Chapter 13
She was hungry and needed to pee, but Momma had told her to stay in her room until she was told she could come out. That had been a long, long time ago. But Momma's new boyfriend didn't like children, so she had to stay hidden when he was around, which was a lot.
Her bladder spasmed, hurting. Surely Momma didn't mean for her to pee on the floor like the dog they had for a couple of weeks before Momma's boyfriend "took care of it."
Going to the door, she turned the knob. She was big enough to reach it without having to stand on her tippy toes. Pushing the door open she peered out. She could hear Momma and Uncle Bobby, as she had been told to call him, on the couch making funny noises, but she couldn't see them. The bathroom was on the other side of the living room, so she would have to go right by them.
Tip toeing out of the room, she crept quietly across the living room. When the couch came into view, she looked over. Uncle Bobby was on top of Momma. He was hurting her from the sounds she was making. She stopped and started crying.
Momma looked over at the sound, "oh, shit, Bobby, stop."
"What the hell?" Bobby sputtered, then looked over at her. "God damnit! I told you to keep that brat out of my sight." He sat up. "Get the hell back in your room!" he told her nastily.
That's when it happened. She lost control of her bladder. Urine ran down her legs, puddling on the floor.
"Oh, for fuck's sake! She's pissing on the floor! That's it. I'm out of here." He got up to leave, pulling his pants up and stalked to the door. She was glad he was leaving. She didn't like him.
Momma stood and followed him, "Bobby, I'll take care of it. Don't go."
Momma stopped and looked down at her, "why can't you be good and do what I tell you?"
After Momma ran out the door after Uncle Bobby, she stood in the puddle of her own pee and cried.
"I'm not bad, Momma. I'm not bad."
"What are you saying?" Mark looked at her in shock.
"I'm saying I missed by period. I'm pregnant," she told him.
"Oh, Fuck, Frankie," Mark turned away from her, running his hands through his hair. Turning back to her, he asked, "are you sure it's mine?"
She nearly choked at the question, "are you serious? You're my boyfriend, the only person I've ever been with that way."
"Right," he said skeptically.
"What are you suggesting?" she asked.
"You're a street kid. You're probably banging anyone that offers you a sandwich."
"That's bullshit!"
"That kid could be anyone's. You just picked me because I have a good job."
"That's not true! I love you, Mark!" She tried to hug him, but he pushed her away roughly.
"Get out of here, you skanky slut," he snarled. "I can't believe I ever put my dick in you. I'm surprised you didn't give me some disease."
He shoved her out the back door of the restaurant where he worked as a bus boy. "Don't come back here again or I'll call the cops on you."
"Mark? I thought you loved me?" she pleaded.
"Loved you? Who the hell could love you? You disgust me."
He slammed the door in her face.
"No!" she screamed as the nun drug her by the arm through the hall to Mother Superior's office. She fought like a wildcat but couldn't make the woman release her. She knew it was futile to try to reason with the nun, telling her she took the roll to give to Margaretta, who missed lunch because she was being punished. They saw things in black and white with no tolerance for gray. Even at ten, she realized that fact.
The nun didn't release her until she dumped her on the floor in front of Mother Superior's desk.
"What did she do now?" the older woman asked wearily.
"She's been stealing food again and hiding it under her bed."
There was the soft scratch of wool against wool as Mother Superior rose and came around the desk to stand over her.
"Is this true, Francesca?"
"Yes, Mother Superior," she nodded obediently. There was no sense in denying it.
Mother Superior sighed, "we've been through this before. You eat what you are given during meals and that's it. It is sinful to steal. Think about the poor children whose food you stole."
She knew that no children went hungry because of what she took. She only took what was left over on one of the carts and all the girls knew that the excess went to the nuns for them to eat. That was in addition to the meals they ate in the great hall with the girls.
"Why are you so willfully bad, Child? We take care of you. Clothe you. Feed you. Give you a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in. Why do you insist on repaying the kindness we show with this disobedience?"
Everything she said was true but the clothes they were given were donated, most thin and worn. The food was bland and just enough to ward off hunger, but never filling. The roof in their dorm leaked and they had to wake up at various hours during stormy nights to empty the buckets. Their beds were old army cots with thin, scratchy wool blankets. In short, the nuns did the bare minimum to provide for the girls in their care.
When she didn't answer, Mother Superior sighed again. "Child, you leave me with no choice. Sister Beatrice, give her ten lashes with the belt and the rest of the day and night in confinement. No supper either."
"No!" she cried, more for the confinement than the lashes. Confinement was a dark, dank closet in the lower basement, with spiders, insects, and occasional rats. All the girls were deathly afraid of it.
"No!" she screamed as Sister Beatrice drug her out of the office and towards the stairs.
She was standing in front of Mother Superior's desk again, head down. Cecilia was standing beside her telling the old nun how Frankie had forced her to commit sinful acts of fornication. She couldn't believe her friend was telling them it was her fault. Tears gathered in her eyes.
"What have you got to say for yourself, Francesca?" Mother Superior demanded when Cecilia finished.
She just shook her head. She knew better. Mother Superior had taken a dislike to her years ago and was convinced she was a bad seed.
"Thank you, Cecilia, for telling the truth. Sister Agatha, no supper for Cecilia. Put her on bathroom detail for the next week."
She was shocked. That was such a light punishment. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
After the nun left with Cecilia, Mother Superior tutted, "what am I going to do with you, girl? You just have the Devil in you, pure and simple. We've tried beating it out. We've tried starving it out. We've tried everything we know to do, but to no avail. You are intent on doing evil."
"I want to be good, Mother Superior," she whispered.
"I don't believe you," the old woman told her. "If you wanted to be good, you wouldn't be doing all these bad things."
There was a hiss of wood sliding against wood.
"Hold out those filthy hands of yours, palms up," she was ordered.
She dutifully held out her hands. No lashes? Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
The first blow of the ruler against her palms stung but was bearable. As the blows continued though, she learned that things can always get worse.
Later that night, her swollen hands wrapped in bandages and throbbing relentlessly, she curled into a ball in the dark closet and listened to the scraping and scrambling of the denizens of the basement.
"I'm not bad. I'm not bad."
