My marriage to Seneca crane isn't mentioned again, though it does hang over me like a noose threatening to drop.
A new routine begins. My father goes away for days at a time and I rebuild my relationships with Delly and the Mellark's. I come to see Cato as a brother and Darius, a lovable, slightly annoying cousin. Cato and I have dinner with Effie twice a week and I quickly learn, while she's the definition of a lady, she has a wicked sense of humor and a penchant for single malt whiskey. That being said I've never seen her even tipsy, she's a lady that can certainly hold her liquor and I've wondered more than once where she learnt how.
Cato has all but moved in but is gone long before my father returns home each time. The beatings last longer and arise from nothing but they are less often and my father is sure to leave my face unharmed like he did before.
There is an incident around my 15th birthday that makes hiding anything difficult when my ankle is dislocated I'm forced to limp in agony for 2 days before seeing Doctor Everdeen. Most were convinced when I told them I'd tripped whilst trying to wear high heels but Cato and Rye were harder to fool. Only when I began walking normally again did things go back to how they were.
I write music, soft concertos and lighthearted melodies rather than the dark pieces I wrote before. Effie says I play my feelings and I think she's right. I only play the old stuff in the evenings when Cato's out and my only company is the figure at the window. I was surprised when the shadow didn't disappear. Having always believed it to be my own imagination I had been stunned to find that even now that I have what resembles a family again the figure remains.
I've put on weight, largely due to my time spent at the bakery but also because I'm getting regular meals. I've started taking pride in my appearance. Before it was always about looking rich and hiding bruises, now I like to look nice. I wear light, pastel dresses that allow me to laugh and give chase when Cato steals my bonnet. I do things like paddle in the creek and gallivant in the hay barn next to the mill. I take joy in the teasing I get from my friends when they tell me Marvel has been asking about me and I take joy in the fact Delly would like me to be a bridesmaid when she and Rye marry next spring.
I'm almost 16 when everything changes again.
I've seen Cato off and started supper ready for my father's return, sometimes he get's hungry or bored and I go to bed with no more than a slap or a shove. This time is different, this time he isn't alone
"Go upstairs" he tells me, shoving me in the direction I was already moving but there's nothing behind it, it sounds tired actually but I make to do as he says anyway. I almost reach the foot of the stairs before his company interrupts
"Well Malcolm, I see why you were in such a hurry to get home" following my father through the doorway is a tall man, perhaps in his forties; he's lean and inexplicably neat, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his suit "is this your mistress?" I frown at the word and shuffle backwards, closer to the staircase
"No, no, this is my daughter" my father corrects, eyeing myself and the stranger carefully
"Your daughter?" The stranger inquires, taking a step further into the entryway. He towers over my father and his already imposing form becomes threatening. Not that he wasn't already, he didn't even blink at seeing my father push me which I'm going to take as a very bad sign.
He shows no signs of aging except the graying hair at his temples and the frown lines on his brow, other than that, he seems strong, powerful. I can only guess at his age but nothing seems right "I'm Romulus Thread" he thrusts his hand toward me and leaves it inches from my nose while I get to my feet. When I raise my own hand he snatches it from the air and squeezes, just enough for it to be painful
"M-Madge Undersee"
"Malcolm" he says, turning his face just slightly to address my father "you didn't mention you had a daughter"
"Must have slipped my mind"
"Wanted to keep her all for yourself" he eyes me quickly, scanning me from head to toe "I understand"
"Shall we?" my father continues, gesturing to his office
"Business can wait a while Malcolm, we just arrived" Thread disagrees softly, as if with a child "how about a drink?"
"We'll take our meal within the hour" my father dismisses me and I go back to the kitchen. While I cook they speak in murmured voices from the salon and while I can't make anything out I grow more and more wary. Their voices become louder, less careful and slurred as they drink and I've learnt that never leads to anything less than painful with my father. When they finally make their way in to the dining room they sit at opposite ends of the table and I try to leave after serving their food but my father stops me "where are you going? Sit down"
"I-"
"Sit down!" he explodes "how dare you embarrass me in front of a guest"
"I'm s-"
"Quiet!" he slams his fist down on the table top and his cutlery clatters to the ground "pick that up" I bend to do as he says and can't help but yelp when he treads on my fingers which earns me a kick in the gut. When I stand I see Thread is regarding us from behind his scotch glass, he wears a smirk. When my father sees he pales "go to your room".
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and wonder what just happened. Who the hell is Romulus Thread? And why doesn't my father care that he's seen? I inspect my hands, they throb but I don't think anything's broken. I've managed to preserve my hands through the years, they've been burnt and cut but never anything that would stop me playing piano.
I realize I'm usually playing by now and start over to the piano, as I pull out the stool my bedroom door swings open and Thread steps in to the room
"A piano?" I clear my throat but still croak my answer
"Yes"
"How ... quaint" he smiles falsely
"Can I help you Mr. Thread?"
"Oh how kind" he grins again "but no" he strides over to the piano and rests his hand on my shoulder "play something"
"It's quite late"
"Nonsense. Play"
"I-"
"Play"
"I really ought to -" the back of his hand feels like a panel of wood as it crosses my cheek. I clutch my face in shock as the sting subsides and look up at him from the floor when he swings at me again. Thread is taller than my father and as broad as my father is wide so it's logical it'll be worse. Each hit is harder, each break more severe, the damage greater. I realize my father can't have ever actually hit me with his full force because it's never hurt this much.
At some point I manage to get to my feet and run for the door but by the time I reach the stairs he's behind me. It's not the first time I've been pushed down the stairs so I know to protect my head and neck, when I land in the entryway Thread's there and the blow comes immediately. From where I fall I can see my father sipping scotch at the dining room table, he has his back to me.
Thread breaks my left rib easily, it's an old fracture that will never fully heal but even so the pain is coma inducing and it robs me of breath. I hear my head hit the wall but I'm blinded by the blood pouring into my eyes. 'Not my face' is my first thought, 'not where anyone can see'. Next it's my legs, a sharp kick to the side of my left thigh, a sharp crack and a sharper pain, a crunch when he stands on my fingers, these breaks are fresh. I wince and blink away tears and blood, no more piano. Kick. Shove. Kick. Snap. Crunch. Crack. Another rib, my wrist and the side of my head. Then it's not hands and feet, it's a cane, my grandmothers. My legs, my stomach, my chest, once across my cheek, I lose track.