Chapter

Pie in your Face

He wept and mourned.

How had he found himself here yet again? What had he done wrong? Tom had told him nothing. He had no idea. He hadn't done anything wrong. He was sleeping. What could he have done?

As he asked himself this, thoughts swept in to remind him just how wrong he had been. He wasn't entirely faultless and he knew it. Just because Tom hadn't caught him didn't mean that he wasn't guilty; but Tom had caught him, for something, he had to have had, obviously. Otherwise, why would he be down here? But what was it?

He stared at those steps before him. The blanket had been left off and although the sun had yet to rise it had lit the sky enough to see the steps in front of him. With tears washing his face he pondered. Did he find them? Before fear could overtake him, he swiped at his tears and scrambled to the back of the staircase reaching his arm into the void. They were there. He breathed relief and sat back against the wooden frame.

What was he in trouble for then? The other jar? Peeking around to look at where it sat. No. That too was where it had been left. Unless, Tom did discover it and just kept it there. He could have just as easily done that with the food too. But why would he? Why would it still be here for him to use. Was this a trick somehow? A test of will? Was he waiting for Joe to take a sip to open the hatch and catch him in the act? Would he come down in a day or so to measure how much was missing? Would he be punished then for what he had taken?

He was just making himself sick with worry. He had to have been. Tom couldn't really know about these things. Could he? No. It could have been any number of things that he'd been caught for.

Did he know about the laundry he was sneaking out of the house every morning? He was probably pleased about that, for although Joe was being deceitful, ultimately, he was doing Tom a favor by taking on the responsibility of cleaning Scotty and the linen upon himself. With Tom though, it was difficult to tell what would upset him. Sometimes it seemed he looked for things to be upset about. Especially when he was in one of those moods.

Then Joe remembered something else that terrified him. The vandalism. The scratches that he had made in Scotty's wall. Had Tom discovered them? He would be in real trouble if he had. Could that be why he was in here now? That thought sickened him.

What did Tom know that he wasn't saying? Why hadn't he told him? He was hell-bent on letting Joe stew in his madness. Perhaps Joe would crack and divulge all.

No. He wasn't going to do that. He had to be strong. Not let Tom get to him.

Still, the mystery of not knowing what all he was in trouble for was worrisome. Tom was getting to him because he had all of the power and Joe had none. Fear kept him from taking in too much of anything. He found that despite having food and water at the ready, he was aiding in his own torment. Afraid that at any moment Tom would open the hatch and catch him in the act. Like he was just waiting for these moments when Joe would give into his weakness. Or if he didn't catch him right in the act then he would come down after a day or so and measure how much was missing. He would be punished for that.

He had it here though and he wasn't going to let it go to waste altogether. He took in a lot less than he probably should have, for many reasons. One of the biggest reasons was the fear and twisting in his stomach.

~.~

It was shortly after lunch when the door swung open. Tom seemed to be in a strange mood, Joe noted as he spoke down to him. "Come on out. I've got something to show you." He said with an askew smile.

A niggling worry kept at him wondering if Tom was finally going to reveal to him all of the natures of his crimes but Tom's demeanor seemed off somehow.

He followed the pater around to the front of the house and inside. Scotty was already sitting at the table with nothing before him as if he had been directed to do so.

Joe expected a grilling.

"Sit, sit." He took the chair that Tom had pulled out for him. Prancing into the kitchen, his caretaker came out full swing carrying something over his head and set it on the table for their admiration. It was a bakery box. In showy fashion Mr. Tomlinson lifted the lid to reveal what was inside. Blueberry pie?

His stomach grumbled in reply. He wanted this. He really did. But the abnormality of the whole situation seemed off. If he wasn't in trouble than why had he been put in that hole? Furthermore, where did the pie come from? Tom surely hadn't kept it in the kitchen all this time but it wasn't made recently either. Joe never smelled Tom baking it.

Where had it come from?

He thought he knew the answer as he recalled the paper he'd seen after the first time in that hole. Then the fresh vegetables that found their way into the cellar.

Tom had cut a monster slice and served up his son first.

"Where'd you get this?" He glanced up at the pater.

"In town." He was cutting into the pie to serve up Joe. "Mrs. Suthers makes the most delicious pies." He gesticulated with a kiss to his fingers.

"You were in town? When did you go to town?" Joe couldn't help the tone that came from his throat. He should have. The change happened right before his eyes as a darkness washed over the pater and Joe knew he should have been more cautious.

He righted himself and stared at Joe, keeping an even tone as he disregarded his own reckless abandonment.

"I had to go to town Joe. Needed to offload some of my shoes so I can bring some money into this God-forsaken house." Joe knew better to watch his words now. But as emotions took over reason, he found his ability to self-control compromised. Tom was so matter of fact that it only brought him to anger.

"You had us in there while you were in town?"

"What do you think is putting food on this table? What do you think bought you this pie?" He continued to excuse his actions. "Your pa certainly didn't expect that I would starve you."

Joe had an anger building inside that all reasoning he could not squash down, resurfacing those days he was in that hole all by himself doing just that, starving, and sneered at the hypocrisy.

"No Mr. Tomlinson. He didn't." Something in the way Joe answered stumped the patriarch.

"Now just what the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just curious what you think happens to us when you put us away for as long as you do?"

He was so stunned at the confrontation he didn't know what to say.

Joe didn't know what kind of response he was expecting. It sure wasn't an apology. He knew Tom wasn't going to give him that and to be honest Joe didn't want one from him. Nothing Tom could do would have ever been enough to make up for what he had done.

Astonishment was replaced by anger.

"You're going to complain about a measly, few hours? As if I'm expected to feed you every minute of every day."

"A measly, few hours? I was in there for three days." The budding adolescent growled.

"Hardly. Nice try. It's only been a few..."

"I'm not talking about today."

"Oh, you're talking about the first time."

"That's right."

"When you were being disciplined? You think that's a fair argument? To bring up a punishment?"

"Tell me Mr. Tomlinson. Did you leave me then?"

"I don't have to answer to you."

"You kept me in there for three days." He couldn't help the passion that came from his throat.

"It was only two."

"It was three and you know it."

"It was three because you got into my alcohol. Really Joe? You didn't expect that anything would come from that? Didn't think I might be a tad bit upset. If you'd have just taken the punishment you would have been out of there in two.

Now I thought that we were over it. Thought we could move past it but you want to go drudging up the past. Why is that, Joe? Is it because you haven't really grown and learned from your mistakes like I thought you had? You want to bring up the past? Fine. Imagine what your father would think if I told him. Drinking wine Joe? Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Joe fumed but there was an imbedding fear of disappointing his father.

"You're still that spoiled rotten brat. You have no idea what real pain is. You don't know what it is to work hard. You sleep in as late as you want. Food is put before you whenever you ask for it and you're so spoiled you throw most of that away. You're first real taste of how the rest of the world lives and you bellyache every time something happens that doesn't suit your impossible standards. You want to act like you're such a victim? You have no idea what real hunger is. What real thirst is. What real struggles are."

"No. I guess I don't. Thank the Good Lord you came into my life to show me." That's when the clap came.

To be fair, he let Joe get pretty far with his insolence.

"You ungrateful wretch. No wonder why your fathers sick of you."

What did he say?

"I go out of my way to do something nice for you, and this is how you treat me? You don't want the damned pie don't eat the damned pie." He snatches up Joe's plate and chucks it. The small one drew back in fear, instinctively drawing an arm up to shield himself as the plate crashed against the wall sending it shattering in a thousand pieces above his head. "How about you? You got something to say to me too?" The kid just looked out wide eyed through his protective arm. Satisfied with the fear he invoked in the little one he turned back to Joe.

"That's the last time I try to do something nice for you. Clean it up!" He barked before storming out.

Joe was left standing, staring at Scotty who remained wide eyed as a doe. Scotty hadn't lowered his arm although Tom was out of the room. Instead, he redirected his hand. He was cradling his head now. Joe wondered if the sound of the crash scared him all that bad. But he noticed something off in the way he held his head.

"Come here." He went over. "Let me see." Just as he suspected.

It looked like he took a hit from a couple of the pieces. He wasn't bleeding all that bad but it was apparent a couple of the shards had cut him when flying at him like hornets to wildcats. "Oh. I'm sorry." He held the boy who appeared to have been trembling. He caused this one. Though his injuries weren't that bad he had some guilt for it. He held a rag to the back of his head. It wouldn't take long for the wound to heal. The emotional one was perhaps the more serious of them and for this wound he continued to hold the rag in place.

Joe wasn't sure why he pushed Tom like he had. Knowing what he could be capable of, it was an awfully risky move. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? Then he'd be sitting at the table right now partaking some of Ms. Suther's delicious pie, which he knew was always good. He thought as the sweet scent hit his nostrils.

"I'm sorry I did that to you. I was wrong for doing it." Scotty answered him by gripping his shirt and in drawing closer. "It's okay Scotty. You're going to be alright." He held him until the trembling subsided. Only then did he think it was safe enough to look. The blood had long stopped. "I think you're alright now. "Would you like to sit back down?" He guided the boy back to his seat.

"You're bleeding too." The small voice spoke. He touched where the boy was looking. Feeling the wetness, which he assumed was saliva over a fat lip. It was red. Licking it now, he tasted the iron. Scotty handed him the rag with a soft smile and Joe pressed it to his lip. After another moment he pulled it away.

"How about now?" The boy gave a nod to let him know it was gone.

Before Tom were to come back and find out that he hadn't done what he'd asked, it was time to clean up the mess. Joe went to the kitchen to retrieve the broom and came back to sweep up the remnants of the ware. He had guilt again for pushing Tom and what he had missed out on because of it. Was he really that spoiled?

What he really hung on to was that statement about his pa. What did he mean by that? Had his pa been talking to Tom about him? No doubt. It wouldn't be the first time he'd overheard himself being brought up in conversation. What might his pa have said about him that would give Tom the impression that he was sick of Joe? That couldn't be true. Was it? Likely not but his pa being so far away and not here to ask, furthermore not here to hug and crawl up next to and have an arm wrap around him; all methods his pa would use to show Joe that is insecurities were unfounded and baseless. Which left a small hole that couldn't be filled. God, he missed his pa.

Discarding the broken shards and putting the broom away a moment later he was back in.

Scotty was still sitting at the table. Droplets of blood had meddled his collar.

His plate remained untouched.

"It's okay Scotty. Eat it."

"I don't want to."

"You don't have to not eat on account of me. You're not the one who screwed up." Scotty drooped his eyes.

"I don't feel like eating." He mumbled. "My stomach doesn't feel right."

He could understand this. His own stomach had some twisting to it. "I'm sorry." The elder boy felt that another apology was in order for turning what could have been a peaceful event into what it was and what he risked because of it. Scotty raised the sides of his lips into what couldn't exactly be described as a smile. More like an attempt to make their shared grief a little less so.

He thought about just putting the piece back but then thought of the pater. Tomlinson might get pretty upset if he finds out that Scotty didn't eat his either. He knew that slice needed to disappear and not in the rubbish bin neither.

"Come on. I'll help you with it."

He got a little bit of it on his fork and dipped it into his mouth. It was delicious. His stomach danced in agreement. He went solemnly back in for another taste. He was careful not to get too much. He knew blueberries had a tendency to stain and he didn't want the evidence left on his lips. You got to help me out with this.

Scotty smiled a soft appreciative smile and picked up his own fork. Together they both shared the one slice.

~.~

He felt like this strike had been different. Peering in the looking glass in late afternoon he could see a swelling to his cheek.

The two of them (caretaker and charge) had each done their best to avoid the other for the remainder of the day. For Tom that was no great feat. He just had to keep himself tucked up in the shed which was not abnormal.

On Joe's part, other than tending to some various tasks around the house and yard, had spent the in-between hours with Scotty tucked up into his room. It was safe there. It gave a semblance of safety at least in that Tom would have to make an effort to find them. His avoidance may have worked against him which would come to light as the dinner hour had rolled around.

It took a long time for Tom to enter the house and their stomachs grumbled in want. Joe half-wondered whether they were going to get anything to eat that night or not. His major remorse would be that Scotty would be made to suffer with him.

In time though Tom did come in. Another forty-five minutes later and food was set hot on the table. Now the hour in which they were both dreading (Tom not more than Joe) had arrived. For Scotty's sake, for the sake of not starving and for the sake of not being struck again, he would have to swallow his pride and crawl down to meet him.

They sat around the table in stuffy silence.

"It's gotten pretty late." It was about 10 minutes into their meal when Tom spoke. "I bet you were kind of wondering if I was going to be in at all. Tell you the truth I was really considering not. What's the point? You're not going to enjoy it. No. The only thing you're going to think about is how I came about it. I thought the important thing was that I was feeding you but apparently that's not good enough for you anymore, is it? So, tell me, why should I try?"

Because my pa isn't paying you to starve us. He wanted so bad to say but held his tongue.

Tom put his fork down but kept his steak knife up to point and gesture. "You think that all this is so easy. Every day I'm out here sweating in a hot oven to make these shoes, to put food on this table. Then after baking all day, I got to come in and whip up supper for what? For an ungrateful, unappreciative brat. To hear you complain that my efforts aren't good enough. While you're doing God knows what? Playing all day? Oh don't give me that look. You got a few chores in the morning and somehow you think that makes us equal. You make more messes than you clean. Messes I got to take time away to clean myself. Every time I turn around, you're getting into mischief. Getting that boy over there into mischief. Talking about. 'Can we go to the lake". Every day with this? Like that's what life is?"

Joe hadn't brought up the lake at all since the day Tom took them, so he couldn't see why Tom was bringing that up now. Although, thinking back he had been pretty relentless about it.

"I tell you, your pa did you a real injustice making you think that's all there was in life. You have no idea what the real value of a hard day's labor is." After fuming a bit he continued.

"I'm giving you tonight but I've decided this is it. You want to eat supper, from now on, you make it. You thought it was so easy. You've spent your whole life having food put before you. You're about to see how easy it really is trying to provide for others. I don't want no sandwiches slapped together. I want you to put the same effort into it that I do. You make a real meal."

Joe gulped his compliance.

"Don't think this makes us equal either. You remember who's still out there in that oven every day. You got this one chore to do. I don't want to hear no complaints nor smart mouth."

It was stuffy around that table but they finished their meal in record time. After cleaning up all remnants of supper he got Scotty ready for bed. He eyed his face one more time just before crawling in, to see that the shadow affect had darkened. His face did hurt to grimace. His soul ached worse. Setting the mirror down and seeing that Scotty was waiting for him he crawled in next to the boy and pulled him in. Scotty was like a big stuffed doll. At this point he wasn't sure who provided whom with the most comfort.

Lying in the dark he only felt the weight of more torment. More abuse to come. Tom had just piled onto his shoulders more work. More work that he didn't know how to do. More ways that Tom would use to tell him how useless he was.

He's only got a little more than two more weeks left. He could do this. It's only for two more weeks. The first few weeks had dragged on so slowly but he was past the halfway point now. He could do this.

~.~

He ached for home every morning. That ache, nearly making him sick. He never knew what the true feeling of homesickness really was until now. How longing for the comforts and safety of home, how missing one's family can really make someone physically ill. But here he was and as much as he didn't really want to face the day, face the day he must and he knew by now that sleeping in was a bad idea.

"Come on Scotty. Get up."

The following morning turned out how it had the week prior. Joe doing his best to cover for Scotty's shortcomings. As Scotty was changing, he lifted the looking glass to peer inside. The redness that colored his cheek the day prior was concentrating over his cheekbone. Just under his eye was appearing a bit dark. His lip was a little fatter too.

This would be the first time the pater had left marks on him. Marks that would turn into definite bruises. The cut on his hand didn't count. That was an accident. This was a full-on strike. Hard enough to bruise. It was his own fault for pushing Tom like he had. It was always his fault.

He wished to God it would heal before his pa came and picked him up. Would Tom really tell his pa about all he'd been doing wrong? Was he going to tell him about the wine? It seemed like they were both over it but then Joe had to go drudging it up. If he did tell his pa, that would be his fault too.

Of course, he couldn't not admit this to his pa if it was brought up. It would be dishonest not to and one thing he prided himself on was honesty.

"Why didn't he just eat the pie?"

He gulped and turned back. Scotty had been watching him.

"Come on. Let's get these downstairs." They both made their way to the breakfast table.