Kiera
"Kiera, will you run an errand for me?" Madam Mardon calls to me.
"Of course, Madam. I'll be down promptly." I prop the broom I am using to sweep the halls against the wall and hurry downstairs, removing my apron as I go. "What would you like me to do, Madam?"
"I'd like you to take this..." She hands me an envelope. "To the newspaper. It is an add I wish to have put in the paper as soon as possible. I think there is enough enclosed to pay for it. Thank you very much, Kiera. You are such a dear. Now, be safe as you go."
"Yes, Madam." I cannot help but smile; she is beginning to sound like my mother. I put on my gloves, shawl, and hat before taking the envelope and leaving the inn.
As I stroll down the streets, no one stares at me. I've managed to hide the majority of my silver hair under my hat. I hum as I go, each stride taking my farther and farther down the path. Once I arrive at the newspaper, I push the door open, causing a bell to sound, alerting the man sitting at the counter on the opposing side of the room of my presence.
He clumsily jumps to his feet, the dinging of the bell having startled him from his reading. He looks at me, and fixes his shirt, tucking in a loose corner. "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle. May I be of service?"
I giggle at the sight of his reading glasses hanging crookedly from his nose, one side lower than the other, the side attachments of the higher side pushing the hair on the side of his head upward in a silly fashion. "I think those will be of better service if they are on correctly, Monsieur."
"Good heavens!" He removes them, dropping them into a drawer before returning his attention to me. "Now, can I help you?"
"Yes. I would like to put an add in..."
"One moment," he interrupts, pulling open another drawer. He rumages through it until he appears to find what he is searching for. He tosses a pad of parchment on the desk top and turns away. "Where did I put that pen?" he asks aloud, scratching the back of his head.
"Here, Monsieur." I pull a quill from under the parchment and hand it to the confused man.
He looks at me oddly. "Merci."
"You know, those spectacles may be helpful for more than just reading." I raise a brow, now getting rather irritated with his inability to find all of the tools for such a simple task as the one at hand. Unconciously, my foot begins to tap with impatience as the man searches again; I suppose he's looking for the ink sitting right under his nose beside the parchment. For most people, patience is a virtue, but when it comes to you, patience is impossible to recieve and making you impatient is signing a death warrant, Erik once said, teasing me as I waited as impateintly for him to find an appropriate duet for violin as I am now waiting for this clumsy oaf to find a stupid bottle of ink hidden in plain view.
"On the desk, Monsieur," I growl, the speed of my foot's tap increasing along with my anger.
"Thank you, again, Mademoiselle. You have very ood eye-sight," he compliments me, dipping the quill in the ink.
"And yours seems to be very poor," I add, sighing in relief now that he has at last found his ink
"Well, I...yes, I suppose it is. What would you like this add to say?"
I open the envelope and hand him the piece of folded parchment contained inside. "The instructions are there."
He gives me an irate look. "I went through all of that trouble to find my quill, ink, and paper to write this down, and you have it written down prior. How very, very rude." His attitude is smart and cocky.
"Monsieur..."
"Were you raised by monkeys in a jungle somewhere? You have no manners!" he continues.
"Monsieur, I was NOT raised by monkeys or in a jungle!" I snatch him up by his collar and stare him dead in the eye. "I am not the one who was ignorant enough to find those things without first asking if I had everything already written down, and I am not the one so blind and unorganized as to not be able to find a bottle of ink and a quill lying right under my nose on the desk!"
His expression changes from that of anger to fright. He's obviously never seen a woman lose her temper. Who knows, he might believe that women have no such thing and are completely helpless. No doubt, we do, at times, need assistance; I've needed Erik's help on a few occassions, but most of the time, I could handle things perfectly fine on my own. Everyone has a temper, we women simply control ours better, unlike men, who, when angry, take their rage out on their wives and chidlren, beating them to a pulp or until their temper has diminished.
"N...no. No, of course not."
I release him. "That's what I thought. Now, here's the money for the add and what it is to say." I hand the envelope to him and storm out, still quite angry at his stupidity. I walk at a quick pace down the streets but a shrill scream stops me. I head for a nearby alley, knowing that a deserted alley is the perfect place for a crime to be committed. I step into the shadows and scan carefully for any sign of struggle.
"Help!" a sob errupts from the very back of the alley.
I run forward, stopping just short of the three young boys standing over the small girl curled in a ball on the ground.
"Take that, you measly shrimp!" shouts one boy, kicking the little girl.
"Grab her hair!" another screams.
The third snatches the dirty blonde hair up and yanks upward, pulling the girl's head up and then smashing it back down into the ground. Next, he picks up a rock and drops it on her head. My eyes fill with tears as I recall the times that I endured the same torture. "Don't you think you boys should be playing elsewhere?" I ask in an eerie voice that sounds from no particular direction, making me impossible to locate. Erik taught me ventrilaquism...he taught me very well.
"Concentrate, Kiera. Hear your voice coming from the object in your mind and then speak," Erik explained. "Trust me."
"All right." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, thinking about my voice sounding from the flower I had chosen. "Good evening, Erik," my voice was coming from the flower.
"Well done!" he smiled, clapping his hands together. "You are a fast learner."
"Who's there!" the three boys whirl around, searching for another figure.
"Why do you torture that girl?" I ask. "What has she done to you?"
"It's none of your business!" the boy with a hat covering his blonde hair says. He is apparently the leader of this bunch of roughians.
"Oh, I believe it is my business." I step from the shadows, releasing my silver hair from its imprisonment under my hat. It cascades down my back and over my shoulders like a waterfall; I widen my eyes, the black pupil consuming most of it, leaving only a bit of white around the edges.
"Oh, my God!" screams the chocolate-haired boy wearing a blue shirt and suspenders. He backs away, frightened.
"What the bloody hell are you?" the other, shorter boy with hazel eyes questions.
"Do you know why I am here, young messieurs?" I stand infront of them, my arms folded across my chest.
"You're just some lady who's going to turn us in to the gendarmes..if you can catch us!" The three run towards me, two on one side, one on the other.
"I think not!" I extend my long arms and catch all three around their waists and push them back. I take hold of their shirts, holding them infront of me. I tower over the young boys, my blazing eyes burning into their souls, revealing their true feelings...fear.
"Let go of us, you bitch!" the blonde haired boy shouts.
"Well, it appears you have a foul mouth. Where did you learn such language?"
"My Papa! He calls my Maman that all the time and..." He grins proudly. "He whips her. He hits her with everything he can get his hands on, but lately, his favorite choice is a broom handle. I think it's funny and I'm going to be just like my Papa."
"You think it's funny that your mother is in pain?"
"Yes," he answers.
"And why does your father beat your mother? Do you know?"
"He said it was because she is a whore and deserves every beating she gets," he replies quickly.
"Oh." I look to the other two. "And what about the two of you? Do your fathers beat your mothers?"
"N..no, Mademoiselle," the boy with the suspenders says, taking interest in his brown shoes.
"My papa loves my maman. He kisses her every night before they go to bed," the one with hazel eyes sighs, looking to the alley wall.
"Then why are the two of you hurting this poor, defenseless girl?"
A pair of hazel eyes looks up to me. "Thomas tells us we have to or we won't have any friends." He points a trembling finger at the suspected leader.
"Is that so?" Both nod. "Apologize to her and then you may go." I push them in the direction of the girl.
The kneel and ask her forgiveness, tears in their eyes. She smiles slightly, hugging the remorseful lads and kissing each of their cheeks. "Merci." They walk past me, tears still on their cheeks.
Thomas tries to walk past me but I step into his path. "You are not permitted to leave just yet, Monsieur. You've not apologized to her."
He sighs and stamps over to the girl. "I'm sorry!" he snaps and walks back up to me, anger flaring up in his eyes.
I frown at him and grab his shirt, dragging him back over to the girl. "Young Mademoiselle." I hold out my hand to the girl who is now backed against the wall. "I'm going to take you and this young lad home."
She nods and takes my hand. I turn about, Thomas on my left and the girl on my right. "Where do you live, Thomas?" I inquire.
"There." He points to a large house on the right hand side of the road. "The one with the rose bushes lining the path to the door."
"Very good." I lead them both up to the door. I release the girl's hand and say, "Stay here. You're going home next, little one." I knock, still holding onto Thomas's hand tightly.
"Can I help you?" A woman steps out, a nasty purple bruise surrounding her left eye. "Thomas!" She stares at the boy. "Where have you been?"
"I found him in an alley, beating this little girl." I gesture to the quivering girl. "I felt it my duty to bring him home."
"I'm so sorry, my dear child." She hugs the little girl, which is when I ntoice that she is pregnant.
"Madame, are you all right?" I ask, as she ushers Thomas into the house. "May I ask how you acquired that black eye?"
She walks to a nearby rose bush. "My...husband..." She takes a ragged breath; this poor woman is quite ill. "He beats me..because of my baby."
"That's what Thomas told me when I confronted him, but he failed to mention your pregnancy. I'm sorry for what your husband does to you. If you like, I can go to the police and bring them here, to help you, to get you away from him so that you and you're child will no longer be abused."
"That's very kind of you, Mademoiselle, but I cannot leave him. I love him too dearly. No matter how much he drinks, no matter how many times he strikes me, no matter how many times he thrusts me to the wall, I will always love him. Thank you for bringing Thomas home." She cuts the most beautiful of the dozens of roses on the bush and hands it to me. "I'm afraid it is all I can give you, besides my eternal gratitude."
"You're welcome. Take care of yourself, Madame." I walk away, taking the girl's hand again.
"Where do you live, miss?"
"I don't have a home," she whispers in a shakey voice. "And my name's Anna."
"Well, then, Anna, what do you mean?"
"My mother died when I was four years old and so did my baby brother. He died the same night she did...he was just a few minutes old." Her voice still has little strength.
"Then, she died having your brother?" She nods again. "And what of your father?"
"I don't want to talk about it. You can just leave me here..on the steet. It's where I've always stayed." She pulls away from me.
"Anna." I stoop to her level. "I am not going to leave you on the streets. Believe me, I've lived on the streets and in the forest my entire life...atleast, until now. There was a sweet lady who took me in, and I know for a fact that she will gladly take you in too. Please, Anna, come with me."
"Well...I don't know." She looks into my eyes, searching my soul for trust. "What is your name?"
"If I tell you, will you come home with me and stay long enough for me to find your relatives?"
"Yes."
I smile. "I'm Kiera."
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Kiera." She takes my hand, finding the trust in my soul she was looking for. "Merci."
"Not at all." I place the rose in her blonde hair, taking her hand once more.
