I don't know, I thought someone found us and wanted to hurt me," Ellen said shakily. "But I couldn't understand why there was blood but I didn't feel any pain."
"But why would you think that? Why would someone want to find you and hurt you?" Martine pressed. She could feel Ellen tense slightly against her shoulder.
"I don't know," Ellen whispered. She was quiet. Martine rocked her for another moment.
"Don't you worry, my dear," she said. "We'll get you cleaned up and taken care of. It's no big deal."
"I'm sorry about the sheet," Ellen said softly.
"Don't you worry now," Martine said. She ran her hair over the girl's fine brown hair, soothing her. "That's nothing." Martine smiled and pulled the girl's chin up again so she could look in Ellen's face, and deep into the clear gray eyes. "You're a woman now, my girl. One of us. Welcome to the group!" She chuckled, and Ellen smiled faintly.
"You're confusing me," she said. "I've always been a girl."
"Ay, like I said, I'm not getting into this conversation with you fully," Martine said. "But, growing into a woman means lots of things. Your body will be changing. You'll start wanting and needing diff'ren things. Your woman's blood means you can start having babies, but of course you won't be doing that, now will ya?"
Ellen sprang up suddenly and turned to face the housekeeper. "Wait, what do you mean?"
Martine looked back at her, bemused. "It means when you get your blood, like you did, that your tummy is saying it's ok, you're old enough to start having a baby growing inside you." Martine smiled a bit at the girl's shock. "Now, I wasn't too much older than you when I had my first one, but you girl, no, you ain't having babies for some time."
Ellen stared back at Martine. Her lower lip started to tremble, ever so slightly, before she bit it back. Her face had gone white. Martine frowned.
"Where's your father at, child?" she asked. "We should let him know, he'll get you what ya need."
"No!" Ellen's voice was shrill and sudden and made Martine jump on the bed. "No, no we can't!"
Martine gaped back at the little girl, completely lost for an explanation for all of the girl's changing reactions.
"Please, please don't tell my father!" Ellen cried. "Please, Martine, promise me? Please?"
Martine stared at the girl. All the blood had drained from her face, and she looked terrified.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, miss-" Martine began.
"I'm not ashamed," Ellen said, shaking he head and wringing her hands. "I'll tell him. Just let me tell him. Let me do it when I'm ready?"
Martine eyed the girl for another moment, then nodded begrudgingly. "I won't. But you better tell him then."
"I- I will, I promise," Ellen said.
Martine must have told him eventually, though, Ellen figured out later. Not long after that was when the talk about making more warriors started.