Rachel was determined to hate Luda Mae for the rest of her life. And the others!
Cannibals, cannibals, rang hollowly in her head like iron bells. She had asked Momma for a sewing project, the one thing she had retained from Home Ec class, to keep herself busy and not think about what had happened before.
The worst part was, she now was suspecting every piece of meat that was served to once have had a name and a family, and which parts were safe to eat. She avoided the soups on principle, there being bits of meat, and other things she did not recognize. Pity, thought Rachel, they actually looked good.
And the rest of Momma's cooking was always delicious. She had asked Momma for a sewing project, if only to stay in her good graces, and now sat in the living room by herself, working on embroidering a cloth that would hang outside the door. All she had left was the upper left corner.
She was having to use some of Momma's extra thread, seeing as she had run out of the other kind a while ago, and did not like how this kind constantly unraveled. Rachel jumped slightly as she heard the now familiar clanging of the back door.
Slowly, she was gradually getting used to the family's' various habits. Momma was still kind to her, and she knew how to act with Charlie.
Speak loudly enough, respect his authority, agree with everything he says about the war, and that all deserters are shit. Tommy never confronted her directly, but she could fell him watching her sometimes, made her feel nervous as hell.
And now…Rachel listened warily as Tommy went into the kitchen and dropped his salary into big glass jar where the family kept their savings. He had a job at a meat factory, probably where he learned how to dissect so well.
Rachel had noticed how cleanly the corpses she had seen were butchered. She rarely saw him, except for now and at mealtimes.
Now he's going to leave, Rachel thought. Leave and go down to his basement. He didn't though, and Rachel considered running away, before remembering that she was tied to a freaking post.
What if today is the day the Hewitt family ran out of "supplies", and now they were forced to eat their guest. Not that she thought there would be many tears at her funeral. She kept her head down as Tommy neared her and then stopped. She looked up slowly at the shadowy figure that loomed above her, not daring to breathe.
He did have something in his hand, thought it didn't look particularly sharpish. Rachel had never noticed his eyes before, never being close enough to see. They were a warm amber that contrasted sharply with the rough texture of his mask.
She looked down again, a strange feeling of heat inside her, and watched with her peripheral vision as Tommy moved past her and dropped something lightly on the tabletop, and then disappeared outside.
Rachel walked over to the table and stared at the bag nervously before opening it. She let the silky threads run through her fingers. This would almost be considered luxurious, especially with all the war shortages. Rachel wondered if she should even use it, but then decided that since it was for her for this project, it was alright.
Rachel put away her stitching and waited for someone to come to unshackle her so she could wash up for dinner. Uncle Monty announced his presence by a quiet wheezing and the dull thump of his cane on the wooden floor.
As always, Rachel thought of how easy it would be to escape from so useless a warden, but she knew it was unlikely she would get very far, without her car.
She listened every night to the sound of the wind blowing the sand up against her
window, and the occasional car. And she didn't want to find out what would happen to
her if she did go against the rules.